“The first song I want to sing tonight is called ‘One Night Stand.’”

How fitting.

Flash Lawrence and Brooke Bonner’s fling burned hotter and faster than Flash’s temper. But when Brooke learned she was pregnant, staying away was her only option. The unpredictable rodeo star isn’t daddy material. But when Flash finds out the truth—forget it. There’s no denying their explosive chemistry. Nor will he let her deny him his child.

SARAH M. ANDERSON is happiest when writing. Her book A Man of Privilege won the 2012 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. The Nanny Plan won the 2016 RITA® Award for Contemporary Romance: Short. Find out more about Sarah’s conversations with imaginary cowboys and billionaires at sarahmanderson.com, and sign up for the new-release newsletter at eepurl.com/nv39b.

Also by Sarah M. Anderson

Seduction on His TermsNot the Boss’s BabyTempted by a CowboyA Beaumont ChristmasHis Son, Her SecretFalling for Her Fake Fiancé HisIllegitimate HeirRich Rancher for ChristmasHis Best Friend’s SisterHis Enemy’s Daughter

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

His for One Night

Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09224-1

HIS FOR ONE NIGHT

© 2019 Sarah M. Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To my mom.

Here’s to new beginnings and fresh starts!

Love you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

About the Publisher

One

“It’s a good crowd tonight,” Kyle Morgan said as he slipped down the narrow hallway that qualified as the backstage of the Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, Tennessee. He winked at Brooke Bonner. “But I don’t think any of them came for me.”

Brooke gave the older man a shaky smile but didn’t stop humming to herself. The Bluebird was usually full—it was a small space where songwriters and singers came to test out new material. She’d been coming here for a decade now—first as a patron, then as a performer. She hadn’t been back in almost a year and a half, though.

She hadn’t been anywhere since she’d had Bean.

This night marked the beginning of her official comeback. After almost seven months of what felt like house arrest, she was walking back into the spotlight.

She was done hiding.

Mostly done, anyway. No one but a few select people knew about James Frasier Bonner—who she still called Bean, even though he definitely had grown. At three months, Bean was already smiling and cooing at her.

He had his father’s smile.

Kyle wasn’t in the know about Bean. Which made Brooke feel bad because Kyle was almost a father figure to her. He’d been at the Bluebird for her very first show and had taught her more about songwriting than anyone else. At every step of Brooke’s journey from “girl with a guitar” to “country music phenomenon,” Kyle had been a cheerleader, giving her advice and gentle pushes forward.

“Missed seeing you around,” Kyle said. “Been quiet without you.”

If she could’ve picked a father, Kyle might’ve done the trick. Sadly, Crissy Bonner would never tell Brooke who’d sired her. And the fact that she was walking in her mother’s footsteps by keeping Bean’s father a secret was a huge problem for Brooke.

But what choice did she have?

She didn’t want to repeat the mistakes her mother had made. She wanted to do better.

But first, she had to get back out into the music scene.

Kyle’s smile crinkled the lines around his mouth. It was a damn shame he refused to even talk to Mom. They could’ve made a good couple, and Kyle was rocking a silver-fox thing. Plus, if Mom had had a boyfriend or a husband, it might’ve taken some of Crissy Bonner’s focus off Brooke. But the few times Brooke had managed to get them in the same room, the barely concealed hatred had been enough to crush any dreams of an instant family.

Of course, if Kyle and Crissy had hooked up, that might’ve meant Brooke wouldn’t have a Grammy and a couple of chart toppers to her name. And it also might’ve meant she’d never have performed at that All-Stars Rodeo where Flash Lawrence had been riding, which would’ve meant no Bean. And she loved her son with her whole heart.

“Does this show mean you’re off hiatus?” Kyle asked as he packed up his guitar.

“Yup. I’d been touring for almost four years straight before I hit big last year. It just wiped me out.”

That was the official position her record label and family had cooked up. Brooke had needed a break to work on her new material. There might have been something in there about resting her vocal cords, she couldn’t remember.

It’d all been a load of crap.

No one rested during the last three months of pregnancy. New mothers with fussy babies didn’t rest.

Not for the first time, Brooke wished they’d just announced she was pregnant and dealt with the issue head-on. Yeah, the press might’ve been brutal—but there was no such thing as bad PR, and she’d argued that her surprise pregnancy might’ve taken her second album, White Trash Wonder, from double to triple platinum. After all, an unexpected pregnancy was on brand.

She’d been overruled because of one fact and one fact alone: she wouldn’t tell anyone who Bean’s father was. Not that it was any of their business, because it wasn’t.

Her mother hadn’t forgiven her yet for sitting on that particular secret, as if Crissy hadn’t done the exact same thing by refusing to acknowledge Brooke’s father.

Which meant Brooke was stuck lying, which she hated.

Kyle stood and wrapped an arm awkwardly around her shoulder. “Welcome back,” he said, giving her a friendly squeeze before he headed out to the front to watch. “You need anything, you just give me a call. I mean it, Brooke—anything at all.”

Brooke’s eyes stung with unexpected emotion at Kyle’s thoughtfulness. She forced her shoulders down and started humming again, keeping her vocal cords warm.

Alex Andrews, her bodyguard and friend, squeezed her big frame into the hallway and handed Brooke a mug of hot tea. “They found some honey,” she practically growled.

Brooke accepted the tea gratefully and took a sip. Ah, the perfect temperature. “Thanks, hon.”

Alex was big and gruff, but underneath her tanklike exterior she was a softie with a heart of solid gold. They’d been friends since junior high, back when Brooke was a band geek just starting to perform and Alex had been the first girl to play offensive lineman on the football team. Long before White Trash Wonder had hit big, Alex had been right beside Brooke in every dive bar and county fair, doing her best to keep away grabby, drunk assholes.

