His hand shimmied inside the denim, sandwiched comfortably between blue jean and lace as he navigated a determined finger across the thin fabric, tracing a defined trail from my entrance to the area above my sensitive mound and then back again.

  I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

  “Relax, Kennedy, you’re going to give yourself a cramp,” he mumbled, his lips skimming my hairline.

  I tried to do as I was told, releasing the comforter from the death grip that my hands were inflicting upon it while reminding myself to breathe.

  "Do you want my finger inside of you?" he questioned, his finger drawing a slow circle across the fabric that separated his finger from the release that I sought. He had essentially undone all of the forward progress that I’d just made.

  "Yes," I said, sounding like a woman who'd never been caressed before. But I was much too aroused at the moment to chastise myself for what I would later on.

  "Tell me you do," he urged, leaning forward and capturing my lower lip between his teeth. He bit down hard causing an ache so strong that it made me dizzy. My hips arched up to meet his hand, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. "All you have to do is say it," he instructed, palming my mound with much more success than my poor attempts minutes earlier.

  I relaxed long enough to yank his face down to mine, so close the tips of our noses kissed. His teasing had transformed me into somewhat of a mad woman, my next words making their way out through clenched teeth. "Griff Callahan if you don't put your finger inside me, I swear it to the Heavens above, you'll regret it."

  He stifled a laugh, equally aroused and amused by my unexpected threat. Pushing fabric aside, he ran a finger on either side of my entrance, apparently trying to tease me into a damned lustful coma. I was nanoseconds away from telling him exactly what I thought about his methods of torture when he dipped a finger inside.

  He made a guttural sound, a low growl of approval that ran parallel to the one I'd just released. "That is so much better than I could've hoped for," he grumbled, his lips curving into a satisfied smile.

  He began a slow, methodical assault on my clitoris, taking my mind far from the here-and-now. He slid his fingers across my folds, dipping them slowly inside, exploring me so that he'd know the exact spot he'd need to find when the time came. His fingers worked in tandem, my hips rising up to meet his hand. I wanted more. I wanted faster and harder and the closer that I climbed toward my orgasm, the higher I soared above the waves of bliss, the harder it was for me to keep the cries of pleasure in check. My hips bucked towards the ceiling, attempting to intensify the sensations that he was creating. I was sinfully close, desperate to cross the finish line that was in my line of sight when he suddenly stopped, a slew of four letter words spewing from his lips.

  "W-what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" I stammered foolishly, floating back down to reality. A fall from a cloud that high bruised the soul…and my vagina.

  "Damned phones. Who the fuck calls someone four times in a row?" he grumbled, crawling off of the bed and heading in the direction of the living room. For someone known to admonish people for their language, he sure had been using a lot lately. "This better be an emergency," he threatened.

  "Hello" he barked, swiping the phone off of an end table next to the couch. I could see his look of disapproval from my spot on the bed, his breathing labored. My eyes drew instinctually to his manhood, my lust intensifying as it pressed firmly against his pants. "If I don't answer, then I'm busy. I don't have to answer to you. What in the hell do you need?" he questioned, coming back to the bed and resuming his position at my side. He pulled my bent knee towards him, the action spreading my legs apart.

  "Is everything okay?" I mouthed.

  He nodded, rolling displeased eyes towards the phone. His hand slid across my thigh, stopping when it reached my center. He cupped me through my denim, pressing his hand firmly against where he knew my clitoris would be. Applying a very precise amount of pressure, he began another tantalizing assault on me.

  I stifled a moan, my body picking right back up where it left off.

  "Wait, what? You're at the airport?" he yelled, stopping again.

  He was going to kill me with this sexual version of Red Light, Green Light. I was literally going to keel over and die from getting so close to an orgasm so many times and then being denied.

  He listened to a response, his face crumpling in confusion. "Sooo let me get this straight. You took a redeye from Ontario to fly all the way back here in between shows to see Kennedy?"

  Shit. Like serious, heart stopping, in-shit-up-to-my-elbows crappity crap! There was no doubt left in my mind about who was on the other end. He had called my number first, multiple times, and as a last alternative had tried Griff.

