Nashville Boxed Set #1-3 Page 7

  Eventually found myself on a tiny two-lane highway. On one side of the road, trees and thick forest crowded the asphalt. On the other were open green fields that rolled to the horizon, just like back home in Indiana. Black cows dotted the span of green and the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

  No wonder Dex liked it out here. It was quiet and open and you felt like you could breathe. I began to relax a little. I kept driving, passing farmhouses and barns and more livestock and was just beginning to think the GPS had led me astray again when I came to a long wrought iron fence. I slowed down. I had to be getting close now.

  When I got to the gate, my heart did a quick flip flop. I was here.

  There was an intercom box, but the gate was open, so I drove slowly down the winding gravel driveway, squinting against the gathering darkness to see his property.

  The driveway angled up and as I climbed the small hill, the trees got thicker and thicker until I felt like I was Little Red Riding Hood going to meet her wolf deep in an enchanted forest. It got darker, the trees blocking out what was left of the sunlight. I leaned forward in my seat, wondering if there really was a house back here. Then I rounded the final curve and the house came into view.

  I stopped the car.

  Damn. Country music paid well.

  Constructed of wood, stone and glass, Dex’s house was like log cabin castle. It was two stories high, with sort of an octagonal tower in the middle and two wings jutting out at 45 degree angles on each side. Light blazed from walls made almost entirely from glass. I pulled through the circular drive to the front of the house, not really knowing where to park. Flipping the visor down to check my hair, I took a deep breath told myself again that this was just dinner, no biggie. I grabbed my purse off the passenger seat but before I could reach for the handle, the driver’s side door opened and there stood Dex, smiling down at me.

  “You’re here.”

  He said it as if he wasn’t sure I’d show. Hell, even I wasn’t sure I’d have the nerve.

  “Yeah. Only about three u-turns this trip.”

  He took my hand and helped me out of the car.

  “I should have offered to pick you up.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said thinking of my shabby little apartment. “I made it.” I pulled my skirt down a little and tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear.

  “You look beautiful.”

  I should have. I’d spent way more than I could afford on a new outfit. It was no designer gown, but the shortish skirt and v-neck top set off my blond hair and hugged my trim figure. Ok, so I’d sexed it up a little. The boys would be proud.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  Dex wore black pants and a light blue button-down shirt, open at the collar. He wasn’t wearing the hat, though a pair of shiny black boots were on his feet. His hair was a little damp at the ends and he smelled like he’d just showered. He’d shaved and no trace of that shadow beard he’d practically trademarked remained. He looked younger and almost innocent. Almost. I liked this version of Dex. And that was a dangerous thing.

  “Come on in.”

  He led me inside, never letting go of my hand and I knew I was about to be wined and dined and God knew what else. But for now, Dex was on his best behavior.

  The interior of the house was even more spectacular than the outside. It was almost like being in a grown-up’s version of a tree house. All around us, natural materials made it feel like were still outside. The transition from outside to inside was nearly seamless. Everywhere you looked, it was stone or wood or glass.

  The floor in the entry was gray limestone and heavy dark wood accents in the tall, narrow doorframes and the rustic table and chair gave it almost a medieval castle feel. That opened up into a great room that totally took my breath away.

  The cathedral ceilings and stone fireplaces, furniture upholstered in red-brown leather, Native American print rugs on the wood and stone floors all provided a feeling of casual, welcoming warmth. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the setting sun through the grove of trees on top of Dex’s own little mountain and the room was flooded with soft, natural lighting. I felt a little like I had stepped into the pages of Architectural Digest. But in a strange way, it felt homey and comfortable, too.

  “So this is the living room,” Dex said, finally dropping my hand.

  I looked around and nodded. “It’s gorgeous. You do the decorating yourself?”

  He chuckled. “No. It came decorated, actually. The guy who had the house built only lived here a short time. All the furnishings stayed. Dex walked deeper into the room and I followed. “My only addition was a 65” flat screen and a sound system.”

  He picked up a remote off the top of an armoire and hit a button. A soft jazzy tune filled the room, echoing off all the stone and wood in the room so that it felt like there was a live band right there in the room with us. “You gotta have a good stereo.”

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  “What’s upstairs?” I asked nodding towards a curving iron staircase set against the wall near the entryway.

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” There was a glint in his eyes as he approached me. The innuendo was clear and fluttery warmth shot through my abdomen.

  “OK.”

  He smiled and led the way up the stairs. At the top there was a railing that overlooked the living area we’d just left and a hallway. We went down the hallway, passing several closed doors before Dex opened one near the end of the room and went inside.

  “This is where I spend most of my time when I’m not on the road.”

  I was expecting a huge, decadently appointed bed. Maybe a brass headboard. A sex swing hanging from the exposed rafters in one corner. Assorted kinky items. Or maybe a collection of groupie underwear nailed to the ceiling like a frat-house wall of fame. Instead I found about half a dozen guitars on stands, a computer desk and pc, a comfortable-looking sofa, coffee table filled with demo discs and all along one whole wall, built-in shelves packed to overflowing with CDs and DVDs and books.

