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Colt was pleased with himself. He’d survived the board meeting and even managed to work the phone to call Michelle and find out where the gym was. So why was he about to do something that would destroy that little victory high? He’d had nightmares about his father’s death, yet still somehow felt compelled to visit the scene of the crime. He took a deep breath and twisted the door knob to Studio Number Nine, letting it swing open. He’d read the police reports, knew where and how they found his dad. What he didn’t understand was why.
But if there had been any clues left behind revealing why Dad was murdered, the police would have found them.
Yet he couldn’t help but think that maybe there was something they overlooked.
The other reason he wanted to see the studio was a little more nebulous. He had this weird notion that if he were in the last spot his father was in when he was alive, maybe he could connect with him somehow.
We had problems getting along when Dad was alive. Now I think it might be better when he’s dead? That has to be the faultiest logic ever.
But the way they had left things gnawed at his gut, so he had to do something. He forced his feet across the threshold. He might be the only person in the world who would understand the irony of Ty dying in the exact place he felt most alive. In the studio. It was the same way Colt felt whenever he recorded an album, or performed for an audience. Colt understood his dad because this was the one thing they had in common, their shared, all-consuming love for music.
He stepped further into the control booth, running his hand along the mixer console. He fiddled with the knobs, then peered through the glass into the live room. For a second, he could almost see his dad in the reflection of the panel in front of him, headphones on, sitting on a stool with one boot heel hooked on the rung beneath it. His signature four-hundred-dollar, black Stetson, with the specially designed turquoise and leather band, posed on a stool next to him. His guitar slung across his lap.
Here Ty was king. Here he felt the freedom of creating. The few times his mother had brought him as a child, Colt had been spellbound. Although he wasn’t a country music fan, his dad’s guitar playing was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, outside of a Stradivarius or a Fender Telecaster.
But after a moment, that warm image faded, his smile along with it, and he was left staring into the cold, empty room where he knew they had found his father’s body. He put a hand to his brow.
Oh, God, Dad. Why would someone do that to you?
“Colt?”
He dropped his hand and whirled around, sniffing to try to hide the fact that he was emotional. She was the last person in the world he expected to see.
“Gabriella?”
She hesitated, then took a step into the room. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“No, of course not.”
Gabriella Justani.
This was awkward. He was pretty sure the last time he’d seen her she said something about hating his guts, or despising him, or wishing he was dead, or something along those lines. They’d dated a couple of years ago. They’d met because her father was in business with his. She was stunning, with thick, wavy black hair falling to the middle of her back, a willowy frame, and a wardrobe full of jaw-dropping outfits. Today’s was no exception. A short, hip-hugging, black dress was belted in red, with a red cape closed with a black bow at her chest. With thigh-high leather boots, it was a killer ensemble. Unfortunately, her good-looks did not negate her crazy.
“Uhh...how are you?”
She crossed and took his hand. He tried not to flinch. “I’m fine. But more importantly, how are you?” She pouted her mouth and gave him a concerned expression.
He glanced around. “Uhh...you know. Okay.”
She took a step back and looked around herself, then scanned his face. “It didn’t happen...,” she lifted her arms to the side, “...here, did it?”
He didn’t know how to answer that, but his face must have said it for him.
“Ooh, it did!” She brushed at her shoulders as if she’d walked through cobwebs. She hadn’t changed much. Still a few songs short of a full album.
“What are you doing here?” It came out a little abruptly, but he didn’t bother to try to fix that.
“Why, I came to see you, silly.” She put a hand on his shoulder. He fought the urge to mimic her gesture in brushing off something creepy. “To express my condolences.” She brought her other hand up and cradled his cheek.
“Oh, that’s...nice.”
“And I’ve missed you, Colt.” She shifted her gaze from one of his eyes to the other, and parted her lips as she leaned in, her fingernails gliding along his skin to the back of his neck. “And you’ve missed me.” She pulled him into a sultry kiss.
For a second, he responded. He hadn’t been with a woman in a while, and Gabriella could be both persuasive and seductive. Then he remembered her throwing things at him, screaming and cursing him in Italian, and maybe a few other languages. It was an amazing ride while it lasted, but like most high-speed chases, it ended in a fireball. He pulled back.
“Listen, Gabriella...it’s not like I don’t care for you, because I do, but...an intimate relationship...well, it doesn’t work for us. Remember?”
“Of course, I do,” she snapped, her eyes shooting fire. Then her face morphed. She smiled, lifting her red-painted lips, the fire in her eyes turning to sparkles. “But a gal’s got to try, doesn’t she?”
