His For One Night
Thank goodness that a year of superstardom hadn’t changed that about her.
Then Brooke began to sing as she played her guitar, and something in Flash’s chest let go as the sound of her voice washed over him. By God, he’d missed the hell out of her. She might not remember him—although, given how her eyes had widened slightly when they’d made eye contact, he thought maybe she did. And she might not want to see him again. But for a little while, he could lose himself in her world.
Until he realized what she was singing.
“It’s just a one-night stand,
No tomorrow, no plans.”
Well, damn. Yeah, she remembered him. But it wasn’t a good thing. Especially not when she got to the chorus.
“You weren’t worth the fun.
My one-night stand.”
And the hell of it was, it was a great song. She had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand.
“Don’t want to hear your excuses,
I don’t care about your plans.
Not waiting any longer.
Screw your demands.
It’s time I made my one-night stand.”
Chills raced down his back as she held the last note, strong and powerful. He hadn’t even had the chance to say hello and she was already shutting him down.
When the song ended, she did not look at him. She didn’t sneak a peek out of the corner of her eye, didn’t pivot in her chair, nothing. If she’d recognized him, it was clear she was ignoring him. “Whoo, y’all like that? That’s just the beginning—I have a whole album of sass coming your way!”
Anger—an old, familiar feeling—began to push through his veins, but Flash refused to let it win. It was entirely possible that Brooke Bonner had forgotten all about him after her whirlwind breakout year. There was also a distinct possibility that, if she did remember him, she didn’t hold him in any particularly high esteem.
He should’ve anticipated the song, though. He should’ve anticipated her anger. Anger was his second language. It came as naturally to him as breathing. But he hadn’t seen this attack coming.
Okay, yeah, there’d been a superhot one-night stand. They’d hooked up in her dressing room before the show, which had made her late to go on because leather miniskirts weren’t easy to work around. And it’d been good.
God, he still went hard just thinking about taking her against the wall in that tiny room, staring into her eyes as they both fought not to make a single sound. So damn good. And she had to have agreed, right? Because he’d hung around after the show, and when she’d seen him waiting for her, her entire face had lit up and she’d crooked her finger at him. They’d spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other in her hotel suite, having hot sex and ordering room service and, in between the seductions, making each other laugh.
They’d parted friends the next morning. He’d made damn sure to leave her with a smile on her face. He knew he hadn’t stopped grinning for days. Weeks, even.
So how had they gotten from that to this?
“My next song—now just wait for it,” she all but purred into the mike, “is called ‘How Many Licks’ because that was always the question, right?” The crowd hooted. “How many licks to get to the center of the sucker?”
“Three!” some jackass yelled.
“As many licks as it takes,” a different ass yelled. Brooke wagged a scolding finger at him.
Flash had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. Behind his eyelids, the world was red. They weren’t disrespecting her. She’d chosen that title to get that exact reaction. She knew what she was doing and it wasn’t his job to defend her from every slight. He’d already tried that once and had the criminal record—and nemesis—to prove it. He’d busted Tex McGraw up pretty damn good because the man had dared to put Brooke’s name in his mouth.
Obviously, Flash understood why Tex hated him with a white-hot fury—Flash had knocked the man out of the All-Stars with a solid right hook. But Tex hadn’t let up any with his online attacks since then, and he sure as hell hadn’t accepted either of Flash’s apologies—not the court-mandated one and not the more sincere one Flash had made after a few months of sobriety. But it was fine. Flash had gotten to a place in his life where he could handle online swipes from Tex without being driven to fits of rage. That was how far Flash had come in a year.
Brooke launched into the song, which cut off any other outbursts. The red haze behind his eyes faded, and he was able to breathe without feeling like punching someone.
Not surprisingly, this song felt personal, too. The double entendres flew fast and furious, but the core of the song was about a guy who couldn’t take his licks and bailed.
A lot of people didn’t like Flash. He’d never made it particularly easy for anyone to like him, but at least he knew it. However, he’d never inspired such strong feelings that someone could write an entire album based on how much they hated him, for God’s sake.