  Talk about an orgasm killer.

  "Well that's just plain stupid," Griff informed him. I could see the boiling rage building behind his eyes, the obvious jealousy.

  "Did she ask you to come back here?" he questioned, followed by a very quick, "I didn't think so."

  He laid a hesitant hand on my stomach, running his fingertips along my skin. Even in his current state of anger he couldn't keep his hands off of me. I smiled inwardly at the thought.

  After a lot of condescending grunting, eye rolling and the occasional attack on Mick's character, I had a fairly good depiction of what was going on. Mick had decided - very uncharacteristically and very last minute - to fly back to Nashville to see me, and now that he was here and couldn't get in touch with me, he was more than likely second-guessing his impulsive behavior.

  "She doesn't have to answer to you either. Just because you're a jerkoff and don't care that your careless behavior has practically made her a prisoner in a stranger's condo, doesn't mean she has to sit on the sidelines of life and pine over you. She doesn't even like you," he seethed, apparently his ability to harness his frustrations quickly coming to a close.

  "What? I'm just stating the obvious," he pointed out. "Why don't you ask her yourself? She's right here with me," he said, unable to stop the triumphant grin from sweeping across his face. "At the bar going over a few things…" he said. "Whatever. Fuck off, Mick. Here she is."

  "No," I mouthed, shaking my head vehemently back and forth.

  "Just take it," he whispered. "And enjoy." His lips curled into a mischievous smile that I knew meant trouble.

  "Huh?" I mumbled as he shoved the phone into my face. "Uh-oh-uh hello," I said, clearing my throat as I attempted nonchalance.

  "Kennedy, are you okay? He isn't forcing himself on you in any way, is he?" he questioned, his concern filling my ears.

  Far from it. "No, we-ahh-I just had some ideas about some bands that we might want to get into Callahan's so we were ahh discussing that," I rambled, unsure as to what to say. I shrugged over at Griff, frustrated at the loss of my prior ability to shoot from the hip.

  "That job's shit, Kennedy. No need for you to take it seriously when it's temporary."

  I tried not to be irritated by his statement. For one, he'd been the one to offer the job and the day he had, he'd acted as if it was the best thing since sliced bread. And two, I kind of liked the position. I found it both fun and rewarding to find talented acts. I enjoyed the different flavors of music that each act brought to the table and I liked the idea of exposing talent that might otherwise stay hidden in someone's garage.

  "Whether you are under the impression that the job is unimportant or likewise means very little to me. Right now, it's what's paying the bills and putting food in my belly. So if I want to take it seriously, then I'll damn well take it seriously," I said, beyond perturbed. He could at least pretend to have sympathy for others. His assholeishness and weak backbone had landed me here, without a singing gig…with Griff's hands down my pants. Oh Holy night! Griff had pushed my panties to one side, methodically dipping a finger inside me. I now wholly understood why he'd told me to enjoy it. And, since he'd already found my favorite spots earlier, he got right to the point this time.

  "I didn't mean to-"

  "Look, whatever, Mick," I snapped, throwing my head back on the pillow.

  "Are you mad?" he questioned.

  "M-m-mad?" I stammered, my brain a muddled mess.

  Griff's fingers worked expertly, making sure to spend added time when they happened upon a new spot that made me buckle beneath him. I felt a slow, sensual tightening stir in my lower belly. Grabbing at his hand, I sought to push it further inside me.

  "Nevermind, you have every right to be mad. Look, I want to see you," he said. "I came all this way…" he trailed off. "I'm heading out to the ranch to-ahh-meet up with Sutter, but I can swing by and pick you up along the way-"

  "No," I blurted out. Griff extracted my hand from down below, pinning my arm to my side before shooting me a look of warning. "What I mean is, there's really no need. I'll catch a ride with Griff when we're done here."

  "You sure? I know how big of a dick he's been to you. I really don't mind. I'd be glad to, actually."

  "Yes, sure."

  I could feel my stomach tightening as my thighs clenched down over Griff's hands. He brought his free hand up to instruct my thighs farther apart. I fumbled with the phone, searching desperately for the mute button. I found it, pressing the screen before clutching the device beneath my hand, my fingers clawing at the blanket.