  “This is my library.”

  I walked over to his CD collection. “Wow. You must have bought out Sam Goody’s.”

  “You should see my ipod. Best invention ever.”

  I perused the titles. You could tell a lot about a person by what music he listened to and what books were on his shelf. If this eclectic mix was any indication, Dex was a very complex individual. He had everything from big band to The Who to 80’s hair bands, and basically the entire history of country music from Patsy Cline to Taylor Swift all on one wall.

  And the books. He had a lot of books on history, and an equal amount of fiction and biographies, mostly musicians and presidents. Scattered among all the volumes were framed pictures, a lot of them kids.

  “Who are they?”

  “Nieces and nephew, mostly. That’s my sister, Rachael, and her husband.” He pointed to large framed portrait of a happy-looking couple and three small children.

  “Do they live near here?”

  A shadow passed over Dex’s face. “Rachael passed away almost five years ago. Her husband, too. Car accident.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Those poor kids.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah. I would love to bring them here to live. They love the place and I’ve always been involved in their lives. But I’m on the road so much right now…they live with my folks, but they’re getting on in age.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “My lifestyle isn’t the ideal environment for kids.”

  “I guess not.”

  I ran my hands over the spines of the books lining his shelves. “This really is amazing.”

  “Bet you didn’t even think I could read.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting this when you offered to show me your upstairs.”

  He stepped closer and his scent washed over me, the ultimate aphrodisiac. His melancholy was gone. “And did you think I’d take you straight to my bedroom, Miss Stratton?”

 
He tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear.

  I was mesmerized by his dark gaze and sexy half smile and swallowed a lump in my throat before I could answer. “Well, given our last two encounters—”

  “Three.” Dex traced the line of my jaw. “I know. You’re just too damn beautiful. Whenever I’m around you, that’s all I can think about.” The way he was looking at my lips, I was sure he was going to kiss me and since my hormones were already ratcheted up, that would have been ok.

  But instead he stepped back. “And that’s why I’m on my best behavior tonight.” He took my hand again. “I want to get to know you better. Outside of the bedroom.” He grinned. “Or the shower.”

  Before I could answer the intercom crackled, making me jump a little. “Dinner is ready, Mr. Wilder.”

  Dex walked over and hit the button on the intercom speaker near the door. “Thanks, Marcy. We’ll be right down.”

  Dex turned to me. “Are you hungry?”

  * * * *

  Dinner was served on the stone terrace overlooking a small lake. It was fully dark now and moonlight reflected on the tiny waves made by the light breeze. Boats moored to docks jutting out into the water bobbed lightly. The air had cooled a bit, which was a good thing. Summer down here was hot, and even at night it wasn’t uncommon for the temperature to be in the 90s, with enough humidity to smother a Northern girl like me.

  Dex had gone all out with the romance. We sat at a small round table covered with a white table cloth and lit with candles. Expensive wine chilled in a silver ice bucket on a small folding stand next to us. The stereo system had speakers on the terrace, so the music he’d turned on inside filtered softly through the night breeze.

  Dex helped me to my chair then took his own as a slender, middle-aged woman brought out our dinner.

  “This is Marcy. She cooks for me when I’m home and keeps the place in one piece when I’m not.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marcy,” I said as she set a plate of chicken, corn on the cob and green beans in front of me.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Miss. I’ve heard a few things about you.” She glanced at Dex and smiled maternally. “First time Dex has had a date out to the house.”

  I was a little surprised. “Really? I figured this place was party central when Dex was home.”

  Dex shook his head. “I like it quiet. I have friends over now and then, but it’s not really what you’d call a party.”

  Marcy set a basket of fresh-baked rolls in front of me. “You two save room for dessert, now. I made Dex’s favorite apple pie.”

  Dex groaned. “You’re going to kill me, Marcy.”

  She patted him on the shoulder with a smile. “Do you want me to close the gate?”

  “No, I’ll get it when Sydney leaves. Thanks, Marcy.”

  Marcy went back into the house and Dex grabbed a glass carafe out of the ice bucket on the stand next to the table. “Sweet tea?”

  I nodded and he filled my glass. “What, no champagne?” I teased, remembering the first time we’d met. “Or maybe you’re still a beer guy?”

  “I don’t drink much these days.”

  “Really? Seems like every picture I see of you, you have a beer in your hand.”

  “I decided the beer was becoming too big a habit and so I stopped.” He put the carafe back into the ice. “But the tour is sponsored by a beer company, so there’s always plenty around for photo ops.”

  “Bet the boys at the brewery didn’t like it that their party-boy had gone dry.”

  “They don’t know.” Dex put his napkin in his lap and smiled across the table at me. “It’s our secret.”

  I smiled back. This Dex was so unlike the one I’d seen in all the tabloids that it was hard to remember they were the same guy.

