Nashville Dreams

Book 3: Music City Lovers

by Julie Capulet

Genres: Coming of Age; Contemporary Romance; rockstar romance

Synopsis

Stella: All I wished for was to experience that spark you read about, just once. What I wasn't expecting was the Fourth of July and heaven on earth all rolled into one.



Bass player Kade Tucker is known as the Magic Man, and not only for his riffs. After breaking off a disastrous relationship, he swears off women. Only problem is, five minutes later, he might have just met the love of his life.



Stella Bell has always done what's expected of her. Until a secret letter and an unexpected proposal on the same day prove to be her breaking point. For once in her life, she's going to do something for herself. As fate would have it, that means taking a spur of the moment trip to Nashville.



A hopeless romantic, Stella has been hiding her true self for far too long. And when a gorgeous, mysterious stranger rescues her from a torrential downpour, she decides to go with it. The hot, dreamy Kade Tucker proceeds to enlighten Stella in every possible way, until she begins to realize that some dreams really can come true.



But will Kade's twisted ex and Stella's family secrets—along with a very accidental pregnancy—get in the way of their HEA? Or is this a star-crossed match made in Music City heaven?

Release date: November 9, 2021

Publisher: Julie Capulet

Print pages: 554

Sample

CHAPTER 1

KADE

 

“Let’s go to Aspen for New Year’s. Just you and me. By then we might have some celebrating to do. For something I think we both want to happen. It would be so fun, Kade. Can we?”

My girlfriend Carmen has been dropping some heavy hints lately. And I’ve been putting off the inevitable. I know that, as soon as I tell her how I actually feel, she’s going to go ballistic.

It’s a scenario I’ve been doing my best to avoid. But I can’t avoid it forever. I should never have let things get this out of hand to begin with.

In fact, why the fuck did I?

I know exactly why. Because there’s nothing I hate more than making a woman cry. It’s my one weakness and something that grates on me like nothing else does.

My father used to make my mother cry, with his binges and his moods. It was his own inability to stop himself from making her cry that fueled his downward spiral and eventually took them both. And it made a deep impression on me, imprinting me with an absolute aversion to the tears and sadness of women, especially tears and sadness that are inflicted by me.

This hang-up runs so deep that I often avoid getting into relationships in the first place, even though every night of the week, I’ve got a thousand hopefuls trying to get close to me. Every time I do take the plunge—something I never take lightly—I’m always hoping like fuck that she’s the one. That one stellar, star-stuck, meant-for-me true love that I’ll fall head over heels for, that I’ll never want to leave, that I can spend every moment making sure she’s as happy and blissed-out as she can possibly be.

Deep down, I’d love to find that. I aspire to it. To me, it seems like the most beautiful dream there is.

But that’s all it ever is: a dream.
The reality is totally different.
Now, as it happens every time, I’m about to end it. I steel myself for the gauntlet

of tears and heartbreak that’s coming—on her end, at least—and all the grating melodrama that comes along with it.

Things haven’t been going well. I thought maybe she’d pick up on that vibe and figure it out. No such luck. Instead, she’s fixating on rings and proposals and moving in together, when all I can think about is how to get myself out of this pathetic excuse for a relationship as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Carmen is all for creating scenes and feigning outrage even when the situation doesn’t call for it. And when it does call for it, like what I’m about to do definitely will,

things get ugly. Which is why the next twenty minutes is going to be a living hell for both of us. I’m about to give her a reason to cry the realest tears there are. Also why I’ve been putting this off.

I was hoping this time might be different.

I knew I wasn’t in love with her from the beginning but I kept hoping that would change.

It hasn’t.
That’s my problem.
It never fucking does.
Every single damn time, the doubt creeps in almost immediately. I fight those

thoughts. I try so hard to see the good, the beauty, the draw. To feel a real, perfect connection. But over time, inevitably, it gets harder to do. It takes more and more effort. I find myself forcing it. I feel the need for distance closing in.

Right now, I feel the need for more than distance. I feel the need for a total break from the hellscape our relationship has become.

