The Ex Factor - Erin McCarthy Page 0,4

bed. Naked.”

Her jaw dropped. “No! And good Lord, we didn’t write all our songs naked.”

“We did often enough. The really good ones. That’s my deal. If we’re writing songs about knocking boots, we’re going to really feel the emotion, if you catch my drift.” He smiled to himself. His demand was crazy and insensitive and kind of like blackmail. Okay, a lot like blackmail if you wanted to get technical. But he knew she’d say no. She’d probably throw a paperweight at him before storming out and telling him to kiss off.

It might not be the best strategy for his career, but he had to push back a little. He couldn’t help himself. He was always the one to strike the match.

And as usual, Jolene brought the fuel.

Because instead of getting pissed and rejecting him flat out, she calmly shifted her legs so his were forced further apart. She eased in, rolling her chair nice and snug up close to him, and leaned forward. He could see straight down her shirt.

“You’ve got a deal. With a condition of my own.”

He was stunned. That had backfired on him, in the best way possible. His attraction to Jolene hadn’t decreased, not one damn bit. It figured she’d add a caveat, though he was intrigued. And aroused. “What’s that?”

“We let it slip to the media that we’re back on. Both in the studio and out. It will be good PR. Think about it.”

She’d lost her ever-lovin’ mind. He didn’t hesitate and he didn’t need to think about it. “Hell no. Absolutely not.”

Jolene didn’t look disappointed. She just eased back into her seat and gave him a look that made him more than a little wary. “Then no deal. Keep your damn hands off me, Rivers.”

Yep. They were still explosive.

Two

“Y’all are crazy,” Elle said, petting Dolly behind her floppy ears.

“Probably,” Jolene agreed as she eyed her closet. What did she pack for two weeks of total seclusion with Chance? She had a lot of sequins, two dozen pairs of skinny jeans, cute motorcycle jackets in a variety of colors like pink, red, and a blue her stylist had insisted was called cerulean, whatever the heck that was. Nothing one could really deem practical for casual cabin living. “But I’m also pragmatic,” she told her sister. “I refuse to slide backwards when I’ve worked so hard to get where I am.”

Elle rolled her eyes, her many silver bangles clinking as she worked Dolly’s fur. The dog was lounging on Jolene’s bed, the only black in a sea of pastel floral bedding. Chance had used to joke that making love to her there was like screwing in a garden. Lord, why did everything bring her thoughts back to Chance?

“Jolene. Get real. If you were being pragmatic, you’d just tell Chance to write whatever the hell he wants and you’ll sing it. You’d minimize contact with him. Not trot off to the woods in some bullshit quest for creativity. A hundred bucks says you come back knocked up.”

That distracted her from her walk-in closet and it’s lack of practical shoes. “Now you’re the crazy one!” The thought of having Chance’s baby made her heart pound and she wasn’t sure if it was entirely from horror. “We have a business relationship now, nothing more.”

Lies. All lies. But she wasn’t about to tell Elle that Chance had tossed out that nonsense about naked songwriting. Hell, he wasn’t even serious. He’d just been trying to get her goat. And she had to admit– he’d got it good. She had played it off, but inside she’d been a puddle of lust.

“You keep telling yourself that. Look, I get being attracted to the wrong guy. And being horny. I really get being horny.” Elle stopped petting Dolly and crossed her arms over her chest. Whereas Jolene was sequins and fringe, a bottle blonde, Elle was patchwork and knit, with glossy raven hair.

“I’m not horny.” Why she was even bothering to protest was just beyond her. Horny didn’t even begin to describe it. Eighteen-year-old boys on spring break wanted sex less than she did right now. There had only been that one horrible night with her bus driver since she and Chance had broken up. She and Duane had gotten drunk on Fireball and it had been a sloppy grope fest where she had taken advantage of the crush he had on her. In the end, both the whiskey and his awe of her had given him performance anxiety, and his erection had