 
FIRST VERSE

A Second Verse novella

Emily Snow

Copyright © July 2015 by Emily Snow Books

Cover designed by LM Creations and Edited by The Word Maid.

♫

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing. For information message emilysnowbooks@gmail.com.

About _First Verse_

From the moment Kinsey Brock walks in on Emmett Hudson in the shower, she knows he's going to be trouble. He's sex with a Southern accent and a guitar, and he makes her heart go from zero to sixty just by darting his intense moss green eyes in her direction. But he's also the grandson of the woman who took Kinsey in when she had no one else—and that means he's off-limits.

Too bad for Kinsey that word isn't in Emmett's vocabulary.

But want, need, and more sure as hell are.

♫

**NOTE: Set eight years before the standalone novel SECOND VERSE (Coming July 2015), this prequel novella tells the story of Kinsey and Emmett's first moments together. Both stories are intended for mature audiences.

Click the link below to listen to the FIRST VERSE playlist while you read:

 SPOTIFY

Chapter One

Kinsey Brock

"Oh my god, I can't believe we made it!" the girl standing on my right choked out. She turned toward me and grabbed my forearm. Tears shimmered in her giant, chocolate brown, Disney princess eyes. Lord, she was open-mouth crying. I felt like an official ass for being dry-eyed when she—and most of the other girls around us—were crying. "We made it!" she repeated in a garbled voice.

"Yeah, we did," I said in a stunned, monotone voice, pulling my arm away from her death grip of enthusiasm. We'd had show choir together earlier this year, but other than that, I knew nothing about her—only that her last name came alphabetically after Brock, my last name.

Still, she was excited. Who was I to ruin her good mood just because the reality of today terrified me?

I dropped my gaze to the football field's manicured grass, curling my yellow-painted toes in my white sandals. "Good luck. With ... college, I guess." I had heard her telling the football player sitting on her other side that she was going to Augusta State in the fall.

"You too, Kinsey!"

Grabbing my necklace, I fiddled with the thin silver chain the key hung from and mumbled, "I'm not going this year." Luckily, she didn't hear me, because, when I lifted my attention from a bald patch of grass, she had turned in the other direction and was jumping up and down with a small congregation of her friends, celebrating their escape from high school with even more open-mouth crying and high-pitched squees of accomplishment.

Speaking of escape ...

Sucking in a harsh breath of fresh air and shielding my eyes from the harsh mid-morning sun, I maneuvered through the sea of unzipped black robes and diplomas, determined to find my foster mom so we could leave before the traffic became insane. The hand cupped over my eyes felt sweaty against my forehead—a reminder of just how nervous I was. Later today, I would bring up the subject I'd been terrified to talk about with Mrs. H for the last few months.

I'd turned eighteen a couple weeks ago, in the middle of May. And now, I was a high school graduate, which scared the hell out of me, because the woman who'd taken care of me since late last year was no longer obligated to me. In my nearly two year run of foster parents—three homes counting hers—Mrs. Hudson was the first person who hadn't treated me like a paycheck.

I didn't want to lose her.

"Stop worrying," I hissed to myself, approaching the concrete bleachers overflowing with my classmates' friends and families. "At least until we get home." But I stopped short when I noticed a familiar face. It wasn't my parents—I hadn't been stupid or naïve enough to believe they'd show up and everything would magically be right in the world—but it was the petite aerial acrobat I'd met at a performing arts camp in seventh grade.

Though she was from Savannah and I'd lived in and around Atlanta my entire life, Lyra Amador and I had kept in touch, talking every couple of days on the phone or online. I'd moved so many times since we'd met that she was one of the few things that was consistent in my life.

"Lyra!" I shouted, a smile splitting my face. She whipped her head around in the direction of my voice. Once she spotted me, she grinned broadly and held her hand high in the air, moving it from side to side. Even her version of waving looked fluid, beautiful.

_One sec_ , she mouthed, rolling her eyes. She gestured down to the line of well-wishers crowding her path off the bleachers.

I nodded. I was just ecstatic she was here. When I had invited her to graduation last month, she had told me she would move heaven and earth to be there, but I wasn't so sure. Lyra had—literally—ran away and joined a traveling circus after she turned seventeen last year, and they were touring this summer.

I envied her.

Lived vicariously through the colorful postcards she'd sent from the various locales she'd visited.

But most of all, I adored her. This girl who'd only seen me in person a total of fifteen days—at camp in seventh grade, and once when I hitched a ride with my cousin to Savannah two summers back, just before shit hit the fan. She cared enough to make it to my high school graduation when my own family hadn't.

Noticing she had managed to wiggle out of the crowd and was on her way across the field, I rushed toward her, not even caring when one of the straps of my shoes broke. "You came!" I exclaimed breathlessly as soon as she was close enough to hear me.

She stopped a few steps away from me, placed her hands on her slim hips, and gave me a stern look. "Are you screwing with me? Of course I came! I can't believe you ever doubted me." Then she shrugged and the corners of her smoky gray eyes wrinkled right before she threw herself into my arms. I held on tight. "For what it's worth, the rental car company charged me a kidney because of my age, so when that voice of yours makes you rich and famous someday, don't forget me or I'll release all your filthy secrets to TMZ."

"Thanks for the heads up," I said. But I was relieved. Even though our time spent together in person had been so limited, being around Lyra face-to-face still felt right.

"Happy graduation day!" She took a step back and took me in—from my broken white, strappy sandals to my unzipped robe over my white eyelet halter dress. Settling her stare on my face, she beamed. "And holy crap, Kinz, when did you go blond?"

"Couple of days ago. I wanted to try something different, so Mrs. H took me to her hairdresser as a graduation gift." Casting her a come-hither look similar to the ones used in shampoo commercials, I sifted my fingers through my shoulder-length, Barbie-blond locks and then whipped my hair over my shoulder. "Don't ask me how I feel about it yet."

"I ... like it!"

I pressed my lips into a skeptical line and twisted my head to the side. "You don't have to lie, I—" But then I spotted Mrs. H slowly making her way down the bleachers, and the words trailed off. My foster mother's dark eyes locked with mine. When she smiled at me—one of those expressions that overflowed with pride and happiness—the pressure that had sat on my chest eased just slightly.

Maybe I was safe.

Maybe ... maybe she wouldn't care if I stuck around for a little while.

Nobody looked _that_ proud of someone they intended to boot out on the streets, right?

Following my stare, Lyra's glossy lips parted in an _O_ of comprehension. "I take it that's the incredible Mrs. H?"

I nodded and grabbed her hand. "Here, I'll introduce you." Before I dragged her off, I lifted an eyebrow. "Please say you can at least spend the night. You might as well get some use out of the rental car you sacrificed your spleen for."

She started to say something, but then threw her head back and laughed. "Actually it was a kidney, but you're right. Lead the way, lover. I'm all yours for the rest of the night as long as your mom says I can crash."

♫

"I know you're tired of me saying this, but your foster mom lives in a mansion," Lyra said several hours later. With Mrs. H's blessing, we'd stopped by a few graduation parties after dinner. When Drew Ferguson's poolside bash was busted by the cops less than thirty minutes after we arrived, Lyra and I ended our celebratory evening prematurely. I couldn't afford to get into any more trouble, and besides, the only other party was hosted by the douche-canoe who'd made it a point to lie to his friends (and anyone else who cared to listen) about how we ended our first—and only—date six months ago.

Mrs. Hudson was sound asleep when Lyra and I got back, so we raided the stash of lemonade-flavored alcohol bottles I kept in the back of my closet and took them down to the private pond at the entrance to the property.

"I'm serious, I don't ever want to leave." Lyra took a swig out of her bottle and sighed. "This—this is heaven, Kinz."

"But if you stayed, you wouldn't see Ronan again," I reminded her, singing the name of the man she'd frequently gushed about since she'd left Savannah last year. I'd heard about him since we were still in middle school (when she'd met him), and he'd heavily influenced her decision to follow her dream last year. Lyra shot me a dark, warning look then laid back on the pink and brown crocheted blanket she'd taken off the daybed in my bedroom.

"Or are you going to swear up and down it's complicated?" I probed.

She groaned, dragging her hands over her soft features, ruffling her black hair, before staring up at the stars. "It's been complicated since I first laid eyes on him." When I stretched out beside her, she turned her head slightly, and I swallowed hard at the moisture glistening at the corner of her eyes. My chest clenched painfully. "Now, it's just ... shit, it's painful."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

She shook her head. "But we're not here to talk about me or that fire-breathing bastard. I want to know what's next for you."

Damn. I should've known she'd want to talk about my future, and what was I supposed to say? If I were a bigger dreamer—if I were _Lyra_ —I'd say I was going to be a star. That, in a year, she'd hear my voice on Q100, but when I spoke, my voice faltered. "I-I honestly don't know. Hell, I don't even know where I'll be living in a month."

Propping herself up on her elbows, she nodded in the direction of Mrs. Hudson's Victorian house, several acres from where we lounged by the pond. "If you're still worried that woman up there is going to kick you out just because you're eighteen and out of high school, you're ridiculous. She cares about you. I mean, she came right out and called you her granddaughter when she took that call at dinner."

Mrs. H had taken us into the city, to a restaurant on Peachtree Street earlier this evening. When a call from her son had interrupted us, she told him point blank she was out with her honorary granddaughter and a friend celebrating my graduation. Whatever he said next had pissed her off, because she'd icily reminded him that visitation was a two-way street before promising to call him when she got back home. While she never said anything negative, I knew she had visited her son and his family in Dallas last year right before I moved in and that the trip had been disastrous.

She'd returned to Georgia feeling like a burden.

Which is what I felt like when I thought about asking her to stick around after my birthday.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you've managed to make a huge impression on her. Since I got here, she's praised everything from your angelic voice to how neat you keep your bedroom. You're like Saint Kinsey or something. Trust me, she wants you in her life," Lyra said, and I released a harsh laugh.

"Just because she likes my voice and doesn't hide her jewelry from me, doesn't mean she'll still want me in her life."

She narrowed her gray eyes and moved her face close to mine, strands of her short black hair flopping into her face. "First of all, I don't think she judges you for getting in trouble after the five-finger K-Mart discount you did for your folks over a year ago. No offense, but your parents are jerks and screwed you over _big time_. Secondly, she clearly loves you. I know you have a hard time with that word, but she does."

I was my own worst enemy because I wanted to argue with Lyra, but I nodded instead. "Ugh ... sorry for being such a Debbie Downer."

"Please, you mention Ronan the Undecided, and I turn into a pile of blubbering wimp. Trust me, you're fine, but ..." Lyra reached to the edge of the blanket and grabbed two more bottles from the Styrofoam cooler we'd lugged to the pond. "I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to be in Virginia Beach tomorrow night, and I'd much rather spend the next few hours awake talking about things that make my heart happy."

Sitting up, I accepted the bottle she handed to me and popped it open. "Good plan," I said, clinking my bottle with Lyra's.

♫

True to her word, Lyra was gone when I woke up the next morning just after eight thirty. The bedspread on the daybed she slept in was tucked neatly in place, and she'd left a note folded in half on the pillow.

"Stubborn girl, I told you to wake me up," I said, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice as I walked across the room and grabbed the letter. Only she would think to leave a note instead of a goodbye text. I smiled and sat on the edge of the daybed, reading it in silence.

_Kinsey_ ,

I tried to get you up to say goodbye, but you were snoring like a freight train, so I figured it was best to just let you sleep. I have faith in you. No matter what you might think, you ARE loved—by Mrs. H and by me. Talk to her. I promise you she's not going to fail you.  
And keep singing. Your voice does crazy things to my heart.  
I'll see you again when we tour Atlanta this fall. Love you, girl.

Lyra

"This fall can't come soon enough," I whispered, reading over the note a couple more times. Damn, I already missed her. I had friends here—don't get me wrong—but none were like Lyra.

Sighing, I carefully refolded the letter and placed it in my nightstand, grabbing my mp3 player before I slammed the drawer shut. Slipping my earbuds on, I quietly hummed along with my _Summer_ playlist as I laid clothes out on my bed for after my shower.

A few minutes later, I headed to the bathroom down the hall and undressed but paused just before stepping inside the shower. I'd left the new shampoo from the salon in my room.

"Get it together, woman," I admonished, wrapping a giant towel around myself before I padded back to my bedroom. After a few minutes, I found the bag from the fancy day spa in the corner of my closet, hidden underneath my cap and gown. Singing along to the song pulsating from my earbuds, I danced back to the bathroom with the shampoo that guaranteed my new blond would last longer than ever.

Considering my natural color was mahogany brown, I'd believe it when I saw it.

