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“Want to come inside?” he offered.
“Yeah, I’d like to see how a football bachelor lives.”
He chuckled over his shoulder. “Like any other bachelor.”
I realized that there was something charming about Luke Canton. He wasn’t just an egotistical football stud, there was humor there. Under the layers of his tough exterior he could be persuasive. He could be seductive. He could maybe even be sweet. I was probably giving him too much credit, but I saw little snippets here and there in his voice, or in the way he guided me through the hospital or here at his house. He wasn’t all about himself. He only wanted me to think that.
I was starting to think that was his brand. Tough. Heartless. Selfish. Who was I to judge? I was here for one reason—to get something I needed. I was the selfish one.
I looked around at the leather sofa and chairs. The flat screen TVs. The saddle mounted over the mantle. This was a Texas man’s dream ranch, complete with an enormous stone fireplace that climbed to the ceiling. I doubted many other bachelors had this kind of lifestyle. Luke picked up a remote and manipulated the lights, the fireplace, and the speakers built into the wall.
“I like the music.” I recognized the song. It was a Texas tune that didn’t get much airplay in the Nashville circuit. The guy was known as a renegade. But he wrote his own music and recorded with his own band. That was practi
cally unheard of in Nashville.
“Thanks. He speaks my language.”
“And I guess my music doesn’t?” I tilted my head sideways. Luke didn’t exactly fit my demographic. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl.
“When you start singing about beer and football and women, then you’ll be speaking my language.”
The women part was out, but I wanted to tell him I wanted songs like this one. Songs that felt gritty and raw. Songs that reminded people of something they had lost—something they were looking for. The music I sang when no one was listening. I wanted people to hear what I really had to say. I had notebooks and journals filled with songs I wanted to record.
“So, basically caveman speak,” I sassed.
“Funny.” He chuckled. “Just when I think you’re sweet, you turn into a wicked little thing.”
He walked over to the bar in the corner. The sides were a deep mahogany and there was a line of barstools covered in black and white cow hide. It looked as if he had every kind of liquor imaginable. It made me wonder how much entertaining he did. I had to remind myself I wasn’t here to dispel rumors about him, or even get to know him. I was here for me. I was here because of what I needed. And Luke Canton was the man who could give it to me.
“Bourbon okay?” he asked.
“Sounds good.” I wasn’t a bourbon girl. I was a vodka girl, but I didn’t drink much before shows. Alcohol made my voice do funny things. I didn’t have any performances planned. A drink or two wouldn’t hurt.
He handed the drink to me and I studied his eyes. There were light flecks of green. He had changed out of his tux and was wearing a shirt that pulled across his chest. His biceps stretched the material around his arms. He had added a pair of jeans. I didn’t know which one made him look hotter. All I knew was that he was unreal. Men like this didn’t exist. At least I hadn’t met one before.
I gulped the sweet bourbon and felt the burn slide down my throat. My limbs tingled and I felt loose in my shoulders.
“Do you have a game this weekend?” I asked. I didn’t exactly follow Warrior football.
“Almost every Sunday. This one is home.” He poured his glass half-full. “What about you? Are you still on tour?”
I guess neither of us knew much about the other’s career. “No. I wrapped up my summer stadium tour a few weeks ago. Now it’s press events before I’m back in the studio for the next album. Of course the holidays fall in there and I have a ton of bookings for Christmas shows and then there’s New Year’s Eve,” I rattled on longer than I intended.
“So this is your off-season?”
I grinned. “Yep. This is the so-called off-season. I don’t go on tour again until next summer.”
He took a sip of bourbon and I couldn’t look away as he swallowed. The tight muscles of his throat moved with each swallow. He licked his lips, and I was dying to see what they would taste like coated in the thick liquor.
Luke grabbed the empty glass from my hand, startling me from my obsession with his lips. “Want to tell me what a good girl like you is doing here?”
His glass was empty too and his hands were free to move to my hips. I froze as he coasted his hands to my ass and dragged me against his body. He was solid and firm. He was a wall of muscle on top of muscle.
“Who said I was a good girl?” I looked into his green eyes. There was mischief there. Playfulness. And a hunger that said he might fucking devour me on the spot.
“Everyone says that.” He cupped my ass, gripping tighter.
“And you? Are you really a bad boy? Or is that just a way to keep your love-hate relationship with the press hot and heavy?” I teased.
