Authors: Alison Packard
She glimpsed a flicker
of pain in his eyes before he smiled and reached out to touch her
hair. He gathered it in his fingers and pushed it over her shoulder.
It cascaded down her back, raising goose bumps on her skin.
“It was blocking my
view.” Drew’s eyes locked on her breasts, and her nipples
tightened in response. “When’s rehearsal?” His warm hand cupped
a breast, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Not for a few
hours.” She leaned down to press her lips to his. “How do you
propose we fill the time?” she murmured against his firm, warm
mouth.
“Oh, I’ve got
ideas,” he said, huskily. “Lots of ideas.”
Forty or so minutes
later, one of Drew’s
ideas
felt so good that Jessie could hardly stand it. Bent over, with her
palms braced against vanity in the bathroom, she let out a long sigh
of pleasure as Drew thrust into her with slow, measured strokes.
Minutes before she was on top of the cool marble countertop,
screaming his name as he buried his head between her spread thighs,
and took his sweet time kissing and licking her into another
mind-blowing orgasm. Now his hands were at her hips, his fingertips
pressed into her flesh, holding her steady so that each glide of his
hard cock went deep and rubbed against a sensitive spot inside of her
she hadn’t known was there.
“Look at me.”
At his command, she
lifted her head and met his eyes in the mirror. If she wasn’t
already thoroughly aroused, the raw sexual heat gleaming in their
depths would have done the trick.
“Now watch me fuck
you.” The cadence of his low, rough voice sent a jolt to the pit of
her stomach. The corner of his mouth kicked up. “And I’ll watch
you come. Again.”
“You sound pretty
confident,” she said, breathlessly.
“And you’re tight,
wet, and almost there. I can tell by your hot little moans.” His
eyes lowered. “Whoever claimed you have implants didn’t know what
the hell they were talking about. Fake tits don’t move like that.”
He withdrew almost all the way out and then plunged deep. She gasped.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
Like
it?
She loved it.
“God. Yes.” She let
out a whimper of pleasure as he went deep again. The sound of their
bodies coming together filled the room. That, along with the sight of
his lean, muscular body in the mirror as he pumped into her, was
totally erotic.
Just when she thought
the sensations could get any more intense, he slid one hand over her
abdomen, and slipped his fingers between her legs. She gasped as he
found her clit and gently rubbed it. She tried to speak, but no words
would come. Her lungs had frozen.
“Damn, you’re wet,”
he said, as he spread her moisture over the throbbing nerve ending.
He thrust into her and then remained perfectly still. He stared at
her in the mirror. “You’re about to go off, aren’t you?”
She lowered her head
and let out a frustrated breath. Between the feel of him imbedded
inside of her, and his fingers between her legs, that particular
deduction was a no-brainer. “Damn it, Drew. Just do it.”
He leaned forward and
she felt a tug on her hair. She arched her neck and looked at him. “I
want to watch you come,” he said, then lightly massaged her clit
between his thumb and finger. His cock pulsed inside of her. She
clenched her muscles around him and smiled at his sharp intake of
breath.
“Two can…” she
began, then her orgasm exploded inside of her, and her smart-ass
comment was drowned out by the long moan of pleasure that burst from
her lips. “ Drew…” she gasped as she came hard and fast.
Drew let out a low
growl and resumed thrusting. “That was so fucking hot,” he said,
and slipped his hand from between her thighs. Holding on to her hips,
he penetrated her deeply several times, and then closed his eyes and
let out a long groan as he found his own release.
Jessie rested her
forehead against the marble. The sound of their labored breathing
filled the room, and for several seconds neither of them spoke.
“Say it,” Drew
said, and gently skimmed his palms over her back. “You know you
want to.”
“Oh. Wow.” She
repeated the two words she’d said several times since yesterday
afternoon.
His chuckle echoed in her ears.
“Ditto.”
Drew sat on the bed
and pulled on one boot, then the other. “Are you ever going to
answer that phone?” he called out as Jessie’s cell phone rang.
“It could be important.”
“If it was important,
Wally would be knocking on my door right now,” she said, from the
bathroom. “I checked my missed calls before I showered. There was
one from Nikki, and a few unknown numbers. I never answer the unknown
ones.”
