each other. Instead they had an album drop to great reviews and sales, a mini tour, she’d had a huge hit with her Wayne Rush duet, and they’d moved into a house they’d chosen together.
Everything was exactly what she had asked for out of life, and she was one lucky woman.
She turned to Chance. “So what you say, Rivers? Should we sing these people a song?”
Her co-worker, partner, and boyfriend gave her a smile and a nod. He’d kept up his workout regime after they’d gotten back together, and he was still off liquor. Between the two, he had bulked out, with defined arm and leg muscles, and sexy as hell broad shoulders. She had to say, her man was downright yummy, and standing on stage, his guitar in front of him, wearing cowboy boots and jeans that fit just right? She was going home with that, and it made her girl bits flutter just thinking about it.
She was a lucky lady.
Chance led in with his guitar, looking behind him briefly to cue the rest of their band, and Jolene swayed, letting the music slide over her. It had turned out that their biggest hit off the new album was not a song Tennyson wrote with Chance, nor was it the song they’d written together at the cabin. It was the song they’d written the next morning after they’d gotten back together.
It had been written the way all their best hits had been written– naked and in bed. Chance had clearly been right about that all along. Hell, it made Jolene look forward to writing the next album.
It was easy to sing a song about holding on and not letting go. About love and putting down roots. She felt the lyrics in every bone in her body.
After the song ended, and she absorbed the applause, Chance took her hand with a squeeze and they walked off stage together.
“I think that went well,” she said, pleased.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It definitely did. You sounded fantastic, baby.”
“So did you.” She brushed past a technician, following the handler to the dressing room she’d been assigned to. She needed a makeup check before she went back and took a seat, then on the endless round of parties. No question, she enjoyed being glammed up and out socializing. But she also enjoyed going home with Chance even more.
She wanted to take her heels off for three minutes to let her feet rest, but was afraid if she took them off her feet would swell and she’d never get them back on, so instead, she gingerly eased into her dressing room chair. “Lord, it’s hard to sit in this dress.” It was heavy and tight and very glitzy. She loved it, but it was not meant for a ton of bending.
“But your legs look amazing.” Chance stood behind her and with his hands on her shoulders, watching her in the mirror. “And I’ll rub your feet at home.”
“Ooh, I’m holding you too that.” She gave him a smile, then reached for her lipstick. What she found instead made her heart swell. A napkin, propped up on her makeup case.
Will you marry me? – C
Chance wanted to marry her. Tears filled her eyes. Lord, she loved this man, and she loved watching him grow and evolve, and she loved how she had changed with him. She spun around. “What? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He was already down on one knee. “JoJo, I love you and want to spend forever with you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She nodded. “Mama didn’t raise no fool,” she said, meeting his gaze. “So hell yes, I’m saying yes.”
He shot her a grin. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God, because this diamond is burning a hole in my pocket.”
He pulled out a ring and put it on her finger and Jolene eyed its sparkling splendor in awe, holding her hand up for him to see. “This is the second best thing you’ve given me from your pants.”
Chance laughed. “That’s my JoJo.”
When he leaned down to take her mouth with his, she didn’t even fuss about him ruining her lipstick.
“We’ve come a long way, kid,” she told him, amused. Somewhere inside her, that little girl watching the CMAs on the old TV, wearing pants that were too short, still existed, the big-eyed, big-haired dreamer. This moment was for her.
“And the best is yet to come.”
About the Author
USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written almost eighty novels and novellas in the romance and mystery genres. Erin has a special weakness for tattoos, high-heeled boots, and martinis. She lives with her renovation-addicted husband and their blended family of kids and rescue dogs.
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Also by Erin McCarthy
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Weekend Wife
Billionaire businessman in need of a fake fiancée…
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But that’s the hard part. And I do mean hard.
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