“Sure,” he said slowly. Suddenly the control room felt like a cage. “Why don’t I walk you to the door?”
That bright smile wavered just the tiniest bit, then she beamed at him. “Such the gentleman.” She slid her arm underneath his.
I’ll only have to deal with her for a few more minutes, then she’ll disappear again like she—thankfully—did the first time.
––––––––
MELODY PACED AT THE end of the long hall connecting the studios.
This is stupid. It’s just a room. Nothing’s in there now, and I need his damned signature by three or the payroll won’t be going out on time.
But going back to the place where she’d found Ty, having come down for the very same reason, it had her heart beating too fast and her stomach churning like it did on theme park rides. She ventured into the hallway a few feet, then spun around and retreated. “Nope. Not happening,” she said aloud. She pulled out her phone. Two-forty-five.
She folded her arms and stared at the hall with a frustrated sigh. She was just about to charge down it when Colt turned the corner. Which would have been a good thing, weren’t Gabriella Justani clinging to his side like ivy on a wall. Poison ivy. She blinked. Colt was turned talking to Gabriella as they walked, but looked up and spotted her just as she was about to dodge out of sight and run away.
“Ahh, Ms. Hawkins,” Colt called out. “You, uhh...have those papers you needed me to sign?” He disengaged himself and jogged up to her.
How did he know I have papers for him? Had payroll called him?
“Just play along with me,” Colt said under his breath. “Of course we can discuss them first, if you’d like?” He stared at her, his eyes pleading for something she didn’t understand. He made a slight jerk of his head toward the elevators.
She sprang to life. “Oh, yes. I think we should discuss them.”
Colt turned to Gabriella, who had just reached them. “I’m sorry, Gabriella, but I won’t be able to walk you all the way to the door.” He took her hands. “It was very nice of you to come. I appreciate it.”
“Of course, Coltie.”
Of course, Coltie, a voice mocked in her head.
When he turned back to Melody, Gabriella ran a hand across his butt as she passed.
“See ya around,” she said seductively.
Mel fought the urge to vomit. Just what were they doing in that sound booth anyway?
Colt grimaced and took Melody’s elbow, steering her toward the elevator.
Once Gabriella was out of eyesight, he exhaled. “Thank God you came.”
Oh, right. I’m sure it’s SO difficult having women throw themselves at you.
“Yes. You must be exhausted from all your ‘work’ in the studio,” she sniped, but he seemed oblivious to her snarky tone.
“Yes.”
The elevator doors opened, all of the passengers got off, and they got on. She crossed her arms and stewed in a corner, not looking at him.
It’s not that I mind that he’s obviously seeing Gabriella again. It’s just...it’s so unprofessional in the workplace to do...whatever it was they did.
She tapped her foot and continued to fume until she realized that his head was down and he hadn’t made a sound. In fact, he was uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride up. When they reached their floor, Colt held the door open for her.
“Umm...I actually do need these papers signed so that I can get them to payroll right away.”
“Oh.” He reached for them and signed the papers against the wall, which, again seemed a tad unprofessional. Then he handed everything back to her. “Thank you.” He strode off in the direction of his office.
Melody shook her head and punched the floor number for payroll, wondering if every elevator ride they took together was fated to be awkward.
––––––––
COLT SAT IN HIS OFFICE chair staring out the window. He had to admit his trip to the studio had shaken him. But he couldn’t figure out what was most to blame for that—his thinking about his dad’s death, having to fend off Gabriella, or being embarrassed by the way she behaved when Melody was there. After a few moments, he decided the best remedy was to bury himself in work, if he could.
With that in mind, he busied himself with discovering all he could about Aberton and Texas Twangs.
Melody was wrong. Seventy-seven percent of the town wasn’t employed there. Seventy-eight point two five six. He rolled his eyes. Why must she be right? She was continually fighting him at every turn, and it was beginning to annoy him. He was so involved with his research he lost track of time. When he shut down the computer, it was well after seven and all of his co-workers were gone, including Melody.
“I know what I need to work off a little steam.” He pulled the gym clothes out of his father’s desk. Minutes later, he stepped out of the executive bathroom. Drawstrings made the shorts workable, but the shirt was way too tight. He looped it over his arm. Luckily, he wore the same size shoe as his dad, though the knee-hi socks were a no-go. He’d work without socks rather than subject himself to those. He took the stairs, figuring he’d get in a mini pre-game warm up on his way there. It didn’t bother him the place was empty. In fact, it energized him. Like he was a kid locked in a toy store after hours.
