He wasn’t a singer or an actor. There was no art in what he did. He was an athlete. A competitor. A full-blown conditioned machine who easily brought in as many fans as I did. I realized that might be the only thing we had in common.
“Ma’am?” The driver seemed impatient. It was after midnight. He probably wanted to head back to the city. “This is the address.”
“Right,” I answered. “Thank you.”
I could do this. I wanted to do this.
I stepped out of the car and walked up the stone steps to the front entrance. The Warriors team symbol was carved into the massive wooden doors. I knocked lightly, debating how badly I wanted to go through with this.
The door whipped open and Luke smiled at me.
“You made it.” He even had perfect white teeth. Damn it. Every ounce of him was sexy.
“I did.”
He looked over my shoulder. “Hold on.” He jogged down the stairs and I saw the driver roll down the passenger window. I didn’t know what Luke said to him, but he drove away, heading in the direction of the city.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t say anything about our meeting. I gave him a generous tip to return in the morning.”
“The morning?” I was struggling to stay calm. He had finally made his intentions absolutely clear.
But the instant I heard it roll off his lips, I felt a deep flutter in my core and my heart started to race. We both knew why I was here in the middle of the night. I was aching for a night like this. God, I needed it.
“Want to come inside?” he offered.
“Yeah, I’d like to see how a football bachelor lives.”
He chuckled over his shoulder. “Like any other bachelor.”
I realized that there was something charming about Luke Canton. He wasn’t just an egotistical football stud, there was humor there. Under the layers of his tough exterior he could be persuasive. He could be seductive. He could maybe even be sweet. I was probably giving him too much credit, but I saw little snippets here and there in his voice, or in the way he guided me through the hospital or here at his house. He wasn’t all about himself. He only wanted me to think that.
I was starting to think that was his brand. Tough. Heartless. Selfish. Who was I to judge? I was here for one reason—to get something I needed. I was the selfish one.
I looked around at the leather sofa and chairs. The flat screen TVs. The saddle mounted over the mantle. This was a Texas man’s dream ranch, complete with an enormous stone fireplace that climbed to the ceiling. I doubted many other bachelors had this kind of lifestyle. Luke picked up a remote and manipulated the lights, the fireplace, and the speakers built into the wall.
“I like the music.” I recognized the song. It was a Texas tune that didn’t get much airplay in the Nashville circuit. The guy was known as a renegade. But he wrote his own music and recorded with his own band. That was practically unheard of in Nashville.
“Thanks. He speaks my language.”
“And I guess my music doesn’t?” I tilted my head sideways. Luke didn’t exactly fit my demographic. He wasn’t a sixteen-year-old girl.
“When you start singing about beer and football and women, then you’ll be speaking my language.”
The women part was out, but I wanted to tell him I wanted songs like this one. Songs that felt gritty and raw. Songs that reminded people of something they had lost—something they were looking for. The music I sang when no one was listening. I wanted people to hear what I really had to say. I had notebooks and journals filled with songs I wanted to record.
“So, basically caveman speak,” I sassed.
“Funny.” He chuckled. “Just when I think you’re sweet, you turn into a wicked little thing.”
He walked over to the bar in the corner. The sides were a deep mahogany and there was a line of barstools covered in black and white cow hide. It looked as if he had every kind of liquor imaginable. It made me wonder how much entertaining he did. I had to remind myself I wasn’t here to dispel rumors about him, or even get to know him. I was here for me. I was here because of what I needed. And Luke Canton was the man who could give it to me.
“Bourbon okay?” he asked.
“Sounds good.” I wasn’t a bourbon girl. I was a vodka girl, but I didn’t drink much before shows. Alcohol made my voice do funny things. I didn’t have any performances planned. A drink or two wouldn’t hurt.
He handed the drink to me and I studied his eyes. There were light flecks of green. He had changed out of his tux and was wearing a shirt that pulled across his chest. His biceps stretched the material around his arms. He had added a pair of jeans. I didn’t know which one made him look hotter. All I knew was that he was unreal. Men like this didn’t exist. At least I hadn’t met one before.