Thirteen months ago, Alex had stayed home because her girlfriend had the flu, instead of joining Brooke in Fort Worth for the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. If Alex had come, would Brooke and Flash have spent that white-hot night together? Or would Alex have been the voice of reason, keeping Brooke far away from cocky cowboys who were good in bed? And against the wall? And on the floor?

Brooke must have been frowning, because Alex asked, “Worried?”

Damn it—it was hard to get anything past that woman. Especially since Alex was one of the few people who knew about Bean. “It’s fine. He’s home with Mom,” she said, stretching her facial muscles to loosen them up.

“They’ll do great. Crissy only wants what’s best for him,” Alex replied, which was probably supposed to be reassuring. Except it wasn’t and Alex knew it. Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, crap—I didn’t mean...”

“It’s fine,” Brooke repeated, taking this opportunity to test out her fake smile. Crissy Bonner’s favorite saying was ‘It’s for the best.’ Brooke starting singing lessons at the age of five was for the best. Guitar lessons at the age of six was for the best. Hours of practice every day were for the best. Slumber parties, birthday parties, pets or boys—they weren’t for the best.

Knowing who her father was? That definitely wasn’t for the best.

Brooke kept humming. She was the last act of the night and she was surprised to realize she was nervous. It had been almost seven months since her last public appearance. Seven months since cleverly cut dresses and long, swingy cardigans hadn’t been enough to conceal her baby bump. Seven months since she’d sung in public.

After years of constantly touring—starting with bars on Nashville’s Music Row and then to county fairs to state fairs, to being the opening act for some of the biggest names in country music—Brooke had paid her dues early and often. And it’d all paid off last year when White Trash Wonder had hit. Suddenly, sold-out rodeos like the All-Stars had led to sold-out arenas. Years of lessons and performances and navigating the business world as a teenager had suddenly paid off, and Brooke had officially been labeled an overnight success, country music’s Next Big Thing.

And she’d ruined it by getting knocked up by Flash Lawrence.

She’d had to miss the Grammys, for crying out loud. She’d been in labor when she’d won Best New Artist.

She wanted to be home with her son right now, she realized. She wasn’t ready to do this again—the long and lonely nights, the negotiations, the travel and, most especially, the constant media scrutiny. But she didn’t have a choice. Her uncle and former manager, Brantley Gibbons, had embezzled not just most of her money but a great deal of his other clients’ funds and invested them in the Preston Pyramid Scheme—which had, of course, collapsed around his ears just about the time Brooke was breaking out.

Brooke and her mother weren’t penniless—she still had royalties coming in on her two albums and had managed to keep the bulk of her profits from the last few months of touring after Uncle Brantley had “relocated” to Mexico to avoid criminal charges. But she couldn’t afford to stay out of the spotlight any longer. She had to strike while the iron was hot.

Getting back out there was for the best, her mother had said. Because of course she had.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC began. “Our final act tonight is none other than the Grammy and Country Music Association winner, Brooke Bonner!”

Brooke took a final sip of her not-quite-hot tea and locked her smile in place. She’d been fourteen when she had first performed at the Bluebird, just a scared little girl and her acoustic guitar. It seemed fitting to start over where it had all started.

Brooke stepped out of the hallway to an impressive roar of applause. She smiled and nodded and tried to turn her body so no one would make a grab at her ass as she worked her way to the center of the Bluebird, where chairs and mikes had been set up.

As she settled into her chair, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she had the strangest feeling that he was here—Flash Lawrence. Which was ridiculous. In the thirteen months since their one-night stand, she hadn’t heard from him. And she hadn’t contacted him, either. She’d come so close when she’d realized she was pregnant. But she’d Googled him and seen all these horrible headlines about barroom brawls and trials and...

And she’d passed.

Her life was crazy enough with her career. A baby would make it crazier still. But a violent, immature cowboy? That was a hard no. She wanted her son to know his father but not at the risk of his well-being. Or hers.

A shiver raced down her back. She was imagining things, that’s all there was to it. There was no way that her one-night stand was in the audience. It just wasn’t possible. Just to be sure, she turned in her seat to wave at the people behind her who were still clapping.

Damn. There, at the bar—a long, lean cowboy was perched on the last seat, the brim of his black cowboy hat throwing his face into deep shadow. He wore jeans with an absolutely huge belt buckle, with a leather biker jacket over a black Western-style button-up shirt. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel him looking at her.

Oh, no. Oh, hell.

Maybe she was wrong. It wasn’t like cowboys of a certain height and weight wearing black hats and big belt buckles didn’t exist around Nashville because they absolutely did. But her blood pounded in her veins and her hands shook, and there was no mistaking the flight or fight reaction.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

The cowboy shifted in his seat, tilting his head back. His gaze collided with Brooke’s, and even though she hadn’t seen him for thirteen months, even though she’d only ever spent one amazing night with him, heat pooled low in her belly and she trembled with want.

Her big mistake was sitting less than thirty feet away. The one time she’d gone off schedule and done something just for herself—not for her career or her mother or anyone—and she’d been paying the price ever since. She loved her son, but...

She wasn’t ready. Not for Flash Lawrence.

Not for any of this.

The lights dimmed and an expectant hush fell over the crowd.

Well. The show had to go on, so Brooke did the only thing she could.

“It’s so good to be back, y’all. I’ve been working on new material for my next album—should be out in a few months—and we’re thinking of calling it Your Roots Are Showing.” The crowd laughed appreciatively as she flipped her hair back with an exaggerated toss of her head. “Aw, you guys are great.”

