Chapter Three
Kinsey
With his striking green eyes, that dark mop of hair curling over his ears, and a bronze, ripped body that had driven me to distraction since he got here two days ago, Mrs. H’s grandson was probably the most deliciously gorgeous guy I’d ever met in my entire life. He was also the cockiest, because when I told him Liz had no problem dropping by the house to pick me up, he snatched my phone right out of my hands and walked right past me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ground out, shocked. I tried not to focus on how sexy his departing form looked in jeans, a snug white tee, and boots (who the hell wore boots in June?), but it was hard not to stare at him as he strode toward the massive Ford-F250. I’d admired the truck ever since he came to town, and everything about it suited him.
“What’s it look like I’m doing, Angel?”
“Emmett?” It was the first time I’d said his name out loud and doing so made my lips feel like they’d just been kissed.
Reaching the black truck, he opened the driver’s door then turned to face me. Even from several feet away, the challenge in the depths of his green eyes caused me to take a step back. “I’m stopping you from putting someone out of their way,” he drawled. I opened my mouth to argue, but he shook his head as he climbed inside. He was tall enough that he had no use for the chrome step bar. “Get in,” he ordered before closing the truck’s door.
Hands on my hips, I stared daggers at him through the windshield, but he started the engine like my irritation didn’t even faze him. At the sight of me making no effort to move off the porch, he lowered the window and held something outside. When I realized it was my phone he was wiggling around, I bit the inside of my cheek.
Obviously, I’d danced myself into this situation with an innocent little comment about his genre of music, so I blurted out, “I only said ‘figures’ because you’re like the epitome of what I think of when I imagine a country music bad boy.” Thick accent, sexy jeans and boots, giant pickup truck. Yeah, he was the whole package. “All you’re missing is a giant belt buckle and a cowboy hat.”
His grin widened, and my heart pounded pitifully harder. God, the man oozed charm. No doubt he’d have his fans eating out the palms of his hands someday and throwing themselves at his boot-wearing feet. “About that ride, I’d rather—”
“To be honest, I’ll take a baseball cap any day over a damn cowboy hat,” he drawled. “Now get in, McKinsey.”
The fact he’d already seen me naked—a total accident to hear him tell it—made me want to dropkick myself for climbing into the truck a minute later, but luckily, there was enough space in the cab to fit two other people between our bodies.
Still, being so close to him, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne, feeling his hot stare sweep over my body as I secured my seatbelt—it unnerved me.
“Thanks for driving me.” I was desperate to make small talk as he drove up the long driveway.
“Mim wasn’t home, and it would’ve been rude as hell not to offer.”
When he reached the road, I pointed left. “Stealing my phone wasn’t exactly offering.”
He lifted his broad shoulders. A vivid memory of the tattoos spanning his muscular chest assaulted me, and I dug my fingers into the hem of my shorts, pulling at the fraying fabric. Stupid-ass hormones. The sooner he left for Dallas or Nashville or wherever the hell it was he was going next, the better for my body and brain. “Don’t worry, I’ll give your phone back.” He glanced at my hands and smirked. “So calm down.”
“Yeah … thanks.” I released my shorts, only to fidget with the key necklace dangling over the business logo on my tee shirt. I nodded at the green street sign up ahead. “Turn right up there.”
“So … Samson’s Nursery. Kids? Plants?”
“Definitely plants. Mrs. H helped me get the job when I came to live with her last year. Figured I should start saving money, just in case…” I swallowed hard when his head whipped in my direction. Touching my throat, I asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Drumming the steering wheel along with the song playing on the radio, he returned his beautiful green stare to the road. “Because I’m waiting to hear what you’ve got to say.”
I took a tremulous breath, and before I could stop myself, said, “My parents are in and out of jail. My only sibling is a brother who is sixteen years younger than I am, and he was adopted last year because … well, my parents couldn’t and wouldn’t take care of him. I’ve got aunts and uncles and cousins, but I’m in the system, plus I’m eighteen.” He turned toward me again, but I quickly glanced away, staring at the giant Ford emblem on the dashboard because I was terrified of what I’d see in his eyes. “What do you think I was about to say?”
His lips thinned into an unreadable line, but instead of pressing me for more details about my daddy and mommy-issues, he completely changed the subject. “How long have you been singing?”
“How do you know I—?” I started, but then he turned off the radio and softly sang a couple measures of the song I was wailing along to the morning we met. No wonder he has a record deal. His voice—gritty and sexy and soulful—crept over me the same way my favorite Kings of Leon song did. “And thanks for reminding me that you know exactly what my boobs look like.”
“You’re the one who brought up tits, Angel. Not me.”
My nipples tightened beneath my shirt and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Lord, you’re eloquent.” I jabbed a finger at the traffic light we were approaching. “Make a left at Orange. Samson’s is about a mile up the road, on the right.”
During the final few minutes of the ride, he steered the conversation back to music, which was more than all right with me. Music was something I loved. It was safe. I learned that he’d released an indie album three years ago—when he was eighteen—but that his newest effort had the budget, label, and staff behind it that would catapult him to stardom.
“So when you’re famous, I can say you gave me a ride to work.”
“Yeah, well that voice of yours ain’t nothing to shit on, Angel. You’d put most of the stars I’ve met to shame.” Pulling into Samson’s parking lot, he reached into the cup holder in his door and handed me my phone. I held my breath as he placed it in my outstretched hand, the tips of his fingers brushing my palm. His touch was soft, his fingertips rough, and his skin was warm. Too warm. Too much.
Don’t be stupid, I warned myself.
“McKinsey?”
“Kinsey,” I breathed and lifted my chin until our eyes locked. He didn’t move his hand from mine, so my voice shook when I added, “Only Mrs. H calls me McKinsey.”