"... _lights come from everywhere,"_ I crooned with Justin Timberlake, whipping off the towel and hanging it on the rack behind the door. _"... I just stop and stare."_ Continuing to sing despite taking off my earbuds, I left the mp3 player on the shelf by the toilet and reached for the shower curtain.

I nearly fell dead when a hand, a very masculine hand complete with long fingers and callouses, closed around mine, stopping me.

Oh.

My.

_God_.

A dark, curly head peeked around the curtain, and the most gorgeous moss green eyes I'd ever seen stared back at me.

"Since you didn't hear me the first time," he started in a husky voice that sent chills spiking through me like millions of tiny ice-tipped pitchforks, water running down his face and dripping down his tattooed, muscular chest as he raked his stare over my own naked, frozen body. "Unless you want an eyeful, Angel, you might want to come back."

I screamed like a banshee.

And the sexy, naked, shower-stealing intruder grinned like the devil.
Chapter Two

Emmett Hudson

Ten minutes.

Mim had spent the last ten minutes calling me just about every proper name in the book for scaring the hell out of her ... McKinsey. I'd listened real good at first (my grandmother might be in her seventies, but I sure as hell don't want to get on her bad side) but it was hard not to let my attention wander to the scowling blonde sitting across the breakfast table from me. We were both fully clothed now—she'd gone the extra mile by pouring herself into a pair of tight jeans and an "After Prom '07" tee shirt that was too damn big for her—but the sight of her curvy, golden body was burned into my memory now.

I wanted to see more of it, of her.

Even though a blind man could see she was purposely ignoring me by staring at everything from my grandma to the side-by-side fridge that had been in the kitchen since I was a kid, every few minutes she flicked denim blue eyes in my direction.

Her face would turn just as red as she'd been fifteen minutes ago when she was standing a few inches away from me screeching and scrambling for her towel.

And then she'd flicked her gaze up to the ceiling and took a deep breath that ricocheted through her unforgettable body.

But this time when she looked over at me, I nodded slowly at her. Her soft, pink lips separated in surprise. I cocked an eyebrow. And she turned her face away quickly, deepening her glare and fisting her hands on the table.

Damn, she was sexy as hell when she was pissed off, and that was saying something since blondes had never been my type. This girl—with those long-lashed blue eyes and legs that seemed to go on for days and that goddamn voice that had given me chills even in a steaming hot shower—well, she was making me question why I was so against the hair color in the first place.

Something whacked me in the back of the head, and I winced, grabbing the back of my neck. I turned to find Mim standing behind my chair, clutching a rolled-up magazine and wearing a dark expression that'd scared the shit out of me when I was a kid. It didn't matter how old I was or that she was a good foot shorter than me now—when Mim wielded a magazine or newspaper, I made sure to bow my head and do the walk of shame.

"Damn, I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry?" She sounded outraged as she jabbed the magazine in the blonde's direction. I wasn't surprised when McKinsey immediately darted her attention elsewhere—this time to a box of cereal open on the countertop—and crossed her slim, tan arms over her chest. "What I want to know is what in the world were you doing in my home and ... naked ... without telling anyone you were here?"

I couldn't keep the big ass grin from spreading across my face at the scandalized way Mim said 'naked,' and once again, I found myself on the receiving end of the newest issue of Better Homes and Gardens just before she sank down in the chair next to me. With the way things were going, I'd be heading back to Nashville with a broken neck and would eventually be shooting my album cover in a damn brace.

Mim drummed her short nails on the table, reminding me of my summers spent here. I'd gotten into trouble more times than I cared to admit and every time she'd interrogated me, she'd slowly tapped her fingers until I fessed up.

"Mim," I groaned.

"Don't 'Mim' me, Emmett Reid Hudson!" Ah, hell. She was dropping the middle name. Nothing good ever came from Mim using my whole name. Shaking her head disappointedly, she let out a deep sigh. "Don't get me wrong, son, I'm always happy to see you, but what are you doing here? You haven't necessarily been breaking down doors to come see me and now, all of the sudden, you're popping up in my shower." She glanced over at McKinsey and touched her hand. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

The blonde shook her head, plastered on a big smile for my grandmother's benefit, and squeezed her fingers like they were best-goddamn-friends. "I promise I'm fine, Mrs. H. He didn't see anything."

If not seeing anything meant a front seat show to breasts that were more than a handful and an ass that had done crazy things to my brain even after I did the gentlemanly thing and turned away from her.

"Nothing," I reiterated, leaning my chair back as she stiffened her back. Yeah, because nothing was everything.

My grandmother gave me a pointed look, letting me know she was expecting an answer to her question. I couldn't just come out and tell her that my dad had called me last night when I was piss-drunk, swearing up and down that a dirty, little opportunist had sunk her claws into Mim. He'd said I needed to get my ass in my truck and get to Marietta, so as soon as I was fit to make the drive, that's what I did. After listening to all of Dad's and my sister's shit-talking, I'd expected to eventually come face-to-face with a manipulative con-artist.

Instead, I got a naked, beautiful girl whose smooth skin lit up like a fire the moment I turned my eyes on her.

"I'm sorry, McKinsey," I said, because I had no idea she'd walk in on me in the shower—much less flash me. In my defense, I'd warned her. Multiple times. It wasn't my fault she'd been too busy singing and gyrating her hips to hear me.

I should've been ashamed to silently thank god for loud mp3 players and Justin Timberlake's music, but I wasn't.

To my grandmother, I bowed my head and said, "I came in early this morning, and since I figured you'd be sleeping, I let myself in." She gestured her hand for me to keep going. "You know I've been working on my debut in Nashville, and since my label's given me a new producer—"

"No, I did not know you were in Nashville working on a record, Emmett," Mim interrupted. Across the table from me, I noticed that McKinsey's blond head popped up. For the first time since we sat down, she looked at me intently. "An album?" I nodded and a smile split her face. She clasped her hands together, beaming with pride.

Saved by good news.

"Come here, you!" Mim stood and pulled me to her hard. I bent slightly to accommodate her small frame, meeting McKinsey's blue eyes over the top of her head. She held my gaze for a full ten seconds before she eventually dragged her focus away to play with the hem of her pink tee shirt.

When my grandmother drew away from me, she gave my shoulders one last squeeze of encouragement. We sat back down, and she immediately asked the question I knew had been burning on her mind since she raced into the upstairs bathroom to find out what all the screaming was about. "Will you be here for a while?" she asked tentatively.

I'd told my dad I'd stick around through the rest of the weekend, but hell if I didn't want to stay longer. "At least a couple weeks."

Mim clasped her hands together and smiled, and McKinsey's eyes widened and her pretty lips rounded into a big _O_.

Finally, I grinned.

♫

"Are you joking?" the voice on the other end of the line angrily demanded. "The little bitch has Grandma wrapped around her finger, and all you can say is, 'Oh, she's not that bad.' You've been there for about five minutes. You don't know a damn thing about her."

"She's. Not. Bad," I repeated, wondering why I'd answered my older sister's call. Hazel had done nothing but whine about McKinsey since I said hello. Now, six minutes into the call, I was ready to disconnect and power off the phone for the rest of the day. I'd come out to the porch to work on a song I'd been hammering at for weeks. Not to listen to my sister hiss and moan about a girl she'd never met. "Besides, a day and a half is plenty of damn time to figure out she's nothing you and Dad said she was."

I wouldn't tell Hazel that McKinsey had practically barricaded herself in her room since Saturday afternoon to—in her words—give me a chance to spend some time with my grandmother. In Mim's eyes, the girl was golden. From what I'd managed to coax out of my grandma, she'd had a shit life so far—bad parents and a brush with juvie several months ago. I'd wanted to ask my grandma what she got in trouble for, but she had cut me off with a warning:

McKinsey Brock had just turned eighteen. And Mim swore that made her off-limits.

Damn, I hated that word.

"Jesus, Emmett, she's a foster kid," my sister's voice obnoxiously sliced through my thoughts.

What did that matter? I sucked a breath through my teeth. "Yeah, _and_?" Where the hell was Hazel going with this?

"And Grandma doesn't need money—the woman is loaded. I bet this girl weaseled her way in to take advantage."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I loved my sister—I was raised with our mother telling me I'd go straight to hell if I didn't—but I sure as hell didn't like Hazel most of the time. "I think she was lonely." Admitting that caused a pain in the back of my throat because I hadn't spent nearly enough time with Mim over the last few years. My sister must not have felt a shred of guilt because she only sniffed loudly. "Look, Haz. McKinsey's good company for her. We both know Mim is a good judge of character, and she'd be able to spot a weasel from five miles away. You and Dad sent me here for nothing."

"Then why are you staying so long?"

Dad had asked me the same thing when I talked to him last night. I held back the desire to tell my sister to mind her own damn business and civilly replied, "Because I haven't visited Mim's place in years."

_"Right_. Or maybe it's because ..." But I tuned out the sound of her voice when the screen door flew open and McKinsey stepped outside on the front porch. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts that showed off her long, long legs and her ass and a green tee shirt that advertised Samson's Nursery. I could smell her from where I was sitting—she was wearing something sweet and vanilla-scented, feminine.

Sexy.

_Off-limits, dumbass. Off-limits,_ I reminded myself.

I stared at the back of her body a little longer than necessary, then hung up on my sister just as I said, "Mornin'."

McKinsey jumped, then froze completely, and finally took in a deep breath before slowly turning around to face me. My throat went dry. Today, she was wearing makeup. The dark liner around her big blue eyes made them look twice as intense, and I was smart enough to recognize what a goner I'd be if she were only a little older. She licked her lips.

Hell, maybe I was a goner already.

"Good mornin'," I repeated.

I expected her to stammer and flush like she did whenever we ran into each other in the hall, but she surprised me. "Do you like scaring the piss out of people?" She leaned her shoulder against one of the white pillars behind her and lifted one of her eyebrows. "Or do you just have a problem with me in particular?"

"Are you blaming me for you being distracted eighty percent of the time?" I countered, following her eyes to see that they'd landed on the guitar and notepad beside me. "Including right now."

She traced the curves and corners of the guitar slowly, her eyes appreciative. "I've never seen a Gibson that looked like that," she admitted with a shrug and a little scrunch of her nose. "What kind of—?" She cleared her throat and rubbed her hand over her chest. I forced myself to look at her face. "What genre do you sing?"

"Country." A soft smile tugged at her lips. Even though my brain told me to shut the hell up and get inside the house, I kept talking because I wanted her to keep smiling. "Well, a hybrid of country and rock."

She rocked forward on the toes of her tennis shoes then back, resting her shoulders to the pillar again. "Figures."

"Figures?" My phone vibrated, so I jammed it under a pillow. Hazel could wait. "Oh, Angel, you're going to have to explain."

Her breath noticeably hitched as she pushed away from the pillar and turned her back to me. Raking her hand through her hair, she looped a hair tie through it until it was piled on the top of her head in a messy knot. God, I'd love to pull that rubber band out just to twist all that blond hair through my fingers while I kissed her until she couldn't even string two words together.

Off-limits, dumbass. Off-limits.

"I would explain." She pulled her phone from her back pocket. "But since Mrs. Hudson's out this morning, I've got to call my boss to take—"

"No need," I said. She looked over her shoulder at me, her big blue eyes surprised, and I had my keys out of my pocket before she could make another sound. "I'll give you a ride."

Off-limits. Off—

Aw, screw it.

Because when had I ever played by the rules?

Chapter Three

Kinsey

With his striking green eyes, that dark mop of hair curling over his ears, and a bronze, ripped body that had driven me to distraction since he got here two days ago, Mrs. H's grandson was probably the most deliciously gorgeous guy I'd ever met in my entire life. He was also the cockiest, because when I told him Liz had no problem dropping by the house to pick me up, he snatched my phone right out of my hands and walked right past me.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ground out, shocked. I tried not to focus on how sexy his departing form looked in jeans, a snug white tee, and boots (who the hell wore boots in June?), but it was hard not to stare at him as he strode toward the massive Ford-F250. I'd admired the truck ever since he came to town, and everything about it suited him.

"What's it look like I'm doing, Angel?"

"Emmett?" It was the first time I'd said his name out loud and doing so made my lips feel like they'd just been kissed.

Reaching the black truck, he opened the driver's door then turned to face me. Even from several feet away, the challenge in the depths of his green eyes caused me to take a step back. "I'm stopping you from putting someone out of their way," he drawled. I opened my mouth to argue, but he shook his head as he climbed inside. He was tall enough that he had no use for the chrome step bar. "Get in," he ordered before closing the truck's door.