“What if it’s
someone at Trident? Or CMT?”
“The suits call
Wally. Not me.”
She emerged from the
bathroom and all he could do was stare. Instead of the jeans she
usually wore for rehearsals, she’d donned a short, white dress that
showed off her toned arms and killer legs. But it was the cowboy
boots that got his attention. In Drew’s opinion, there was nothing
sexier on a woman than cowboy boots. Especially with a short skirt or
dress. He shifted on the bed. Damn, he was getting hard again.
“Nice outfit.” He
grinned. “Would you mind wearing just the boots later tonight?”
“Maybe.” She threw
him a saucy smile as she moved to the nightstand to pick up her
phone. “Are you hungry? We could order room service, or we could go
to the café downstairs. Wally says they make a mean French toast.”
“Let’s go the
café.” He pushed up from the bed just as Jessie’s phone rang
again. “You should get that. Whoever it is must really want to talk
to you.”
She glanced at the
small screen. “It’s Wally,” she said, and lifted the phone to
her ear. “Good morning, Wally.”
Drew crossed to the
dresser to retrieve his wallet. He’d just shoved it into the back
pocket of his jeans when he heard Jessie gasp.
“What the hell?”
she exclaimed, then bolted out of the bedroom.
He followed her and
watched as she opened the door to the suite and Wally hurried inside.
“Why didn’t you
tell me about this? Is it really on the news?” she demanded,
lowering her phone and closing the door.
“I’ve been trying
to call you for the last twenty minutes. Why weren’t you picking up
your phone?” Wally stopped in his tracks when he saw Drew. His eyes
widened a fraction. “Never mind. I can guess.”
“What’s going on?”
Drew moved into the main room and took in Wally’s haggard
appearance. The guy looked like he’d aged ten years since
yesterday. “You don’t look so good.”
Wally shot a glance at
Jessie, then shook his head. “It’s best you leave, son. I need to
talk to Jessie alone.”
Drew frowned. “Maybe
I can help.”
“You can’t,”
Jessie said, sharply. “You need to leave. Now.”
Her dismissive tone
pissed him off. After what had happened between them, he deserved
better than to be ordered out like a common flunky. He wasn’t
leaving. Not until he knew why Wally and Jessie were so upset. He
walked to the built-in wall unit, picked up the remote and turned the
television on. Whatever was going down was evidently on the news, and
he was going to find out what it was.
“Drew. Don’t.”
Jessie rushed towards him and tried to grab the remote.
He fended her off
easily with one arm, and began scrolling through the channels until
he saw her picture on one of the stations.
“This can’t be
happening.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Not now. Not
after all these years.”
For the next couple of
minutes he, Jessie and Wally listened to the breaking news that
revealed the true identity of country music star, Jessie Grant.
According to the
report, Jessie’s real name was Mary Ellen Dickson, and everything
about her was a lie, including the town she grew up in and the loving
parents who’d died when she was a toddler. A picture of Jessie at
fourteen standing next to a boy of about the same age, but whose face
was blurred out, popped up next to a current picture, and the
difference was astounding. Instead of dark brown, her hair had been
white-blonde. And since the picture had been taken, she’d
definitely invested in a nose job and had her teeth straightened.
Dumbfounded, Drew
turned to find that Jessie had backed away from him. She now stood
next to Wally, who had slipped a protective arm around her shoulders.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and his chest tightened at the misery
etched on her face.
He turned back to the
TV where the reporter was dropping an even bigger bomb. “We have
reports from a legitimate source that Jessie Grant, aka Mary Ellen
Dickson, at one time utilized the services of a women’s health
clinic in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Of course, we don’t know what
services Miss Grant utilized, but it was speculated by many in town
that she was pregnant. At fourteen years old.” The woman continued,
“As we reported at the top of the hour, CMT is scheduled to
broadcast Miss Grant’s concert in Las Vegas tomorrow night at the
MGM Grand Garden Arena. CMT has not yet commented on the story, but
we’ll keep you updated as we learn more.”
In Drew’s opinion
violence never solved anything, but damn if he didn’t have a
burning desire to wring the woman’s neck. This wasn’t journalism.
