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The moment their lips touched, Marisol’s breath rushed out and her neck went limp in his hand, making his cock swell until his jeans felt like they’d do him damage. He’d let himself dream that Marisol would enjoy being kissed like this—being taken, claimed, the way he’d been dying to do for weeks—but he’d never imagined she would respond this way. That she’d open for him, melt against him, giving in without a hint of resistance. That she’d twine her arms around his neck, press her curves against his chest, and gasp in pleasure when he swatted her bottom before cupping her ass in his hand and squeezing tight.
God help him, he hadn’t intended to do anything but kiss her, but now he didn’t want to stop.
He wanted to bundle Marisol into his truck, and bring her back to his hotel room. He wanted to strip her sexy red tank top off with his teeth and discover the taste of her skin, make her squirm beneath him as he showed her what good old boys can do to a woman when they’re given permission to be bad.
He was on the verge of proposing that they take this public display somewhere more private and reconsider the “just business” part of their relationship, when Marisol abruptly jerked out of his arms.
He opened his eyes to see her swiping her arm across her mouth. A moment later, she was laughing.
“Mierda,” she said, eyes sparkling. “You’re crazy.”
Bubba managed to get his breathing under control, but he couldn’t work up a smile. “Why’s that?”
“That! The dramatic kiss! But you were right, it got rid of the groupies,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “But the macho shit was a bit much, don’t you think? Even for a fake kiss?”
She was lying. Bubba would bet his vocal chords on it. The way she’d responded to him hadn’t been an act. It had been real, as real as the erection doing its best to rip an escape hatch through his jeans, making him grateful for the relative darkness. If it were daylight, there would be no way to hide how aroused he was.
The thought made him want to slip his hand down the front of Marisol’s black jeans, beneath whatever she was wearing under them, and slide his fingers between her legs. The instinctive part of him was certain she would be hot, wet, and every bit as turned on as he was. The uncertain part of him—the small town boy who had never met a girl as sophisticated as Marisol, let alone kissed one—wondered if she had been acting, and he was a pathetic, lonely idiot who had gone so long without a woman in his bed he couldn’t tell the difference between turned on and playing along.
“I don’t know about the women you date,” Marisol continued. “But I’m not that kind of girl.”
“What kind of girl are you?” Bubba aimed for a casual tone, but his voice came out strained.
“I’m not,” Marisol said, her expression sobering. “As far as you and I are concerned, I’m not a girl. I’m a businessperson. I will use every weapon in my arsenal to get your career moving. I will flirt with club managers, and be your arm candy at events until you find a cute little thing to take home to your mama, but that’s where it ends. As long as you’re my client, it’s business between us.”
Bubba swallowed hard, fighting the urge to tell her that he was fine with ripping up their contract, right here and now. He’d rather have the Marisol who kissed him like she’d been dying for everything he wanted to give her than a business partner any day of the week. He’d had several managers approach him after the open mic night, but he hadn’t felt this drawn to a woman since he and Casey broke up a few years after high school.
Still, no matter how much he wanted to let his heart—and cock—do the talking, he had a meeting tomorrow morning with Wendy Dann and her people.
Wendy wasn’t country music royalty just yet, but she was a major star. The chance to open for an act like hers, while her original opener was out of commission for vocal node surgery, was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If he landed this job, he could tell his asshole boss at the electric company to go fuck himself, and put his five-year career as a lineman behind him. He’d been relieved to be spared his older brothers’ fates as slaves to the family ranching business—he loved his family and spending long weekends at the ranch, but he’d never felt the call of the cows the way John and Cole did—but it wasn’t his dream to maintain overhead transmission lines, either.
No matter what the rest of the Lawsons had to say about it, music was in his blood. He never felt more alive, more at home, more at peace and generally right with the world than when he had a guitar in his hands and his lips inches from a microphone. Singing was the only thing that had ever lit a fire inside of him, and he didn’t want to risk losing his shot to transform his passion into a career because he was too hot for a woman to focus on the big picture.
So, with a deep breath and a brittle smile, Bubba swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue and said, “Just business is fine with me.”
“Good.” Marisol smiled, but Bubba would swear she sounded disappointed. “Then go get some rest and I’ll pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow. We want to be sure we’re on time. They’re making an effort to squeeze in this meeting before Wendy gets on a plane to Nashville for her week off, and we need to be there bright and early to show how appreciative we are.”
Bubba nodded, plucking his new, three-hundred-dollar cowboy hat off his head and running a hand through his hair, still feeling a little strange wearing a hat for stage dressing.
Back in Lonesome Point, you wore your cowboy hat so your nose wouldn’t burn off by the end of a long day working outside. He was definitely out of his comfort zone in the designer hat Marisol had picked out for him. So far, almost all the money he’d made at his gigs had gone right back into clothes and headshot photographs and half a dozen other things he hadn’t realized he needed to launch a country music career. He couldn’t afford to derail things now, when he was so close to making good on his investment.
But as he swung into his truck, and Marisol crossed the parking lot to her vintage Spider convertible, Bubba couldn’t help wishing things could be different. For the first time in his life, he was defying his family’s party line and looking for a life outside of Lonesome Point.
If he met someone special right now, it wouldn’t have to end the way things had ended with Casey, with a sad goodbye because most girls want to grow up and leave a small town behind, not settle in and raise a fifth generation of Lawsons with their high school sweetheart.
In Bubba’s gut, he knew he’d return to Lonesome Point eventually, no matter where his new career might lead, but in the meantime he had the chance to see what it was like to date someone he wouldn’t have to run into at the supermarket every other day, someone he hadn’t known since elementary school, and whose mama wasn’t friends with his. But so far, he hadn’t met anyone who intrigued him, let alone made him think about what it might be like to fall in love again.
No one but Marisol, the one woman who was off limits.
“Just my luck,” Bubba mumbled as he started the truck and drove across the nearly abandoned parking lot, doing his best not to peek into his mirror at the convertible behind him. Marisol had made it clear they were never going to be more than friends and colleagues, and Bubba had learned his lesson about pining for impossible things a long time ago.
Still, he couldn’t resist one last glance in his rearview as he pulled out onto the deserted street—wondering how long he’d be able to honor his “all business” promise with a woman who was everything he wanted, wrapped up in one irresistible package.