Hands on my hips, I stared daggers at him through the windshield, but he started the engine like my irritation didn't even faze him. At the sight of me making no effort to move off the porch, he lowered the window and held something outside. When I realized it was my phone he was wiggling around, I bit the inside of my cheek.

Obviously, I'd danced myself into this situation with an innocent little comment about his genre of music, so I blurted out, "I only said 'figures' because you're like the epitome of what I think of when I imagine a country music bad boy." Thick accent, sexy jeans and boots, giant pickup truck. Yeah, he was the whole package. "All you're missing is a giant belt buckle and a cowboy hat."

His grin widened, and my heart pounded pitifully harder. God, the man oozed charm. No doubt he'd have his fans eating out the palms of his hands someday and throwing themselves at his boot-wearing feet. "About that ride, I'd rather—"

"To be honest, I'll take a baseball cap any day over a damn cowboy hat," he drawled. "Now get in, McKinsey."

The fact he'd already seen me naked—a total accident to hear him tell it—made me want to dropkick myself for climbing into the truck a minute later, but luckily, there was enough space in the cab to fit two other people between our bodies.

Still, being so close to him, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne, feeling his hot stare sweep over my body as I secured my seatbelt—it unnerved me.

"Thanks for driving me." I was desperate to make small talk as he drove up the long driveway.

"Mim wasn't home, and it would've been rude as hell not to offer."

When he reached the road, I pointed left. "Stealing my phone wasn't exactly offering."

He lifted his broad shoulders. A vivid memory of the tattoos spanning his muscular chest assaulted me, and I dug my fingers into the hem of my shorts, pulling at the fraying fabric. Stupid-ass hormones. The sooner he left for Dallas or Nashville or wherever the hell it was he was going next, the better for my body and brain. "Don't worry, I'll give your phone back." He glanced at my hands and smirked. "So calm down."

"Yeah ... thanks." I released my shorts, only to fidget with the key necklace dangling over the business logo on my tee shirt. I nodded at the green street sign up ahead. "Turn right up there."

"So ... Samson's Nursery. Kids? Plants?"

"Definitely plants. Mrs. H helped me get the job when I came to live with her last year. Figured I should start saving money, just in case..." I swallowed hard when his head whipped in my direction. Touching my throat, I asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Drumming the steering wheel along with the song playing on the radio, he returned his beautiful green stare to the road. "Because I'm waiting to hear what you've got to say."

I took a tremulous breath, and before I could stop myself, said, "My parents are in and out of jail. My only sibling is a brother who is sixteen years younger than I am, and he was adopted last year because ... well, my parents couldn't and wouldn't take care of him. I've got aunts and uncles and cousins, but I'm in the system, plus I'm eighteen." He turned toward me again, but I quickly glanced away, staring at the giant Ford emblem on the dashboard because I was terrified of what I'd see in his eyes. "What do you think I was about to say?"

His lips thinned into an unreadable line, but instead of pressing me for more details about my daddy and mommy-issues, he completely changed the subject. "How long have you been singing?"

"How do you know I—?" I started, but then he turned off the radio and softly sang a couple measures of the song I was wailing along to the morning we met _. No wonder he has a record deal._ His voice—gritty and sexy and soulful—crept over me the same way my favorite Kings of Leon song did. "And thanks for reminding me that you know exactly what my boobs look like."

"You're the one who brought up tits, Angel. Not me."

My nipples tightened beneath my shirt and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Lord, you're eloquent." I jabbed a finger at the traffic light we were approaching. "Make a left at Orange. Samson's is about a mile up the road, on the right."

During the final few minutes of the ride, he steered the conversation back to music, which was more than all right with me. Music was something I loved. It was safe. I learned that he'd released an indie album three years ago—when he was eighteen—but that his newest effort had the budget, label, and staff behind it that would catapult him to stardom.

"So when you're famous, I can say you gave me a ride to work."

"Yeah, well that voice of yours ain't nothing to shit on, Angel. You'd put most of the stars I've met to shame." Pulling into Samson's parking lot, he reached into the cup holder in his door and handed me my phone. I held my breath as he placed it in my outstretched hand, the tips of his fingers brushing my palm. His touch was soft, his fingertips rough, and his skin was warm. Too warm. Too much.

_Don't be stupid,_ I warned myself.

"McKinsey?"

"Kinsey," I breathed and lifted my chin until our eyes locked. He didn't move his hand from mine, so my voice shook when I added, "Only Mrs. H calls me McKinsey."

"How long are you planning to stay with Mim, Kinsey?"

The trance caused by our touching hands broke. I pulled my brows together into a deep frown. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I don't want my grandmother to get hurt." There was no malice behind his words, but they still stung. I couldn't imagine hurting Mrs. H. Aside from Lyra, she was the only person who'd given a shit about me in years. Emmett pulled his fingers away from mine and positioned his hands on the steering wheel. "You get what I'm saying, Angel?"

"Kinsey," I reminded him. "And I'll stay as long as she'll have me. What about you? Because, up until two days ago, I thought Mrs. H's sweet Emmett was a ten-year-old boy." Definitely not a tall, muscular, country-singing _man_ who'd already seen me completely nude. Who made my pulse quicken each and every time he spoke to me.

He didn't immediately answer, so I hopped out of the truck. Right before I closed the door, he spoke, stopping me. "I'll stay for as long as it takes."

"For what?"

The corners of his perfect, kissable lips lifted, and I cursed that smile that was bound to haunt my thoughts for the rest of the day. "To figure you out."

♫

"What the hell does he mean, 'figure you out'?" Lyra laughed the next evening after I told her about Emmett and our conversation in his truck on the way to my job. "And, seriously, take a picture of this guy for me. I'm dying to know what he looks like."

I groaned. "Way too hot." And distracting. He was definitely distracting.

When Mrs. H had picked me up from the nursery a few hours ago, we'd come home to discover that her chiseled grandson had not only shooed away the lawn people who came out every other Tuesday, he was cruising around half-naked on the riding mower, singing along to whatever he was listening to on his mp3 player. It had taken every bit of willpower not to stand out on the front porch, ogling the sweat slicking down his back and the steampunk eagle tattoo on his chest.

Somehow, I'd managed to drag myself inside the house before I made an absolute ass of myself.

But I hadn't been strong enough to avoid occasionally checking him out from my bedroom window.

"And he's staying for the next couple weeks?" Lyra asked.

"Mmmhmm. Apparently he's in between producers for his album, and—" The sound of a hard knock on my door cut me off. "Hold on for just a second, okay?"

"I got my ass kicked in rehearsals today. Trust me, I'm not moving an inch."

Some idiotic part of me hoped I'd open the door to Emmett, but when I poked my head out into the hallway, I found Mrs. H's dark eyes staring up at me. "Is my music too loud?"

"No, no, it's not that." Shaking her head, she looked around me into my room, and I frowned. "Do you have a few minutes to talk, sweetheart?"

_Uh-oh._ A talk was never a good thing, and my stomach tangled into thousands of knots. "Yeah ... definitely." I pointed my thumb over my shoulder, clenching my fingernails into my palm to stop my hand from shaking. "Just let me tell Lyra I'll call her back."

My foster mom nodded, giving me a tight smile. _Oh god, what was happening?_ "I'll be out on the front porch waiting for you."

When I walked outside a few minutes later, I was surrounded by the sound of the cicadas and the green scent of fresh cut grass, but I barely noticed when I spotted Mrs. H on the porch swing. Although she was looking straight ahead, she patted the spot beside her when the screen door clanged shut. I was scared to death. Had Emmett said something to her? Stiffly, I sat down. When she took my fingers in her small, delicate hands, my heart lurched.

This couldn't be good.

This _wouldn't_ be good, and I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself for the worst before I made myself look into her dark eyes. She'd been so good to me that I couldn't be upset.

Couldn't be anything but grateful.

"McKinsey," she started.

"Yes," I murmured in a disconnected voice that sounded nothing like mine.

"I just wanted to make sure ..." She twisted her lips to the side, and my heart sunk a little more. I was ready for this, I reminded myself. I'd been ready for this since I moved in. It had always been a very real possibility that I'd never had a choice but prepare myself. "McKinsey, I wanted to make sure my grandson's not bothering you."

What?

My mouth dropped open, so Mrs. H quickly added, "You're a beautiful girl, sweetheart, and Emmett's.... Well, I'm not blind." She smiled ruefully and touched the wire frame of her reading glasses. "Not yet, at least. I've noticed the way he looks at you."

And now, I was freaking out for a whole new reason. If she'd noticed Emmett looking at me, what had she observed me doing? "No." Nervously, I raced one of my hands through my hair and vigorously moved my head from side to side. "I mean, he's not bothering me. I promise."

Her smile was unsure, but she gave the hand she was still holding a light squeeze. "Good. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't talk to you." When she stood, slowly making her way toward the front door, a jolt of courage kicked in, and I jumped to my feet.

"Wait!"

Turning back around, she looked at me expectantly, her brows arching together. I inhaled deeply. It was now or never. "I know that moving in with you was supposed to be temporary—and that you don't have to keep me around—but I was wondering—"

"You're always welcome in my home, McKinsey."

Warmth expanded through my chest. "What?" I sank back down to my seat. Holy hell, had I heard her right? "And you're not joking with me? I mean, I can pay rent or ...."

She waved her hand. "Honey, I'd never joke with you about that and I'd never ask that of you." Placing one hand on the back of the swing for support, she reached out and smoothed a blond strand behind my ear. Mrs. Hudson was old enough to be my grandmother—maybe even my great-grandmother considering how young my parents were—but the gesture was so motherly, so ... _everything_ , that I closed my eyes.

"Is that why you've been so quiet the last few days?" she questioned.

"Yes." And no. It was a fifty/fifty split between worrying over where I stood in her life and arguing with myself that any attraction I thought I felt toward Emmett was totally imagined. Pushing the thought of him to the very back of my mind, I opened my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered.

"It's nothing." She bent over me to land a kiss on my forehead. "There are people who want you to succeed. Don't forget that."

"I won't," I promised.
Chapter Four

Over the next few days I did everything in my power to stay clear of Emmett. Mrs. H's house was huge—by far the biggest house I'd ever lived in—but even then he seemed to be everywhere. On Wednesday morning, I'd stumbled into my bathroom scrubbing sleep from my eyes and yawning just to find Emmett shaving in front of the mirror in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. Then, when I couldn't sleep last night, I snuck down to the kitchen for a drink only to find him on a call arguing about his producer. He'd called after me when I skulked off, but I hadn't looked back.

And now, here he was again—dressed in only a pair of jeans and standing in my doorway. _God, why hadn't I closed the door?_

"You were singing," he mused.

Closing my laptop, I slid off my bed. His green eyes dropped to my legs. I was wearing shorts, but my tee shirt was so long it covered the hem. Judging from the way the corners of Emmett's lips threatened to tug into a smirk, he probably thought he'd walked in on something naughty. I made a mental note to hack a few pairs of my jeans into longer shorts.

"I sometimes do that outside the shower," I said. I struggled to keep my gaze level with his, knowing that if I dared to let my eyes wander to his tattooed flesh, I'd eventually ogle his abs and the sculpted V of his torso. Though just thinking about the high points of his body made my eye twitch. "With you around, it seems to be safer than singing in the shower," I added.

He glanced at my legs again. "You were singing Dierks Bentley." Without an invitation, he strode into my room, walked right past me, and a moment later, I heard the daybed mattress squeak. "I could've sworn you told me you weren't into country."

I would never admit I'd bought the CD earlier this evening or that some invisible force had steered me toward a section in the music store I rarely walked toward. He would automatically assume that invisible force came from me thinking way too much about him. He'd be right. Fisting my hands, I spun around on my bare feet to face him. "I don't remember _ever_ telling you what music I listen to."

He leaned back on his elbow, giving me a mighty fine display of the chest and abs I'd been so determined not to leer at, and grinned. "I made an educated guess based on what you sing in the shower every morning." _He listened to me?_ I flushed and looked away, drawing a chuckle from Emmett. "It's a Friday night, and you're holed up in your room."

"I'm researching colleges." Which was the truth. I was fortunate enough that there were a ton of schools in the area for me to apply to next year. I pretended to be interested in arranging the bottles of body spray and lotion on my dresser, keeping a cautious eye on him as I said, "There's nothing wrong with thinking about my education."

A smile finally emerged, lighting up his entire face, and butterflies flitted through the pit of my belly and into my chest. "It's a Friday night, and you're researching colleges and singing the fucking blues." He shook his head and tsked me. God, even a sound of admonishment sounded sexy falling from his lips. "That's a shame, Kinsey."

I nearly knocked a lamp off my dresser whirling around to say, "Well, I guess you should be ashamed too. It's a Friday night and instead of picking up women in bars, you're in my bedroom riding me."