She’s dressed in a white jumpsuit that makes her look small and frail. I’ve tried to get her to eat a real meal but she never does. She’s all about denying herself the good things in life. Food, loud music—it’s ridiculous that we’re even together, for fuck’s sake— and the grittier, deeper side of lust that I haven’t even brought up with this one. I keep everything about what we have fairly vanilla because she can’t handle anything darker. Which is too bad, because that’s where the most intense kind of pleasure is always found.

It’s another reason this relationship was basically doomed before it began. I’m tired of holding back. I want to unleash the beast of my lust all over ... someone. I don’t know who yet but she must be out there somewhere.

She has to be out there somewhere.

There are only two things I want out of life. One, to play music, which has panned out for me and my brothers as well as anything ever could. We’re rich and successful beyond our wildest dreams. Every song on our latest album has hit the top ten and at this point we have more money than we know what to do with.

It’s the second part of the equation that’s so damn elusive. The one I keep closer to my chest. To feel so hard for someone it’s the only thing you care about.

That’s my problem. I never do.

Carmen and I met at an after-party. She was cute enough, running with a crowd of people who are famous for the money they’ve inherited, their social media followings and their ability to market themselves, or whatever it is they do. She wasn’t a groupie. She wasn’t as grasping and needy as so many of them are, which comes with the territory when you’re in a band.

I know what I look like to women. Edgy and mysterious, at least compared to my brothers, who are both outgoing and for the most part about as laid back as it gets. I’m 6’3’’ and built as fuck. I have blue eyes. Women are always gushing about the color of my eyes, which feels to me like false advertising. My eyes should be black. They call me the brooding one, the dark horse, the dreamer. I don’t know if I’m any of those things. All I do know is that I live to channel my creativity into something real and to drink every drop of life like I’m starved for it. Most of all, to feel things. Deeply. To experience the

kind of love that kills you and breaks you and at the same time lifts you into some higher plane of the chosen few.

I know I could do it justice, like my parents never quite did. For them, there was too much baggage. Happiness doesn’t always come easily. And true love seems like the hardest thing in the world to hunt down, and to hold onto.

Carmen sidles up to me, blinking her pale eyelashes at me. We haven’t been out yet today. Without the usual make-up she spends almost an hour on every morning, she looks colorless and washed out. “I was looking at some rings online yesterday ...”

Here we go again.

Carmen is—to put it kindly—highly strung. Uptight, according to my brothers. A total bitch, according to my sister. As I watch her react to my silence, I try to remember what it was that drew me to her in the first place.

Her enthusiasm? The lithe little spitfire who knew what she wanted as soon as she saw me, and went for it with everything she had?

That was five or six months ago and my brothers and sister are right: I haven’t been truly happy since that night. In fact, I’ve never in my life felt so low as I do right now. My blues have taken on layers of inky black that I can tell my family can see in me. They’ve been trying to talk me into breaking up with her since day one, and they’re right. I should have. I guess a small part of me hoped there was something salvageable here. I’m about to turn twenty-seven and I’ve never been in love. Not even fucking close.

Both my younger brothers are head over heels, ridiculously besotted to the point where they’ve both moved at the speed of light to get their girlfriends to move in with them and to get rings on their fingers. They were practically on their knees before the poor girls—sisters, as it turns out—knew what hit them.

Maybe it’s just not in the cards for me—which depresses the hell out of me. Maybe there’s a glitch somewhere, and fate’s scales are tipped too far in the wrong direction when it comes to me. Or there’s a hole in my soul where the falling in love mechanism is supposed to live.

Whatever. All I know is that this isn’t love, and I’m tired of putting off what needs to be done.

“About that ...” I begin.

“About what?” The pissed-off scowl is already in place. “Kade? Sweetie? I think we should talk about our future.”

I feel nothing. No spark. No anger or even compassion. Just emptiness. And dread, over what’s coming.

Fuck it. I decide I’m done with relationships. They never fucking work.

I wish like hell I could sleep my way around the city, like my cousin Gage used to do. Problem is, I don’t have it in me to sleep around without it meaning anything. I’m always wishing it’ll be her—the star-crossed girl I can never find—and when it clearly isn’t, I lose interest. Another one of my hang-ups.