Right. Instead of being insulted and letting it get to him, he was going to focus on feeling...flattered. Yeah, flattered. Not just any rodeo rider had an entire album dedicated to him, officially or unofficially. And if she publicly acknowledged that he was the inspiration, well, Flash was sure that his sister, Chloe, would find a way to spin Brooke’s new album as a positive for Flash and the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. Probably.
Besides, Brooke had said herself the album wouldn’t be out for a few more months. She was still fine-tuning some of the material, still recording. Forewarned was forearmed. It was a good thing he was here tonight. He could work with Chloe to plan for a couple of different contingencies. His sister had already basically figured out that Flash was crushing hard on Brooke.
Although...she’d want to know why Brooke was so furious with him. And he did not have an answer for that. Brooke had kissed him goodbye. Thanked him for the amazing night. Told him to take care.
And that was it.
At least she hadn’t forgotten him, right? If there was one word that described Flash Lawrence, it was memorable.
When Brooke started the next song—titled “Not Going Down (Without a Fight)”—Flash almost couldn’t take it. What the hell? If it’d been any other club or dive bar in Nashville, he would’ve bailed. But when a songwriter or a singer started their set at the Bluebird, no one moved and no one talked—house rules. So he had no choice but to sit there and listen.
He’d spent a year trying to make sense of the fact that Brooke Bonner was an itch he hadn’t finished scratching. Before her, he’d bounced around bars and rodeos for four, maybe five years, picking up buckle bunnies and beautiful women in every town from Phoenix to Peoria while riding on the All-Stars circuit. Brooke Bonner should’ve been just one more woman. It’d been a one-night. Meaningless. Satisfying.
Except that that night had meant something to him and he’d spent nearly thirteen months unsatisfied.
Coming here tonight hadn’t been a good idea. But damn it, he needed to know if their night together had meant anything to her.
Something more than raw material.
Finally, her set ended and the crowd came back to life. Because she was the last act, she stayed in the center of the room and signed autographs and posed for pictures. Flash hung back at the bar, debating his next move. Should he wait for the crowd to thin and then approach her? Or would it be better if they didn’t have an audience? In that case, he should head out to the parking lot and wait by her car. Or was that too creepy?
Brooke glanced at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead before she quickly looked away. Nothing about that said invitation.
But he didn’t care about that little frown. He didn’t care about the songs or the radio silence that had lasted over a year.
He wanted to look her in the eye, make his case and then hear whatever she needed to get off her chest in person—without losing his temper. He wanted to know how they’d gotten from that wild night to this.
And if he didn’t get lucky...he’d walk.
But he wasn’t playing this guessing game.
He paid his tab and headed outside. The Bluebird was in a nondescript strip mall, and it took some work for Flash to work his way around to the back of the building. There—that plain sand-colored sedan had to be hers. She’d told him that she drove a boring car because it blended in.
He took up residence against a wall a good ten feet from the door of the Bluebird, giving her plenty of room. Lying in wait for her was a terrible idea, especially after that window into her mind and most especially after that frown. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a gun on him.
But that was a risk he was willing to take.
Three
“Great set,” Kyle said, a note of pride in his voice. “It’s going to be a massive hit. The whole album. Very girl power. I wish I’d written half of it.”
“Be sure to tell the record label that, okay?” Brooke said, her cheeks beginning to hurt with all the smiling she was doing. She valued Kyle’s opinion and the crowd had seemed to enjoy the songs as well, so this was all great.
Except Flash Lawrence was here. What was she supposed to do now?
“I’m so proud of you,” Kyle added, giving her an awkward hug.
She hugged him back but her mind was stuck on Flash. She’d almost, almost gone up to him out there. There were a lot of people milling around, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if she’d walked up to the bar and asked for something else to drink, right? People wouldn’t have made any connection between her getting a drink and making small talk with a random cowboy, right? Then she could’ve at least figured out why he was here. The only two possibilities she could think of were—this was either a stunning coincidence or...
Or he’d come to see her.
