Made in Nashville: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance by Mandy Baggot

whether he’d intended the statement to sound as loaded as it had, but it touched a nerve.
    ‘Like a session at a recording studio,’ she said.
    She was weak. She knew that. But she didn’t want to be. It was the very last thing she wanted to be. She knew Simeon Stewart had ruined her career but she was also to blame because she had just sat back and let it happen.
    He could see her mind working. Just from their few encounters he knew when she was thinking hard. Her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth drooped slightly. He wondered what was riding through her thoughts. He knew how he dealt with stuff was completely alien to some people. His straight-talking, black and white attitude scared the shit out of most people. But his momma had always told him it was all down to jealousy. He said and did all the things they longed to say and do but they were too damn scared to try.
    ‘Can’t go back or stick that hair back on,’ he stated.
    Her eyes flashed at him then and her chin jutted out a little in challenge.
    ‘So what freaked you out back there? Makin’ music again? Or makin’ music being gawped at by Stetson guy and the band?’ Jared asked.
    She let out a breath. ‘I haven’t quite worked that out yet.’
    The studio in Jared’s home was state-of-the-art. It had everything you needed to perform, produce and edit. It was only slightly smaller than the set-up at Black Monkey but equally impressive. There were a collection of guitars lined up on display, including a limited edition Vince Gill original.
    ‘What d’you think?’
    She knew her expression of wonder had all but given her away the moment she’d stepped in. His pride in the area was evident.
    ‘I guess it’s OK,’ she remarked.
    He sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head at her. ‘You hurt me.’
    ‘It’s amazing.’ She turned towards him. ‘But you know that.’
    He nodded, letting out a laugh. ‘I’ve made over fifty songs here in the last year and Gear don’t know about any of them.’
    She widened her eyes, waiting for an explanation.
    ‘D’you ever get that feelin’ about something …  a feelin’ that it’s not the right time to share something?’ he asked.
    ‘You’re asking someone who hides songs in a drawer. Sure.’
    He nodded, pressed a couple of buttons on the mixing desk and got up out of the chair.
    ‘Want to help me finish one?’
    He didn’t wait for her response but headed out of the door towards the other section of the studio.
    Her talent was incredible. Within thirty minutes she had learnt the track, suggested some alterations to the verse section and improved the song ten-fold. Now all he had to do was get her to sing.
    She had hummed the track, run through short sections of it to demonstrate something to him but she hadn’t let go.
    As he played the last few chords and brought the number to an end he saw she’d closed her eyes. Her fingers drummed out a rhythm on her jean-covered thighs and her pure beauty jabbed at him. He faltered with the guitar and her eyes snapped open, breaking the moment.
    ‘Sorry, I kinda messed up there. I’ll take it from the top,’ he stated, moving his hands up the neck of the instrument.
    ‘Actually …  I ought to go. When I dare to look at my cell I’m going to have missed calls from everybody,’ she stated.
    ‘Sure, I understand.’
    He didn’t. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere. He wanted to make her realize what music meant to her, let her see how much talent she had and how wrong it was to keep that in.
    He knew she was running away again and he didn’t like it.
    He didn’t sound like he understood. He sounded pissed. And she didn’t blame him. He’d rescued her from Black Monkey, he’d bought a mirror he didn’t need and he’d spent his afternoon making her face up to the fact that she missed country music more than she’d ever really let herself recognize. It was as much a part of her as her internal organs. She needed