Even Gage has fallen hard, which we never thought would happen. I just got back from a few days away with my family over Christmas. I was ridiculously relieved when Carmen went home to her own family. I found myself telling my brothers and sister I’d already broken up with her, just so I wouldn’t have to listen to them lecturing me about how she’s all wrong for me for three solid days.

Both my brothers and all three of my cousins have found the one they want to spend their lives with. All five of them were all loved-up and starry-eyed the whole time

I was with them. Of course I’m happy for them. And it only cemented into place my resolve.

Because what Carmen and I have is a million miles away from loved-up and starry-eyed. For me, at least. As always.

I’m aware that I’m about to break her heart. I do it as carefully as I can. “I don’t want to go to Aspen for New Year’s. And I don’t want to shop for rings. I’m sorry, but I’m not in love with you. I’ve tried to make this work but it isn’t. I think we should stop seeing each other.”

She stares at me sharply. Her ice-blue eyes well up, but the sadness is quickly overridden by hellfire and fury. “You’re breaking up with me?” Her voice is shrill and abrasive.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Carmen. But I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.”

“How can you say that? Everything’s been so good between us.”

This is part of the problem. We’re on completely different wavelengths. I don’t know why I’ve been trying to bridge a divide that’s unbridgeable. Maybe so I don’t feel so damn lonely all the time. “No. It’s not good. It hasn’t been good for a long time. Maybe ever. I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

“Kade. That’s just not true! We’re perfect for each other. Everyone thinks so.”

Do they? Not in my world. Not that it really matters either way. “The problem is, I don’t think so.”

Her face is red and blotchy, the anger creeping up her thin neck like a stain. “And you’re just springing this on me? Out of the blue? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I have said things. You just haven’t listened. But you’re right, I should have made myself clearer weeks ago.”

“Weeks?”
“Or months. I’ve been hoping my feelings would change. But they haven’t.”
“But Kade ...” Tears stream down her bright red cheeks. The sight brings back all

the worst memories of my life in a jarring, horrible flood. “Is it something I’ve done? What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Carmen. I just don’t feel anything, which isn’t a good sign. You’ll be better off with someone else. It’s best this way.”

“For you, maybe. It’s so easy for you, you bastard! You can have any woman you want! Is that what this is? Is there someone else?”

“No.” I wish there was. I wish like hell there was. “I’m just done.”
“But I’m in love with you, Kade. I love you. I want to marry you!”
The thought of marrying this girl makes me feel darker and more rage-filled than

anything has in a long time. Fuck, I’m an idiot, for letting this go on for far too long. “I’m sorry but I don’t feel the same way. You’re a beautiful person, Carmen,” I tell her, even though I don’t entirely believe that to be true. The more I get to know her, the more greedy and manipulative she becomes. “You’ll find someone else. Someone who can give you what you want.”

“You can give me what I want, Kade. You. Baby, please.” She clings to me and I have to physically stop myself from pushing her roughly away. I feel a sudden, violent aversion to her touch. All I want to do now is to get the fuck away from her.

I remove her grip and hold her shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length, which is easy to do since I outweigh her by around three to one. I say it slowly, willing her to

understand that I’m not playing games or fucking around. I want out. “I can’t give you what you want because I don’t love you.”

“Stop saying that!” she screams. “You do love me. You have to!” More goddamn tears and it takes me right back to all the fights and sadness that broke my parents.

She raises her hand as though to slap me but I hold her wrist, making an effort not to break it. I so easily could. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” This whole thing is starting to piss me off. The black cloud hanging over my life has become heavier than I know what to do with.

“Then don’t break up with me, Kade,” she pleads. “Please. I’ll make it better, I promise. I love you so much, Kade. Don’t leave me.”

I release her wrist. “It’s not working. You must feel that too. It’s over, all right? Let me call my driver and he’ll take you home. You’ll be happier this way. You’ll see.”

She falls to her knees, clawing at my belt buckle. “I’ll show you, Kade. I’ll convince you. Please. I’ll do anything. Let me make you feel good.”

I take a step back. For fuck’s sake. She’s never done that before and it’s a hell of a time to want to start. This was a major part of the problem. She’s the most sexually repressed and unadventurous woman I’ve ever known. With her it’s all missionary position or she’s accusing me of being twisted and depraved.