  "Come for me," he mumbled, his sexy voice rolling over me.

  I reached towards my orgasm, my body giving jolts of approval underneath his hand. Sometime amongst my thrashing, I had hit the speaker option.

  "Hello? Kennedy? Are you there?"

  I stared up at Griff at a loss for words. A grin slid leisurely across his face. I pulled him to me, my lungs still working to regain a steady pace. "You sonofabitch," I mumbled against his lips.

  "You better answer, Pretty Boy," he said nodding towards the phone. He wiped an errant hair off of my face, his touch soft and tender, before he placed a kiss on my forehead. "He's going to get upset if you ignore him."

  He nudged the side of my cheek with his nose, the gentle action so soon after orgasm lighting an internal flame that I quickly put out. No sense in getting all emotional when I had only made plans to taste the bacon, not order the whole pig.

  "Ughh," I groaned, un-pressing the mute option. "I'm sorry, Mick. I must've accidentally pressed the mute key." It wasn't a complete lie. "We shouldn't be too much longer here," I assured him, shrugging at the look Griff shot me.

  "Okay, I've got a date planned."

  "Oh? A date?" I questioned, eyeing Griff.

  I caught the fury behind his eyes just before he managed to mask it.

  "Yes, a date," Mick confirmed.

  Griff made a show of bringing his hand to his mouth and dipping his finger inside, slowly sucking on it. I was flabbergasted. "Griff," I gasped, unable to contain my outburst as I slapped at his wrist. He caught my hand with his, another mischievous grin sliding onto his face.

  "Are you listening to me, Kennedy? What's going on?" Mick questioned, the tone of his voice tilting upward into concern.

  "Nothing, I'm sorry," I said, fumbling for an excuse. I didn't find one so I rushed to fill his mind with something else. "We'll be there soon and we'll talk about the date," I said, ending the conversation before flinging Griff's phone at him.

  "That was the meanest, most erotic thing that anyone has ever done to me," I confessed, unable to hide my blush.

  "Stay tuned. I've got more plans in store for you," he said smiling, pulling me into his chest. He rolled over on top of me, his arousal pressing into my stomach. "And I'll be damned if you're going on a date with Mick," he growled.

  "It's not like I want to, but short of telling him that I'm interested in you, I don't see any way out of it," I countered.

  "Over my un-erect, dead body."

  Oh boy. I had a feeling the shit was about to hit the fan.

  *****

  "What, in God's name is all of this?"

  Griff had barely allowed the truck to come to a complete stop before barging out of it, heading directly for Mick, who stood, arms folded, beside a man with a camera. He wore his trademark blue jeans and trendy Stetson, but he'd exchanged his typical t-shirt for a crisp button-down. Even from here, I could see his face had been made up for the cameras.

  Flew in just to see me, my ass. Nothing about this was inadvertent.

  I peeled my backside reluctantly from the leather, much more slowly than Griff, as the cloud of dust that the Ford kicked up shrouded around me. I choked on the airborne dirt, squinting to look for Griff through the cloud.

  Griff was already a half a football field ahead, thrashing his arms around as he shouted obscenities. Clearly, he didn't particularly care for the camera crew that was on his front lawn. I gulped, feeling a bad premonition brewing. However innocent Mick had made this 'unplanned' trip to Nashville seem, his motives were questionable - at best - considering the new revelations.

  Sutter appeared next to me, parting the dust cloud as she pulled us both out of it.

  "You know about this?" I questioned, casting an ominous glance in her direction.

  "I knew about him coming home to surprise you, but I just found out about the CMT exclusive this morning," she mumbled, doing little to hide her distaste for the situation. "I came over to check on Griff, who was strangely absent…" She allowed her sentence to trail off just long enough for me to attempt to hide a blush. "And they were already here setting up, Mick's manager running the show."

  I tried processing her words through my embarrassment. We hadn't decided what we were yet, so I wasn't comfortable in the least bit with someone else knowing - especially anyone with Callahan as a last name. "I'm sorry, but did I hear you say CMT exclusive?" I finally managed, the lungful of detained air finally releasing, allowing me to produce sounds.