She desperately wanted to turn in her seat for this next part. If that was Flash, what would he think when he heard the song title? But she didn’t. She was giving him nothing to work with, and, besides, there was a literal audience here tonight. All it would take for the wildfire of gossip to catch and burn would be one too-long look, one touch, one wrong move, and her comeback would be forever tainted.

So she didn’t turn, didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone behind her. She played to the people she could see when she said, “So the first song that’ll be on the new album that I want to sing tonight is called ‘One-Night Stand.’”

Two

God, she looked amazing.

Brooke Bonner wasn’t wearing the skintight crop top and leather miniskirt she’d had on the last time Flash had seen her. For this small crowd, she was wearing a black hippy-style skirt that came just below her knees and showed off her turquoise cowboy boots. A long sweater vest thing without sleeves was held in place over a deep-cut white shirt with the kind of studded belt that Flash’s sister Chloe sold for her Princess of the Rodeo clothing line.

Turquoise dripped off her ears and around her neck but—he had to lean to the side to see—her fingers were bare. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he didn’t think there was even a tan line for an engagement ring on her finger.

Thank God.

When she’d disappeared from the public eye a few months ago, Flash had been terrified to think she might have met someone, might have gotten married. If she had, he’d have had to walk out the Bluebird’s door without a look back. He wasn’t going to screw up a marriage. But no ring meant he settled in and ordered another ginger ale. He was here for the duration.

Had he ever seen a more beautiful woman? He’d met a lot of hot women and slept with his fair share of them, but there was something about the way Brooke was put together that drew his eye. He couldn’t look away, hadn’t been able to since the very first moment he’d seen her in Fort Worth. He’d kissed her hand and that had been that.

Brooke wasn’t wearing a hat tonight, so he could see the glory of her dark red hair as it flowed down her back in long waves. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that hair, wrap it around his fist like he’d done the last time, holding her head so he could kiss her again and again.

Apparently, absence really did make the heart grow fonder, because Flash was so glad to see Brooke right now that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her far, far away from this crowded little place and show her how damned glad he was to see her.

He’d spent a year trying not to miss this woman. A year of trying to put the most intense sexual experience of his life out of his mind. He’d tried to pick up buckle bunnies since that night, but he hadn’t succeeded. Not once in thirteen months.

He was afraid Brooke Bonner had ruined him for any other woman.

And that would be a damn shame.

No way in hell he wanted to be tied down. Especially not this year, when the All-Around All-Stars Cowboy of the Year was in his sights. After a wreck of a year—mostly brought on by Flash’s own hot temper and alcohol-fueled brawls—he was back and ready to prove he wasn’t just a chip on his shoulder with a good right hook.

For too long, people had assumed that Flash only won the All-Stars because the Lawrence family owned the circuit, and he understood now that most of his fights had been about proving he wasn’t just a Lawrence, but that when it came to the rodeo, he was one of the best.

Getting suspended from the rodeo after that last fight—along with forfeiting his winnings up to that point—had been a blessing, although it sure hadn’t felt like it at the time, especially not with the busted jaw Flash had gotten brawling. But it’d forced him to come to grips with his temper and grow the hell up. Plus, it’d shown everyone the All-Stars wasn’t just a family business coddling the baby of the family. The rodeo family understood now that Flash had earned his place in the rankings.

This was his year and, for once, he wasn’t going to shoot himself in his own foot. That included this thing between him and Brooke.

He just wanted...well, he wanted another night with her, to see if there was still that same electric current between them.

Best case, they’d make an effort to meet up on the road a few times a year, whenever his rodeo was in town during her concerts. He wouldn’t say no to something like that. Not with her. He could focus on winning it all and she could focus on her career, and they’d get the chance to enjoy themselves during their downtime, like they had in Texas.

Then she announced the name of her first new song. “One-Night Stand.”

The tips of Flash’s ears went hot. That wasn’t about him, right?

Couldn’t be. It was the height of egotism to think that one night with him had left Brooke with anything other than a fond memory.

“Everyone should have one good night stand, don’t you think?” Brooke went on, and the crowd chuckled approvingly. Someone to his left wolf whistled. Flash didn’t see who, but he’d like to bust whoever it was in the jaw.

But the moment that thought crossed his mind, Flash clamped down on it. He was not going to lose his temper here. People were allowed to be jerks. He wasn’t responsible for teaching them the errors of their ways when they crossed the line. Throwing a punch to defend Brooke’s honor was something the old Flash would’ve done. The new-and-hopefully-improved Flash settled for glaring in the direction of the whistler.

Besides, causing a scene didn’t serve his goals. He wanted to get reacquainted with Brooke Bonner. He needed to find out if there was something worth chasing between them or if he just needed to man up and move on.

If he got lucky, then he’d get lucky. If not, well, he still had to win it all.

The All-Around All-Stars Rodeo was in Nashville this weekend and he’d been hoping to find a way to run into her. When she’d posted on social media she’d be at the Bluebird tonight, he’d driven like a bat out of hell to get to Tennessee five days early just to see her.

At the bare minimum, he needed to make things right between them. Starting a brawl less than two minutes into her set would pretty much guarantee he’d never get another shot. So he kept a lid on his temper and took another drink of his soda.

When the crowd settled down, Brooke leaned in close to the microphone and said, “I’m so glad to see so many people agree—it’s my favorite piece of furniture, too!”

Flash let out a slow breath, grinning in spite of his nerves. He’d loved her snarky sense of humor last year, too. She hadn’t fawned over him and he had done his best not to fawn over her. There’d been an...understanding between them, almost. And a woman with a sense of humor was surprisingly erotic.

Thank goodness that a year of superstardom hadn’t changed that about her.

Then Brooke began to sing as she played her guitar, and something in Flash’s chest let go as the sound of her voice washed over him. By God, he’d missed the hell out of her. She might not remember him—although, given how her eyes had widened slightly when they’d made eye contact, he thought maybe she did. And she might not want to see him again. But for a little while, he could lose himself in her world.

