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“I know,” Ronan said, and his tone shifted back into serious mode. “I’ve heard her music, too.”
“And talk about loyal.” Dante looked down at the sand. “She stands by her family and her fans. She gives and gives to them, never expecting anything in return.”
“Let me see if I understand,” Ronan said. “You found a beautiful woman whom you trust. By some miracle, she welcomed your crazy ass into her bed. And you’re standing here, with forty-eight hours left of medical leave, running on the beach in your boots, and she’s…”
“In Nashville,” he said. “She has a concert tonight, recording tomorrow, then she ships out for New York City.”
“Does she give bad head?” Ronan said.
Dante took a step back. The SEAL officer sounded like he was channeling one of their other teammates. Ronan wasn’t crude. “She…”
Gives custom blow jobs.
“Chrissie’s great in bed, asshole,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who loves me like she does.”
Because she listened to him. He told her what he wanted, and she didn’t toss aside his words. As long as they talked to each other—in bed and out—they’d been able to communicate their needs.
“Then what are you doing here?” Ronan asked softly.
Dante took off, his boot-covered feet chewing up the sand. He hadn’t run this fast since his accident. But he had to get to Chrissie. He couldn’t wait another minute. He had to talk to her. And this time, he’d make it clear that he wanted to find a way forward. He trusted her. He loved her. They could work out the details from there—as long as they just kept talking.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dante scanned the security team outside the Nashville venue. Compared to the Vegas hotel auditoriums or big city arenas, the Bluebird Café held a couple of dozen people. And at first glance, he thought he had the wrong address. But then he saw Moira the Marine giving instructions to the bouncers.
“Moira,” he called as he rushed to the front door.
She turned to him, her expression like stone. “Raske. I was told you’d reported for duty.”
“I have forty-eight hours, ma’am.” He stopped in front of the former Marine and assumed a parade rest position. “I’m here to see Ms. Tate. She’s performing here tonight, right?”
Moira nodded. “She takes the stage in fifteen. You can see her after the show.”
“I’d like to speak with her now,” he said firmly.
Chrissie’s bodyguard shook her head. “After. She’s nervous right now. Representatives from her label are here. No visitors are allowed—including family and friends—until after the show.”
“Did Mason tell you that?” he demanded. “I bet her manager intended to keep her parents away. Not me.”
“The rules aren’t open to interpretation, sir.”
“I’m not an officer,” he said. How the hell was he going to get around Moira? “Is Mason around?”
Moira stared at him. “He’s dealing with a ticket crisis right now. You’ll have to wait.”
“I’ll buy a ticket,” he said.
“I have orders. Ms. Tate cannot be distracted tonight.” Moira marched over to the bouncer collecting tickets. “Don’t sell this man a ticket.”
Then she turned on her heels and disappeared inside.
Dante glanced through the open door and spotted a handful of empty tables. Most of the men had removed their cowboy hats and rested them on the table. But one glance around at the variety of boots and fitted jeans…he’d bet this crowd appreciated a song about a tractor. Still, they all looked clean and ready for a night out. And some wore suits with their boots, suggesting that this was a working night on the town.
He looked down at his clothes. He still wore the ripped, sweat-stained T-shirt he’d been running in before he’d headed to the airport. He hadn’t stopped at home to shower and change. With forty-eight hours left until he reported for duty, he’d wanted to get to Chrissie. He’d grabbed
his go-bag, a duffel with a change of clothes, and some gear, and he’d boarded the next flight to Nashville.
“How long before the show starts?” he asked the bouncer, an idea taking shape in his mind. He’d been trained to find a way around “no” and to think outside the box. And he didn’t give up easily.