He found the gym where Michelle told him it would be. Looking in the door’s window, he froze with his hand on the knob.
Melody Hawkins was inside by herself. Some form-fitting workout pants—smooth and tight as seal-skin—were melded to her legs, which were currently in the air. She was doing a handstand and as he watched, she slowly spread her legs open into a perfect split. She held it there, and Colt took the time to note her legs were as muscled as her arms. Not over-muscled, like a UFC fighter, tight, toned, smooth curves.
But, as fit as she was, she shouldn’t be working out alone with a killer still unaccounted for.
Note to self: talk to Melody about the potentially dangerous position she’s putting herself in by being unaccompanied in an isolated part of the building.
The next moment, his thoughts deserted him altogether. She slowly brought her legs to center again and then split them the other way. His gaze followed like he was in an eye exam tracking the flashlight beam. His mouth hung open and he wiped at the corners where drool was pooling. The way she moved was just so incredibly sensual. He shifted, suddenly thankful for the baggie shorts as he was becoming aroused. But in changing positions, he accidentally knocked the door, and Melody’s head whipped around, nailing him where he stood.
* * *
AS GRACEFUL AS SHE had been seconds before, Melody fell out of position, tumbling awkwardly to the floor. She moaned, as much from embarrassment as pain.
He entered, and she scrambled into a seated position, snatching her glasses up and smashing them onto her face.
“Hey. Getting a workout in, I see.”
He was bare-chested. And what a chest. He’d gained some muscle since his last underwear commercial. She fought to answer him. “Yes,” she croaked. She cleared her throat. “I mean—yes.”
“You okay there? Need some water?” He offered a bottle of water she recognized as the brand stocked in his executive fridge.
She waved him off. “Nah, I’m good.” She picked up a cheerful pink refillable water bottle with daisies on it. “Got my own.” She tipped it back, pouring relief into her throat while at the same time wishing the bottle contained tequila.
He nodded and turned, checking out a machine behind him. “I thought I’d unwind some, too.”
Now she could observe him from the back, and she almost cried out. Shoulders of a god. Holy shit. No one should be allowed to be that tempting. It was so unfair. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to corral her stampeding heart. She heard movement and popped her eyes open. He was circling the apparatus he was studying, gaze running floor to ceiling. What’s wrong? Never seen one of those, stud? As he rounded the machine, she swallowed her smirk. His abs were so chiseled it was like a sculptor had taken weeks on them alone. And he had that whole V thing disappearing into his shorts. My God, what made that so appealing?
He can’t catch me checking him out. Look away, dammit Melody.
“I noticed earlier...I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you have very nice arms. Toned. What do you do to keep them that way?”
“I...uhh...uhh...” Where could she look and not see him? It was like he was the only thing in the room. Her palms were sweaty. She rubbed them on her pants.
Colt pulled his gaze away from the apparatus in front of him and studied her. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just...uhh...” She licked her lips. “You are not supposed to be...you know...shirtless in here.”
“I’m not? Whose rule is that?”
“Yours, sir. Well, your dad’s.”
“Oh. Well. I’ll wear this then.” He pulled the shirt on, struggling to get his arms into the sleeves. “It was a little tight.”
With effort, he got it on and then stepped forward and crouched in front of her. She was glad she was sitting because that big bright smile he was wearing would have made her weak in the knees. “You know, being travel buddies and all, we’re going to be spending quite a few hours together soon, so maybe you should drop the sir.”
“Oh, yes. I will then.”
“Can I help you up?” He held out his hands, straightening his legs as he took hers and pulled her to her feet. She spun around to grab a towel off a bench and caught his eyes in one of the mirrors lining the walls. She stopped for a second and then continued to reach for the towel, though not taking her gaze from his.
“You never answered my question.”
She straightened. “I didn’t?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “How do you get these...” He put his hands under her upper arms, lifting them up at her sides so they were fully extended. Then he ran his hands on top, along their length, following his movements with his eyes. “...to look so incredible?”
“I...”
When he reached the ends, he rounded her fingertips and skimmed along the bottom of her arms. The only thing separating their bodies was a wisp of air. She watched in the mirror as he began to lower his head to her neck. His breath warmed her skin. Was he going to kiss her? This had to stop. She had to stop it. She rotated her arms, making large circles, forcing distance between them.
“Arm circles,” she said, while still demonstrating the technique. She stepped forward and whirled to face him. “Lots and lots of arm circles.” The farther away she got, the easier it was to breathe.