Until he realized what she was singing.

“It’s just a one-night stand,

No tomorrow, no plans.”

Well, damn. Yeah, she remembered him. But it wasn’t a good thing. Especially not when she got to the chorus.

“You weren’t worth the fun.

My one-night stand.”

And the hell of it was, it was a great song. She had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand.

“Don’t want to hear your excuses,

I don’t care about your plans.

Not waiting any longer.

Screw your demands.

It’s time I made my one-night stand.”

Chills raced down his back as she held the last note, strong and powerful. He hadn’t even had the chance to say hello and she was already shutting him down.

When the song ended, she did not look at him. She didn’t sneak a peek out of the corner of her eye, didn’t pivot in her chair, nothing. If she’d recognized him, it was clear she was ignoring him. “Whoo, y’all like that? That’s just the beginning—I have a whole album of sass coming your way!”

Anger—an old, familiar feeling—began to push through his veins, but Flash refused to let it win. It was entirely possible that Brooke Bonner had forgotten all about him after her whirlwind breakout year. There was also a distinct possibility that, if she did remember him, she didn’t hold him in any particularly high esteem.

He should’ve anticipated the song, though. He should’ve anticipated her anger. Anger was his second language. It came as naturally to him as breathing. But he hadn’t seen this attack coming.

Okay, yeah, there’d been a superhot one-night stand. They’d hooked up in her dressing room before the show, which had made her late to go on because leather miniskirts weren’t easy to work around. And it’d been good.

God, he still went hard just thinking about taking her against the wall in that tiny room, staring into her eyes as they both fought not to make a single sound. So damn good. And she had to have agreed, right? Because he’d hung around after the show, and when she’d seen him waiting for her, her entire face had lit up and she’d crooked her finger at him. They’d spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other in her hotel suite, having hot sex and ordering room service and, in between the seductions, making each other laugh.

They’d parted friends the next morning. He’d made damn sure to leave her with a smile on her face. He knew he hadn’t stopped grinning for days. Weeks, even.

So how had they gotten from that to this?

“My next song—now just wait for it,” she all but purred into the mike, “is called ‘How Many Licks’ because that was always the question, right?” The crowd hooted. “How many licks to get to the center of the sucker?”

“Three!” some jackass yelled.

“As many licks as it takes,” a different ass yelled. Brooke wagged a scolding finger at him.

Flash had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. Behind his eyelids, the world was red. They weren’t disrespecting her. She’d chosen that title to get that exact reaction. She knew what she was doing and it wasn’t his job to defend her from every slight. He’d already tried that once and had the criminal record—and nemesis—to prove it. He’d busted Tex McGraw up pretty damn good because the man had dared to put Brooke’s name in his mouth.

Obviously, Flash understood why Tex hated him with a white-hot fury—Flash had knocked the man out of the All-Stars with a solid right hook. But Tex hadn’t let up any with his online attacks since then, and he sure as hell hadn’t accepted either of Flash’s apologies—not the court-mandated one and not the more sincere one Flash had made after a few months of sobriety. But it was fine. Flash had gotten to a place in his life where he could handle online swipes from Tex without being driven to fits of rage. That was how far Flash had come in a year.

Brooke launched into the song, which cut off any other outbursts. The red haze behind his eyes faded, and he was able to breathe without feeling like punching someone.

Not surprisingly, this song felt personal, too. The double entendres flew fast and furious, but the core of the song was about a guy who couldn’t take his licks and bailed.

A lot of people didn’t like Flash. He’d never made it particularly easy for anyone to like him, but at least he knew it. However, he’d never inspired such strong feelings that someone could write an entire album based on how much they hated him, for God’s sake.

Right. Instead of being insulted and letting it get to him, he was going to focus on feeling...flattered. Yeah, flattered. Not just any rodeo rider had an entire album dedicated to him, officially or unofficially. And if she publicly acknowledged that he was the inspiration, well, Flash was sure that his sister, Chloe, would find a way to spin Brooke’s new album as a positive for Flash and the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. Probably.

Besides, Brooke had said herself the album wouldn’t be out for a few more months. She was still fine-tuning some of the material, still recording. Forewarned was forearmed. It was a good thing he was here tonight. He could work with Chloe to plan for a couple of different contingencies. His sister had already basically figured out that Flash was crushing hard on Brooke.

Although...she’d want to know why Brooke was so furious with him. And he did not have an answer for that. Brooke had kissed him goodbye. Thanked him for the amazing night. Told him to take care.

And that was it.

At least she hadn’t forgotten him, right? If there was one word that described Flash Lawrence, it was memorable.

When Brooke started the next song—titled “Not Going Down (Without a Fight)”—Flash almost couldn’t take it. What the hell? If it’d been any other club or dive bar in Nashville, he would’ve bailed. But when a songwriter or a singer started their set at the Bluebird, no one moved and no one talked—house rules. So he had no choice but to sit there and listen.

He’d spent a year trying to make sense of the fact that Brooke Bonner was an itch he hadn’t finished scratching. Before her, he’d bounced around bars and rodeos for four, maybe five years, picking up buckle bunnies and beautiful women in every town from Phoenix to Peoria while riding on the All-Stars circuit. Brooke Bonner should’ve been just one more woman. It’d been a one-night. Meaningless. Satisfying.

Except that that night had meant something to him and he’d spent nearly thirteen months unsatisfied.

Coming here tonight hadn’t been a good idea. But damn it, he needed to know if their night together had meant anything to her.

Something more than raw material.

