Kentucky Heat Page 4

  Hank’s own anger rose, but he stifled the curt remark that came to his lips. After all, he was used to being dismissed. This meeting was for Raylynn.

  He cleared his throat. “I have a favor to ask regarding your party.” This time his voice was unshaken, without fear. “I know a great country music band with a tremendous lead singer you could hire for the night. The band sings old-fashion country hits.”

  “I’ve already engaged a big band orchestra.”

  “I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to ask.” Hank stood up, swallowing hard to conceal his anger. “The band is good. I want other people to hear them and find out just how good.”

  It was impossible to get anything but contempt from his father. Hank turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

  “Wait a minute!”

  He paused and looked back. His father was on his feet behind the desk, his hands resting on the desktop. “Give me the name and phone number. Maybe the event planner I hired can work them in during cocktails.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Hank glared at his father. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  “If they are as good as you say they are, the event planner will engage them.”

  They stared at each other across the vastness of the office. Hank set his jaw and released the fist he had been making with his right hand. “I’ll get you that number,” he said. “Thanks again, Dad.”

  “Thank you for taking an interest.”

  Hank stood a heartbeat longer looking at the man he could never please. He nodded his head and ducked out of the office, escaping once more from the tension that smoldered between them.

  Chapter Six

  Pappy Smith’s Country Bar

  Three days later

  “Tell me why you wanted Chip’s cell phone number.” Raylynn slid onto the empty barstool and leaned her elbow on the bar, turning toward Hank. She wore her funky cowgirl outfit with the teal cowboy hat that hid her eyes.

  Hank stifled a surge of desire that flared full blown below his abdomen. “I mentioned I might have another gig for you,” he said in a conversational tone.

  “Why not come to me?”

  “Jake told me Chip was the band leader.”

  Raylynn’s mouth grew taut, drawn together in a little circle, and her eyebrows seemed to come down. “Well, I’m the singer, and we don’t need another gig. We’re only doing this for fun anyway.”

  Hank scowled in annoyance. He was only trying to help. “Chip told me he appreciated my effort.”

  “I don’t.” She climbed down from the bar stool. “You should leave well enough alone.”

  Hank reached for her and firmly held her upper arm. “Don’t be mad, Raylynn. I believe in you. I want to help.”

  “You don’t even know me. You know nothing about me.”

  “I know you’re beautiful and talented, but you don’t take your talent seriously.”

  She lifted her chin. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Hank loosened his grip on her arm and sat back. “We’re talking about you, not me.”

  “But it’s the same circumstance. You have over twenty oil paintings, portraits of kids and horses, sitting in your apartment collecting dust. They’re wonderful. You shouldn’t hide them away. What are you afraid of?”

  “I can ask you the same thing,” Hank said. “And why don’t you want my help? What do you have against trying to pursue a singing career?”

  Her eyes flashed. “It’s tit for tat. I have my reasons, and you must have yours.”

  Hank let her go, and she scooted past him. He swiveled on the stool and watched Raylynn stalk back to the stage, her long strides and swaying hips setting off further lust-inspiring thoughts along with a big dose of determination. He would make it right between them. He would make her forgive him. All he needed was to show her what he’d done. That would prove how much he cared.

  * * * *

  It was after midnight when the band packed up. Hank paid his tab and slipped out the back door. He was waiting beside Raylynn’s truck for her when she came out.

  She hesitated when she saw him. He waved, hoping she didn’t think he was a stalker. Tonight she carried her cowboy hat in a pink, plastic case, but she still wore her yellow boots and a leather jacket over the black shirt and cowgirl skirt with the teal fringe.

  “What would you say if I told you I need another ride home?”

  “I’d say you’re lying.” She shouldered past him, clicking the key fob to open the door.

  “I am,” he admitted. “I want you to come home with me.”

  She looked at him with a skeptical frown.

  “I want to show you something.”

  She didn’t say a word, a shadow of anger sweeping across her face.

  “I want to show you what I painted.”

  Relaxing then, relenting, Raylynn tossed her shoulder bag and hat case into the back seat and glanced at him. “Not another gawd-awful abstract painting?”

  “No, I think you’ll appreciate this painting.” He grinned at her then, a big broad, head-over-heels-in-love smile and ended with a self-deprecating laugh. “At least I hope you will.”

  Her gaze searched his, looking deep, deep into his soul. He returned her stare, his smile fading. Hank ran a hand through his hair and waited.

  “I may regret this.” She turned and opened the driver’s side door. “Go on, get in, sugar.”

  Hank hurried around to the passenger side.

  Round one won.

  * * * *

  Raylynn stood in the middle of his cramped apartment, fingering her car keys and staring at the covered six feet by three feet canvas placed on the easel near the shuttered front window.

  “Take off your coat and stay awhile,” Hank said, closing the door and tossing off his down vest.

  He’d picked up the place for her. In fact, the room looked downright neat and tidy. It even had a pleasant smell with new apple cinnamon air fresheners plugged into wall sockets. Ginny’s scrumptious cinnamon rolls had given him the idea. Yet a wave of apprehension swept through him as he watched Raylynn looking around his humble abode. Not much of a place to bring a woman, that was for sure.