I regretted the words the second they slipped out, especially when he gave me an incredulous look, followed by a quick glance at my own bed. "Believe me, Angel, I'm not riding you."

"Don't be dirty."

"Then don't think it." He got up slowly and sauntered across the room, stopping once his bare toes brushed mine. He leaned in close to me and studied me closely, so I put on my best poker face. Considering the intoxicating scent drifting from his bare chest—and the sight of his bare chest in general—it was a difficult task.

"I'm curious, Kinsey—do you want me to go out and spend the night ... somewhere else?" I thinned my lips into a tight line, so he continued speaking, his voice soft but rough. "Is that what _you_ think I should be doing?"

I turned my back to him, but he moved closer to me and his green eyes found mine in the dresser mirror. His face was close to my hair, and when he inhaled and a look of sheer desire passed over his features, I almost lost my self-control. "You're a grown man," I whispered. "It shouldn't matter what I _think_ you should be doing."

"But you think of me." It wasn't a question but a statement, and I held my chin higher, refusing to respond. He bit his bottom lip, a sexy gesture that made my heart race. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Cocky much?"

"Oh, hell yeah." He bent his head until his lips brushed my ear, making me defenseless. Making me want and need something from him I was scared to verbalize. "Kinsey?"

Turning my face just slightly toward his, I squeezed my eyes shut. "Hmm?"

His minty breath fanned my face, stealing my breath out of my lungs. When he made another move, it wasn't to kiss me, but to say, "Get dressed."

My eyes flew open, and I realized he'd taken a step back. Dragging my fingernails across my palms, I turned to look at him and rested my ass against the dresser. A few bottles of the lotion I'd been so focused on arranging fell over, but I didn't care. "Why?"

"It's Friday night. Mim is in bed, and we're both far from tired." He trailed his eyes over my body, once again not bothering to hide the fact that he was checking me out. "Figured my trip here wouldn't be complete without raising some hell with you."

"No." I shook my head vigorously, but he retaliated with a very slow, very wicked nod.

"Oh, hell yes, Angel."

"I'm not twenty-one," I pointed out. Of course, that had never stopped me before I moved in with Mrs. H. "I'm seriously the worst person to take out."

"Yeah, well I wasn't either for the last few years. Luckily for you, you don't have to be twenty-one to get into a bar." Backing up toward my door, he took in my pinched expression and chuckled. "Meet me at the truck in twenty minutes."

♫

Somehow, we ended up at a country bar for open mic and karaoke night, and I ended up with a big stamp on the back of my hand broadcasting my age. In my shorts, button-up blue flannel shirt, and a pair of Converse I'd had since I was fourteen, I felt underdressed among the cute and sexy sundresses and tight jeans and cowboy boots most of the other women were wearing. I shrugged it off. With my body's constant reaction to Emmett, it was probably best I hadn't put any special effort into what I was wearing. Shoving my hands into the back pockets of my shorts, I followed him to a tiny booth close to the stage after he'd grabbed a beer.

"You ever come here before?" he asked.

Snorting, I slid into my seat. "Not sure if you've noticed, but I'm about as boring as they come." When he lifted a dark, skeptical brow, I glanced at the stage where a couple of girls were singing The Wrecker's _Leave the Pieces._ "At least I am nowadays."

"Ah, hell." He tipped his bottle to his full lips. "Nowadays?"

I didn't see any point lying to him. "I spent six months in juvie for walking out of a store with a big screen TV."

He froze mid-sip, then plunked the glass back to the table. He scratched his hand through his thick, brown hair. "You're messing with me, Angel."

"I wish I was joking." Grabbing his drink, I swallowed a giant gulp before sliding it back across the table to him. "I had a very nice, very oblivious gentleman load it into a buggy for me and then I pushed it right out of the store. My dad sold it for god knows what, and I ended up ... well, screwed."

His green eyes narrowed, but he never released my gaze. "Was it your idea?" He traced his thumb around the rim of his bottle, where my lips had just touched. "Or your dad's?"

"Does it matter?"

He offered me a ghost of a smile and lifted one of his broad shoulders into something that resembled a shrug. God, this man was confusing. "Was it your idea?"

For a moment I focused at the glare on the stage as a twenty-something guy strummed an acoustic guitar and crooned a song I'd never heard before. I could still hear my father promising that everything would be all right, that if I did that one thing I'd be helping them. That we would be something that wasn't broken.

I'd been ridiculously stupid.

"My dad asked me to do it." Automatically, my fingers closed around the key I wore around my neck. I cast a bitter smile at Emmett. "Needless to say I'll never take his shopping advice again."

Rubbing his smooth chin, he was quiet for a long pause. What was he thinking? As much as I told myself that being the least bit attracted to Emmett Hudson was a stupid idea, inside I panicked at the thought of him getting up and walking off. Finally, he stretched his arms and linked his fingers behind his head. "What's the story behind the key?" He nodded to my necklace, at the key I'd painted with red fingernail polish. "You're always playing with that thing so it must be something."

Dropping the necklace, I skimmed my tongue over my teeth and focused my hands on something else—drumming my fingers on the table along with the woman belting out _Jolene_ on the stage. "More bullshit dealing with my parents, but that's a story for another day."

He looked like he wanted to ask more questions about it, but then he slid his drink back across the table. "Here."

"I'm good. My parents haven't screwed me up so much I need alcohol to talk about them."

"No, Angel. It's liquid courage." When my brow furrowed in confusion, he elaborated, "You didn't think I'd bring you here just to listen, did you? You're too goddamn good to be singing alone up in your room on a Friday night."

My lips parted, but he leaned over the booth, pressing his finger to my mouth to keep me from objecting. His touch twisted my stomach into knots, and the intensity burning from his stare did a number equally as brutal on my heart. "One song. One song, and I'll never ask you again."

I didn't believe that for a second, but when he dropped his finger from my lips, I sighed. "One song." I jerked the karaoke catalogue from the center of the table. "And just so you know, I literally know five country songs, including the one I was singing alone in my room."

"Figures," he drawled.

After I selected a Carrie Underwood song that had played so many times on mainstream radio, it was impossible not to remember the lyrics, I scribbled my name and the song on one of the strips of paper in the basket on our table and handed it to Emmett. "There." I gestured to his bottle of beer, which was sitting between us. "No liquid courage needed."

He passed along the slip to the closest waitress—a petite redhead who spent a little too long batting her eyelashes at him. "You're popular with the ladies," I pondered aloud as soon as she strutted away. "So far the waitress and a bartender have eye-humped you, and I'm pretty sure the chick who _accidentally_ bumped into you at the door groped your junk."

"Now who's being eloquent?" He put his elbows on the table and bent his head. Swallowing hard, I did the same until our foreheads almost touched. "You think I give a damn about the waitresses or the one with the grabby hands?" When I responded with an incoherent murmur, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Want to know what I'm thinking about?"

I shook my head. Hell, who was I kidding? I was dying to know what thoughts rolled around in that gorgeous head of his. "Tell me."

"Kissing you."

Oh.

Oh _my_.

Unconsciously, I sucked in my bottom lip, and his eyes followed. His beautiful green irises darkened as he watched me. "I've been thinking about kissing the hell out of you for nearly a week. I'm curious, Kinsey. I want to know how you taste, how your body would feel, whether your hands would—"

"I got it." Dear god, I definitely got it. I placed my palms flat on the table to steady myself. "How many girls do you feed that line to?"

Before he could answer, the open mic host called my name, and I gratefully jumped up from the booth so fast, I would've fallen flat on my face if I weren't wearing tennis shoes. "Wish me luck."

I was surprised when he followed me toward the stage. After he spoke to the guy who'd performed with the guitar, he walked across the wooden platform carrying the instrument. Stepping away from the mic, I eased toward him, frowning when he slung the strap over his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?"

He grinned, and I swore I heard a few swoons off stage as he positioned his long fingers over the fretboard. "Just go with it, Angel."

Shakily, I returned to the mic, my eyes never leaving his as he skimmed his fingers over the strings. It took me a second to realize the chords he played were not the Carrie Underwood song I'd picked, but another familiar tune. Listening to the stripped down, sexy intro, my thoughts were instantly taken back to the sight of him standing in the shower with beads of moisture clinging to his tattooed chest and a sexy smirk playing on his lips. I inhaled and exhaled. Said a quick prayer. And then sang the first few words into the mic.

"She grabs the yellow bottle ..."

It was hard to sing—hard to even breathe—with him standing so close to me, his long fingers stroking the strings of the guitar intimately as I belted out the song I'd been singing the day we met, but I got through it, even when I felt his body brush against mine during the interlude. My body stiffened when he moved his mouth closer to the mic and the sensual sound of his voice poured over the room.

Oh god, he's singing with me.

Undressing me and every other damn female in the place with his voice.

"... _I think that she knows,"_ he murmured, his green eyes locking with mine. _"... she's got me hooked ..._ "

What a bastard—a sexy, talented bastard.

By the time he strummed the last chord and the applause threatened to burst my eardrums, my knees were weak. He put his hand around my waist, steadying me. "Me wanting to kiss you?" His sweet breath fanned my ear as we took a bow. "It's a need now. A necessity."

"That was a dick move," I said through my teeth. "Playing that song."

"It's only a dick move if it got you all hot and bothered, Kinsey."

Well, it had.

I left the stage with him a few paces behind me. Realizing I should make a quick getaway while he returned the guitar, I located the restroom sign and skulked into the dimly lit recess. I nearly made it to the door, but then warm fingers closed around my wrist. He twisted me around to face him and dragged my body to his. He was all warmth and hardness and felt good. Too damn good. My throat went dry.

"You barely even know me," I croaked, but my body betrayed me, molding so perfectly with his, my breasts flattened against his chest. A smile touched his lips.

"I know you want my lips on yours." He pushed my arms above my head, pinning them against the wall behind me. "Just one kiss." He lowered his head, his lips barely brushing mine. "And I'll never ask again."

"And then we pretend this never happened?"

His thumbs massaged little circles into the palms of my hands and a wave of longing crashed through me. "Just this once," he promised.

I could handle that. I could let this man kiss me this once and never think about his touch or his mouth again, _couldn't I_?

But then, his mouth slanted over mine, fierce and demanding. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp that burned a path right through the center of my body. He groaned—rasped my name in a strained voice—just before his tongue flicked over the center of my lips. I parted them willingly, inviting him to explore my mouth, meeting his tongue with my own. He tasted amazing, sweet and minty.

Right.

And so damn _wrong_ it made me hurt all over.

I moaned when he released my arms to roam his hands over my body—one at the base of my neck and the other at the small of my back, just above my ass. He didn't draw away from me until one of the bathroom doors flung open and a trio of giggling women danced into the hallway. We were both breathless, and his only response wasn't words but a gesture.

He skimmed his thumb along my cheekbone.

And I knew there was no way in the world this would be just one kiss.

Chapter Five

Emmett

What was I thinking when I told her just one kiss?

I wasn't thinking, and that was the problem. I figured I'd taste her soft mouth once, just for the hell of it, and then I'd put her out of my mind until I left for Nashville. Not only was that three goddamn days ago, but my return to Nashville was now delayed, and she was _still_ on my mind. Images of the way she sucked in that delicious bottom lip of hers whenever she wanted to argue with me, and the way she played with that key she wore around her neck every time she was nervous haunted me at every turn. And I didn't want to start on the memory of her standing naked in front of me on the morning I first laid eyes on her, her incredible body frozen and her mouth wide open—thoughts of Kinsey's tits and the tiny stud adorning her belly button had kept me awake for nights.

I shouldn't have taken her out.

And I sure as shit shouldn't have made music with her.

Because as she bounced into the kitchen on Tuesday morning, with her wet hair swinging around her shoulders, her skin still a little damp and inviting from her shower, and her tiny shorts clinging to her ass like a second skin, I knew there was no way in hell I wanted to leave Georgia without taking a little more of Kinsey Brock.

And even that might not even be enough. The girl had wiggled her way into my head—one twitch of her hips at a time.

"Morning." She opened the cabinet by the coffeemaker and shot me a tentative smile over her shoulder. "Where's Mrs. H? I knocked on her bedroom door and checked the sunroom but I didn't see her."

"Mim didn't want me to wake you since it's your day off, but she's in Decatur today volunteering with her women's club."

"Ahhh ... that's right. Yeah, she told me about it a couple weeks ago." Shuffling through the contents of the cabinet, she frowned. "And I've been awake for a while. I was just ... thinking."

I hoped like hell that I was creeping into her thoughts just as much as she was mine.