Finally, her set ended and the crowd came back to life. Because she was the last act, she stayed in the center of the room and signed autographs and posed for pictures. Flash hung back at the bar, debating his next move. Should he wait for the crowd to thin and then approach her? Or would it be better if they didn’t have an audience? In that case, he should head out to the parking lot and wait by her car. Or was that too creepy?

Brooke glanced at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead before she quickly looked away. Nothing about that said invitation.

But he didn’t care about that little frown. He didn’t care about the songs or the radio silence that had lasted over a year.

He wanted to look her in the eye, make his case and then hear whatever she needed to get off her chest in person—without losing his temper. He wanted to know how they’d gotten from that wild night to this.

And if he didn’t get lucky...he’d walk.

But he wasn’t playing this guessing game.

He paid his tab and headed outside. The Bluebird was in a nondescript strip mall, and it took some work for Flash to work his way around to the back of the building. There—that plain sand-colored sedan had to be hers. She’d told him that she drove a boring car because it blended in.

He took up residence against a wall a good ten feet from the door of the Bluebird, giving her plenty of room. Lying in wait for her was a terrible idea, especially after that window into her mind and most especially after that frown. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a gun on him.

But that was a risk he was willing to take.

Three

“Great set,” Kyle said, a note of pride in his voice. “It’s going to be a massive hit. The whole album. Very girl power. I wish I’d written half of it.”

“Be sure to tell the record label that, okay?” Brooke said, her cheeks beginning to hurt with all the smiling she was doing. She valued Kyle’s opinion and the crowd had seemed to enjoy the songs as well, so this was all great.

Except Flash Lawrence was here. What was she supposed to do now?

“I’m so proud of you,” Kyle added, giving her an awkward hug.

She hugged him back but her mind was stuck on Flash. She’d almost, almost gone up to him out there. There were a lot of people milling around, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if she’d walked up to the bar and asked for something else to drink, right? People wouldn’t have made any connection between her getting a drink and making small talk with a random cowboy, right? Then she could’ve at least figured out why he was here. The only two possibilities she could think of were—this was either a stunning coincidence or...

Or he’d come to see her.

And as she had only mentioned the Bluebird appearance on her Twitter feed two days ago...

She’d bet good money Flash was outside waiting for her. Which meant she had to talk to him. Which meant she had to tell him about Bean. Her son.

His son.

Oh God, this was going to suck.

“Hey,” Kyle said, putting a hand on her arm. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, working hard for that smile. She’d kept Bean a secret for a lot of good reasons, but none of them came to mind now that she knew she’d have to tell Flash. Because the alternative was to do exactly what her mother had done—keep on hiding and lying for the rest of her life—and Brooke couldn’t do it. She was done hiding.

Or would be, just as soon as Flash knew. But to Kyle, she said, “Just relieved the new stuff is solid.”

Kyle gave her a worried look. “You sure? I know you, Brooke. I know how you write. That stuff...it seemed kind of personal.”

“We need to get going,” Alex said, all but hip checking Kyle into a wall. Bless her heart. “Sorry, Morgan.”

“Jeez, woman,” Kyle said, rubbing his shoulder. “You should’ve stuck with football.”

Brooke gave him another quick hug and made a not-exactly-quick stop in the ladies’ room. Damn it, she was stalling.

Not hiding anymore, she repeated to herself as she picked up her guitar case. Alex opened the back door for her and, as she walked out into the humid Tennessee air, Brooke felt it again—that tingling at the base of her spine.

“Brooke.”

That was all he had to say for her worst nightmares and her fondest dreams to come true at once because this was really happening.

Flash had come for her.

Oh, God—she wasn’t going to be strong enough because even just the sound of her name on his lips was making her resolve weaken.

It didn’t have the same effect on Alex. “Hey—back off,” she rumbled, stepping in front of Brooke. “Show’s over, buddy.”

“Brooke?” Flash said again. “I just want to talk. Privately.”

Yeah, she knew what happened when she and Flash had any privacy. At least the first time they’d hooked up, in her dressing room, she hadn’t planned to have sex with him. At least, not right then. But Flash was that rare, dangerous creature—an irresistible man.

Okay, so not total privacy. But maybe semiprivate would work.

Brooke put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said quietly as she stepped around her friend. “I know him.”

Alex leaned down to whisper, “I don’t like him.” Of course, her whispering wasn’t exactly quiet and, given Flash’s smirk, it was clear he’d heard.

Yeah, neither would Crissy Bonner. The record label executives would love Flash, though—a showy pro-rodeo cowboy would be great for PR.

But she didn’t want Flash to be a public relations bonanza. She wanted...hell. She didn’t know what she wanted. Except for some privacy. She owed him that much.

“It’s fine. Can you wait in the car?”

Alex glared at Flash and growled. But then she said, “Fine—but only for a few minutes,” as she took the guitar case from Brooke.

Then he did the ballsy thing and approached Alex. “Hi. Flash Lawrence. And you are?”

Alex gave him a look that made lesser men turn tail and run, but Flash held his ground. He wasn’t a coward, that much was for certain.

With a quick look at Brook, Alex said, “Alex Andrews. Don’t try anything funny.” She jabbed a finger in Flash’s direction and pointedly did not shake his hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. As Brooke can tell you, I don’t have a sense of humor.” She couldn’t help the smile that danced over her lips at that bold-faced lie. She remembered quite well how easily she’d laughed with Flash. It would’ve been one thing if he’d just been amazing between the sheets. But he’d been so dang easy to be with—kind and funny and tender and hot and...

He’d made her like him.

She’d liked him a good deal. Seeing all those news headlines about his violent temper and plea deals had felt like a betrayal, almost.

Because she’d been wrong about him.

Had any of it been real?