“How long are you planning to stay with Mim, Kinsey?”
The trance caused by our touching hands broke. I pulled my brows together into a deep frown. “Why?” I asked.
“Because I don’t want my grandmother to get hurt.” There was no malice behind his words, but they still stung. I couldn’t imagine hurting Mrs. H. Aside from Lyra, she was the only person who’d given a shit about me in years. Emmett pulled his fingers away from mine and positioned his hands on the steering wheel. “You get what I’m saying, Angel?”
“Kinsey,” I reminded him. “And I’ll stay as long as she’ll have me. What about you? Because, up until two days ago, I thought Mrs. H’s sweet Emmett was a ten-year-old boy.” Definitely not a tall, muscular, country-singing man who’d already seen me completely nude. Who made my pulse quicken each and every time he spoke to me.
He didn’t immediately answer, so I hopped out of the truck. Right before I closed the door, he spoke, stopping me. “I’ll stay for as long as it takes.”
“For what?”
The corners of his perfect, kissable lips lifted, and I cursed that smile that was bound to haunt my thoughts for the rest of the day. “To figure you out.”
♫
“What the hell does he mean, ‘figure you out’?” Lyra laughed the next evening after I told her about Emmett and our convers
ation in his truck on the way to my job. “And, seriously, take a picture of this guy for me. I’m dying to know what he looks like.”
I groaned. “Way too hot.” And distracting. He was definitely distracting.
When Mrs. H had picked me up from the nursery a few hours ago, we’d come home to discover that her chiseled grandson had not only shooed away the lawn people who came out every other Tuesday, he was cruising around half-naked on the riding mower, singing along to whatever he was listening to on his mp3 player. It had taken every bit of willpower not to stand out on the front porch, ogling the sweat slicking down his back and the steampunk eagle tattoo on his chest.
Somehow, I’d managed to drag myself inside the house before I made an absolute ass of myself.
But I hadn’t been strong enough to avoid occasionally checking him out from my bedroom window.
“And he’s staying for the next couple weeks?” Lyra asked.
“Mmmhmm. Apparently he’s in between producers for his album, and—” The sound of a hard knock on my door cut me off. “Hold on for just a second, okay?”
“I got my ass kicked in rehearsals today. Trust me, I’m not moving an inch.”
Some idiotic part of me hoped I’d open the door to Emmett, but when I poked my head out into the hallway, I found Mrs. H’s dark eyes staring up at me. “Is my music too loud?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” Shaking her head, she looked around me into my room, and I frowned. “Do you have a few minutes to talk, sweetheart?”
Uh-oh. A talk was never a good thing, and my stomach tangled into thousands of knots. “Yeah … definitely.” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder, clenching my fingernails into my palm to stop my hand from shaking. “Just let me tell Lyra I’ll call her back.”
My foster mom nodded, giving me a tight smile. Oh god, what was happening? “I’ll be out on the front porch waiting for you.”
When I walked outside a few minutes later, I was surrounded by the sound of the cicadas and the green scent of fresh cut grass, but I barely noticed when I spotted Mrs. H on the porch swing. Although she was looking straight ahead, she patted the spot beside her when the screen door clanged shut. I was scared to death. Had Emmett said something to her? Stiffly, I sat down. When she took my fingers in her small, delicate hands, my heart lurched.
This couldn’t be good.
This wouldn’t be good, and I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself for the worst before I made myself look into her dark eyes. She’d been so good to me that I couldn’t be upset.
Couldn’t be anything but grateful.
“McKinsey,” she started.
“Yes,” I murmured in a disconnected voice that sounded nothing like mine.
“I just wanted to make sure …” She twisted her lips to the side, and my heart sunk a little more. I was ready for this, I reminded myself. I’d been ready for this since I moved in. It had always been a very real possibility that I’d never had a choice but prepare myself. “McKinsey, I wanted to make sure my grandson’s not bothering you.”
What?
My mouth dropped open, so Mrs. H quickly added, “You’re a beautiful girl, sweetheart, and Emmett’s…. Well, I’m not blind.” She smiled ruefully and touched the wire frame of her reading glasses. “Not yet, at least. I’ve noticed the way he looks at you.”
And now, I was freaking out for a whole new reason. If she’d noticed Emmett looking at me, what had she observed me doing? “No.” Nervously, I raced one of my hands through my hair and vigorously moved my head from side to side. “I mean, he’s not bothering me. I promise.”
Her smile was unsure, but she gave the hand she was still holding a light squeeze. “Good. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t talk to you.” When she stood, slowly making her way toward the front door, a jolt of courage kicked in, and I jumped to my feet.
“Wait!”
Turning back around, she looked at me expectantly, her brows arching together. I inhaled deeply. It was now or never. “I know that moving in with you was supposed to be temporary—and that you don’t have to keep me around—but I was wondering—”
“You’re always welcome in my home, McKinsey.”
Warmth expanded through my chest. “What?” I sank back down to my seat. Holy hell, had I heard her right? “And you’re not joking with me? I mean, I can pay rent or ….”
She waved her hand. “Honey, I’d never joke with you about that and I’d never ask that of you.” Placing one hand on the back of the swing for support, she reached out and smoothed a blond strand behind my ear. Mrs. Hudson was old enough to be my grandmother—maybe even my great-grandmother considering how young my parents were—but the gesture was so motherly, so … everything, that I closed my eyes.
“Is that why you’ve been so quiet the last few days?” she questioned.
“Yes.” And no. It was a fifty/fifty split between worrying over where I stood in her life and arguing with myself that any attraction I thought I felt toward Emmett was totally imagined. Pushing the thought of him to the very back of my mind, I opened my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“It’s nothing.” She bent over me to land a kiss on my forehead. “There are people who want you to succeed. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I promised.