She has no idea.

Fuck, I’m an idiot for not doing this sooner.

“Get up.” I regret the past six months with a fury that’s sudden and feral. I want her out of my life. I take my phone out of my back pocket and text my driver.

Her face is streaked with tears. “You do love me, Kade,” she sobs. “You said it to me.”

Once. To try it on. To see if saying it might make it feel like it was something that could potentially stick. But it had the opposite effect. It felt completely, totally wrong as soon as the words were out. All I wanted to do was somehow pull them back. To grab them out of the air and grind them into the dirt. “I wanted to love you. I genuinely tried. But I can’t. I don’t.” It sounds harsh and it is.

And it gets a reaction. “You’re incapable of love, you selfish prick! You don’t know how to love. You’re a cold-hearted son a bitch who doesn’t know the first thing about love.”

It’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to me. It confirms my deepest fears and makes my life feel more bleak than it ever has. It can’t be true. Problem is, I think maybe it is. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She’s on her feet now and the tears have given way to her seething, volatile temper. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” She reaches for a book and throws it at me. It misses.

“Jesus, Carmen. Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? You know what you are, Kade Tucker? You’re a commitment-phobic redneck with no heart!” she shrieks. “You’re a selfish jerk who’s too wrapped up in your own twisted head to get close to another person. You think you’re all cool and deep, just because you’re famous? Well, I know better. You’re cold and heartless. You’re nothing more than a self-absorbed wannabe, that’s what you are!”

Wannabe? This almost makes me laugh. Better than tears, at least. And Carmen was never going to go quietly. I text my security.

She throws a heavy brass candle holder. I duck, and it smashes into the glass coffee table, sending a spray of shattered shards across the floor. “For fuck’s sake.”

“You arrogant hillbilly selfish up-yourself jerk!”

Four security guards enter my apartment. “Miss?” one of them says to her. “Come with us, please. We’ll escort you to the limo.”

“Fuck you!” Nice. Carmen picks up a vase but the guards easily take it from her. She looks like a frail, angry little bird that just fell out of its nest, now restrained by the hulking guards. “Get your hands off me, you fucking meatheads!”

“Please, miss,” one of them says to her. “We’d prefer to escort you without restraining you.” They’re polite but they’ll do what needs to be done. I know from getting mobbed on a regular basis that these guys are good at their job.

I go to the bedroom and grab her suitcase. All those times she talked about moving in together that I brushed off. It makes it easier now. I’ve spent most of the past six months on the road anyway, so there wasn’t time to settle in. Now, I’m grateful for that.

I hand her bag to one of the guards. Then I hold her coat out for her so she can put it on. It’s cold outside. The guards release her and I help her get her coat on. As much as I want her to leave, I can’t shake the protective instincts that are so ingrained in me, not for her in particular, but for anyone who’s vulnerable for any reason.

At the gesture, her eyes well up again. “You’re really kicking me out, Kade? Baby?” The word has always irritated me, come to think of it, because I was never hers. Now it has all the effect of nails on a chalkboard.

“You’ll find someone else in no time, you’ll see.” At this point I don’t really care either way. About her, or anything at all. I feel completely, totally ... empty. It almost worries me how desolate the roadmap of my life has become. “You and me were never meant to be.”

“You’re wrong,” Carmen pleads. “Let me stay, Kade. We can talk through it, I know we can. Please give me one more chance to change your mind. Please.”

I look down at her gently. “There’s nothing left to talk about, darlin’. You take care of yourself now. You’ll be okay.”

“How can you do this to me? You’re so mean!”

“I’m not mean, Carmen.” My voice sounds husky and devoid of emotion. “I’m just done.”

The guards lead her into the elevator and she follows, knowing by now they’ll restrain her if she doesn’t go willingly. As the doors slide closed she screams, “You haven’t seen the last of me, Kade Tucker, you fucking bastard! You’ll pay for this!”

Jesus.
That was just as gruesome as I expected, but it’s finally over.
I walk over to the bar and help myself to a generous helping of Jack, which I tip

back. I put on a cowboy hat, a long oilskin coat, and some sunglasses, even though it’s raining, and I make my way down through the back entrance of the warehouse, letting myself out onto the street. My security won’t be happy with me, but unless there are fifty thousand of them, I can handle the fans if it’s smaller groups of them. I’m a lot bigger than they are.

