Nashville Rebel Read online

  Melinda laughed a little. “I’m going to be the most doting family friend that baby will ever have.”

  “Me, too.” Kirby chuckled. “An old, proud, grandpa-type friend.” He shot Tommy a stubborn glance. “And nothing you can say is going to stop me.”

  “I’m not stopping anyone from doing anything. If Sophie says it’s okay for you to spoil her kid, that’s her prerogative.” He came forward and sat beside her, making the settee even more crowded. He leaned over and whispered, “Thanks for indulging my parents.”

  “I don’t mind,” she whispered back. She was certain her family in heaven would approve.

  As Tommy touched her hand, a sweet and sexy thrill shimmied through her. Now all she needed to do was conceive this much-anticipated child—with the baddest boy of country as her donor.

  Four

  Five days later, Sophie knew it was time. She appeared to be ovulating, based on the results of the test she’d just taken.

  With her nerves ratcheted up a notch, she reached for her phone to call Tommy. As far as she knew, he was in his studio, toying around with some new songs. He never stayed idle for long. When he wasn’t touring, he was writing or recording.

  Sophie would be starting her new job next Monday, going into an office every day and working like a normal nine-to-fiver. Her life was on the verge of change, and if she was lucky, she would get pregnant right away.

  Maybe even tonight.

  She scrolled through her contacts and tapped Tommy’s name. With the phone on speaker, she listened to the line trill.

  When they were in elementary school, he used to goad her into making prank calls with him. Back then, hardly anyone had mobile phones. Even caller ID was new. You could get away with all sorts of foolishness on those old landlines.

  Tommy’s phone went to voice mail, and she blew out a breath. With what they had going on, shouldn’t he be more aware of the possibility of hearing from her and pick up?

  Sophie didn’t leave a message, mostly because she didn’t want to say something so personal in a recording.

  She sat on her bed, getting more anxious by the second. Her dogs kept running in and out of the room, chasing each other on their short little legs. With their smart and willful personalities, they could be quite bossy. But they were loyal to the core, too. Some people said that corgis weren’t suitable for small children, but hers loved her friends’ kids. She was certain they would adore her baby, too.

  Pressure mounting, she debated calling Tommy again. But he beat her to it.

  Her ringtone, an old Hank Williams Sr. tune, chimed with Tommy’s name glaring across the screen.

  Heart beating in her throat, she answered. A soft and floaty “hi” was all she could seem to manage.

  “Hey, Soph. I got a missed call from you, and I—” He stalled, as if her uncomfortable tone had just registered. “Is this it? Is this the day?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t being much of a conversationalist.

  Neither was he, apparently. He went silent. An instant later, he asked, “When and where should we—”

  “Tonight,” she replied. “At your house.” His master suite was a series of custom-built rooms; she’d been there plenty of times before. But this would be the first time she would get to explore his bed, his sheets, his pillows, his body.

  That hot, hot body.

  “Do you want to go out first?” he asked.

  She cleared her mind. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “You know, dinner and dancing.”

  Oh, my God. “Like a date?” She shook her head, even if he couldn’t see her. “That isn’t what this is about. Besides, you always get bombarded with people asking to do selfies with you. And I’d be too nervous to be in the thick of that.”

  “I was planning on taking you to a private club, where that wouldn’t happen. But we can skip it if you’re not up for it.” He paused. “I don’t want you to be nervous, Soph.”

  Too late. She already was. “I’m trying to relax.”

  “I can’t wait to be with you tonight. To undress you.” He spoke in a hushed tone. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Me, too.” But she couldn’t sit here, tangled up in anticipatory knots, edging into phone sex with him. The pulse between her legs was already throbbing. “I have to go, Tommy.”

  “Go where?”

  Anywhere, she thought. “I have errands to run.” That was a lie. The only place she needed to run was straight into his arms. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “What time should I expect you?” he asked, before she ended the call. “When is the bewitching hour?”

  For a mysterious moment, she imagined creeping over there at midnight, casting dark-of-night spells. The moon was even supposed to be full.

  “Sophie?” He was prodding her for an answer.

  “How about nine? Or maybe eight would be better?” She couldn’t decide.

  “Eight,” he confirmed. “I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to. And you need to come hungry.”

  Her mind jumped. “What?”

  “I’m going to feed you, nice and cozy, in my bedroom.”

  Was that a double entendre? “Are we talking real food?”

  A smile sounded in his voice. “As real as it gets.”

  With him, one never really knew. “Dinner at your house?” She repeated it to be sure.

  “In my bedroom,” he reiterated. “I’ll ask Chef to whip up something special.”

  So now he was arranging a different kind of date? She should have known he would have a backup plan. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”

  “I’m doing it anyway. So just go with it, Soph.”

  Clearly, she didn’t have a choice. He was taking control and sweeping her along, determined to start their baby-making affair with a romantic bang.

  * * *

  As evening rolled around, Sophie labored over deciding what to wear. She knew that her clothes shouldn’t matter, not when she would only be removing them later. Still, she wanted to look pretty. Her underwear seemed especially important, so she rummaged through her drawer for her best lingerie—soft cottons with bits of ladylike lace. She didn’t do the supersexy stuff.

