Her eyes sparking with competition, she hands him her pen. “Let’s see what you got, Greyson.”
His heart double-times its rhythm.
He pens a line after hers. Alabama reads it, scribbles, crosses out words, adds her own. Then she writes a few lines and passes it back to Griff. They work in silence, every so often nodding, murmuring appreciation, their bodies curved into each other as they work, heads dipped in solidarity, in concentration.
It’s how it used to be.
How it always should have been.
Griff can’t tear his gaze from Alabama’s face. She’s so passionate, so laser-focused, so goddamn beautiful. He wants to sweep her up in his arms and holler out loud, tell her he’s all in, he is hers and there ain’t one damn thing she can do about it.
Alabama leans back on the couch and evaluates the piecemeal song they put together. “It’s rough, but it could be something.” She smiles at the notebook. “We’ll make songwriters out of us yet.”
He stares at her, suddenly dry-mouthed. His heart feels like it’s going to stop beating any damn second.
At his silence, she glances up. “What is it?”
He clears his throat. “You’ve been avoidin’ me.” But there’s no accusation in his words. Only a plea for her to talk to him.
She drops her eyes. “I know.”
Griff reaches out to cup her cheek, nearly groaning at the feel of her after a weeklong absence. “Why’re you hidin’ from me, Al? What’d I do, sweetheart?”
He waits for her to answer him, when suddenly, there’s a very warm, very wet mouth on his.
Alabama, her plump red lips crushing his, loops her arms around his neck. The feel of her curves, her breasts pressed against his chest, has Griff letting loose a primal growl. He kisses her back, hungry and wanting, murmuring her name like some dirty reprimand.
With a gasp, Alabama breaks the kiss, but Griff doesn’t let her go. Oh, hell no. He holds her tight against him, his gaze riveted on her face as Alabama settles back in his arms. She bites her lip, her expression shamefaced. “I know I’ve been avoidin’ you. I’m sorry,” she says. “I got spooked.”
He frowns. “By what?”
She looks away from him. “By nothin’.”
He wants to press her further but decides not to push it. “You’re confusin’ as hell, woman.”
She tips her head back, exposing the creamy curve of her throat, and laughs. “I aim to please, Greyson.”
“I want to do this, Al. Play with you onstage. Sing. Write songs.” He pins his eyes to hers. Every card of his is on the table. Hiding them never helped him anyway. “We should be doin’ us.”
Before she can protest, he goes on. “I know I made mistakes. I ain’t been the best kinda man in the past. But I’m gonna be the best man for you. I won’t hurt you.”
“Griff.” She shakes her head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I mean it.” He plunges a hand into all that silky red hair and, palming her neck, pulls her toward him. “I told you, I’m done with all that, Alabama. The drinkin’. The girls.”
Curling into his chest, she gives a lazy, content smile. “Hmm. Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Oh, you will,” he vows. She’ll see it and then some. He’s never been as serious in his life about something as this. Proving to Alabama that he won’t fuck this up. Earning this second chance. Making it work. For good this time.
For-fucking-ever.
He leans in and kisses her slim shoulder. Her creamy skin is cool on his lips and he feels himself hardening. He moves down her throat, pressing a kiss to her pulse.
Alabama tilts her head to the ceiling as Griff’s hand slips up her shirt to cup her full breast. Her slender body rumbles out a throaty sigh. “If we do this—which we shouldn’t—”