I pull the collar of my coat up as high as it will go, to shield myself, if it’ll make a difference.

I get a lot of publicity, more than a lot of bass players, for whatever reason. Travis is the golden boy of our band and the lead singer. Vaughn is the wild-child drummer. And I’m the walks-closer-to-the-dark-side, mysterious one. The enigma. Turns out just as many women prefer that type.

They study my lyrics. They swoon over the baselines I play. They scream and cry and cheer during my solos. With our last Rolling Stone cover, there was a spotlight on me with the headline, “Nashville’s heartthrob bass player Kade Tucker’s complex, catchy-as-hell harmonies will blow your mind and break your starstruck heart.”

My looks get written about as much as my music. Roxie loves to show me the descriptions written about me online. “A soulful hunk,” “a dreamy beefcake,” “the sexiest mystery man in music,” “a hot AF superstar whose emotion-drenched lyrics hint at a deliciously dirty mind that’ll heat up your playlist and get your panties soaking wet.”

Or something like that.
I don’t pay much attention to it.
I get mobbed less than my brothers, maybe because I’m less approachable. But I

get just as much fan mail and have just as many followers, or whatever they are, even though Roxie does all the social media stuff for me because I couldn’t care less about that shit.

It feels good to be free.

I didn’t realize how heavy the weight of an unhappy relationship can be. Especially when you’re doing it because you think it’s supposed to be making you happy, when in fact it’s doing the exact opposite.

I’m done. Single. On my own.
And I intend to keep it that way for a while.
Making my way down Broadway, I pull my hat lower.
I have a gig tonight, which I didn’t tell Carmen about. It’s only a few songs, as a

guest, but she would have complained, like always. The list of my crimes was endless. I

wasn’t home enough. I was too distracted to make time for her. My latest song wasn’t about her. My newest tattoo wasn’t her name.

As if.

Then there were the unbearable dinner parties with her pretentious friends, whose favorite topics of conversation revolved around how much of their parents’ money they’ve spent lately and how many likes they’ve managed to get.

It was the idea of me that Carmen loved, I can see that now. What took me so fucking long, is what I’m asking myself. I’m a fool. A goddamn romantic who was looking for more than there ever was. The things she loved about me were all the worst things to love: I’m loaded, I’m famous, and all her friends wished I was theirs. What I didn’t fully realize at the time was that the thing she loved most about me was that I was perfect for her image.

I have no intention of being fooled again.
I’m swearing off relationships.
I’ll write music and clear my head. Take some time off from all the why-isn’t-this-

working and I-wish-I-felt-something-real-but-the-fact-is-I-fucking-don’t.
I just wish I didn’t feel so damn ... sad.
It fucking sucks to feel lonely when you’re with someone. It feels even worse to be

lonely when you’re genuinely alone. Because you never know if you’ll ever not be alone. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I glance at the screen. I’m expecting a barrage

of angry calls and messages. But it’s Gage, my cousin.
I almost don’t answer it because I’m not really in the mood to talk, but he

mentioned he might be coming to Nashville soon and I don’t want to miss him. “Gage. How’s it going?”

“Good, man.” Gage and I are the same age, both the oldest in our families. We’ve always been close. “How’s the rebound going?”

I told a small white lie to my family, that I’d already broken up with Carmen, just to keep them off my back because no one likes her. Now that the deed is actually done, it feels closer to the bone. My mood is dark, because I never actually envisioned my life as a lone wolf, which is clearly the hand I’ve been dealt. “I’m steering clear of women for the time being.”

He laughs. “Sure. I give it five minutes.”

“How’s engagement bliss?” Gage proposed to his girlfriend Luna over the holidays. We never thought it would happen to the biggest playboy in the family but once he fell, he fell hard, like the people in my family tend to do. Except me, that is.

“It’s surprisingly beautiful,” he says. Falling in love is some powerful shit if it’s got my staunchly cynical cousin all starstruck. I’d laugh at the unlikeliness of it all if I wasn’t staring down the dark and lonely stretch of highway that’s my immediate future.