"Your cereal's right above the fridge," I said, and she murmured a thank you. She was tall—if I had to guess five-seven or eight—but she still had to stand on her tiptoes to grab the box of Frosted Flakes. I started to volunteer to help her but then her shorts rode up, and I was caught in the glory that was McKinsey Brock's ass. God bless Levi jeans and scissors.

I cleared my throat. "What're you getting into today?"

Juggling the cereal, a carton of milk, and a bowl and spoon, she approached the table cautiously. "When Mrs. H gets home, I've got to go to the store and—"

"I'll take you after you eat. And there's no point arguing with me, Angel, because it's just wasted breath. I've got nothing else to do."

"Except for write songs." She pointed at the guitar propped against the wall after she poured her cereal. "How many of your songs'll be on your album?"

"All of them are mine." It was something that I was proud of, and I'd worked my ass off writing and collaborating. My manager had nearly shit a brick when I'd insisted I wanted to make my own music, but it was important. It made the words I'd sing—the notes I'd strum--authentic. "Wanna hear something?"

She sighed heavily. Was she swooning? "How could I say no?"

"Smart girl, Angel." Drawing the guitar from its spot against the wall, I positioned it on my lap. "Any requests?"

"A ballad," she immediately answered. When I grinned, she shrugged sheepishly. "What can I say, I'm a romantic at heart."

"Nothing wrong with that." Mentally, I scrolled through my song list before I finally plucked the intro of _Gasoline._ It had been the first song I'd written after a long drought—about the flames that kept burning long after shit hit the fan. She listened intently, forgetting about her cereal to bob her head along with the rhythm. When I plucked the cadence, she clapped her hands together enthusiastically.

"I'd give anything to be able to write songs like that." She tapped her nails on the edge of the kitchen table and shrugged. "At least there's always karaoke. Have you played that for Mrs. H yet? I know she'd love to hear it."

"You're the first, but don't worry, Mim'll hear all my songs before I leave for Nashville. Gotta admit, part of me is anxious to get back in the studio at the end of July to lay this down." I sure as hell wouldn't admit the other part of me was just as anxious to be around her.

She drew in a harsh breath through her teeth. "The end of July?" I cocked my brow, and she frowned. Ah, shit. This wasn't good. "I thought you were going back to Nashville in a few days."

"Got a call from my manager last night that there've been a couple hiccups." I lifted my shoulders. Speaking to Tony about the production issues, I'd been pissed at first, but then I quickly realized what a win my situation was. I had another several weeks to get to know the sexy little blonde sitting across from me. "Talked to Mim this morning and she was almost in tears when I said I was sticking around a little longer."

Kinsey's hand shook when she lifted her spoon to her lips. She chewed slowly, her expression suddenly unreadable. "I see."

I sat the guitar aside. When I focused on her again, she was playing with the red key around her neck. Damn, I was curious to know the significance behind that key. It was driving me just as crazy as she was.

"You're nervous about having me around," I said. Her lips quirked into a hesitant smile, so I scooted my seat closer to her. Our knees brushed, causing her to tighten her hands into fists. "You don't have to be nervous."

Snorting, she swiped a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped her mouth. "Because it was just one kiss, right?"

"Unless we agree to another. And one more after that. And then—"

She slid away from the table abruptly, so abruptly her chair almost toppled over. I grabbed it, taking in her quick, agitated movements as she grabbed her half-empty bowl.

"I looked you up online the other night, you know?" She stalked to the sink, her angry steps just as sexy as the seductive walk she probably wasn't even aware of. "I mean, before you flirt with me, you should probably delete your latest Wall correspondence with _Gianna_."

I groaned at the mention of my ex. Beautiful and cultured, Gianna had wanted nothing more than to screw, complain, and lie. I'd drawn the line at the lying, and we'd broken up last year.

"That's what I thought," Kinsey whispered.

When she sped out of the kitchen to cut across the house through the dining room, I caught up with her and caged her in between the buffet and the china cabinet. I cupped her delicate chin in my hands, tilting her face to mine. Her blue eyes widened.

"Oh, Angel, I'm touched you looked me up."

"Ugh, I bet you're used to girls going full-on stupid when you look at them and lower your voice like that." She was breathless, and damn, it turned me on.

"Like you're doing right now judging by how big your pupils are." I fingered a lock of her damp hair. She whimpered, and I couldn't resist it—I traced my lips along her collarbone. Goddamn, she smelled good. Soft and sweet, a little forbidden. "You don't have to worry, I'm not making plans to peel those tight, little shorts off your ass when I've got a girlfriend twiddling her thumbs while she waits for me to make it big."

Her chest heaved up and down. "What?"

"Gianna's my ex, Angel," I explained. "She's a friend of my sister and Hazel sometimes handles PR for my Facebook page. Sorry, but what you witnessed was my sister flirting on my behalf." Hazel has this unrealistic fantasy that I'll forget all Gianna's lying and bullshit. It wasn't happening.

Kinsey squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh my god, I feel like such an idiot."

"Now," I whispered against her throat. She shuddered, arced her body against mine. I gripped her ass, moved her even closer to me. Her eyes flew open at the realization my cock was rock hard against her flat stomach. "We better get the hell out of here. Before I go through with what I just promised

"Taking my shorts off?" she gasped, and I licked the corners of her lips. "You didn't promise to do that."

"Well, I am now."

♫

Kinsey was quiet the entire trip to the nearest Target and back and didn't speak up until I pulled through a carwash to vacuum the grass out of my truck. Climbing out, she stretched her arms and legs before padding across the asphalt toward me with a determined look on her face.

"You look like you've got a lot to say."

She sat on the brick platform that housed the coin slot. "I don't want to lose what I've got with your grandmother by sleeping with you," she blurted out.

I handed her a couple quarters, and she dropped them in the slot beside her. "So you've thought about me and you?" I demanded loudly over the roar of the vacuum.

She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Well, no shit. You parade around the house with no shirt, you look at me like you're still picturing me naked, and then that kiss." She took a deep, shuddering breath, but before she could continue, someone yelled out her name. Her body went taut. I frowned over her shoulder at the motherfucker in the man-tank and oversized cargo shorts who was leering at us from one of the carwash bays.

"Great," she mumbled under her breath. She shimmied off the bricks. "I'm just going to wait in the truck."

I stopped her, squeezing her hip lightly before she had a chance to run away. "What's wrong?"

She cleared her throat—a nervous, gritty sound—that made me completely stop what I was doing. I hung the vacuum hose back on the holster, waiting for her answer. Finally, she lifted her shoulders. "I'm fine. It's just Ryan. Some ... idiot I went out with once, and—"

But she sure as hell didn't look fine when he jogged over. If I didn't dislike him before, I instantly hated him the moment he let out a low whistle and said, "Jesus, girl, I've tried to call you all summer."

"I've been busy with work?"

"Still at the nursery?" he asked, and she moved her head in a gesture that wasn't exactly positive or negative confirmation. I didn't need to know a damn thing about their history to figure out she wanted nothing to do with this guy, and the fact he was staring at her tits with me right beside her just solidified he was a shit-stain.

I laid a possessive hand on the small of her back, which he immediately noticed because his eyes hardened. _Good._ "You ready to get back to my place, Angel?" I kissed her forehead and victory pumped through me when she lifted her gaze to mine.

"Yes." Relief and gratitude laced her sweet voice. She smiled apologetically at Ryan. "It was good seeing you again, Ryan. I—"

"Is this who you're fucking now?" he demanded incredulously. I started an internal debate over which spot on his pretty face I wanted to punch the most. Before Kinsey had a chance to speak, he sneered and addressed me directly. "Wrap it up, brother. This bitch has been all over the place."

_The nose,_ I finally decided. _Definitely his straight, pretty boy nose._ I strayed from violence—my mother had taught me better—but that didn't mean I didn't take some satisfaction at the sickening crunch that came along when my elbow became acquainted with Ryan's face.

He stumbled back, bumping into the coin machine as he gripped his bleeding nose. "You stupid fucking—"

"If you ever come near her, or speak to her like that again, I'll re-break it," I growled. Facing Kinsey, I froze when I saw that she was covering her own mouth and trembling.

Damn.

Without another word, she slid into the truck and shut the door.

♫

"Sorry about Ryan's nose," I told her several hours later when I found on her on the porch swing after dinner. She was staring out at what was left of the sunlight, rocking slowly back and forth and humming quietly. When she saw me, the music caught in the back of her throat. "Trust me, I don't normally go around beating up assholes, but that guy was a piece of work."

I sat beside her on the swing, and she scooted in the opposite direction. "Where's Mrs. H?"

"In Grandpa's old office taking care of bills."

"Good," she sighed. Her blue eyes lifted to my face. "Thank you."

My mouth dropped in surprise. "Well, hell, Angel, now you're thanking me? You've avoided me ever since we got home. I was thinking I'd pissed you off by hitting him."

"You breaking Ryan Simmons nose didn't piss me off, it was the highlight of my day." Wringing her hands together in her lap, she laughed, but it sounded empty. "His dad owns three car dealerships around here. When he took me out, he figured the fact he's in a dealership commercial on local TV meant he was celebrity enough for me to give him road head. I said no and he got mean, so I just walked home. Needless to say he's spent the last six months spreading it around that I'm a slut."

Now I wished I'd just given up on debating where to punch Ryan and had worked the little shit over. "If he decides to press charges, I'll tell the judge it was worth it to hear the sound of his nose breaking."

She smiled. I moved closer. "You don't have to worry about him pressing charges." She rolled her eyes. "He's telling everyone on Facebook it's a battle wound from riding his four-wheeler."

"Pussy," I drawled, and she nodded in agreement, so I slid even closer to her. Our arms touched. I heard her breath hitch. Damn, I wanted to hear her say my name. But most of all, I just wanted to taste her. "You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do with me."

"I know." When my fingers tangled in her golden hair, she parted her lips, releasing a sexy moan. "I can't stop thinking about you," she admitted. "It's like—you're everywhere. Does that make any sense?"

Good. Because the feeling is mutual.

I brought her face close to mine, but the sound of a horn blaring in the driveway tore us apart. Kinsey slid to the other side of the swing again, her face cherry red.

I was going to kill whoever was still laying on their horn.

I glared out into the driveway, but the high beams flashing in our direction prevented me from identifying the car and driver. Racing down the steps toward the lights, part of me expected to find Ryan brandishing a baseball bat, but then the driver cut the bright lights. I groaned at the sight of my designer purse-toting, scowling sister standing beside the C-class convertible she'd talked Mom and Dad into getting her for her twenty-first birthday last year.

"What are you doing here?" I groaned.

Hazel tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and flashed her teeth at me. "Dad was worried about you, so he sent me to make sure you weren't ... getting into anything _stupid_ out here." She walked past, narrowing her green eyes into thin slits as she did, and gagging me with the scent of whatever cosmetic counter she'd cleaned out. "By the way ... surprise."

Then, sashaying right past Kinsey like she didn't even exist, Hazel swept inside Mim's house and slammed the door.
Chapter Six

Kinsey

It didn't take me long to realize that the relationship between Hazel Hudson and her brother was a love-hate type of thing. Although Mrs. H was thrilled with having both her grandkids in town at once, it was obvious that Emmett saw Hazel's arrival as a giant hindrance. There was absolutely no in-between for them, and most of their interactions with each other were dripping with sarcasm—especially when Emmett's drop dead gorgeous sister brought up his career. At twenty-two, she was a year older than he was and thought he didn't take his future as a musician serious enough. He said she needed to focus on her own life—being a career student. After he'd told her that at dinner, she'd channeled Scarlett O'Hara and thrown her napkin on the table, announced that she was no longer hungry, and had flounced off in an intoxicating cloud of perfume.

With her perfectly coiffed dark hair, her expertly lined green eyes, and her designer wardrobe, Hazel Hudson was a certified drama queen. Not only did she butt heads with her brother, she already clearly disliked me. Every time I spoke, she gave me a look like I'd asked her socialite ass to hold my beer while I went to the next trailer over to see what the fight was about this time. And the only words she'd uttered in my direction so far were one-syllable, impatient, and said with a roll of her eyes.

When I told Lyra about Hazel's arrival a few days later, right before ending our Skype chat, my friend snorted and rolled her gray eyes. "She sounds like a mega bitch." She took a sip from her bottle of water. "And I've been dealing with one of those around here."

"More problems with Ronan?" I asked, but she moved her head from side to side.

"Just a crazy-ass diva who thinks she's the only one on this tour who can use a trapeze." Lyra winked. "She's not and she's a helluva lot older than I am. I'll be soaring long after she's retired and off giving someone else hell." She fluffed the hotel pillows behind her back, her movements giving me a view of her tank top and stomach before her face returned. "And sorry for the boob shot, just had to get comfortable. The floor and my ass had an epic argument today. Obviously, the floor won."