  After scenting her skin with a silky lotion and layering it with her airy perfume, she donned a cherry-red blouse and a short, chiffon-trimmed skirt, pairing the ensemble with Western boots.

  She plaited her hair into a long, loose side braid, with unbound tendrils falling around it. For makeup, she went for a sheer bronzer, a light coat of mascara, a hint of blush and lipstick that complemented her blouse.

  Sophie gazed at herself in the mirror. Was it too much? Should she undo her hair and change into something less frilly? In spite of Tommy’s interest in wining and dining her, this wasn’t a real date, and she wasn’t supposed to be getting romantically invested in it.

  She looked at her reflection again. Her outfit was nice, bright and pretty. So she needed to stop worrying about it. With the effort she’d taken to get ready, she should just stay as she was.

  Earlier, Tommy had sent a text telling her to use the private entrance to his house, the one that led directly to his suite, from an outdoor stairway near the pool.

  Sophie packed an overnight bag, but that didn’t mean she was staying the night. She might skip out after the sex and return to her own safe little haven. It depended on her mood and if she needed to escape.

  She drove to Tommy’s place, taking the same route she always took. But it felt different. Bumpier, she thought. Not the road, but her emotions.

  When she arrived at the main gate, security buzzed her in.

  She made her way to the back of the mansion and took the designated staircase, stopping on the landing to glance out at the pool and the brightly lit waterfalls. From her vantage point, the entire grounds looked
spectacular, with their flourishing greenery, vibrant southern gardens and long and winding riding trails.

  Instead of knocking, she tried the knob on the door that would take her into Tommy’s suite and found it unlocked. She was familiar with the layout and knew how expansive it was. She entered a marble-floored sitting room with silvery gray sofas and shiny black tables. The hallway beyond it offered a media room, a library and a music room, each designed for Tommy’s personal use. Somewhere in the middle was a glass elevator. Then, finally, at the end of the hallway, she would encounter his bedroom—complete with a fancy dining alcove, a luxurious bathroom built for two, separate dressing rooms for him and his lovers, and a breathtaking balcony.

  She didn’t mind that he hadn’t come out to greet her. It made her feel independent to go to him. Then again, for all she knew, he was watching her on a security camera in his room and getting a thrill out of it. She’d heard rumors that he had voyeuristic tendencies, but she’d never been brave enough to ask him if they were true.

  Sophie actually had fantasies about being watched, but she’d never told him that. She’d never admitted it to anyone. She was way too shy to act out her fantasies, unlike Tommy, who probably did all sorts of wild stuff.

  She ventured down the hall, feeling like a virgin on a warped wedding night. But thank goodness that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t her first lover, and they were nowhere near being married. She was only having this mini affair with him so she could get pregnant. She almost laughed to herself. As if that scenario was so much saner.

  Almost there, she thought, as she stopped in front of the big, beautifully carved double doors to his room.

  She rotated the brass handle on the right one and crossed the threshold. There was no turning back now. She was in for the count, or the date, or whatever the heck this was.

  Sophie gasped. The room was dimly lit with burning candles, in different shapes and sizes and colors, scattered everywhere. She made her way to the dining area. The table was elegantly set, and a portable food-warming cart stood nearby, the entrées covered with metal lids. Another cart presented a small but fully stocked salad bar. The third unit offered a decadent assortment of desserts. There was a beverage-and-coffee bar, too, with a refrigerator and stainless-steel sink built into a wall.

  She looked around for Tommy, but didn’t see him. She didn’t see his chef or a maid or anyone else, either.

  Maybe Tommy was on the balcony. Or maybe he was taking a last-minute shower and getting dressed. She took a moment to check out the main course, lifting the lids on the entrées. It was three of her favorite Italian dishes: chicken marsala, gnocchi with red sauce and baked artichokes stuffed with Parmesan-seasoned bread crumbs.

  “Evening, Sophie.” Tommy’s voice sounded behind her.

  She closed the lid on the artichokes and spun around. Suddenly she realized that he’d been there the entire time, sitting in a darkened corner of the room. She could see him now, gently illuminated in a pale gold light he’d just turned on.

  “You’re cheating,” she said. “Catching me off guard like that.”

  “I just wanted to enjoy the feeling of watching you.” He stood and left his wingback chair.

  He definitely seemed like a voyeur. But instead of viewing her on a security camera, he’d waited until she entered his room, observing her in person. Sophie got desperately aroused. But the feeling was wrapped in a dangerous sensation, too, with how easily it triggered her fantasies.

  He looked incredibly handsome, dressed in a classic white shirt, a Western bolo tie and black trousers. But as sharply attired as he was, he hadn’t gotten ready all the way. His feet were bare. Call her crazy, but that struck her as sexy. It was just so...Tommy.

  “Everything looks wonderful,” she said. Him, his room, the food.

  “So do you.” He came closer. “So beautiful.” He leaned in and whispered, “I can’t wait to make love with you.”

  She nearly teetered in her boots. “You’re supposed to feed me first.”