“I’m happy for you, man,” I tell him, meaning it.
“Thanks, bro.”
“When are you coming to Nashville?”
“I have a client meeting there on Tuesday afternoon. You around on Tuesday

night?”
“Should be. I don’t leave for New Orleans until later in the week.” I’ve got a few

solo shows coming up. My focus for the past five years has been the band, but lately I’ve been taking on more side projects and doing a few more collaborations, which are gaining momentum. With my band, I play the bass guitar, but I also sing and play

rhythm guitar. I recently recorded a solo album which has already started getting some serious traction. Roxie thought it would be a good idea to do a few shows and I agreed.

“Great. I’ll make a reservation at Speakeasy. How’s eight o’clock?” “Sounds good.”
“All right, Kade. Try to behave yourself until then.”
“I’ll do my best.”

We end the call and as soon as I hang up, it rings again. Carmen.
I ignore it, powering my phone off.
I make my way toward the bar I’m playing at tonight.

I decide I’ll stay at one of my other houses until I leave for New Orleans. I own three in Nashville, because it happens to be my favorite place on earth and it’s home. I use each house for different reasons, depending on my schedule and my mood.

The warehouse is where the band practices and records, and where we spend time together. No one else is there right now since our biggest tour yet just finished and everyone has split to take some time off. And after the break-up tonight I need some space from that place.

The twelve-bedroom house I own in the center of town, just off Broadway, is looked after for me by a couple of friends who are also musicians. It’s a hub for local artists and it’s where I hang out when I’m meeting up with my collaborators and performing different kinds of music with local and visiting bands, from blue-grass to rock to country to jazz.

And my house in Franklin is seven acres, with a brand new house on it a friend of mine who’s an architect designed for me. It sits up on a hill and has views of the pool

and the treetops. I use it when I feel like getting out of the city for a break and some much-needed solitude, which, from time to time, I absolutely crave.

I also own an apartment in New York City, a house in New Orleans and a condo in downtown Austin.

The rain is really coming down now.
I’m about to turn the corner when I hear something.
It’s a girl. “Hello?” she says. “Open the door. Come on. Please.” Her back is to me

but I can see that she’s soaked to the skin. She’s pressing an intercom button by the door. “Hello?” She holds the button down for a few seconds, then gives up. “I can’t believe this.”

I stop walking. As she turns to look at me, I can see that she’s crying.

Not again.

But I slide my sunglasses up. To get a better look.

She’s cute, in a bedraggled, waiflike way. Her eyes are the brightest color green I’ve ever seen. Her hair is long and wet, hanging straight until it reaches past her shoulders, where it coils into loose, cheerful ringlets. Light smudges around her eyes give her a sultry look, and it’s a sexiness she’s completely unaware of. The wetness of her long eyelashes has created starburst patterns, giving her face a sweet, hot-mess glamour. Her lips are full and pink, perfectly-shaped, with a wet plumpness that hits me right where I live. At the sight of her soft mouth, without warning, my cock thickens. Fuck. Lately I’ve been so mired in my own unhappiness that I’ve been uncharacteristically ... calm. But my calmness has suddenly and jarringly faded out. The shape of her rain-wet lips reawakens a revved-up lust in me that was—until right this second—trapped under the heavy weight of my own discontent.

I will myself not to get a raging fucking hard-on, but the tidal wave of relief and straight-to-the-gut bedazzlement she’s hitting me with is the most forceful thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Or maybe ever.

I’m alive, she’s reminding me. I’m hot and I’m overflowing with hunger and cravings that’ll break every rule and ignite the kind of pleasure you’ll never recover from.

Damn.
She’s achingly pretty.
It’s a different kind of beauty than the one I’ve been closest to lately, which was

hardened by anger or meanness or spite.
This girl has none of that pettiness behind her eyes, and the difference is sort of

fierce and luminous. There’s a purity to her expression that I feel somewhere in the middle of my chest. She’s fucking gorgeous, cute but also sexy as hell. And she’s kind. You can read that about her. She’s quirky and empathetic, with a fun, eccentric edge. I don’t know how I get all that with one glance but I do. There’s an openness to her face that’s riveting me.