I frowned. "You have big lady balls, Lyra Amador. Seriously, be careful." As she promised that she'd try, I pulled my hair up into a bun on the top of my head and looped a ponytail holder through the golden tresses. "So how _are_ things with Ronan?"

As usual, she quickly redirected the conversation back to my problems. "Have you confronted Hazel and asked her why she's a mega bitch?"

Groaning, I scrubbed my hands over my face and shook my head. "She's had very little to say to me since she's got here, and when I open my mouth to say something to her she slithers away, so there's been absolutely no confronting." Besides, with Hazel's constant name-dropping, her sparkly Mercedes, and her bags of clothing she refused to wash in Mrs. H's washer and dryer, the woman's issue was obvious—she thought she was better than me.

"Hold her down and make her listen."

"I wish." Tapping my nails on the sides of my laptop, I release a frustrated noise from the back of my throat. "And she's _everywhere_. Every time Emmett and I ..."

My friend lifted a delicately arched eyebrow. " _Uh –oh_. Every time you and Emmett _what_?"

I bit my bottom lip. Despite Hazel's arrival, things between Emmett and me had just became more entangled—to the point where a couple nights ago he'd found me down at the pond to talk. For over an hour, we'd talked about everything from his childhood summers spent with Mrs. H in Marietta to his mother's death from breast cancer two years ago to his music career. By the time Hazel had conveniently stumbled on us, her brother's tongue was in my mouth and his hands were all over me, seconds from unsnapping my bra.

It was probably best she had interrupted. I was stupid around Emmett and his intense green eyes and delectably sexy body. But the way Hazel had wrinkled her button nose at me and curled her lips had rubbed me the wrong way.

In fact, everything about her rubbed me the wrong way.

Telling Lyra about the encounter down at the pond, she twisted her lips down and gave me a sympathetic look. "You guys are gonna have to get a hotel room or something when you finally get down to it."

A flush crept over my skin. "How do you know—?"

"Because I'm a psychic," she said, feigning a thick Eastern European accent. "But mostly because I am not an idiot. You grin every time you say the guy's name." A second later, there was a knock on Lyra's door and she scrambled from the bed, setting her computer on the nightstand. Struggling to hide _her_ excited grin over whoever was standing outside her hotel room (my guess was Ronan the Undecided), she leaned over and wagged her finger at the screen. "Okay, I've got to go. Be careful and I'll talk with you soon. And don't let Emmett's sister get to you—if she wants to be a douche, that's her problem."

"I won't," I promised as Lyra blew me a kiss and then disconnected the video call.

♫

During the next few days, Hazel continued to avoid speaking to me, but a week after she rolled into town, we finally had a chat longer than five words when I walked outside to find her on the phone, deep in conversation with someone.

She narrowed her pale green eyes at me. "Do you mind? This is a private call." Covering the speaker with her palm, she briskly nodded at the front door and flicked her hand at it, like she was shooing away a disobedient puppy. "Well, go on. I'll tell you when you can come back out here."

_Wow. Was she serious with that crap?_ Biting the inside of my cheek, I slipped back into the house, but not before I heard her tell whoever she was talking to, "I'll be glad when Grandma puts out the trash." Whatever their response was made her giggle. "Well, yeah but that's because Emmett's stupid and thinks with his dick."

With my ears burning, I started to head upstairs to my bedroom, but the screen door flinging open stopped me. "It's all yours." I turned around to see Hazel flipping her wavy, dark tresses over her shoulder. I must have been trashy all right, because all I could think about in that moment was ripping a few strands of her immaculate hair from her rude head. She smirked as I walked by. "Just so you know, Emmett's flighty. Whatever he's told you, just remember that when he goes back to Nashville, he'll forget about you and his career will come first again."

Pausing at the door, I offered her a tight smile over my shoulder. "Guess it's a shame the only thing Emmett's told me is about his album." Hazel's sneer faded slightly. "I'd hate for him to forget his own lyrics."

"He said you sing, too."

"I do." I mimicked her smirk and placed my hands on my hips. "But don't worry, I have no plan to screw your brother in exchange for a duet."

Then, leaving her with her mouth hanging open, I stalked back outside. I started to head to the pond, but the sun glinted off something sitting on the floor of the porch by the steps. Squinting, I knelt down. It was a necklace. A very costly looking necklace—a diamond encrusted olive leaf dangling from a simple white gold chain.

I knew it had to be Hazel's, and for a split second, I almost considered tossing it into the grass and letting her find it herself. But then I realized just how awful that thought was, and I picked it up. Poking my head in the house, I yelled her name.

"What?" she snapped. I looked up the stairs to see her staring down at me over the railing. "What do you need?"

Ugh. I really, really should've thrown this stupid thing in the grass. "I think I have something of yours," I said and dangled the delicate piece of jewelry from my index fingers.

Racing back downstairs, she looked at me with a scowl on her face. "Why on earth do you have that?"

_Geez, so much for a thank you._ "You dropped it outside."

"Just give it to me." She held her hand out, and I dropped the necklace in her palm. As she flounced back upstairs, I mentally shanked myself for not leaving the thing where it lay.

♫

"Your sister hates me," I told Emmett a week and a half later on the way to the Fourth of July parade and fireworks at a nearby park. I had stupidly figured that Hazel would be long gone back to Texas by now, but I'd had no such luck. She had made herself at home and who knew how long she was planning to stay. And for someone who stared at me like I was a piece of lint on her designer halter dress, she was surely everywhere I went.

Emmett groaned and rubbed his large hand over his face. When he gripped the steering wheel again, his expression was serious and just a little irritated. "Has she been talking shit to you?"

I vividly remembered the way she'd responded to me finding her necklace over a week ago, and I shrugged. There was no use complaining to him about Hazel. He would only confront her and then she'd likely take her bitchy attitude to the next level.

Instead, I asked, "So you _are_ aware she hates me?"

Cocking his head, he looked over at me and even the half-smile that formed on his lips made my heart skip a beat. "Hazel hates everyone."

"Everyone involved with you," I mused, and he nodded as he searched for a good parking spot. "Well, except for Gianna."

"Yeah, well, Gianna's not exactly Miss Congeniality." He drummed the steering wheel for a moment. "So you're finally admitting we're involved?"

Toying with my necklace, I cleared my throat. "Yeah, we are."

"So now you'll tell me why you're always touching that?" His hand closed over mine, stilling the fingers that rubbed over the key and electrifying my skin. "It's driving me crazy not knowing."

I ran my tongue over my lips. "You'll probably think it's stupid ..."

"I can't think anything if you won't tell me."

Dragging in a painful breath, I laughed. "Guess you're right. It—it's just the key to this little house my parents rented when I was in middle school." He let go of my hand and trailed his fingers down to my leg. Through the flimsy material of my red and white sundress, he squeezed my thigh and my stomach clenched. "We'd been living with relatives up until then, moving from place to place, and I was so happy when they got the house. A new start, you know?"

He nodded, and I put my hand over his and glanced into his green eyes. "I was thirteen when we moved, and my mom got me this little key made at some grocery store kiosk. For afternoons when I got home from school and they weren't around." Shrugging, I glanced down at the necklace. "We were only there for a month before my dad got arrested again, so I never got to use it. I kept it to remind myself that things were _almost_ fine."

"I'm sorry, Angel."

"Don't be," I whispered. "Like I said, it's probably stupid to wear this damn thing just because I have childhood abandonment issues."

Finally putting the car in park, he scooted across the cab until our thighs rubbed and bent his head close to mine. I shivered when his breath touched my skin and closed my eyes. "It's impossible to stay away from you, Kinsey." He cupped my face in his hand, using his thumb to make tiny circles on my cheek. "I mean that."

Well, he hadn't stayed away from me. And for the last couple weeks, I hadn't even tried to fight my attraction to him. I wanted to kiss Emmett Hudson—wanted him in my atmosphere. "Yeah, I can't stay away from you either," I murmured when I felt his fingers on my shoulder and then in my hair.

"So what are we gonna do, Angel?"

He tilted my face up to his, and I was lost—in his green eyes and the way his fingers felt on my skin. And before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Tonight."

Surprise widened his eyes, but he recovered quickly, nodding. Just before he slanted his lips over mine, he repeated my words.

"Tonight."

Chapter Seven

It was hard to concentrate on the celebration when the promise of what would happen later tonight hung over my head, but somehow I managed, going through the motions with my fingers linked with Emmett's. I was just about sure that nothing would ruin my day, but just as the fireworks started, my eyes landed on the last person I wanted to see tonight.

Damn, what was she doing here?

Several feet away from us stood Emmett's sister, looking like a festive fashion plate in a pair of tight white jeans, red wedges and a little red, white, and blue halter top. She was with some guy and was chatting his ear off as he laid a blanket in the grass, but when she spotted her brother and me on a nearby bench, she paused for a moment. And sneered.

"I retract what I said earlier about your sister hating me. I think she's just insane and slightly stalkerish," I said, shooting a glance across the grass at Hazel, who returned the gesture with her trademark icy green glare. What the hell was her problem with me? Leaning back on the bench, I tilted my head to the side and narrowed my eyes to match her expression. "I swear, she makes Cersei look tame."

Emmett arched his brows and lowered his gaze. I tilted my face up, swallowing hard when our eyes met. "Who the hell is that?" he drawled, a smile teasing the corners of his full lips. "Well, don't just sit there looking all sneaky, Kinsey, who is it?"

I wasn't looking sneaky. I was looking at him underneath the brilliant shades of red and yellow lighting the sky. At the tiny bump on the bridge of his nose. The shadow on his chin from not shaving this morning—he should never shave, ever. At his eyes. Green like his sister's, but so different they made it hard for me to breathe because his eyes were everything.

I was looking at him and that was just as bad as looking sneaky, because I wanted things with him I couldn't explain.

Sliding off the bench, I looked over my shoulder. I almost expected the bronze face under all that curly brown hair to go up in flames when I caught him staring at my ass, but he simply grinned. He wanted me to know he was watching me, wanting me, and the knot in the pit of my stomach tugged even tighter.

This might not last, I reminded myself. He was twenty-one and maybe Hazel was right—maybe he wouldn't give my ass another thought after the summer. Besides, his grandmother had done way too much to help me for me to screw myself over with him.

But when he stood, pressing his tall, built body close to mine to whisper in my ear, "You planning to answer me, gorgeous?" and I breathed in his scent, it was hard to think about anything but the present.

Gorgeous.

No wonder he already had the music industry falling all over itself for him. He was going to be a star.

One word. One softly whispered word, and I was starstruck.

I held my breath. Released. Repeated. "She's a ... book character. Epic fantasy," I murmured at last. "She's like the queen of all messed up siblings. If they ever bring her to the big screen, maybe your crazy sister could play her." I took a step away from him and forced a laugh. "But enough about your sister. Once the fireworks finish, do you want to get out of here?"

His fingers on my hip stiffened, but he moved his head up and down slowly. "I thought you'd never ask, Angel."

♫

We didn't bring up Hazel again because as soon as the fireworks were over, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward his truck. He drove in silence, but I didn't need words. His hands said everything his mouth didn't.

They started on my bare knees, his fingertips carefully spreading my legs apart and moving the skirt of my sundress aside. The thunderous sound of my heart overpowered the song playing softly on the radio—something slow and sexy that was way too convenient for the atmosphere here in the truck. And when his hand moved higher, stroking the insides of my thighs, the moan of pleasure that escaped my throat made it impossible to hear any other sound in the cab of the truck.

I wasn't innocent—wasn't even close to it—but being with Emmett made me breathless, made me feel like this was something brand new and undiscovered for me.

"Do you still want this?" he asked when he pulled into the hotel parking lot, and I moved my head slowly.

"More than anything."

His lips covered mine the second the hotel door closed behind us, and his hands splayed over my ass possessively. "Fuck, I want you so much."

I arched my back, letting myself get lost in the need behind the demanding kisses he spread over my lips. My head was spinning when he pulled away to drag my dress over my head. He tossed it aside, and it landed on an armchair by the mini fridge. "I understand if this is a one-time thing," I murmured, sliding my fingers beneath the hem of his black tee shirt. I splayed my hands over his muscular torso and shivered. God, no man's body should be this tempting. "I mean, I realize that you'll be leaving soon."

"Kinsey," he groaned as I shoved his shirt past his chest. "Stop talking."

Shrugging him out of the tee shirt, I pressed my lips to one of the cogs linking the elements of his eagle tattoo together and inhaled his scent. "But if it's going to be more—" I started, but he covered my lips with his thumb.