He stared at the mat for a moment. “I see. Any pull-ups?”
“Nah.” She grimaced. “I couldn’t do a pull-up to save my life. But push-ups...I do TONS of push-ups.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded.
“Bet I can do more.” He raised his brows, challenging her.
“I’ll take that bet.” She spun around and got on the mat in plank form. “Assume the position, Remkus.”
Instead of getting on his knees first like any normal person would, he fell straight forward, catching himself as he landed in the perfect plank position. He dipped to do five quick push-ups, clapping between each.
“Nice,” she offered, impressed despite herself. “Can you do this?” She put her hands on top of each other, then kicked one leg up, resting the toe on the heel of her other shoe. She pumped out five.
“I don’t know. I never tried.” He mimicked her stance. “Like this?”
She tapped his top ankle, pushing it up. “With the toe of this shoe on the heel of the bottom one. That’s it.”
“Okay.” He lowered himself slowly, but struggled to bring himself back up. “These are hard.”
“Are they?” she said innocently.
He gritted his teeth, descending for the second time. “Yeah. You know, I’m having to push a lot more weight than you.”
“Hmm...” Think so? She stood, observing him, then spun to sit on his back. “Did you say more weight?” She bounced, further complicating things.
He smirked. And dropped with her on top of him, then slowly pushed back up.
She flipped so she was lying with her stomach on his back, bending her knees so her feet were up in the air, kicking back and forth as she planted her elbows into his shoulders. “This is fun.” She smiled at herself in the mirror.
He grunted. “Yeah. It’s a blast.” He slowly brought his frame down again, but on the way back up he shifted. With a growl he dropped a shoulder, sending her rolling onto the mat. In an instant he was over her, trapping her arms over her head. “You don’t play nice.”
Her heart raced, but she refused to act anything but cool. “I don’t?” She batted her lashes.
He laughed. “You are something else.” He released her arms and moved as if he was getting off her, then he appeared to switch gears. “I bet you can’t do this.” He moved forward, dropping low so he was rubbing his chest against hers.
“What are you doing?” She wished her voice didn’t come out so breathy.
“A trainer showed me these once. Over and under the fence pushups, he called them. So this is under the fence.” Then he reversed his motion, sliding his body backwards and up. “Over the fence.” He repeated his first move. “Under the fence.” Reversed. “Over the fence. Or I can do it like this.” Writhing, he basically did a slow-motion worm over her. Set a little music to this, and they could be in a porn movie. It obviously took a lot of strength and agility. His shirt sleeves ripped, the sharp tearing sound somehow ratcheting up her libido all the more. The veins in his arms stood out like cords. He brought his torso back in close to hers and ceased all movement. His gaze raked her face and then traveled back and forth between her two eyes as if searching for something in their depths. He was breathing hard. Was it only from exertion, or could he be as turned on as she was? Impossible.
Her traitorous gaze dropped to his lips. They appeared as if they’d know what to do if he kissed her. She quickly looked back up. His brow was wrinkled, almost as if he were in pain. The only sound in the room was their breathing.
“You know what?” He fell to the side and sat, palms on the mat behind him, knees bent. “Some people might say that was a tad inappropriate.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. Apparently the only movement she could make at this point.
“I apologize. I think I’ve been on the road too long. I don’t know how to act like a normal person.”
She sat up on her elbows. “It’s okay.”
He rose and went to stare out the window, bringing a hand to his chin. “No. It’s not. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of behavior in a professional environment.”
She got to her feet and crossed to him. He seemed absorbed in thought until she laid a hand on his arm. “Colt. It’s fine. I’m usually here by myself. This is the most entertaining workout I’ve had in a while.”
“Entertaining?” He laughed out of one side of his mouth. “Well, at least there’s that.” The smile spread to the rest of his face. “You know what? You called me Colt.”
“That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But you always call me sir or Mr. Remkus.”
She scooped her towel off the floor and walked backward in the direction of the locker rooms. “Hmm...a slip up. I need to stop doing that.” The corners of her lips quivered. “I’m hitting the shower. You finish up your exercising in peace.”
When she was about to enter the locker room, he called to her. “Hey, Mel?”
She twisted her head to look back.
“Thanks.”
She turned her body a fraction, dropping her hands to her side. “For what?”
“For putting up with me.”
“Well, seeing as it is your first day and all, I wasn’t going to bust the new guy’s chops yet. But tomorrow...” She wagged a finger, using her butt to back through the door. “Now that’s a different story altogether.”