And as she had only mentioned the Bluebird appearance on her Twitter feed two days ago...
She’d bet good money Flash was outside waiting for her. Which meant she had to talk to him. Which meant she had to tell him about Bean. Her son.
His son.
Oh God, this was going to suck.
“Hey,” Kyle said, putting a hand on her arm. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, working hard for that smile. She’d kept Bean a secret for a lot of good reasons, but none of them came to mind now that she knew she’d have to tell Flash. Because the alternative was to do exactly what her mother had done—keep on hiding and lying for the rest of her life—and Brooke couldn’t do it. She was done hiding.
Or would be, just as soon as Flash knew. But to Kyle, she said, “Just relieved the new stuff is solid.”
Kyle gave her a worried look. “You sure? I know you, Brooke. I know how you write. That stuff...it seemed kind of personal.”
“We need to get going,” Alex said, all but hip checking Kyle into a wall. Bless her heart. “Sorry, Morgan.”
“Jeez, woman,” Kyle said, rubbing his shoulder. “You should’ve stuck with football.”
Brooke gave him another quick hug and made a not-exactly-quick stop in the ladies’ room. Damn it, she was stalling.
Not hiding anymore, she repeated to herself as she picked up her guitar case. Alex opened the back door for her and, as she walked out into the humid Tennessee air, Brooke felt it again—that tingling at the base of her spine.
“Brooke.”
That was all he had to say for her worst nightmares and her fondest dreams to come true at once because this was really happening.
Flash had come for her.
Oh, God—she wasn’t going to be strong enough because even just the sound of her name on his lips was making her resolve weaken.
It didn’t have the same effect on Alex. “Hey—back off,” she rumbled, stepping in front of Brooke. “Show’s over, buddy.”
“Brooke?” Flash said again. “I just want to talk. Privately.”
Yeah, she knew what happened when she and Flash had any privacy. At least the first time they’d hooked up, in her dressing room, she hadn’t planned to have sex with him. At least, not right then. But Flash was that rare, dangerous creature—an irresistible man.
Okay, so not total privacy. But maybe semiprivate would work.
Brooke put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said quietly as she stepped around her friend. “I know him.”
Alex leaned down to whisper, “I don’t like him.” Of course, her whispering wasn’t exactly quiet and, given Flash’s smirk, it was clear he’d heard.
Yeah, neither would Crissy Bonner. The record label executives would love Flash, though—a showy pro-rodeo cowboy would be great for PR.
But she didn’t want Flash to be a public relations bonanza. She wanted...hell. She didn’t know what she wanted. Except for some privacy. She owed him that much.
“It’s fine. Can you wait in the car?”
Alex glared at Flash and growled. But then she said, “Fine—but only for a few minutes,” as she took the guitar case from Brooke.
Then he did the ballsy thing and approached Alex. “Hi. Flash Lawrence. And you are?”
Alex gave him a look that made lesser men turn tail and run, but Flash held his ground. He wasn’t a coward, that much was for certain.
With a quick look at Brook, Alex said, “Alex Andrews. Don’t try anything funny.” She jabbed a finger in Flash’s direction and pointedly did not shake his hand.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. As Brooke can tell you, I don’t have a sense of humor.” She couldn’t help the smile that danced over her lips at that bold-faced lie. She remembered quite well how easily she’d laughed with Flash. It would’ve been one thing if he’d just been amazing between the sheets. But he’d been so dang easy to be with—kind and funny and tender and hot and...
He’d made her like him.
She’d liked him a good deal. Seeing all those news headlines about his violent temper and plea deals had felt like a betrayal, almost.
Because she’d been wrong about him.
Had any of it been real?
Flash stood his ground as Alex crowded into his personal space on her way to the car. The one with the baby bucket-seat base in the back seat. True, there was a blanket thrown over it because God forbid anyone should notice that Brooke Bonner had a child restraint system in her car, but still. Hard evidence of Bean was practically within line of sight.
How was she supposed to do this, damn it?
