Hold Me (17 page)

That earned her a slight smile. “I’m not five. You can’t distract me with a cookie.”

“Maybe not, but I can try.”

Starr sniffed. “I need to blow my nose. I’ll be right back.”

Destiny waited until she was out of the room, then she emailed herself a reminder to get in touch with her father’s lawyer. She needed to know a whole lot more about Starr than she did now. Starting with her sister’s birthday. Because when that day actually came, Destiny wanted to make sure it was one to remember...in the best way possible.

* * *

A
T
NOON
ON
S
UNDAY
Starr got a text from Abby, inviting her to an impromptu sleepover. Destiny talked to Liz, Abby’s mom, got confirmation that there would be no boys or unsupervised time and dropped off Starr at four. By six-thirty, Destiny was pacing the floor.

She didn’t know what was wrong, but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to settle. She cleaned both bathrooms, did a couple of loads of laundry and then tried working on a song from her notebook. Nothing worked. She flipped channels, did a bit of internet shopping and by 7:18 knew she was going to jump out of her skin if she didn’t find something to distract herself.

She shoved house keys, her cell phone and a credit card into her jeans pocket, then locked the front door behind her and started for the center of town.

There were still plenty of people walking around. The sun had yet to set, and the evening was pleasantly warm. Most of the restaurants had outdoor patios where happy locals and sunburned tourists mingled easily. Several people called out greetings to Destiny. She nodded and smiled as she walked but didn’t stop. It seemed she had a destination, although she had no idea what it was. Not until she got there.

She came to a stop across the street from The Man Cave. She stared at the sign and at the caveman statue beside the open door before giving in to the inevitable.

Once inside, she felt as if she could breathe more easily. A couple of baseball games played on TVs over the bar. Most of the seats were filled. The crack of balls from the pool tables mingled with laughter. The smell of popcorn and beer, perfume and burgers, welcomed her home.

Maybe it was because she’d grown up in honky-tonks. Maybe it was because being around people made it possible for her to lose herself when she couldn’t in the quiet of her house. Or maybe it was the stage at the far end of the room.

The sign said karaoke started at eight every night. Destiny walked to the bar.

“Long Island Iced Tea,” she said. “Make it extra long.”

The bartender, a woman she didn’t recognize, nodded. “You walking?”

Because this was Fool’s Gold, Destiny thought. A place where they made sure you weren’t going to be drinking and driving before you even started drinking.

“I live less than six blocks away.”

“Good to know.”

Destiny settled on an empty bar stool. She glanced around the room and figured she knew at least a dozen people, maybe more. Friends. Acquaintances.

Aidan was with Nick, Miles and a couple of other guys. She nodded at them but ignored the wave over. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of them tonight. Especially not Miles, who’d gone out with both Shelby and Madeline.

She hoped neither of her friends would fall for the man. They both deserved better. He would break their hearts and then move on. Better for Madeline to crush on action star Jonny Blaze and Shelby to find someone a whole lot nicer than Miles. Not that they would listen to her.

She thought about the Hendrix brothers and their unbelievable bet about getting their wives pregnant and her father devastating his daughter with a thoughtless phone call and how she didn’t know what she was going to do with Starr when this job ended and how no matter how much she knew that being sensible was the right thing, sometimes she just wanted to let go.

The twisting restlessness inside her grew. The bartender passed her the drink, and Destiny drank deeply. She knew what the alcohol would do. How it would loosen the tight grip she kept on herself. Because of it, she would give in to the unthinkable. Because she had to. Because there was only one way to feel better.

Time ticked by. She finished her drink and ordered another. At 7:55 she walked up to the karaoke stage. Kipling was there, hooking up the equipment.

He didn’t see her at first, which meant she could study him without being caught. She took in the slight hesitation in some of his movements, juxtaposed with his athletic grace. Someone said something to him, and he responded with a quick smile. She knew his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, that when he kissed her, she forgot she had a plan and that he loved his sister and looked out for her.

If she were someone else, looking for something else, she would already be sleeping with him. She might even be falling for him, which would be worse. But she’d learned to protect herself, so she was careful. Careful about the man, at least. If not careful with the rest of it.

Because tonight she was going to sing.

He looked up and saw her. “Hey, Destiny, what are you—” His expression turned worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. There’s something. What is it?”

She couldn’t explain. Not the swirling unease. The sense of not fitting in her skin, of needing something more. Impatience gripped her. Tension made her tremble. There were too many emotions and not enough places to put them.

“I have to sing.”

She’d thought he might laugh or grill her, because how could her statement make sense? Instead he put out a hand to help her up on the stage.

“Want to do a set?” he asked.

She nodded. “If that’s okay.”

He smiled at her. “Let me think. Free entertainment for my guests and listening to you sing more than one song. Yeah, it’s kind of okay.”

They scrolled through songs together. She selected one by Tumpy Shanks. It was old, but one of her favorites. “
Under the Willow Tree”
would be followed by her father’s hit “
Barstool Blues
.” She added a few more of her mother’s songs, then “
What Hurts the
Most
,” a Rascal Flatts hit, closing with Kenny Chesney’s “
Come Over
.
”

She put her drink on the small table by the karaoke machine. “I’m going to need another one of these in about fifteen minutes,” she said.

