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“I doubt Chrissie will mind losing a little sleep to talk about her new album,” Mason said. “The label needs to see more tracks.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you called her down to the lobby to deal with her parents,” Dante shot back.
“Look,” Mason said, dropping his voice. “I don’t want them here. I know their problems are a distraction. But I can’t send the talent’s family packing.”
“The talent,” Dante repeated through clenched teeth. She was a person, with wants and needs—including sleep, dammit.
“Chrissie,” Mason corrected, taking a step back. “Chrissie would never let me send her family home. Plus, it’s good for her image. The girl-next-door country singer with the loving parents.”
“That music video didn’t strike me as wholesome,” Dante grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” Mason agreed. “And country music fans will eat it up. The sweet girl who sings a racy love song? I think we have a hit with that one, which is why I need to talk to her about completing the record. She has to write a couple more songs.”
“I’ll tell her you stopped by,” Dante said. “After her nap.”
…
Chrissie hovered on the edge of sleep. She’d walked off the stage feeling as if she could close her eyes and drift off to dreamland while standing up. Even after Dante left her room, the moon still high in the Colorado sky, she’d been unable to sleep. The weight of what she needed to do, of all she had to accomplish, kept her awake until the sun began to rise.
Now, the bits and pieces of Dante’s conversation with her manager drifted through the door, barring sleep. Mason was right. She needed to write another couple of songs. And she wanted to use her own words. But what did she have to say?
She sat up and searched the room for a pen and paper. She found a marker by the coffeemaker and a few
napkins. Not ideal, but good enough. Now she just needed the words…
She closed her eyes and waited for them to flow. But her world felt as if it was spinning beyond her control. The family she’d always known was crumbling around her. She couldn’t keep up with the demands of her career. And the one person she wanted—Dante—would be leaving soon. One week, another month, and he wouldn’t be there to catch her when her world felt as if it might fall apart. She needed to push forward on her own, without her guard SEAL to watch over her.
“Chrissie?”
She looked up and saw Dante peering into the room. He frowned as he walked in and closed the door behind him.
“I saw the light on,” he said. “You’re supposed to be napping.”
“I had an idea for a song,” she lied.
He walked over and glanced at the blank napkin. Then he gently took the marker from her hand. “You can work on it later. Mason, your label, they can all wait.”
“But—”
“Shhh,” he murmured as he sank down behind her on the sofa.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and he began to kneed the tense, tired muscles. His thumbs ran down her spine, his fingers gliding over her shoulder blades, and she closed her eyes. He reached her lower back, and she felt a jolt of heat and need.
“We can’t,” she said. “Not here.”
“Honey, we’re not getting naked in the greenroom,” he said as his hands retraced their path to her shoulders. “I’m not trying to seduce you,” he added.
“Oh.”
“I’m going to help you relax and fall sleep.”
She lowered her chin to her chest. “It’s working,” she whispered.
When she woke, she would focus on her unwritten songs. She could think about how this man seemed determined to take care of her at every turn. And it felt so good. Too good. When he left…
She felt the tension fighting for purchase in her shoulders as he continued to rub her back. When he left, she’d be able to focus on her music. That was the bright side. And the fact that she’d miss him and his orgasms? His late-night lessons and his back rubs?
She’d find the words for her pain and put them into a song.