“Are you all right?” I ask her, though clearly she isn’t.

“I’m fine.” She’s wary. She’s obviously not from around here. Her coat is open at the front, and her wet clothes are citified and preppy, with a twist. You get the feeling she’s a free-spirit confined by the invisible cage of family expectations or society’s rules. She studies my look for a few seconds, and her wariness drifts. She notices my height, my build, my face. I’m rough-looking but there’s something trustworthy about my eyes. I’ve been told this more than once and maybe she’s tuning into that same vibe. “This is

supposed to be my Airbnb. But they’re not answering and the door is locked. It’s just the cherry on top of what has been ... a week. Do you happen to know of any hotels nearby?”

I think about recommending one of the many hotels within easy walking distance.

I’ve sworn off women, I remind myself. I’m taking a much-needed break. But I’m not quite ready to disengage from her layered, bright-eyed glow. She’s fascinating me with all the different facets of her gorgeousness. The glittery emerald eyes that are so green they’re surreal-looking, like she’s half sea nymph or she just rode in from Atlantis on her unicorn. The sweep of her eyelashes. The cheekbones, with the slightest little hollows underneath, where a dimple quirks. Her skin is sun-kissed and healthy-looking, like she’s been hanging out on a Hawaiian beach all day instead of here in the cold, wintery rain. The three tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose are shaped like a golden C chord. “I’m heading to a bar right around this corner for a drink,” I hear myself saying. “We could get you out of the rain and you could call somewhere to see what’s available.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But then the rain starts coming down harder, in an absolute torrent. Until it’s dripping off my hat and off the ringlets of her hair, wetting her already-soaked white top, revealing a hint of lace, the fullness of her breasts and the outline of her taut nipples.

Damn it. Despite my attempts to tone it down, my cock hardens fully, throbbing hotly.

“I guess I won’t be leaving a glowing review for this host.” A hint of humor touches her mouth. Even standing here in the pouring rain, stranded, alone with a towering stranger she just met on the street, something about this situation entertains

her. This detail does something to slay me, I have no idea why. She finds the fun in life, that twinkle in her green eyes is communicating. It’s such a refreshing change from the girl who looks for the misery or the how-dare-the-universe-injustice-me-like-this in every situation, like the one I’m used to.

As she stares up at me, her full lips parted, I notice she has a small gap between her front teeth. I have this insanely savage urge to run my tongue along it. To sink deep into her mouth. To taste her. To feast on all that sultry lusciousness.

Fuck, it feels good. To feel so much.

I take off my coat and—carefully, so I don’t scare her—wrap it around her shoulders. “You’re getting wet.”

We might as well be standing in a shower, the rain is coming down that hard. She smiles at the ridiculousness of the deluge of the rainstorm and that sweet quirk of her mouth makes my decision. There’s no way I’m not taking her with me tonight. “And now you’re getting wet.”

Don’t overthink this. You’re coming out of a tunnel. You’re not lovestruck, she’s just the first pretty girl you’ve come across on the rebound.

I keep it light. “It’ll be dry in the bar. How about that drink?” I’m wondering if she’s even old enough. She looks impossibly young.

“A drink sounds fantastic.”

I don’t care either way but I want to know. “You’re legal, right? Just out of curiosity.” Because I’m asking the question for more than one reason.

She blinks at me, like she finds this funny. “I’m twenty-one.”

I wouldn’t have guessed that. She looks younger. Whatever happened to her this week to make it a crazy one, it just got a whole lot better. Because I’m about to make sure of it. I offer my arm for her to hold onto. “You ready, then? It’s not far.”

She takes my arm lightly, glancing up at me with those crazy-ass eyes that are charmed with bright light and warm depth, and green as all hell.

“I’m Kade.” I hold out my hand for her to shake, and since her right hand is weaved around my arm, she holds my hand with her left and squeezes lightly. I hate that her hand is cold. It clashes with her sunny face and those jewel-bright eyes. I want to shield her and warm her. To make sure she’s safe.

“Stella.”

Stella.
Lost little rain-soaked glamour girl.
I don’t bother analyzing the spin of my thoughts. I’m too mesmerized to worry

about it.

You’ve somehow just proven me wrong.