Kipling touched her arm. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I have to.”

“We can go somewhere, if you want. Talk. Drive. Yell at trees.”

Because he saw she was in pain. He knew there was a problem, and he wanted to fix it.

“This is the only way,” she whispered. “It doesn’t happen often. Maybe once every couple of years. But when it does, this is all I can do. At least I didn’t have to look very far for a karaoke place. You have one so conveniently located.”

“I do what I can.” The tone was light, but she saw the worry in his eyes.

She picked up the microphone. It was a good weight. Solid in her hand but not too heavy. The lighting could have been better, but this wasn’t a professional performance. She scuffed her boots against the wooden floor, anchoring herself.

Kipling left the stage, and she was alone. Gradually, the room got quiet as people noticed her. She pushed the button to start the first song, drew in a breath and lost herself.

“I left you there, under the willow tree,”
she sang.
“Tears falling, you always missing me.”

The words came without her having to look at the screen. She’d probably learned the song when she was four or five. She’d sung it on tour with her parents.

Song after song, she worked her way through the playlist. She lost track of time, of how much she drank, of where she was. She gave herself over to the music, letting go in the only way she knew how. The only way that was safe. The knot in her gut relaxed, and the restlessness eased. She spent her whole life denying who and what she was. Every now and then she had no choice but to let that part of her out, and tonight was the night. By the time she was done, she was exhausted but at peace.

She put down the microphone, and the bar exploded with applause. She nodded once and walked to the edge of the stage. Kipling was there to help her down.

“You’re shaking,” he said, putting his arm around her.

“It’s okay,” she told him.

Instead of leading her to the bar, he took her through the back and into a small office. She sank onto the chair by his desk and watched her hands tremble.

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asked.

“Not since lunch.”

“Liquor on an empty stomach. Never a good idea. Wait here. I’ll go grab you a sandwich.”

She nodded because speaking was suddenly too difficult. When he left, she looked at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was after eleven. Had she really been singing for three hours? No wonder she was exhausted.

He returned with a bottle of water and a bowl of popcorn. “I’m closing up soon. The sandwich will only take a couple more minutes. By the time it’s done, the bar will be closed, and you can come out.”

She drank water, then swallowed. “How do you know I want everyone gone?”

“Because you don’t want to talk about what just happened. You don’t want to answer questions.”

She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He’d guessed the truth, or maybe it wasn’t all that hard to figure out. Either way, he was right. She needed to sing, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to explain.

He left again. She finished the bottle of water, then stood. The room spun a little. She was still feeling a little unsteady on her feet. Not a huge surprise. She’d lost track of how much she’d had to drink.

She made her way to the door and let herself out into the bar.

The open space was bigger when it was empty. There were still glasses on tables. She would guess the place was usually cleaned before closing but that Kipling had hurried everyone along. For her. So she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Because he fixed things that were broken. Like her.

He walked in from the kitchen, a plate in his hand.

“Eat this, then I’ll take you home.”

Which all sounded very sensible. And at any other time she would have followed his suggestion. Just not right now. Not with the bar spinning and her heart racing and need building.

She walked up to him and took the sandwich from him and put it on a nearby table. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders, leaned in and kissed him.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. She knew she needed to feel his mouth against hers. She needed to get lost in a different way. One without words. She wanted the heat, the tension, all that she had felt the last time he’d kissed her. Only now, she wanted more than that.

The second his lips touched hers, she parted. He obligingly brushed his tongue against hers. Desire raced through her, igniting sparks all over. She strained to get closer as she realized that the singing hadn’t been quite enough. She needed more. She needed him.

She moved her hands down his arms, then to his back. He was lean yet strong. She explored the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his spine. He kissed her more deeply, teasing her tongue with his. She leaned into him, letting her body melt. Thighs brushed. Her breasts nestled into his chest.

She felt everything. The way he kissed along her jaw and licked the sensitive skin below her ear. The warmth of his breath. The whisper of his fingers against the fabric of her shirt. She didn’t know why her senses seemed enhanced, but they were. Maybe it was the Long Island Iced Tea. Maybe it was the man. Either way, she wanted everything he had to offer.

She reached for his wrists and drew his hands to her breasts. His thumbs touched her nipples, and she groaned.

* * *

K
IPLING
TOLD
HIMSELF
to slow down. There was no way he was going to do this with Destiny in a bar. While he had every intention of making love with her, their first time was going to be slow. Planned. Romantic. He wanted to make it good for her maybe two or three times before giving in himself. He had a plan.

Only the message didn’t seem to be getting from his brain to his dick. Maybe it was a lack of blood flow. Maybe it was how she was touching him all over and offering herself to him. Every kiss seemed to draw him in deeper, and he was a big fan of being drawn in.

The sound of her moans nearly did him in. He felt the weight of her curves, the tightness of her nipples. Self-control snapped. He tugged up her T-shirt and tossed it onto the table behind her. Her bra followed, and he could see the swell of her breasts and the tight, taunting nipples begging to be loved.

He lowered his head and kissed her gently, so gently. She whimpered. He drew the tiny bud into his mouth, and her knees gave out.

He caught her as she fell.

“Again,” she breathed, hanging on to him. “Oh, please, do that again.”