She turns toward him. His eyes have that mischievous glint she knows means trouble. “What’re you thinkin’, Greyson?”
“I’m thinkin’ we do the show together.”
“What?” Her eyes widen. Excitement bubbles in her chest like a fountain. “The entire show?”
“The whole damn show.” He grins. “You read the review. They fuckin’ love us.”
“That’s not how it works, Griff.” Brian’s scowling. His face is so red it looks as if he’ll start frothing at the mouth any second. “They’re payin’ to see you, not her.”
“They like her,” Griff says, his smile fading slightly. Dangerously.
Alabama bites her lip, wishing she weren’t suddenly in the middle of a war zone.
Brian shakes his head. “Yeah, well, she ain’t your sound. You’re changin’ too much, too fast. You’re gonna piss off your fans.”
Griff holds up a hand. “Bri—”
But Brian continues. “Not to mention Freddie won’t like it. Hell, I don’t like it.”
“Fuck you and fuck Freddie,” Griff snarls. “I’ll do what I goddamn want.”
Brian shuts his mouth.
Griff’s attention snaps back to Alabama, the look in his eyes soft, tender. “But it’s up to you.”
Alabama’s heart flares with pride at Griff’s take-charge attitude. The music means something to him again. Not to mention it gives her a slice of joy to openly defy Brian. To know Brian’s riled up, but there’s nothing he can do about it because Griff’s the boss.
Without batting an eye, Griff’s hand slowly slides up the inside of her thigh beneath her dress. “What do you say, sweetheart?” His calloused fingertips trace and tease the lace edge of her panties. “Should we do this thing or what?”
“Yeah,” she agrees, near breathless. Her head barely feels on, but she gives a bobblehead nod, her cheeks flushing at the heat pulsing through her like a heartbeat. “Let’s do it.”
Alabama exits the hotel in a blazing glow of sinking sunlight. Raising a hand to her eyes, she searches the grounds for Griff. Ever since they arrived in Baton Rouge, she’s been avoiding Brian, who looked like he wanted to sit her down and give her a good talking-to. Despite having Griff’s support, her nerves are shot and she wonders if she’s doing the right thing. Wonders if Brian will cause trouble. Wonders if she can keep whatever she and Griff are doing under the radar.
Playing a full set with Griff? Good Lord, how’s she going to keep her hands off him?
After circling the pool several times, Alabama finally finds Griff down in the courtyard. She lets out a sigh when she approaches him. “You’re in the fountain, Griff.”
Griff smirks from his spot in the grungy water. He lowers his aviators to let his gaze glide up her entire body. He’s bare-chested, reclining against the edge of the fountain, a beer in his hands, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and while he looks all kinds of country trash, Alabama can’t deny he also looks sexy as hell. All she wants to do is climb in next to him, press up against him and brand every tattoo he owns to her body.
A cocky grin fills his face. “It ain’t the pool?”
A smile dances on her lips. “No. It ain’t.”
“What can I say? It’s hot.”
“It is,” she says, her eyes on his tan, rippled stomach. “It is hot.”
Even in late November, the sun in Louisiana has them both sweating like it’s the middle of July.
He lifts his beer to the horizon and Alabama sees a photographer scuttle behind a fence. “Gotta keep up the act. Give ’em their picture.”
She slips off her shoes. “You don’t, though,” she says, sitting down on the lip of the fountain to dip her feet in. “You kinda dropped that act six shows ago. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She lowers her voice an octave. “They like you better this way.”
The way they scream his name, fill tiny cramped bars just for a chance to see him, gives her such an immense sense of pride. He’s finally doing what he always wanted to do—his way.
“The way you used to act, Griff—that ain’t you. As much as singin’ like Britney Spears wasn’t me.”
He turns his head to stare into the sunset, the muscle in his jaw tight.