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As we sit in the car, speeding back to her apartment, it’s hard to focus on that when my fingers are tingling with the desire to grab her again. It doesn’t help my cock any when Elise puts her pink-nailed manicured hand on my thigh, making me turn to look at her. “The show was awesome.”
She’s trying so hard to settle me, the tension obvious. I stare at her hand for a moment, trying to decide on the best course of action. Cold professional or hot lover? Inside, I feel like I’m both right now. I want to push her away, to keep my secrets safe . . . but the other side of me wants to make Elise mine, to show her what it really feels like to have a man take her completely and fully.
What keeps Carsen safest? Finally, I decide that’s the only real result I need, regardless of what my throbbing cock wants. I can’t push her away. She’s so smart she’d just keep digging. And I can’t trust her either.
Decision made, I play somewhere in the middle, taking her hand loosely in my own . . . not quite professional, but decidedly not the guy who just spanked her ass and made her come.
Giving her my best attempt at a ‘fan-friendly’ smile, I answer her evenly. “Thanks. Those really are my favorite types of performances, even better than the huge arenas stuffed with fans. Those are great too, the roar and energy of the crowd, but the smaller shows where I get to shake hands with folks, see their faces as they sing along . . . it’s more intimate and more satisfying.”
Shit, ten seconds in and I’ve already fucked up and betrayed what I’m thinking. That’s definitely not what I meant to say because ‘intimate’ and ‘satisfying’ do not have me thinking of the show anymore.
Apparently, Elise’s thoughts track the same way, and she lowers her voice just in case the driver and bodyguard up front can hear. “He really was the sound tech, Keith. Not that I’m at all upset about the misunderstanding.”
I cut my eyes over at her, and she’s smiling broadly, her whole face lit up, but there’s a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. I know what she’s saying, and I guess she’s got the same fears running around in her head. I can’t be a total asshole about this.
I sigh, running a hand across my head, and turn to face her fully. “There’s obviously something between us, chemistry for damn sure. But—”
She interrupts, placing a hand on my forearm, giving me that pitying look that I know but so rarely get. “It’s inappropriate while I’m interviewing you,” she says, sighing softly and making this hurt a little. “I agree. Maybe later, we can see where this goes, or maybe not? But I need to be as impartial as possible while I’m writing this series.”
I nod, relieved knowing she’s at least partially right. “Elise, I told you the first time we met . . . I’m not dating and not looking. I have my reasons that are not up for discussion or for reporting. But they won’t change, not even when the job’s done.”
She bites her lip, nodding, and all I want to do is lick the sting away where she’s worrying it between her teeth. It hurts. It hurts a lot. So many years, sleeping alone in an oversized king bed for no reason other than my bedroom would look ridiculous with a twin-sized mattress in it. So many nights sitting up alone after Carsen’s gone to sleep, wishing I had someone I could share those things with that I can’t even share with Sarah. Too many years, but I have to protect my daughter, and that means I can’t let Elise in further.
“I understand. Won’t say I’m not disappointed, but I get it,” she says bravely, trying to keep her voice light but not really quite making it. “You’ve got a lot at stake here. You’re a big country music star and I’m a tabloid reporter.”
I nod, and she smirks, but it feels sadly ironic. “Funny thing is, I’ve shared more with you, stories and connection, not just chemistry, than I have with anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. I know your original arrangement was just to even the playing field a bit, but I have to tell you, I like you. I like talking with you, hanging out. You hide it in a lot of ways, but you’re a good guy, Keith. Not too many of those out there.”
I smile, genuinely shocked by her words. “I don’t know that anyone’s ever called me good . . . good for nothing, maybe?” I joke. “And I didn’t feel good backstage.”
Elise smirks. “That wasn’t good. That was bad. But in that case, bad was fucking awesome.”
