Broken

light I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks flush. “Every time I sang as a kid, my mom would ask if someone was strangling the barn cats. My inability to carry a tune is a running joke in my family.”
I grimaced. “That bad?”
“Worse than bad. I might not be able to sing a note, but I know talent when I see and hear it. I’ll have to move a few things around, but this time next week, I’ll make sure you’re on this stage every night. Not putting you in front of an audience would be a crime.”
I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. The rich musky fragrance of his cologne mixed with soap and shampoo cocooned me, and I longed to slide my fingers through his hair, but I resisted the urge. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won’t regret it.”
My curves molded into his muscles, and it almost felt like I belonged in his arms, like I’d always belonged there.
Colt Flynn had to be the sexiest man I’d ever met in my life. Everything about him reeled me in, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d get hooked, but, perhaps it was already too late.
Taking things any further would be a huge mistake for both of us. I didn’t want to blow the chance to sing every night by sleeping with my boss, but my body wanted him despite my mind screeching Walk away, that a man like Colt was the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind.
As if sensing the all-out war raging inside of me, Colt reached up and loosened my grip around his neck and then stepped away. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said, blowing out a ragged breath. “We should get some sleep. It’s been a long-ass day. There’s a whole lotta work to do tomorrow.”
“Just sleep?” Feeling brave and throwing caution to the wind, I intertwined my fingers with his, letting him know there was more than sleep on my mind, that I was up for everything and anything.
“Just sleep,” he reiterated.
I firmed my lips and released his hand, but as disappointed as I was by his rejection, I wouldn’t cry. Just because he liked my voice didn’t mean he had to like me. You think I would have learned by now that my appearance wasn’t to everyone’s taste.

Chapter Three
Colt
I’d meant it when I said we should get some sleep that first night, and we did.
As much as I’d wanted to fuck her, I didn’t want to fuck this up. When she grabbed my hand and made it clear what was on her mind, it took all the willpower I possessed not to take her right there and then on the stage.
That was a week ago, and my dick still hadn’t forgiven me for not peeling off her clothes, but if I wanted to keep both our hearts intact, I’d do my best to stay the hell away.
I’d make do with fantasizing about my sweet country girl with a voice that could make even the most cynical cowboy cry into his beer.
The week passed in a haze of rearranging schedules, helping Nat pick out a four-song setlist, and rehearsals.
Getting her to open up to me about her life before we met was proving impossible. Anytime I asked if she’d talked to her parents or for her to tell me about life growing up, she’d brush me off, and I let her.
Besides, there were other things to think about, like how having her live and work with me had left me with the worst case of blue balls.
I’d need to handle that situation soon, but I’d been so damn busy I hadn’t even had five minutes to stroke one out. Not that I needed five minutes. One minute would do.
“Tonight’s the night,” I said, pouring her a second cup of coffee.
Despite it being noon, we sat in my kitchen, both in PJs—her in a short white nightie that didn’t hide the light brown shade of her nipples, me in sweatpants and a ratty Johnny Cash T-shirt—finishing a late breakfast and relaxing in each other’s company.
I glanced over at the setlist she’d written and rewritten a hundred times. “Where’s Break Me?”
“The crowd won’t like it. It’s too personal,” she murmured, focusing on the page.
“Then why’d you sing it for me?”
She picked up her coffee and cradled it to her chest. “Because I felt safe. I don’t feel safe singing it in front of a bar full of strangers. I can’t be that vulnerable. Not yet.”
“Darlin’, country music is about believability. If the audience believes your words and knows you believe them, you’ll have them eating out of your hand.” I crossed my arms on the table and leaned closer as if I was about to confide in her. “You ever gonna tell me why you wrote it?”
She sipped her coffee, then paused for a few beats before speaking. “You’d end up wanting to throw yourself off this building if I did.”
I reached across and squeezed her hand, the touch of her skin beneath mine electrifying my blood. “You said I made you feel safe. If that’s the case, why can’t you tell me?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath that went all the way to her toes. When she opened them again, she said, “If I tell you, you have to promise not to treat me differently or feel sorry for me. Deal?”
“Deal,” I agreed. Whatever she was about to share filled her with immense sadness. I would let her say as much or as little as she wanted.
Her chin quivered, and she looked up to the ceiling. “My mom died three years ago. She was my everything, y’know. We sang together. Wrote together. She said that when we’d