  We ate and talked about everything and nothing at all. We talked about his family a lot and mine a little. We talked about our mutual passion for music. That was the thing that really tied us together. Of course, he was talking about people he played with regularly on the road and hung out with at various parties and charity events. I was talking about the same people, but I’d only seen them on their album covers and heard them on the radio.

  After we finished eating I went to the railing of the terrace. The steps leading down to the lake were lighted by little lanterns that snaked all the way down.

  “Want to take a walk?” Dex asked me, nodding towards the lake.

  “Sure.”

  “Bring your glass.” He grabbed his guitar. “You might want to take those off unless you want a broken neck,” he said, nodding to my four inch heels.

  I happily kicked off my shoes and we made our way down the stone steps to the water’s edge. Lights from the neighboring homes reflected in shimmery golden splashes on the water’s surface. It was even cooler down here and I shivered a little.

  Dex led the way to a swing that was at the end of his dock.

  “This is nice,” I said as I sat down on the plush cushions covering the wooden swing’s seat.

  Dex sat next to me. His thigh was warm against mine and I sipped my tea and looked out over the lake. The sky was black, with only a sliver of moon and a handful of stars to punctuate the darkness. I was incredibly aware of the body next to mine.

  “Yeah. Wish I was home more.”

  “It must be hard to be on the road so much. I’ve always kind of been a homebody.”

  He nodded. “Me, too. Well, until this whole music thing sort of exploded.”

  “Still, it must be fun to go to all those new places. Stay in fancy hotels. See the sights.”

  Dex smiled. “The only thing I really get to see is the venue we’re playing and the inside of the bus. And I can tell you, that gets old fast. Backstage looks the same whether you’re in Atlanta or Denver or San Francisco.”

  “Good thing you have lots of company to liven things up.”

  I heard the frown in his voice. “Company?”

  “Come on. That bus is a revolving door for groupies.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Oh, there’s no thinking involved. Pictures are worth a thousand words.”

  Dex shook off his frown and brought my hand to his lips. “Jealous?”

  I gave him a look but it was hard to concentrate when his warm breath skimmed my knuckles. “No. Why would I be?”

  OK, so maybe I was. A little. But it wasn’t as if I had any right to be. We’d had sex. Big deal. I wasn’t his girlfriend and he definitely was not my boyfriend. He was Dex Wilder, for cryin’ out loud.

  “Wishful thinking, I guess,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

  “You want me to be jealous?”

  He looked at me with that crooked grin and instantly the chemistry between us that was always at a low boil heated up a notch. Or two.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Why?”

  He turned my hand over and kissed my palm. A spark ran up my arm.

  “It wouldn’t seem so one-sided.”

  It was hard to follow his line of thinking because he was kissing my wrist. His tongue darted out to taste the hot pulse points and I wondered if he could tell how fast the blood was rushing just beneath the skin there.

  “What’s one-sided?”

  He stopped kissing my hand and locked gazes with me. The lights lining the walkway and the dock glinted in his dark eyes and he leaned close.

  “I like you, Sydney. I think about you a lot.”

  I swallowed and shifted on the seat. I decided to play it cool. “I think about you, too.” I ran my hand down the front of his shirt and gave him a wicked grin so that there was no mistaking exactly what I was thinking about. My hand drifted lower.

  He caught my wrist before it reached his waistband. “It’s more than that, though, Sydney. At least for me.” He dropped my hand and looked out over the lake.

  “You’re a beautiful woman and at first it was just physical attraction that drew me to you.”

  He looked over at me
. “But there’s more. When I’m with you, I feel relaxed. Calm. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  He smiled. “Not even going to throw me a bone, here?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted me to say. That when it was just us, like this, I liked him, too? That the whole thing scared the hell out of me? “Not a chance.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to try harder, then, won’t I?”

  He reached down and grabbed his guitar. “This baby has never failed me.”

  I laughed lightly. “I’ll bet. Girls are suckers for a guy with a guitar.”

  Moving to the edge of the swing, he strummed softly at first. Then his deep, smooth voice merged with the tinkling notes and he hummed a melody low and deep. With just his voice and his music and the night, it wasn’t long before I stopped laughing and fell completely under his spell.

  It wasn’t a song I’d heard before. The tune was soft and kind of bittersweet, even without the words. Not his style at all. But it was moving and beautiful and felt like it really came from the heart.

  When he finished, he looked up at me and for the first time, I saw something other than utter confidence in the tilt of his mouth and the expression in his eyes.

  “What did you think?” He fiddled with the shoulder strap. CMA's entertainer of the year, double-platinum, new artist award winner and fan favorite was nervous. It blew my mind.

  “Did you write it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s something I’ve been playing with. I haven’t played it for anyone else.”

  “Well,” I said trying to determine the significance of that statement, “It’s not your usual style.”

  “No.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “I like it.”

  He set his guitar down against the swing’s frame. “You don’t have to say—”

  “No. I mean it. I really like it.” I turned to face him, folding one leg up on the swing. “It’s got a great melody. It’s not a ballad, exactly, but sweet. Still full of energy, too. Are there words?”