  He nuzzled her cheek. “Are you hungry?”

  “You told me to come hungry.” His whiskers scratched her cheeks. But she better get used to it. He always shaved with one of those trendy trimmers, creating perfectly even stubble. She knew a lot about his personal habits. Too much, she thought.

  He turned his face more fully toward hers. Was he going to kiss her? Or was he being playful, letting her soak up the heat between them? She was already tingling.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to kiss you,” he replied.

  “Then do it,” she said, a millisecond before his lips crushed hers.

  Sophie moaned beneath his onslaught. Quick and wet and wild, he pillaged her mouth. He tugged her tight against him, and she kissed him back, her tongue sparring with his.

  This had been years in the making. The buildup, the desperate desire had always been there, below the surface. And for now, it was only a kiss.

  While her mind spun, Tommy toyed with her braid, pulling it gently, then roughly, then lightly again, keeping his mouth fused to hers the entire time.

  So good, she thought, so hot and dizzying.

  But it didn’t last. He broke the connection and let her go. She blinked at him, struggling to breathe.

  “Now we can eat,” he said.

  Sophie blinked again. He only smiled and turned away.

  “Do you want wine?” He headed over to the wet bar. “I brought up a bottle of merlot for you.”

  “Yes, please.” She could definitely use a drink.

  He uncorked the bottle and poured the rich, red liquid. He handed her the glass, and she took a much-needed sip.

  “Have a seat, and I’ll serve you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He fixed her salad and brought it to her. He tossed his, too, and filled their water glasses from a chilled pitcher, garnished with lemons.

  “Did you know that there are hundreds of fertility gods and goddesses from cultures all over the world?” he asked. “I got curious and looked some of them up.”

  She couldn’t help being intrigued. She settled her napkin on her lap. “Do you have a favorite? Someone we should call upon tonight?”

  “Venus would probably be pleased to hear from us. She’s the most widely known. Aphrodite, too. They’re similar in nature, but are from different origins. Roman versus Greek. Also, from my understanding, Aphrodite is more of a sexuality goddess than one of fertility.” He scooted in his chair. “I like her for sure.”

  “Yes, I’ll just bet you do.” She dug into her salad, fascinated.

  “Overall, I think Liber is my favorite. He presides over male fertility. There was even a cult that worshipped phalluses in his honor. His female counterpart is Libera. They’re Roman deities who represent liberation and being wild and free.” He gestured to her merlot. “They’re gods of wine, too.”

  “Then I’ll enjoy this in their honor.” She toasted him with her glass. “You should write a song about them.”

  His voice turned low, rough and carnal. “I think I’d rather write one about having this affair with you.”

  Sophie didn’t reply, but somewhere deep down, she wanted to be the subject of one of his rebellious songs.

  They finished their salads in silence. He served the main courses, and she studied him from beneath her lashes. He was watching her, too.

  Once it was time for dessert, she said, “Maybe we should share the pastries. In bed,” she added softly. She needed to get closer to him, to do away with the table between them.

  He took an audible breath. “Whatever you want, Soph.” He got up and approached the pastry cart.

  She left her chair and walked over to him. “Let’s try a few bites of each.” She wanted to tempt her palate in as many ways as possible.

  He arranged a mini fruit tart, a chocol
ate éclair and a slice of marshmallow pie on a glass plate. He studied his masterpiece, before squeezing in a caramel-pecan cannoli. “Now, that’s a sugar overload.”

  “It’s perfect.” She followed him to his massive four-poster bed. All of the furniture in his room was big and heavy and ornately carved.

  He placed their desserts, two gold forks and two linen napkins on a nightstand. “I think we should unmake the bed for later.” He lowered the quilt and fluffed two pillows that already looked gloriously soft. “We should get more comfortable, too.” He unfastened his bolo tie and took it off. He untucked his shirt and opened the buttons, leaving the tails hanging loose.

  Sophie joined in, pulling off her socks and boots.

  “That’s it?” he challenged her. “That’s all you’re getting rid of?”

  “We’re not playing strip poker. But if you insist on treating it that way, then how about this?” As brazen as could be, she reached under her skirt. Then, without letting him see anything, she peeled off her panties. She flung them a distance away. “Game over.”

  He gaped at her, and she smiled. It felt good to tease him. But she still wanted her sweets. Perched on the edge of the bed, she took a creamy bite of the pie. She was going to taste the éclair and the tart next, saving the cannoli for last. But for now, the pie was delish. She fluffed up another forkful. “Want some?”

  “No.” He plopped down beside her. “You’ve got about two seconds to finish that before I pounce.”

  She held the untouched bite between them. “We’re supposed to be sharing dessert.”

  “It’s too late for that.” His voice vibrated with anticipation. “You can’t sit there, so nice and polite, after whipping off your panties like that, and not expect me to go mad.”

  Sophie should have known better than to bait him. With a man like Tommy, she was bound to lose. But she was enjoying the game, too.

  “Hurry up and eat it,” he said.

  With a burst of excitement, she shoved the marshmallow filling into her mouth, swallowing it quickly. She’d never been so aroused.