Moving us in the direction of the bed, he moved his finger, replacing it with his lips for another kiss. I trembled when he unsnapped my bra and cold air touched my bare breasts. He laid me down on the bed. "God, you're beautiful, Kinsey."

Swallowing hard, I started to repeat myself—to tell him I'd understand if this would be a one-time thing—but he lowered his dark head to my breasts. His tongue circled my nipple, then the other, and fire ignited in my core.

"This won't be a one-time thing," he said in a low voice between little flicks of his tongue. It was torture. Sweet, beautiful, incredible torture. "I told you already—I can't stay away from you. I'm not even gonna try anymore." At my sigh, he landed a kiss on my bellybutton, his tongue skimming my bellybutton ring.

"Oohhh," I moaned hoarsely.

"Relax, Angel," he ordered, his voice low and hypnotizing as he glanced up at me with moss green irises full of promise. At the sound that released from the back of my throat, he repositioned his body and returned his mouth's focus back to my breasts and my mouth. With his fingers, he stroked the insides of my thighs. The fire speeding through my body—it was hotter, heavier, demanding more. I arched my back. Curled my toes into the hotel sheets.

"Relax and open your legs," he told me again between demanding kisses and agonizing strokes of his tongue over my nipples. Cupping my breast, he gave it one rough pump before sitting up straight and staring down at me. "I want to see you, Kinsey." I shivered when he said my name like that. Like I was his.

"I want to taste you." He traced his fingers along the lace center of my panties, causing me to gasp when I felt a fingertip ease under the fabric. "I need to feel you."

"Yes," I breathed. I slid my feet apart on the sheets slowly. My heart slammed harder against my chest with every centimeter I moved, and his grin widened right along with my legs. I'd never been this exposed to anyone before—not without begging to turn the lights completely down first—but here I was. With the lamp on. Showing every inch of my bare body to the last person I should be in bed with.

He stopped me by sliding his bronze body between my thighs when they involuntarily started to squeeze together. Pinned my wrists by my head when I tried to cover my breasts from his gaze.

"Why not?" I whispered and he nipped at my lips with his teeth.

"Never hide your body, Angel. You were made to be worshiped."

I was going to combust.

"Touch me," I whispered.

"You won't sleep tonight," he promised. Positioning my legs over his muscular shoulders, he bent his head between my legs. Kissed my thighs and inhaled my scent and made my pulse sing a frantic melody beneath my skin. "You're already trembling. What are you going to do when my tongue touches your pussy, Kinsey?"

That word was so dirty, so primal, that I had to catch my breath before I responded. "I don't know, I'll probably—" I started, but he decided to answer the question himself, his mouth hot and demanding as it greedily devoured my core. My legs stiffened around his shoulders. I felt the vibration of his teasing laughter against my flesh, and a second later, the velvety softness of his tongue as it pushed inside of me. He flicked it in and out, his mouth memorizing me, his fingertips rough on my thighs.

When I felt a long finger join his tongue, I bucked my hips. "Oohhh!" I cried out. He murmured something, and even though I wasn't sure if Emmett was asking if I approved, I couldn't help nodding my head feverishly. By the time the orgasm pulsed through me—and it didn't take long—I was biting down hard enough on my lip to taste copper and tangling my hands in his curly dark hair.

When I loosened my grip, I let out a noise that sounded nothing like me. "Oh. My. God."

Looking up at me, Emmett grinned cockily. "You want more?" he asked. My earlier reservations temporarily forgotten, I nodded. He licked my center. And every muscle in my body tightened. "What do you want, Angel?"

How the hell could he even ask me that when I was still writhing beneath him? "You!"

"For me to what?" Another lick—this one long and teasing and drawing a deep moan from the back of my throat. Dear Lord, this man was blessed with an epically talented tongue, and I was dangerously close to coming. Again. "Let me hear you say it like before."

"Touch my pussy, Emmett. Just ... touch me."

He sucked in a breath. "Do you know how sexy you are when you say that?"

I shook my head wildly, strands of golden hair flying into my face. "Show me."

He gave my sex one last kiss before sitting up. He was still in a pair of black boxer briefs, but that didn't hide the impressive bulge. Noticing my wide-eyed stare, he chuckled and pressed the palm of my hand to his cock. "You did this. You've been doing this since I laid eyes on you."

My throat was dry as I scrambled to get up, but I still managed, "Do you want me to—"

"We'll do that later, Angel. For now, I want you on your knees and elbows." When I started to question him, he pressed a finger to my lips, repeating slowly, "On your knees and elbows."

Nodding, I barely registered what he said next as he repositioned my legs, his fingers spreading me apart all over again, turning me into a trembling mess. "Please," I murmured.

He leaned over me and pulled a gold condom packet out of the back pocket of his jeans. It took him twenty seconds flat to get himself ready, and then I sighed at the sensation of him rubbing himself back and forth over my sex. "Say that one more time," he whispered. I looked over my shoulder at him, and he pushed himself a little inside me. He was deliciously thick, and I clenched myself around him and bucked my hips. He gripped my ass, stopping me. "Damn, you're going to be my undoing."

I didn't think of how many times this gorgeous, insanely talented man might have said those exact same words to other women, because right now, he was mine. I just wanted his hands on my body. I wanted his body in mine.

I wanted him everywhere.

"Please," I murmured.

Then he was all over me—filling me, his teeth skimming my shoulder, his lips against my ear. I reveled in the sound of our bodies moving together and the squeak of the bed. And later, after we left the hotel room and he took me home, he kissed me softly as he helped me out of his truck. Then he said three words that made my heart soar:

"You are mine."

Chapter Eight

Emmett was _mine_ during the next few weeks, and I couldn't remember a time in my life when I was so ... _happy_. It didn't matter to me that his sister refused to slither back to Texas or that whenever Mrs. H saw us together, her brow furrowed in a worried frown. The only thing I could think about was him. The way he was slowly learning my body during other times spent at that same hotel or in his truck or wherever else we could find a moment alone to devour each other. The way he said my name just after he kissed me. The way my chest tightened every time he looked in my direction.

I was falling—hard. So damn hard that somehow, I'd forgotten that all good things had to come to an end. For me, it wasn't the end of July, but a week before, when I came home from the nursery to find Hazel ransacking my bedroom.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. Before I could stop myself, I was halfway across the room, my hands on her shoulders as I jerked her to her feet. "Get the hell out."

She shoved her face close to mine, a cruel gleam making her green eyes look like shiny marbles. "You stole my necklace, you trashy little bitch, so give it back before I call the cops."

I froze, my brows drawing together in confusion. I released her shoulders and dragged my hands through my hair. "Okay, what is your deal with me? I haven't touched anything of yours."

"Right." Pushing me aside, she stomped toward my closet, but I blocked her. "Move, slut," she snapped. I put my hands on my hips and lifted my chin in defiance. Oh my god, this woman was a piece of work. Eventually, she shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "Fine then, have it your way."

A few seconds after she pulled out her phone and punched in the numbers, making sure she jabbed all three buttons slowly and dramatically, I knocked the phone out of her hand. It landed on the braided rug between our feet.

"How can you call the cops when I have no idea what you're accusing me of?" I shouted.

"Because if you didn't do it, you'd move out of my way to let me in the closet."

The sound of shuffling at my bedroom door dragged both our attention toward Mrs. Hudson. She gripped the doorway with one hand for support and flicked her gaze from me to her granddaughter, and then back again.

"What's wrong?" she asked tiredly.

Since I was still at a loss, I held up my hands, shaking my head helplessly, but Hazel breezed past me to stand in front of her grandmother. "The Tiffany necklace Mom and Dad gave me for my birthday? It's missing." She rubbed her palm across her collarbone, and I held back the urge to roll my eyes at the theatrics. This was a serious accusation. One I was relieved had _nothing_ to do with me. "Considering McKinsey's had no problem taking things in the past, I wanted to make sure she didn't—"

"Are you fucking with me?" I blurted out at the same time Mrs. H harshly whispered, "Do you know how serious it is to accuse McKinsey of something like that?"

Nodding, Hazel turned her back to Mrs. Hudson. Her green eyes were full of triumph as she waltzed to my closet. "Of course I know, but if she didn't take anything, she wouldn't have a problem with me looking, right? After all, I've already searched the rest of the room."

"Without my permission," I said through my teeth, and Mrs. H cast a disgusted look at Hazel.

It didn't even faze her. "If Kinsey's clean, I'll apologize."

Slowly Mrs. Hudson walked into the room and approached me. She took my hands into hers, and even though I knew what would happen next, my heart still felt like it was sinking when she said, "I know you didn't take anything." She took a deep breath, and I could see just how much this was hurting her. "But please, just to keep the peace ..."

Because I was sure there was a bottle or two leftover from the night Lyra stayed here, I was terrified of what Hazel would find in the closet, but I moved my head up and down. Mrs. H finding out I'd snuck alcohol in the house was so much better than leaving her to think I was a thief.

"Fine," I whispered.

Wearing the most insincere forlorn expression I'd ever seen, Hazel knelt down on her hands and knees and poked her immaculately styled face into the closet just as the sound of heavy boots thundered up the stairs. I was already so mortified that I wanted the floor to swallow me. I wasn't sure I could handle Emmett witnessing his sister make a fool of me.

When he popped his head into my room, I shot him a pleading look, but as soon as he took in the sight of Mrs. H and me—and his sister rummaging through my belongings—he was fully involved.

"What the hell is going on?"

"My Tiffany necklace is missing," Hazel snapped. He walked into the room, stopping just a few feet away from me. I lowered my eyes to the floor. "Just wanted to make sure our resident thief didn't get bored."

"Don't be a bitch," he growled, and Mrs. Hudson gasped. "Sorry, Mim, but it's true. Hazel's had it out for—"

"What have we here?" his sister interrupted him, the surprise in her voice sounding unmistakably gleeful. The sound of bottles clinking together made me cringe, and when she plunked the half-empty box of wine coolers on the floor next to Mrs. Hudson's feet, shame washed through me. A second later, Hazel threw something else out of the closet, and I was horrified when I focused in on a box of condoms.

"I'd remove the vibrator," Hazel said, "But who knows where it's been."

"Please," I whispered. "Stop."

But she climbed as far into the closet as she could, making little oohs and ahhs, until Emmett rushed toward her, gripped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. "This shit has to stop," he roared.

But she shook her head. "I'm sorry your bang-buddy is a thief, little brother." Despite Mrs. Hudson's groan and the look of sheer disappointment that crept into her dark eyes, Hazel continued, "Who knows what else she's stolen while living under this roof." She lifted her hand so everyone in the room could see and slowly opened her fist.

At first, I wanted to believe she wasn't holding anything.

She shouldn't have been holding anything.

But then I saw the same necklace I'd given back to her after she dropped it on the porch a couple weeks ago. The one with the diamond olive leaf. My fingerprints were all over that thing, and who the hell knew what it was worth. Dread spread through my body as I backed toward my bedroom door and three sets of eyes turned to look at me.

Hazel's conquest.

Mrs. Hudson's disbelief.

And Emmett's shattered heart.

♫

"I didn't take anything," I told Mrs. H frantically a half an hour later as Hazel talked to the cops. I'd been instructed not to leave the couch, so my foster mother sat a few inches away from me, staring numbly at the giant black and white blow-up of her wedding portrait that hung over the fireplace. "I swear I didn't take it."

Emmett had refused to listen to me—had refused to even look at me—but Mrs. H's hand found mine, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get this worked out, McKinsey."

She believed me. I almost let out a sob of relief as she held my hand, but I said nothing. I said nothing when one of the officers told me they needed to take me in. Or when I walked past Hazel's smirk. Or when Emmett turned his eyes from me as I was escorted to the squad car.

I said nothing, and hours later, as I sat in a holding cell because Hazel Hudson was most certainly pressing charges, I wished I would've opened my mouth.

♫

"Jesus, what the hell are you doing in here, girl?" the voice speaking to my back stopped me cold in my tracks, and I clutched the threadbare towel closer to my chest, breathing deeply before I gathered up the courage to turn around and face her. This was my third day here—the first I'd ventured into the general population.

I should've expected I'd run into _her_.

Two women stood in front of me, but my gaze zeroed in on the one I knew. The one who'd always left. I hadn't seen her in nearly eighteen months, but she hadn't changed a bit. Same smirk. Same mahogany hair hanging limply around a face that had gotten too old too soon, thanks to too much partying. Jessica Bell was a couple inches shorter than my five foot seven, but I still felt as small as a child when she swept her denim blue eyes over me.

"Mom," I said, my voice raw.

