He groaned dramatically and reached for the phone. He hammered out a quick response. Sorry. Been busy. Seven tomorrow. Got it.
She immediately responded. And Gretchen will be there?
He turned the screen around for her to read.
Her face went slack and soft. “You told your mother about me?”
“Of course. I even sent her a link about you and your legal clinic.” He set the phone aside and sat up straighter to wrap his arms around her. “So what do you say? Come to my house tomorrow night and meet my family?”
She peeled one hand off her mug and ran it up and down his fuzzy cheek. “Yes.”
“That’s becoming my favorite word from you.” He dipped his head and caught her bottom lip between both of his. With a gentle tug, he invited her to open up for a kiss, and when she responded with a little sigh, he realized he could do this forever. Kiss and cuddle lazily in bed with her.
She tucked her head against his shoulder and released a contented sigh. “What are you doing today?”
“Trying to save my career.” Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that, but it just came out in the blissful haze of her kiss.
She sat up, eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He leaned toward her mouth, hoping to distract her again, but she pulled just out of his reach with a pointed lift of her eyebrows.
He collapsed against the headboard. “I suppose I have to tell you sooner or later, seeing how you’re officially my girlfriend.”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. God, she was killing him. How could she look at him like that and not expect him to immediately roll her over?
He scratched his stubbled jaw. “Things, uh, haven’t been going great for me career-wise.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My last album wasn’t very well received, and my label doesn’t like the new stuff I wrote over the past year. They’ve given me until the start of the year to work with a songwriter or lose my contract.”
“What?!” Her spine went rigid, and sparks brought a laser focus to her tired eyes. “Those bastards. Can they do that to you?”
Her indignation was as much a turn-on as the shy blush. “They can.”
“That’s bullshit,” Gretchen spat. “You have to call their bluff.”
“What if they’re not bluffing?” Voicing the question that had plagued him for weeks eased the sharpness of it, but not by much.
“Another label will snatch you up immediately, that’s what.”
“What if they don’t? What would you think of me?”
Gretchen went rigid atop him. Her jaw clenched and her hands gripped the coffee mug as if she were afraid she might throw it at him. Goddamn, she was hot.
And angry. She was very, very angry.
“Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
He lifted one shoulder.
“Are you serious?”
“Everyone has insecurities, Gretchen,” he said, repeating what he’d told her on their first date.
“Yeah, well, remember the other night when you got mad because I said I wasn’t worth losing thirty million dollars? Now it’s my turn. If you say something like that again, I’m going to start pulling out pubic hairs.”
“This tendency of yours to immediately threaten violence is interesting. You might want to talk to someone about it.”
“The first time I went to therapy, I wanted to punch my counselor.”
“That’s my girl.” He slid his hands up her bare thighs. “What’s your answer, though?”
“Do you actually think I wouldn’t want to be with you anymore if you weren’t the Great Colton Wheeler?”
“You’ve never known me as anything else.”
“That’s not true. The person who sings for children and loves Christmas lights and cooks a ham and buys a house so his whole family can enjoy it isn’t the Great Colton Wheeler. It’s just you. And that’s the person I care about.”
It wasn’t until relief surged through him that he realized how much he needed to hear her say that. Relief instantly became desire. Hot and potent and urgent. She must have sensed the change in him—not that it was easy to ignore, seeing how it was pressing insistently against her inner thigh—because she planted one hand in the middle of his chest to hold him off.
“What did you mean about trying to save your career today?”
“I have a songwriter in mind to try. Someone I think will understand my vision.” If he could track the kid down, that is. Duff would have J. T.’s number, probably. And if he didn’t, he’d find another way to get in touch with the kid.