This was a reporter crucifying Jessie with her words and innuendos
for shock value and ratings.
The current culture
thrived on stories exactly like this; he had no doubt the story was
trending on social media at this very moment and that it would be the
lead story on all the entertainment and gossip shows tonight. And, as
with all alleged celebrity scandals, the scrutiny would get worse.
The press would descend on Jessie like predators, and the public
would form their opinion without ever hearing Jessie’s side of the
story.
“Turn it off,” she
said, her voice stony.
Drew hit the power
button and the TV screen darkened.
“I want you to
leave.”
“But—”
“Leave!” Her chin
trembled. “Please, just go,” she said, then let out a soft
anguished sound before brushing past him and disappearing into the
bedroom.
Drew turned around to
face Wally and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not going
anywhere. I want to help her.”
“You can’t.”
Wally’s expression softened. “Not now, anyway. Give her some
time.”
“Is it true? What the
reporter said?”
“Son, it’s not my
story to tell. If Jessie wants to confide in you, she will. But right
now, she and I need to come up with a strategy on how to handle
this…this situation with the least amount of damage to her career.”
He paused. “I truly believe if the public knew Jessie’s story,
they would understand her actions and not judge her.”
Drew released a
frustrated breath. “Did you really discover her busking at the
Memphis Farmer’s Market?”
“That part’s true.”
Wally’s eyes shined with moisture. “I love Jessie like a
daughter. She’s a good girl, with a bigger heart than anyone knows.
And when I find out who leaked that information to the media, I’ll
make damn sure they regret it.”
Three hours later, Drew
was climbing the walls in his room. Other than a text from Wally two
hours ago telling him that rehearsal had been postponed, he hadn’t
heard a word from anyone. The entire time he’d been in his room he
resisted the urge to turn on the TV. By now the story would certainly
be all over the news. Because, of course, a country music star’s
personal life was way more important than what was going on in the
Middle East, or anywhere else there were rising tensions and
bloodshed. He let out a snort of irritation. The media’s priorities
were seriously fucked up. But the main reason he didn’t want to
hear about Jessie’s story from the media was because he wanted to
hear it directly from her. Whatever motives she’d had for hiding
her true identity had to be valid. He hadn’t known her for years,
like Wally, but he knew her well enough to know that she didn’t
have a mean or vindictive bone in her body. No matter how hard a
person tried to hide who they really were, eventually their true
nature would be revealed.
In Nashville, word
traveled fast if a musician or a recording star was a pain in the ass
or a diva. He’d never heard anyone apply either of those labels to
Jessie. But someone clearly didn’t like her. Someone who’d found
out about her past and leaked the information at the worst possible
time.
A firm knock on the
door spiked his pulse. Disappointment left a bitter taste in his
mouth when he opened the door to find that it was Wally, not Jessie,
who stood in the hallway.
“Have you seen
Jessie?” Wally cocked his head and looked past Drew with worried
eyes. “Is she here?”
“No. I haven’t seen
her since I left her suite.” He pulled the door wider and waved
Wally in. Once the older man was inside, Drew closed the door. “What
happened?”
Clearly agitated, Wally
ran his fingers through his hair. A gesture he’d been doing
repeatedly judging by the unruly mop on the top of his head. “I
tried to convince her that the best course of action is for to tell
her story. I got a call from Annabeth Kent—”
“From
Good
Morning America
? Didn’t she interview Jessie last year?”
Wally nodded. “Yes.
And they got along real well. Annabeth wants an exclusive interview,
and she’s promised to be fair and unbiased. She’s flying to Las
Vegas tonight in the hopes of doin’ the interview tomorrow
morning.”
“Let me guess, Jessie
doesn’t want any part of it.”
“I haven’t told her
about it yet, but I’m afraid you might be right. She’s scared.
Other than Jessie, I’m the only one who knows the whole truth.”
“Obviously not.”
“I said the whole
truth, son. There’s no way the person that tattled on Jessie has
all the facts. They have just enough to make Jessie look bad.” A
scowl darkened his face. “And it worked. Now there’s speculation
that she slept around, got pregnant, and then went and had herself an
abortion.” Wally shook his head in disgust. “Filthy bastards.”