Flash stood his ground as Alex crowded into his personal space on her way to the car. The one with the baby bucket-seat base in the back seat. True, there was a blanket thrown over it because God forbid anyone should notice that Brooke Bonner had a child restraint system in her car, but still. Hard evidence of Bean was practically within line of sight.

How was she supposed to do this, damn it?

Because Flash looked so much better in person than he did in her dreams. Maybe it was just the jacket. But maybe it was him. There was something almost...calm about him.

With a huff, Alex slammed the driver’s side door. It wasn’t like Brooke and Flash were alone—the door to the Bluebird’s kitchen was still propped open and Kyle might come out at any second. But for this brief moment, she and Flash had something resembling privacy.

“You look great,” Flash began.

Brooke barely managed to avoid rolling her eyes even as the compliment sent a thrill through her. She was still at least one size above where she’d been before she’d gotten pregnant, and her mother was pushing her hard to lose the last of the baby weight so people wouldn’t get suspicious. To know she looked okay was a relief.

No, no—she was not falling for superficial compliments. Because that was just the generic sort of statement that any man trying to get laid would open up with.

“What do you want, Flash?”

Please don’t say something romantic ran through her mind in the key of G at the exact same moment say something romantic did the same thing in harmony. She’d have to write that down later—could be a good hook.

Flash whipped off his hat and launched the smile at her that had melted her heart—and other parts—so long ago. “I wanted to see you again, but I get the feeling that you’re not exactly happy with me right now.”

“You picked up on that, did you?”

“It was subtle,” he replied, that easy grin on his lips, “but I did notice a little anger in those songs.”

“Well, your powers of deduction are in fine form.” She made a move to step around him, but he mirrored her movements. “What, Flash? I’m tired.”

“I want to apologize,” he said, moving closer.

She inhaled sharply. This sounded like a trap. “Oh? And what, exactly, are you apologizing for?”

“Don’t know. But—” he went on when Brooke scoffed heartily “—clearly I hurt you and, judging by the songs I heard tonight—which were great—I hurt you badly. So let me apologize, Brooke.”

Lord, did he have to sound so damned earnest about it? She almost wished he was cocky and overconfident. This would be so much easier if he was trying to talk his way into her panties again. This time, she’d be ready for him. This time, she wouldn’t make a mistake.

But, no—the cocky cowboy she’d taken to bed was nowhere to be seen, and in his place stood a serious man staring at her with so much longing and tenderness that, if Brooke allowed herself to think about it at all, he might take her breath away. So she didn’t think about it.

“Fine. Apology accepted. Good night, Flash.”

“Brooke,” he said, her name a whisper on his lips. “I’ve missed you so much and the hell of it is, I don’t know why.”

“Really?” she snapped at him. Anger was great. Anger was not being seduced by his sweet words or intense looks. Anger was reminding her exactly who he was—a smooth talker with a violent streak—and, more importantly, who she was. He’d gotten her pregnant and she’d had to deal with the fallout without him because she couldn’t trust him. Her whole life had been upended because of this man because she’d fallen for his sweet words and right now, he wasn’t even that smooth at the talking. “That’s not an apology, Flash. That’s an insult.”

“Would you listen?” he said, a warning in his voice. But then the weirdest thing happened—he took a step back and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “What I mean to say is, you were amazing—gorgeous and funny and smart and so easy to be with, and I’d be a fool not to want more of that. With you,” he added quickly.

She snorted again, crossing her arms in front of her chest as different harmonies for don’t say something romantic played in her mind.

“We had one night. A one-night stand, as you so eloquently put it.” He ran a hand through his hair and then looked at her again, and this time the need in his eyes really did take her breath away. “That was all it was supposed to be, damn it, and...and it wasn’t. Not for me. I wanted more with you then and I want more with you now.”

“That’s all well and good, Flash, but it’s not enough. Not for me.”

She needed to tell him about Bean. It wasn’t fair to him to keep his son hidden away, and it wasn’t fair to Bean to deprive him of his father when the man was right here.

But she couldn’t.

Not until she knew what he wanted and not if all he wanted was another night. Because she couldn’t make a mistake like Flash Lawrence again. She needed him to be a father to his son. She needed him to be a co-parent, at the very least.

She needed to know she could trust him. And right now?

Not a lot of trust to go around.

Eyes closed, he took another one of those weirdly deep breaths and then he stepped up to her. Even though the night was warm and sticky, she felt the warmth from his body as if he’d shined the heat of the sun down upon her. And it only got worse when his hand came up to cup her face and his thumb stroked over her cheek. She knew she should push him away, but when he touched his forehead to hers she couldn’t help leaning into his touch, breathing in the clean scent of him—leather and man and, Lord, it was wonderful.

“I followed your career, watched your climb up the charts. Celebrated your number-one hits and cheered your award-show wins. Saw your face every night I closed my eyes,” he said, his voice soft as his breath brushed over her skin like a lover’s kiss. Her body clenched in an involuntary response to his touch, his words. His everything. “I tried so hard to forget you, but I couldn’t. And I’m so sorry.”

He wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t. But damn it all if he wasn’t reminding her exactly why she’d taken him into her bed, because even when he was speaking in riddles he still made it sound so good—and feel even better. “Because you can’t forget me?”

“No.” He laughed a little. She looked deep into his eyes and saw unflinching honesty as he said, “I’ll never be sorry for that. But I looked you up and I realized, what if you’d looked me up, too? What if you read about the arrest and trial and plea deals? So I’m sorry for how you must’ve felt when you read the headlines. I’m sorry you saw the worst of me, playing out in real time on the internet. I’m sorry I destroyed a perfect memory of a perfect night, because that’s what you were to me. A perfect memory.”

She inhaled sharply, her eyes stinging even as she squeezed them tight. That was a very good line, one that was already weaving its way into the chorus her brain was trying to write.

