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Still, a pep talk isn’t what I need right now. More tequila sounds better.
Grabbing his hand, I lace my fingers through his and squeeze.
“You don’t need to do this anymore, you know,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
I can’t look him in the eyes.
“This hero act. Being extra nice to me like we’re more than a couple mixed-up people who got tossed together. It’s over…or it will be soon, I guess.”
No sooner had the words come out than I know I’ve made a mistake.
He runs his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, and cups my waist. Then he pulls me closer so our hips collide.
“Is it?” he wonders, that sinful smolder in his voice. “Doesn’t feel one damn bit over, Grace. Not to me.”
Oh, my. I hold my breath against the hot frenzy of emotion.
Lust.
Worry.
Love.
Stir them up together and you’ve got one heady cocktail. I’m not even sure I want that tequila anymore when I’m drunk on this infuriating, sexy, all-too-hard-to-crack man.
“So I heard something interesting,” I say softly, laying my hands over his shoulders. “Bebe told me I’m the reason you agreed to give Hollywood another chance.”
“I told you from the beginning I’d do anything and everything I could to help you and Nelson. Bebe risked her ass arranging this party, working her contacts for the drugs that set up the sting operation. She wanted a few more movies in return, so I agreed.”
“I still can’t believe how many drugs he was packing.” A shiver ripples through me. “Why, Ridge? Why did you do something so dangerous?”
We lock eyes. Those gems of his glow like bright-blue flames, his expression pure stone.
“The fact that you’re even asking tells me I’d better show you. C’mon.”
Taking my hand, he rushes me to the dance floor, and we step into the soft orange light. It takes roughly ten seconds for the entire crowd to go eerily quiet.
Oh, boy.
Dancing with him in front of these people is the last thing I need.
“Ridge—”
He holds up a finger.
“Just trust me,” he whispers.
After everything we’ve been through, there’s no doubt about that. I clamp my lips together.
Then his hands are on my waist, and we sway to the rest of this country rock tune. Our own fluid movements mirror the rhythm and wailing lyrics. I think it’s a hit off this new album by formerly infamous pop star Milah Holly, singing in a style I barely recognize about a clown rodeo called love.
Only, when Ridge bends me low in a thrilling dip, I see through the people clustered around the stage.
It’s a live band.
The Milah Holly is actually here, belting out her song. She’s tall, blonde, and picture-perfect, her eyes done up like an Egyptian goddess as she watches us and wipes a tear as soon as the song finishes to gentle applause.
“Thanks, everybody!” She says into the mic. “And how about a hand for our hosts tearing up the dance floor? I think there’s a twister on fire in this little town tonight. You two lovebirds are sweet as pie. You remind me of a lot of folks back home…and it takes a special kinda man to shut down a freak show with drugs. Trust me, I know. Never let him go, Grace Sellers.”
Dead.
I’m a goner. A world-class artist knows my freaking name. I can hardly focus on the gentle applause rippling around us.
“Darlin’?” Ridge purrs in my ear. “You still with me?”
“I, um…seriously, Ridge? Milah flipping Holly? You told her about us?”
“It’s Milah. She’s famous for being nosy.” He grins, entirely too coy and too gorgeous. “Plus, she’s got her own crew of badasses backing her up. Didn’t want a lady sending Enguard Security after my ass for refusing to answer a few little questions.”
Wow.
Just…wow.
That’s putting it elegantly. I’m beyond frazzled.
Even with the song over, he keeps us in the center of the floor, gazing into my soul with heavy questions it’d take a lifetime to decipher.
“Ridge?” Now it’s my turn. “Still with me?”
“Stay right here,” he tells me, suddenly peeling away, leaving me alone with about a thousand eyes glued to me.
Questioning my own sanity, I stand there, glancing around nervously at the smiling faces, trying to make out the hushed murmurs going around.
A second later, I realize Ridge jogged over and jumped on the stage. Milah Holly gives him a quick hug before passing him the mic.
He says something to the guys on guitars and then faces the crowd again.
Dear Lord, what’s he doing now? Singing?
Listen, if this is some weird karaoke thing…I think I’m out.
But the band begins a new tune, delicate and slow, and Ridge jumps off the stage with the microphone, heading for me.
And yes—holy Toledo, he’s singing. An Elvis song I recognize. Can’t Help Falling in Love.
Is there anything this man can’t do? He actually matches the King’s voice pretty well.
All the feels are there in every line.