Because Flash looked so much better in person than he did in her dreams. Maybe it was just the jacket. But maybe it was him. There was something almost...calm about him.
With a huff, Alex slammed the driver’s side door. It wasn’t like Brooke and Flash were alone—the door to the Bluebird’s kitchen was still propped open and Kyle might come out at any second. But for this brief moment, she and Flash had something resembling privacy.
“You look great,” Flash began.
Brooke barely managed to avoid rolling her eyes even as the compliment sent a thrill through her. She was still at least one size above where she’d been before she’d gotten pregnant, and her mother was pushing her hard to lose the last of the baby weight so people wouldn’t get suspicious. To know she looked okay was a relief.
No, no—she was not falling for superficial compliments. Because that was just the generic sort of statement that any man trying to get laid would open up with.
“What do you want, Flash?”
Please don’t say something romantic ran through her mind in the key of G at the exact same moment say something romantic did the same thing in harmony. She’d have to write that down later—could be a good hook.
Flash whipped off his hat and launched the smile at her that had melted her heart—and other parts—so long ago. “I wanted to see you again, but I get the feeling that you’re not exactly happy with me right now.”
“You picked up on that, did you?”
“It was subtle,” he replied, that easy grin on his lips, “but I did notice a little anger in those songs.”
“Well, your powers of deduction are in fine form.” She made a move to step around him, but he mirrored her movements. “What, Flash? I’m tired.”
“I want to apologize,” he said, moving closer.
She inhaled sharply. This sounded like a trap. “Oh? And what, exactly, are you apologizing for?”
“Don’t know. But—” he went on when Brooke scoffed heartily “—clearly I hurt you and, judging by the songs I heard tonight—which were great—I hurt you badly. So let me apologize, Brooke.”
Lord, did he have to sound so damned earnest about it? She almost wished he was cocky and overconfident. This would be so much easier if he was trying to talk his way into her panties again. This time, she’d be ready for him. This time, she wouldn’t make a mistake.
But, no—the cocky cowboy she’d taken to bed was nowhere to be seen, and in his place stood a serious man staring at her with so much longing and tenderness that, if Brooke allowed herself to think about it at all, he might take her breath away. So she didn’t think about it.
“Fine. Apology accepted. Good night, Flash.”
“Brooke,” he said, her name a whisper on his lips. “I’ve missed you so much and the hell of it is, I don’t know why.”
“Really?” she snapped at him. Anger was great. Anger was not being seduced by his sweet words or intense looks. Anger was reminding her exactly who he was—a smooth talker with a violent streak—and, more importantly, who she was. He’d gotten her pregnant and she’d had to deal with the fallout without him because she couldn’t trust him. Her whole life had been upended because of this man because she’d fallen for his sweet words and right now, he wasn’t even that smooth at the talking. “That’s not an apology, Flash. That’s an insult.”
“Would you listen?” he said, a warning in his voice. But then the weirdest thing happened—he took a step back and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “What I mean to say is, you were amazing—gorgeous and funny and smart and so easy to be with, and I’d be a fool not to want more of that. With you,” he added quickly.
She snorted again, crossing her arms in front of her chest as different harmonies for don’t say something romantic played in her mind.
“We had one night. A one-night stand, as you so eloquently put it.” He ran a hand through his hair and then looked at her again, and this time the need in his eyes really did take her breath away. “That was all it was supposed to be, damn it, and...and it wasn’t. Not for me. I wanted more with you then and I want more with you now.”
“That’s all well and good, Flash, but it’s not enough. Not for me.”
She needed to tell him about Bean. It wasn’t fair to him to keep his son hidden away, and it wasn’t fair to Bean to deprive him of his father when the man was right here.
But she couldn’t.
Not until she knew what he wanted and not if all he wanted was another night. Because she couldn’t make a mistake like Flash Lawrence again. She needed him to be a father to his son. She needed him to be a co-parent, at the very least.
She needed to know she could trust him. And right now?
Not a lot of trust to go around.