"Give me minute," she told her friend, who smirked at me before nodding and heading away. Putting her hand on her hips, my mother shook her head slowly in disappointment. "Come on, girl. Let's go sit down."

From our new spot on the floor with our backs to the wall, Mom gazed out at a group of women playing cards and rubbed the tips of her thumb and middle finger together—the same way she always did when she was deep in thought. At last, she looked at me. "I'd told myself you were smart enough not to end up in here."

"Wasn't I bred for this?" I snapped, and when her eyes hardened, I stared down at the floor, shuffling my feet until a scuff mark formed on the slick surface. Mrs. H would be so disappointed in me if she heard me talk to my mom like that. I twisted the collar of my shirt between my fingers, wishing my key necklace hadn't been taken during booking. "Sorry."

"I probably deserve it."

She did, but that didn't mean I needed to be rude to her. I licked my lips. "I didn't do it, Mom."

She snorted. "That's what they all say, sugar."

"Is Dad in here too?"

When she laughed, I felt the sharp slap of ridicule taking in her incredulous expression. "Do you see your dad?" She held her arms out wide, gesturing to all the women around us. "How the fuck should I know where he is?"

Which meant he was the reason why she was behind bars in the first place. Why wasn't I surprised? Clearing my throat, I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms tightly around them. "Are you going to be here for a while? Just in case ..." But my mother moved her head from side to side. Coldness whooshed through my chest.

"Thank _god_ , my three months are up next week." She tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. "From that scared look on your face, I'm guessing you don't know how long you'll be here."

"I didn't do it," I whispered. "So I'll be fine. Someone will come for me, and I'll be fine."

Her lips parted to say something, but then she stopped herself. Gulped down whatever she was about to say that would rip me apart a little more. "I sure as hell hope so, Kinsey."

An awkward, painful silence settled over us until finally my mother scooted to her feet. Wiping dust off her ass, she stared down at me and the pity in her gaze numbed me. "Once your time is through, we could try to fix things. I was a baby myself when I had you, but I'll try my best."

This is what I'd hoped to hear almost my entire life, but for some reason, I felt numb as I looked up at her and slowly bobbed my head.

I didn't do anything wrong.

Things would be fine because I didn't do anything this time.

Everything would go back to normal, and I'd be able to go _home_.

♫

But I didn't go home.

And other than one uncomfortable visit from my mother two weeks after she was released, nobody came for me.

So I waited.

And just when I finally gave up after a couple months, when I finally came to terms with the fact that I had nobody—no Emmett, no Mrs. H, not even my mother whose letters had been returned to me marked _Moved, Left No Address_ —I finally got a visitor.

Lyra.

She sat across from me at visitation, her pink lips pressed together, and her hands starch white because she was gripping the phone so tightly. "I've been worried sick about you. I would've come sooner, but my mom has a bad habit of collecting my mail for months, and I _just_ got your letters when I was home in Savannah," she whispered. She put her hand against the glass separating us, and I swallowed down the sob threatening to explode from the back of my throat. If I hadn't cried in the last several weeks, there was no point doing it now. Not even when Lyra reminded me of just how screwed I was. "A year. They gave you a year. I'm so sorry, Kinz."

"I didn't do it." I'd been saying it for so long, it sounded robotic now. I touched the glass, earning an eye roll from the woman in the next booth over. "Hazel set me up."

Lyra closed her eyes. "I didn't think you did, I just—"

"That crazy bitch set me up because she thought I'd ruin her brother's career and then she poisoned Mrs. H into hating me too." I'd written long letters to both Emmett and Mrs. Hudson and neither had responded—not that I'd expected them to. My fingerprints had been all over Hazel's necklace, and given my history, I didn't have a leg to stand on.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell to feel abandoned.

My friend took a deep breath. "Kinsey ... I don't know anything about Emmett, but Mrs. Hudson ..."

The hesitation in her voice froze my spine, and I knew I didn't want to hear what she was about to say next. I knew it would finally break me.

And it did. Because what Lyra said next was worse than waiting or being alone.

What she said finally broke the numbness and dragged out the sobs I'd been holding in since I was arrested because I kept telling myself that I would figure it out, that things _could_ be okay.

Mrs. Hudson was ... gone.
Chapter Nine

Five Months Later

Gripping the plastic bag holding my belongings and the clothes I'd worn when I got arrested, I thanked the guard for the sweatshirt and pants she'd given me to wear home today. "I'll bring them back," I promised, but she waved it off.

"Take care of yourself, Kinsey." She wagged her finger at me and narrowed her eyes sternly. "I mean it—I better not see you in here again."

"Don't worry, you won't."

Stepping out into the lobby of the building that had been my home for the last several months, I eased down on the closest bench and gathered my thoughts. I still couldn't believe I was done. Up until a few days ago, I'd thought for sure I'd spend the next four and a half months here—that I'd have to make a choice that would finally push me to the breaking point. Fortunately, my lawyer had worked a miracle.

Blinking back the moisture prickling behind my eyelids, I sorted through the plastic bag I was clutching until I found my phone and key necklace. As I waited for the phone to power on, I slipped on the necklace and squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing the cuts of the key over the pad of my thumb.

_Just breathe,_ I reminded myself. _Everything changes now._

I was scared to death of those changes, but I would be fine.

I didn't have any other choice.

"Thank goodness," a voice said, and I opened my eyes. I immediately grinned at the sight of Lyra as she rounded the corner carrying a bag of chips and a drink from the vending machine. "Didn't think you'd be out so fast. The deputy said it would take half an hour to process your paperwork, so I went to grab you a snack."

"So the thank goodness was for me being done early?"

She snorted. "Nah, it's for that." She pointed to the top of my head. "The dark hair has made its epic return, and god, I missed it."

Gently touching my dark roots, I snorted. "As soon as I get settled in, I'm making a date with a box of hair color and dying it all brown." She walked closer to me, and I swallowed the lump of emotion in my throat. I hadn't seen her since she visited over five months ago, and I didn't want to start our reunion with tears. Not when there was so many other things to say.

"You came," I whispered. I wasn't sure she'd be able to, considering I'd found out just a few days ago that I was going to be released early, but Lyra had pulled it off.

She rolled her big gray eyes. "Of course, I came. As soon as the deputy called to let me know you were being released early, I told my ..." Her words trailed off when I stood up and her focus zeroed in on my stomach. "That wasn't there the last time I saw you."

"Lyra," I whispered.

"Oh. My. _God_."

"Lyra."

She pulled me close, careful not to squish the giant bump when she hugged me. "This is why they let you out early?" When I nodded, she shook her head in disbelief and then grinded her teeth together angrily. "That cowboy boot-wearing asshole knocked you up."

Hooking my hand under her upper arm, I led her out of the lobby and outside. "We can talk about this in the car." It was February now, much cooler than it was when I stepped foot in the building seven months ago, but I welcomed the chill and dragged in a harsh breath.

As soon as we were behind closed doors in Lyra's rental car, she placed one of her small hands on my shoulders. "Does he know?" She dragged her other hand through her jet black hair, still trying to come to terms with what she'd just discovered. "Jesus, Kinz, you haven't even said a word to _me_ about this. Did you know about this when I came to see you last year?"

I shook my head. I'd found out about the pregnancy the week after Lyra's visit. And I'd had five months to ask myself how, _when_. Emmett and I had been careful, but obviously we'd slipped up somewhere during the three weeks last summer when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. And now, he was gone.

"I found out shortly after you came," I whispered.

"And you never thought about telling me in a letter or—I don't know—the fifty or so times we talked on the phone?"

She looked hurt, and I rushed to explain why I hadn't broadcasted my condition. "You would've worried. Every day you're performing or practicing, dangling several feet in the air. There was no way in hell I was going to have you stressing over me while you're doing that."

Lyra sighed and started the engine. "Um, hell yeah I was going to worry. You're my friend and you were in a horrible situation caused by a horribly bitchy person. And I understand why you didn't say anything, but I wish you had." She tapped her fingernails anxiously against the steering wheel. "You didn't deserve to go through this alone."

There was a long moment of silence between us as Lyra drove. I finally broke it, softly whispering, "I wrote him a letter telling him what was going on." I'd written several, but I wouldn't tell Lyra that because it hurt too much to admit it aloud.

"Did he respond?"

Sharp needles pierced my chest, but I managed to shake my head. "No."

"Then you've got to call him."

"No."

She shot daggers at me as she merged into another lane. "If you don't, I will. The asshole has a number one single right now. He can take a little time away from his adoring—"

"What?" _Emmett's first single had already been released? God, I'd missed everything. I missed_ him.

Lyra cringed. "I thought you knew."

Of course I didn't know. His sister had made sure I wouldn't be around for the official launch of the career she was so protective of. "Well ... congratulations to him." I didn't want him to think I was calling him for money, but I knew Lyra was right. In the coming weeks, I would become a mom. And what kind of mother would I be if I didn't do everything in my power to make sure Emmett at least knew what was going on? Some naïve part of my brain desperately hoped he hadn't gotten the letter. That he had no idea I was pregnant.

That it was still possible for there to be an _us._

"Kinz?" Lyra's soft voice crept into my thoughts, and I took a deep breath.

"I promise I'll call him tonight."

♫

I still had money from my old job at the nursery in my savings account, but Lyra insisted on covering the hotel room. Tomorrow morning we'd go apartment hunting. After that, I'd get to visit Mrs. H's grave and then I'd get my phone reactivated, but first—first, I had to call Emmett.

I waited until Lyra left the room to look up the number I'd saved for him. Shaking from head to toe, I dialed the number into the phone by my bed and waited. What would I say? Hell, would the tears start again and turn me into a blubbering fool?

Would he even answer?

"Hello?" A silky female voice purred, and my shoulders tightened. When I didn't immediately speak up, she murmured, "Are you there?"

"Yeah." Digging my fingernails into my palm, I continued, "I-I'm trying to reach Emmett Hudson."

"Yeah?" she sounded like she was teasing me. "Who is this, darlin'?"

"Kinsey. McKinsey Brock."

She didn't bother to cover the speaker when she drawled, "Baby, McKinsey Brock's on the phone for you. Do you know who that is?" My stomach hardened. _Baby?_ I held my fist against my mouth and listened as he responded to her. It was muffled, and they went back and forth for a moment before she came back on the line. "He's in the middle of something, you want to leave a message with me?"

"Just tell him—" My breath caught. "You know what? Maybe you can help me. Just ask him if he got the last letter? The one I wrote in October where I told him everything?"

Once again, she didn't cover the phone, and when I heard his response, it was loud and clear. And I wished I'd never called.

"Tell her ... tell her I fucking _can't_ ," he muttered, his voice defeated.

His companion returned with the message, but I didn't hear a word of what she said. Something loud and indescribably painful blared in my ears. I slowly lowered the phone to its hook. And for the longest time I stared at the re-run playing on the hotel TV. I stared until the characters blurred together and the ringing in my ears became so deafening, I could hardly breathe.

'I fucking can't.'

Those words would stick with me for years. Probably for the rest of my life. The piece of Emmett left with me kicked hard, and I choked down the slow burn consuming me.

Forced myself to come back to reality.

Reminded myself that I would be _okay_.

I listened to his song, the one that was tearing up the charts. It was the same one he played for me in Mrs. H's kitchen months ago, and my heart twisted remembering how he'd looked at me that day. Like I was the only girl in the world.

Hazel had been right about one thing. It hadn't taken her brother long to sweep me under the rug.

Hours later, I fell asleep looking at a picture on my phone of us together—the day we'd watched the fireworks—but the next morning, I erased it right before I got dressed to go apartment hunting.

The first cut ... it had hurt. It was deep, and I'd feel it for years to come.

I needed to be grateful he'd made the choice for me, and there wouldn't be a second one.

To Be Continued ...

Coming July 2015

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The first cut was deep

The second cut is the deepest

♫

Kinsey Brock knew Emmett Hudson would be a star the moment he swaggered into her life. Hell, by the time she was released for the crime his scheming sister accused her of he already had a number one single.

Now, eight years and a helluva lot of heartache later, Kinsey's long since given up on the boy who stole her breath away and took all the love she had. She has someone in her life, and he's all she needs. She'll challenge anyone who tells her otherwise. But after a chance encounter sends Emmett hurtling back into her life, every emotion she's forced herself to forget since he gave up on her is pushed to the surface.

Because this time, the country megastar's not giving up on her.

No matter how furious he is about the discovery of the other man who's become Kinsey's world.

About the Author

Emily Snow is The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Devoured series and several standalone romances. She loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories about naughty rockers. Visit her on  Facebook, on her blog at emilysnowbooks.blogspot.com, or chat with her on Twitter @emilysnowbks for news, teasers, and contests.

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