“I came here tonight not to tell you I wanted you—although I do,” Flash went on. His other hand settled in the curve of her hip, gently pulling her into him and, weak as she was, she let him.

Her breasts brushed against his chest. “Then why?” she whispered, afraid of his answer even as she was desperate to hear it.

“I came here to tell you what happened after the headlines. After I got sentenced and suspended from the circuit, I did my community service and completed my anger management courses. I made a promise to myself and my family that I was going to rein in my anger and stop letting it rule me.”

“You did?” Somehow, her hand was underneath his jacket on his chest—not pushing him away but resting right over his heart. She could feel it beating, strong and steady.

He turned his head ever so slightly, his lips brushing against her temple, then down her cheek. “I also quit drinking. I won’t say I’m an alcoholic, but when I drank I couldn’t keep a handle on my anger, and that’s when I got into trouble. I’ve been sober for eight months and counting.”

“Tonight?” Her voice came out breathy and tight, and the space between her legs felt warm and liquid with want because she hadn’t had a man in her bed since him and she missed him.

No, no—she missed sex. Which was normal. She’d been cleared to resume her nonexistent sex life from the private OB/GYN—who her mother had made sign a nondisclosure form, HIPAA be damned—six weeks ago, as long as she used reliable birth control, and it had taken everything Brooke had not to laugh in the woman’s face.

So she didn’t necessarily miss this man. She just missed men in general.

Right.

“Ginger ale. In a beer glass.” Then he brushed his lips against hers, and she was powerless to do anything but open her mouth for him. When he licked inside her, she tasted sugar and ginger, not beer.

Pop shouldn’t be so seductive, but this was crazy. How did he know that was exactly what she needed to hear? How could he taste so good?

How could she still want him so damned much?

Because she did.

He broke the kiss but he didn’t pull away. Somehow, they were closer now and she could feel the heat of his erection pulsing against her belly. She could feel her pulse matching his, beat for beat.

“I want to see you again,” he murmured against her lips. Then his mouth was trailing over her cheek, toward her ear. “I need more than just one night, Brooke. But I won’t ask you for anything else.”

“Yes.” The word slipped out before she could think better of it, before the logistics of another night in Flash’s arms could rear their ugly head. She needed more from him, too.

“Where? Say the word and I’m there, babe. I’m anywhere you need me.” As he spoke, he pressed his knee between her legs, putting pressure right where she needed it. She couldn’t fight down the moan. God, it’d been so long since another person had touched her for pleasure. Her pleasure. “Just tell me you need me.”

“My house. I need...”

But reality reared its head.

Her mother was at her house, babysitting her son. Mom didn’t live with Brooke and Bean, but she did live in what the real estate agent had described as the mother-in-law house on the property, a completely separate building almost 250 yards away from the main house—close enough for baby emergencies, but not under the same roof.

However, if Brooke waltzed in with Flash on her arm, they’d never get to the bed. Mom and Flash—that was a scene Brooke wasn’t ready to face tonight. Maybe not ever.

“I need half an hour before you come over.” She could get Mom out of the house and give herself a chance to change her mind. Or at least make sure she had some condoms because she wasn’t going to make the exact same mistake again.

A honking horn tore through the night. Flash and Brooke jerked apart just as Kyle Morgan emerged from the back of the Bluebird. Guiltily Brooke glanced at the car, where Alex glared at her, then at Flash, then back at her.

Right. They had an audience and Flash had just kissed her, and she’d probably been about twenty seconds from completely throwing herself at him.

“Hey, Brooke—everything okay?” Kyle asked, sounding meaner than she’d ever heard him. “Where’s Alex?”

Flash took another step back. He looked at Brooke like he was waiting for her to lead here.

“In the car.” Kyle stopped next to her, eyeing Flash with a healthy dose of warning. “This is a friend of mine.”

“Great set tonight,” Flash said, cutting through the awkwardness and stretching his hand toward Kyle. “Flash Lawrence. Sounds like you had some big hits waiting to happen in there. Eric Church, maybe? He could bring down stadiums with that one song about rebels.”

Kyle glanced warily at Brooke before returning Flash’s handshake. “Thanks. Toby Keith was also eyeing ‘My One, Her Only’ for his next album.”

Flash whistled appreciatively and Brooke felt Kyle relax. How did he do that? Flash Lawrence could charm his way into any situation. She’d fallen for that charm once.

She couldn’t afford to fall again.

As Flash and Kyle made small talk about country singles and Flash offered his opinion on what played well at the rodeos, Brooke had to accept that somehow, Flash had known exactly what she needed to hear—that he wasn’t the same man he’d been when he’d made all those awful headlines. He’d worked on being a better man.

Had he become the kind of man she’d want around her son?

Except she wasn’t just a single mother thinking about dating again, and Bean wasn’t just her son. He was Flash’s son, too, and she couldn’t keep his baby away from him, no matter what. She knew what it was like to grow up without a father. She couldn’t do that to Bean. Not if Flash was willing to step up.

Was he?

“Well, it was great meeting you, Morgan,” Flash said, shaking Kyle’s hand again. “Looking forward to hearing your next big hit.”

Kyle actually blushed at that. “Always great to hear from a fan. Will we be seeing you again soon?” He held out his hand to Flash.

Brooke didn’t miss that we.

Flash heard it, too. He cut a glance at her as he shook Kyle’s hand again. “That depends on Brooke.”

Kyle leveled an intimidating look at Flash and didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he pulled Flash off balance. “You’re damn right it does. Alex isn’t the only one you’ll have to go through if you hurt her.” Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the threat of violence dissipated into the night air.

Surprise registered on Flash’s face but, after a beat, he broke out that smile Brooke saw every time Bean grinned at her. “Trust me, hurting Brooke is the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

Then both men turned to her.

