How could I have been so damn stupid?
Her hand smacked the steering wheel hard enough to make the truck swerve off the road. She hit the brakes and felt the skid of tires on gravel.
She jerked the truck into park and jumped out to make sure she hadn’t flattened a tire or hit anything. Kicking a back tire that thankfully wasn’t damaged, she broke down in sobs on the side of a deserted Georgia road.
The sound of a truck approaching and coming to an abrupt stop startled her. She swiped her tears swiftly, expecting to wave off whoever it was and let them know that she was fine.
Trace jumped out of the old blue truck, leaving his door hanging open, and stalked toward her.
“What the fuck, Kylie? What happened to not running out on each other?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Leave me alone.” Turning away from the swirling storm of a mess of a man and heading for the safety of her truck, she reached for the door. His hand covered hers and tore it from the handle.
“No I damn sure will not leave you alone. Did that once, remember?” He yanked her wrists back and pulled her to his chest.
She slapped at him as hard as she could in an attempt to break free but he didn’t even flinch.
“Fucking hit me. You know I can take it.” He pressed her up against the truck. “But don’t run out on me like that. That, I cannot fucking take.”
She held her body rigid to keep it from melting into his the way it wanted to. “W-what is she doing here, Trace? Why is she here? What happened to I don’t bring women here? There a benefit concert happening later that I don’t know about?”
She hated the way she sounded, the way she crumbled in his arms, the way he—and only he—had the ability to reduce her to this. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the Kylie Ryans she wanted to be. She wanted to be a serious musician, the kind of girl who could handle anything that came her way. Not a simpering mess of someone’s sort of girlfriend.
The words of a warning Pauly Garrett had given her a long time ago whipped through her head.
If you want to be Kylie Ryans, country music artist who gets taken seriously, it would be unwise to align yourself with an already established artist in any way other than professionally. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. Now, if you want to be Kylie Ryans, Trace Corbin’s little sideshow fling, then by all means…
Trace released one of her wrists to run a hand through his hair. “She just…showed up. It’s complicated. And it’s not entirely my story to tell. But it’s not what you’re thinking. I swear it’s not.”
She glared at him, pulling her hands away and folding her arms across her chest. “How am I supposed to know that, Trace? To believe that?”
“Kylie Lou,” he coaxed, his pleading tone threatening to penetrate her resolve. “Baby, please, please don’t—aw, hell,” he said, giving up and cutting himself off to lift her into his arms and slam his mouth down onto hers.
The anger and the jealousy they both carried collided, and she took the punishing kiss he gave. Her fingers clutched at him, tearing at his hair and neck as she wrapped her legs around him.
His teeth scraped her lips and she whimpered in pleasure. Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth—tasting him and letting him drink his fill of the deep ache she still had for how badly she’d needed him to come home and make love to her the night before—was an enticing torture.
“You need me inside you, pretty girl? Right here?” Trace mumbled against her mouth as he tightened his grip on her ass. “Bet I can fuck any worries you have about any other women right out of that tight little body of yours.”
“Trace,” she breathed, unsure of what she wanted at that moment. Kylie tilted her head back, giving him the access to her throat his mouth was demanding. His warm, wet tongue lashed up her throat, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.
“I’ll beg, baby,” he said into her ear. “I’ll get on my knees if you’d like.”
“W-we can’t,” she said, her voice quaking as her thighs did. “We have to stop.”
“Like hell we do.” Trace began walk toward his truck, still holding her to him in midair and claiming every inch his mouth could reach.
Panic gripped her even more tightly that he did. If they made it to the cab, she’d let him screw her right then and there. And then what? She’d head back out on tour while he went home to Gretchen?
“Stop.” She used all of her strength to grab his shoulders. “I’m serious. Please. Please, put me down.”
He leaned her against the side of his truck and let her down gently. His head fell forward onto her shoulder and she shivered from the heat of the ragged breaths he breathed into her ear.