Eyes closed, he took another one of those weirdly deep breaths and then he stepped up to her. Even though the night was warm and sticky, she felt the warmth from his body as if he’d shined the heat of the sun down upon her. And it only got worse when his hand came up to cup her face and his thumb stroked over her cheek. She knew she should push him away, but when he touched his forehead to hers she couldn’t help leaning into his touch, breathing in the clean scent of him—leather and man and, Lord, it was wonderful.
“I followed your career, watched your climb up the charts. Celebrated your number-one hits and cheered your award-show wins. Saw your face every night I closed my eyes,” he said, his voice soft as his breath brushed over her skin like a lover’s kiss. Her body clenched in an involuntary response to his touch, his words. His everything. “I tried so hard to forget you, but I couldn’t. And I’m so sorry.”
He wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t. But damn it all if he wasn’t reminding her exactly why she’d taken him into her bed, because even when he was speaking in riddles he still made it sound so good—and feel even better. “Because you can’t forget me?”
“No.” He laughed a little. She looked deep into his eyes and saw unflinching honesty as he said, “I’ll never be sorry for that. But I looked you up and I realized, what if you’d looked me up, too? What if you read about the arrest and trial and plea deals? So I’m sorry for how you must’ve felt when you read the headlines. I’m sorry you saw the worst of me, playing out in real time on the internet. I’m sorry I destroyed a perfect memory of a perfect night, because that’s what you were to me. A perfect memory.”
She inhaled sharply, her eyes stinging even as she squeezed them tight. That was a very good line, one that was already weaving its way into the chorus her brain was trying to write.
“I came here tonight not to tell you I wanted you—although I do,” Flash went on. His other hand settled in the curve of her hip, gently pulling her into him and, weak as she was, she let him.
Her breasts brushed against his chest. “Then why?” she whispered, afraid of his answer even as she was desperate to hear it.
“I came here to tell you what happened after the headlines. After I got sentenced and suspended from the circuit, I did my community service and completed my anger management courses. I made a promise to myself and my family that I was going to rein in my anger and stop letting it rule me.”
“You did?” Somehow, her hand was underneath his jacket on his chest—not pushing him away but resting right over his heart. She could feel it beating, strong and steady.
He turned his head ever so slightly, his lips brushing against her temple, then down her cheek. “I also quit drinking. I won’t say I’m an alcoholic, but when I drank I couldn’t keep a handle on my anger, and that’s when I got into trouble. I’ve been sober for eight months and counting.”
“Tonight?” Her voice came out breathy and tight, and the space between her legs felt warm and liquid with want because she hadn’t had a man in her bed since him and she missed him.
No, no—she missed sex. Which was normal. She’d been cleared to resume her nonexistent sex life from the private OB/GYN—who her mother had made sign a nondisclosure form, HIPAA be damned—six weeks ago, as long as she used reliable birth control, and it had taken everything Brooke had not to laugh in the woman’s face.
So she didn’t necessarily miss this man. She just missed men in general.
Right.
“Ginger ale. In a beer glass.” Then he brushed his lips against hers, and she was powerless to do anything but open her mouth for him. When he licked inside her, she tasted sugar and ginger, not beer.
Pop shouldn’t be so seductive, but this was crazy. How did he know that was exactly what she needed to hear? How could he taste so good?
How could she still want him so damned much?
Because she did.
He broke the kiss but he didn’t pull away. Somehow, they were closer now and she could feel the heat of his erection pulsing against her belly. She could feel her pulse matching his, beat for beat.
“I want to see you again,” he murmured against her lips. Then his mouth was trailing over her cheek, toward her ear. “I need more than just one night, Brooke. But I won’t ask you for anything else.”
“Yes.” The word slipped out before she could think better of it, before the logistics of another night in Flash’s arms could rear their ugly head. She needed more from him, too.
“Where? Say the word and I’m there, babe. I’m anywhere you need me.” As he spoke, he pressed his knee between her legs, putting pressure right where she needed it. She couldn’t fight down the moan. God, it’d been so long since another person had touched her for pleasure. Her pleasure. “Just tell me you need me.”