So this was the moment when she had to make a decision. Was letting Flash back into her life and her son’s life a good idea, or was it another mistake waiting to happen?

Knowing her luck, both.

Just like Bean had been both the biggest mistake of her life and the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Let me give you my info,” she told Flash, holding out her hand for his phone. She would have preferred not to do this with Kyle standing right next to her, but this was still better than having Kyle catch them kissing.

Flash unlocked his phone and handed it to her. Her heart going a mile a minute, she put in her address and number and added the note, “half an hour” to give her enough time to get Mom out of the house and...and decide how she was going to handle Flash.

She was not bringing Flash home to have wild, crazy, great sex with him again. Absolutely not. This was about Bean. Her world began and ended with him now. That’s all there was to it because a boy needed his father. Even if that boy was only three months old.

She handed the phone back and turned to Kyle with a studied casualness she definitely wasn’t feeling. “Hey, if I need a little help on a few songs, you’re interested?” Because everything on the Roots album was...energetic, to say the least, and Kyle was good for ballads.

Kyle’s eyes lit up. “Hell, yeah, sweetheart. Just give me a call. Good meeting you, Lawrence.”

But the man didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her and Flash to see what was going to happen next.

“Morgan.” Flash tipped his hat. “Brooke. I’ll be seeing you.” He packed a hell of a lot into his gaze before he turned on his heel and strolled out of the parking lot.

She about broke out into a sweat as she watched him walk away. One thing was for sure—if anything, Flash’s ass had only gotten better in the last year. A man who rode broncos and bulls for a living had the legs and backside to go with it. The first time they’d had sex—against the wall of her dressing room—he hadn’t even taken his chaps off. She’d had a view of that ass in her dressing room mirror that even now threatened to make her melt.

She wasn’t inviting him over for sex. She had a single-minded purpose here—informing him he was a father.

But Lord, that man made every part of her weak. Always had and, apparently, always would. She just needed to be strong enough to get through the next few hours.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure she was that strong. Especially when he turned and tipped his hat to her, the model of the country gentleman.

“Honey,” Kyle started when Flash was out of sight. “Did I just meet the inspiration for all those new songs?”

“It’s not like that,” she protested, and to her own ears, it sounded weak. “He’s a friend.”

Kyle gaped at her. Yeah, he wasn’t buying it, either.

“The way he looked at you? No way. That’s a man who wants a lot more than ‘friendship,’” he said, throwing in air quotes for good measure. “And the way you’re looking at him? Come on. I may be an old man, but I’m not blind.”

Brooke didn’t have a snappy comeback to that, but Alex saved her. “Are we going?” she all but shouted through the car window.

“Be careful!” Kyle called as Brooke climbed into the car. “And call me if you need backup!”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. She just waved as Alex sped off.

How would people like Kyle react when he found out that she’d been sitting on the juiciest of details for months? She hoped people wouldn’t be too hurt that they hadn’t been important enough to be in the know, but, seriously, aside from the executives on her record label, the private OB/GYN and nurse who’d delivered Bean at Brooke’s home, the equally private pediatrician and Alex—and Mom, of course—no one else knew.

But she couldn’t hide her son forever. She wanted to take him to parks and the zoo and...and just out. She wanted to talk to other moms she knew about what was normal and what wasn’t. Hell, she wanted to take some pictures with Bean, not just cell phone shots. She wanted to do all the normal stuff with her son.

She didn’t want to hide. Not from her friends, not from her fans and not from Flash.

Worse, when she daydreamed about all those fun things, she wasn’t alone. Flash was next to her.

In her perfect world, Flash was by her side during the day and in her bed at night. Her son didn’t have to grow up without his father, like Brooke had. And she didn’t have to feel so alone anymore.

But that fantasy was just that—fantasy. Instead of that perfect world, she’d invited him home to tell him about Bean and also to not have sex with him.

The tension rolling off Alex was palatable, which had to be the only reason Brooke heard herself repeating the lie, “He’s just a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Yeah, Alex wasn’t buying any of that as she took off for the 440.

From there, they’d take 40 west to the house she’d bought with the money her uncle had managed not to embezzle. Her home was on five fenced-in acres. If she had another hit record and successful tour, she had plans to completely renovate the sprawling mid-century ranch house. She hadn’t even been able to paint the rooms while she’d been pregnant because the smell of primer had made her sick.

“The show went well, don’t you think?” Brooke tried again, desperate for a subject change.

“Hon,” Alex said in her growly voice, “did you tell him about Bean?”

This was the problem with best friends. There was no hiding anything from them. Because of course Alex had figured out that the one show she’d missed was the rodeo in Texas.

“No,” she said, because more lies would only be an insult to Alex’s intelligence.

Alex thought that over as she began to weave through traffic like the devil himself was hot on their tail. Finally she asked, “Are you going to?”

Brooke had closed her eyes. Flash was the boy’s father. She simply didn’t have a choice.

“Yes,” she admitted, wondering why it felt like such a defeat. “But...”

“Yeah, I know—don’t tell your mother,” Alex grumbled. “She’ll find out sooner or later.”

Later, Brooke prayed. Please let it be much, much later.

Her mother had sat on the secret of Brooke’s paternity for twenty-some-odd years. Brooke could keep Flash a secret for just a little bit longer.

She was going to tell Flash about Bean and hope all he’d said about not letting his anger rule him was the truth. But...

God, it was selfish and wrong, but she wanted just one more time with him before she told him she was the mother of his child.

One last grasp at the woman she’d been a year ago. A lifetime ago.

Humming a melody that built itself around the words, she had to wonder—was bringing Flash to her home another huge mistake or the making of another perfect memory?

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