  He wasn’t going to be put off. Hank crossed the three steps that separated them and reached for the zipper on her coat. “Stay awhile,” he urged in a low, beguiling voice.

  Her hands covered his on the front of the coat, stopping his movement. “I can unzip my own coat, thank you very much.”

  “Ah, it’s more fun if I do it.”

  Their gazes caught and lingered, sparking with challenge. Raylynn was the first to glance away. She removed his hands and ran the zipper down the coat, not allowing him to help.

  Round two won. She was staying.

  Raylynn was independent, and he liked that about her. She seemed to know what she wanted and what she didn’t want, which was more than he could say for himself.

  Slowly, he unwound the white, wool scarf from around her neck and lifted it over her head. Taller than she, he had an advantage. Then he helped her shrug the jacket over her shoulders, pulling it off and tossing it and the scarf on top of his vest on the papasan chair.

  Burning, wanting, full up to the brim with desire, Hank cupped Raylynn’s face in his hands, and his emotions melting, kissed her as if his life depended upon it.

  Perhaps it did. He’d never felt such a high. And when she kissed him back, parting her lips and letting him in to explore her mouth with his tongue, he experienced a pinnacle of feeling that cascaded from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

  “God help me,” he whispered on her lips.

  She struggled then, breaking contact, and scooting sideways to stand dazed a step away from him.

  “No,” she said gasping for breath.

  They stared at each other. Did he appear wide-eyed too? Raylynn looked like a doe caught in headlights. Surely she felt as he felt, overcome by the connection they shared.

  She blinked and shook herse
lf as a dog might do, and then she turned toward the covered canvas. “You wanted to show me a painting?”

  The ends of his fingers seemed to be on fire. His whole body churned with the male need for release. Instead of touching her again, Hank lifted the off-white cloth from the canvas and let it drop to the floor. He stepped back to give Raylynn a good line of sight.

  He turned as she gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand in surprise. “You painted me,” she whispered.

  A deep silence surrounded them. She’d hate it. And him. He had only wanted to please her. It was his greatest work to date and if she didn’t like it, he was done. Finished.

  “From memory,” he said.

  “Is that how you see me?”

  “Yes.” His throat was suddenly dry, and the admission sounded lame to his ears.

  Taking a step toward the painting, she studied it. She hugged her chest, over the teal-tinged fringe that covered her breasts. Raylynn rubbed her nose with the back of a finger and turned around.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Her words were breathless. Awestruck. Hank was overwhelmed. “You like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “I’m glad.” He shivered with relief and a rising desire.

  Could she read the yearning in his eyes? She glanced down. “I’m not that woman, you know? The singer you see on stage lacks that inner confidence, that glow you’ve captured in the portrait.”

  He laughed. “You sell yourself short. You certainly know how to handle me.” Hank caught her arms and drew her toward him. “You were confident enough to kick my butt and get me home that night I was drunk.”

  She gazed up at him with an innocent look. “Self-confidence.” She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue. “The woman in that painting can conquer the world. Me, not so much.” She shrugged and lowered her gaze.

  “Raylynn, stop it. You can do anything you want to do. You have a beautiful voice. You’re a lovely woman. I can’t figure out why you aren’t in Nashville letting everyone on Music Row know who you are.”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. Her head snapped up and her eyes looked wild, almost afraid. “I’ve no interest in Nashville,” she said, but he didn’t believe her. “Even if I did, it would do no good. Stardom, a music career, is folly. I don’t want it. Why are you pushing me?”

  “Because I’m falling in love.”

  The words flew out of his mouth. Hank didn’t try to deny them. They made so much sense and were so a part of whom he’d become these last few days since he had known Raylynn.

  Her mouth dropped open and then she forced it shut. Her cheeks grew red. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said with a horrified sputter. “You love a fantasy.”

  “Aren’t you worth loving?”

  He kissed her again and she moaned. Pressing his hips up to her, Hank let Raylynn feel him, so there was no doubt what he wanted. No doubt at all.

  Chapter Seven

  “Don’t do this to me,” she groaned.

  “What?” he asked against her mouth.

  “Make me want you.”

  Crazy, out of his mind, Hank tried not to rush. He trembled, still locked in the embrace with Raylynn. “Do you want me?”

  She nodded. “No strings attached.”

  “None!” He’d promise her anything even though his heart protested.

  He leaned in to kiss her once more, and she lifted her hand and held the back of his head gently. It was a tender affirmation of her desire, but sexy too. Hank stroked a fingertip down her face, busting at the seams with his new-found love. She might not care, but from this moment forward he was hooked.

  He finally pulled back. “May I undress you?”

  Slowly, licking her top lip and then the bottom one, in a seductive come-on invitation, Raylynn stood back from him, lifted her chin, and then winked. “Have your way with me, sugar.”

  Her chin quivered, and Hank knew she was hot for him too. Part of him wanted more from her than she was willing to give. Yet the other part accepted whole-heartedly what she gave.

  He couldn’t get her clothes off fast enough. “Damn these buttons!”

  She laughed, throwing her head back, exposing her bra to him as he made progress with the fringed shirt. Pulling the shirt out of her waistband, Raylynn removed it herself and let it drop to the floor.