  "I'm afraid so," she mumbled, touching my arm apologetically, "and by your response, I'm assuming that you didn't know either."

  "Remind me again what the penalty is for murder in Tennessee?"

  "Kennedy-" she called after me, but I was already retracing Griff's path.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," I heard from beside me.

  I had almost made it, Mick in my line of sight when I felt a pull on my wrist. My body jerked unappreciatively as any forward progress that I had intended to make, quickly came to a halt.

  "Fuck off, Mitchell," I growled, jerking my arm away. My upper lip curled into a mock snarl.

  "Not yet, Princess."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned, confused.

  "It means he's still talking about the new single. Your time's coming."

  "There she is," Mick said, his voice conveying a sort of enthusiasm normally saved for acceptance speeches. At least someone thinks this is a good idea.

  I contemplated running, seriously bolting. The nearest tree was twenty yards away but given my unsavory set of running skills, I had absolutely zero chance of making it there before all eyes were on me. "There's my girl!" He pulled me into his embrace as soon as he reached my side, my eyes closing, my mouth falling open and my arms freezing at my sides.

  "Mick, what the fu-" I mumbled into his shirt, peering up at him from his death grip. My cheek caught on a button in the process, the hard plastic scratching my skin.

  "Just go with it," he mumbled, his lips never moving. He could've given Jeff Dunham a run for his money. No shit.

  "I don't have a good feeling about this," I mumbled, trying my hand at ventriloquism.

  "You don't have to like it," Mitchell said from beside us, proving that my ventriloquist skills were nonexistent.

  "Mitchell," Mick warned.

  "Look, the moment the two of you practically screwed each other's brains out on your motor coach and got caught, was the moment you forfeited your right to make any further decisions. Got that?" Mitchell demanded.

  So that confirmed my suspicions about the reasoning behind the sudden trip back to Nashville. It hadn't been to see me. It had been to do this interview. Apparently, the jury had reached a verdict. Nice of them to allow me to be a part of it.

  "I got it," Mick said frowning, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. "It wasn't like we asked to get caught," he pointed out, defending both of us. "And we didn't actually sleep together. Or did you forget that part of the conversation?" he argued.

  I froze. Griff had been right. But instead of celebrating like I should've been doing, I was left wondering what Mitchell intended for us. That premonition seemed to be proving more probable with each passing moment.

  "Turn that thing off," Mitchell yelled, holding out a halting hand while charging towards the cameraman. "We did NOT sign off on that. We are not ready for this segment yet."

  While Mitchell discussed the intricacies of the apparent agreement that management, Mick & CMT had agreed upon without me, I sought to find out some answers of my own. "Exactly what is this all about?" I questioned, leaving no doubt about how much I disliked this idea.

  "Look, Mitchell pitched some ideas a few nights ago and this was the only one that…" He trailed off, looking to the ground because clearly he was too much of a coward to look at me.

  "The only one that what?" Griff questioned, his voice slow and articulate, wanting answers and conveying how seriously he was taking this matter.

  He had taken a firm stance beside me, drawing a clear line in the ground before us. Mick might not know that he was on the other side, but unless Griff toned it down he would. For all Mick knew, Griff and I were still sworn enemies. Not two people who couldn't keep their eyes peeled from one another.

  "The only one that didn't shine a bad light on her," he said apologetically.

  My heart sank. Of course. They wanted to spin this in a way that would keep Mick in the clear no matter how it made me look. I was the girl who'd thrown a wrench into things, the thorn in the side of the Mick Callahan brand. Because he was a brand and, sadly, I was little more than a peon who had been looking for a way to propel her floundering career. I didn't need anyone to spell it out for me. It was all so very clear.

  "Well how very damned chivalrous of you," Griff said.

  "Look, Sugar, I'm sorry about this," Mick said softly, ignoring Griff's comment altogether. His hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I was close enough to Griff to feel the heat radiating from him, the wheels of anger churning dangerously fast in his mind. I snuck a peak from my peripheral, the confirmation suppressed behind his eyes. "Sorry for what's about to happen."