  “Geeze!” Her bra was teal—blue-green—like the color of the fringe. He devoured her with his gaze, taking in her creamy flesh and the mounds of her breasts hidden beneath the sexy bra.

  She giggled and twirled, letting the full skirt spin around her legs. It was an old-fashioned skirt, meant for the show, but it turned him on seeing her that way, wearing just a skirt and bra and yellow cowboy boots.

  “Geeze!” he said again, feeling like a baby with a new toy.

  But Raylynn was a very grown up toy.

  As if removing her shirt had removed her inhibitions, Raylynn stood her ground in front of him and spread her legs apart, letting him look. She reached behind her back and the skirt toppled from her waist to bunch around her cowboy boots. She stepped over the fallen skirt, one boot at a time, until she was in front of him dressed only in a teal bra and panties and yellow high-heeled cowboy boots that came up to her shapely calves.

  Hank gulped and let his gaze run deliciously from the tips of her boots up her gorgeous body. He was in full-blown agony, but somehow his limbs had grown lethargic. He couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe.

  But Raylynn was liberated. She laughed out loud. Flushed and aware of her sexuality, she came toward him, swaying her hips, thrusting her chest forward.

  “Not as good as Dolly Parton,” she said with a lift of her eyebrow. “But they’re all mine.”

  His fingers itched to touch her breasts. He gulped again and stared. She unbuttoned his flannel shirt, one slow button at a time, and Hank looked down on her bowed head trying to control his out-of-control breathing.

  “You’re beautiful,” he gasped. “My painting doesn’t do you justice.”

  “You’re sweet.” She grinned slightly, still concentrating on his buttons.

  Hank felt her feather-light touch and it almost blew his mind. She was too slow. Too deliberate. He stepped back away from her and tore off his shirt, flinging it to the floor. He ripped his white undershirt over his head to stand in front of her in only his jeans and boots.

  She bit her lower lip and approached him once more. He could see her taking in his chest and abs, not a perfect six-pack, but he was taut and muscular. Working out and shoveling manure at the Hope Center did that for him. He wasn’t perfect either, but neither was he ashamed of his body.

  In fact, his package was ready to be opened.

  Raylynn saw that too. She saw how ready he was. He burned even hotter as he watched her gaze travel down to the bulge in his jeans.

  “Damn!” He couldn’t get naked fast enough. He bent over and pulled off his boots. Standing in stocking feet, he put his hand on his zipper, but Raylynn was there first.

  She caught his hand as she had earlier and removed it. Then she unzipped his fly herself—slowly, seductively, licking her lips begging him to come on.

  Her hand touched his boxer briefs. She cupped him and held him gently, stroking him through the fabric. Then she grazed his nipples with her teeth, sucking on them slightly one moment and then raking them with her teeth the next.

  “Unfair,” he muttered. “I want to do that to you.”

  “Be my guest.”

  In a second her bra was gone. Hank rocked toward her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close, feeling her flesh to flesh. “Geeze, Raylynn, you feel so good.”

  Then he went down on an exposed breast with his lips, touching her with his tongue and teeth as she had touched him. She groaned and held his shoulders as if to steady herself.

  His legs almost buckled. He was so weak with desire he couldn’t stand. They were holding each other up, but it wasn’t natural. His jeans r
emained, constricting his lower body, binding him.

  With all the strength he could muster, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her close like a treasure. He felt Raylynn’s own ragged breath. He felt the fine sheen of desire on her skin. Hugging her, never wanting to let her go, Hank lowered her carefully to the daybed he’d left open hoping he might need it.

  He stripped off his clothes. Standing beside the bed, fully exposed, Hank drank in the beauty of his little country singer. She lay naked now too, showing off her feminine curves for his lusting eyes to see.

  Leaning up on her elbow, Raylynn reached over and touched him where he throbbed and ached. She stroked him with a soft fingertip, licking her lips as she did. He stepped closer to her hand, letting her hold him. She scrambled up to her knees and kissed him there, flicking her wet, hot tongue over his tip.

  “Damn!” He made it into the bed before his legs crumpled beneath him.

  “Condoms?”

  “Beside the bed,” Hank gasped, unsure how this moment of seduction had gotten out of his control.

  Remaining on her knees, Raylynn reached over him, dangling, and opened the bedside table drawer. She removed a foil wrapper, tore it open with her teeth, all the while keeping eye-contact with him.

  He’d never been so ready—pulsating, wanting. He needed Raylynn for the release, but for much, much more. He needed her self-confidence, which she claimed she didn’t have. He needed her understanding. Her compassion.

  He may never have her love, but he needed to give his to her.

  “Trust me, Raylynn,” he said between clenched teeth.

  “I do trust you, Hank.” She rolled the condom into place.

  Then she straddled him, riding his abs, touching him with her wetness. She wiggled down on top of him, slowly, letting him fill her up. He gritted his teeth with the pleasant agony.

  She leaned over and placed her hands against the wall above him, letting her breasts hang down over his face. He was captured by her beauty, her body, her very soul.

  He thrust upward. “Careful,” she said. “Go slow.”