Melt For Me (Against All Odds Book 3) (2 page)

Tate Kendrick.
Tate freakin’ Kendrick
. What the hell was a big star like Tate doing in Holly, North Carolina? And why, in the name of all things holy, had fate led him into
her
bar this week?

“If I didn’t know you better,” that same sexy male voice she’d heard upstairs said from the direction of the stairs, “I’d think you were avoiding me.”

Ella jumped, then drew a breath that did little to settle her suddenly racing heart and stepped out from behind a shelf to look his way.

Dammit. He wasn’t just a huge rock star now. He was a huge, gorgeous rock star with dark, tousled hair brushing his collar, exquisite golden skin from hours somewhere on a beach, and a body that was carved and filled out in ways it hadn’t been before. Of course, it only made sense he was a thousand times hotter today than he’d been at twenty-two. Fate was just that cruel. Women grew saggy and tired-looking as they aged. Men simply dazzled.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” he asked. “Even after nine years?”

Nine years. Nine pretty miserable years for Ella, anyway. For him— Her gaze rolled over his black, two-button Henley stretched across wide, toned shoulders, down to the faded, loose jeans on his strong thighs, and finally to the scuffed leather boots, which probably cost more than her car. For him, those nine years had been nothing but success.

Looking back down at her clipboard, she focused on her list, not on the way her blood was suddenly pumping harder in her veins.
Don’t even acknowledge the nine-year comment. It’ll just set you back, and you don’t have time for that.
She glanced up at the bottles on the shelf beside her. “What are you doing here, Tate? Holly’s a little off your tour route.”

“Keeping tabs on me, huh?”

Footsteps sounded as he descended the rest of the steps and crossed toward her. Her skin instinctively prickled, but she ignored it, instead stared at a bottle and tried to read the damn label.

He leaned against the end of the shelf, only feet from her, and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking relaxed and casual and way damn sexier than any man had the right to look. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Ella moved a step away from him and ran a finger over a bottle on the shelf. Cocoa. That was what the stupid label said. They had plenty of cocoa. She crossed that item off her list. “You can take it however you want. Has nothing to do with me.”

He grinned. She saw it from the corner of her eye. A luscious, lopsided smile that made her remember all the times he’d smiled at her on the beach. One that did weird, unwanted things to her belly. “I heard you bought a place up here. Thought I’d stop by and see it on my way to Miami. Have to admit, a tourist trap like this is the last place I ever expected you to end up in.”

Holly was the last town Ella ever expected to end up in too. But life sometimes threw you curveballs, and a smart person swung at what they could hit. Even if she missed more often than not.

Not wanting to think too much about baseball,
and him,
she stepped to her right again, desperate to get away from his body heat, which seemed to kick up the temperature in the cold room at least ten degrees. And the succulent scents of pine and leather wafting in the air, which she remembered all too well. “Heard from whom?”

“Your mom.”

Ella’s pen stilled against the paper, and she finally looked up at him, unclear if she’d heard him correctly. This close, she could see nine years had aged him. Fine lines were starting to form around the edges of his mesmerizing blue eyes. But if anything, they only made him that much more intoxicating. Though, at the moment, all she could focus on were the two words he’d just spoken. “My
what
?”

“Your mom. In Myrtle Beach. The band did an impromptu gig there a few weeks ago, so I popped in and said hello.”

Two things registered at once. One, he’d talked to her mother, someone Ella didn’t even speak to much these days, and two, his being here was not at all a random coincidence.

All those emotions she’d locked deep inside over the years came bubbling up, squeezing the air in her chest until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need this. Not now. Not
this
week. She’d gone two years without feeling a single thing, and she wasn’t about to let Tate Kendrick, of all people, ruin things for her now.

The need to run overwhelmed her. Turning away from him, she rounded the shelving unit, then made a beeline for the stairs. “I have work to do.”

“Ella, hold on. I was hoping maybe we could have dinner. Catch up a little before I have to leave.”

Catch up?
Catch up?
He wanted to catch up and hear about the total disaster that was her life since they’d parted ways?

No way.

Ella gripped the banister and moved quickly up the steps, desperate to retreat to the safety of her apartment, where she didn’t have to think about the past, the mistakes she’d made, and everything she’d lost along the way. “Sorry. Too busy. Have a nice drive down to Miami, Tate.”

S
he’d run like a cornered animal.

Tate watched Ella disappear up the stairs and frowned. That hadn’t gone at all as he’d hoped. He should have stuck with his plan to keep things casual. Never should have followed her down into the cellar. But the moment he’d seen her, he’d been so excited, he hadn’t thought. He’d just wanted to talk to her.

Which was all he’d done. Be it ever so briefly. Skipping back over their conversation, he tried to figure out just what he’d said to spook her. He’d been careful not to mention the accident. Knew from her mother that she didn’t like to talk about it. Purposely hadn’t brought up the dead husband, even though inside he was itching to know what the guy had been like. Knew that wouldn’t have gone over we—

Shit.

Tate clenched his jaw and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. Her mom. Ella had bolted after he’d mentioned he’d spoken with her mother.

“Way to go, Kendrick,” he muttered. “Now she thinks you’re stalking her.”

Which he was…but he didn’t want her to know that. At least not yet.

A memory rushed through his mind. One of him and Ella on that Virginia beach at sunset, the waves lapping the shore behind her as she straddled his hips in the sand and braced her hands against his bare shoulders.

“When you go on tour, I’ll go with you and be your biggest fan.” She brushed her chestnut hair over her shoulder, then leaned down with a sexy, you’re-all-mine smile.

His gaze slid over her barely there bikini, the sight of her plump breasts and bare thighs distracting him from everything but grabbing her and repeating what they’d done only an hour ago in the motel room he’d rented. “Uh-huh.”

She laughed, the sound like little silver bells, and grasped his jaw, forcing him to look up at her gorgeous brown eyes rimmed in gold. “Focus, sexy. You’re gonna be a star. And I’m going to be there to cheer you on. I plan on seeing the world with you, Tate. You and that golden voice of yours.”

He frowned, even though all he really wanted to do was kiss her again. “I’m a ballplayer, Ella, not a singer.”

She grinned like he was a sweet, stupid, lovable idiot. “You’re a singer, babe. Trust me. An incredible one. You just haven’t figured that out yet.” She leaned in and brushed her lips over his in a seductive, teasing move that brought every inch of his body to life. “But you will. I have no doubt.”

The way she’d kissed him then floated through his mind now—long and deep and all-consuming—warming his blood as he stood in the cold cellar, staring up at the open door. At the time, he’d thought she was higher than a kite. He’d been between his junior and senior years, playing summer ball in Virginia, hoping to be drafted into the minor leagues, not sing. And even though he’d enjoyed messing around with his guitar during his downtime, that was all it had been—messing around. A hobby. But she’d seen something in him no one else had—even him. She’d known he wasn’t going to make it past single-A ball even if he did get drafted. She’d known his true calling was music.

Man, he missed that girl. Missed the way she made him feel alive, missed the light she’d brought to his life, missed just being near her infectious energy. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for her. Wouldn’t have even thought twice about it. But then his summer season had ended, and instead of running off to the West Coast with him like he’d planned so he could finish school, she’d listened to her mother, who’d never much liked Tate to begin with.

His heart pinched, just enough to tell him the bitter bite of rejection was still there. He could remember every part of their conversation that last day, and her arguments. The fact her first semester at art school was already paid for. The fact his future was in California, not on the East Coast. The fact long-distance relationships never worked.

Looking back at the way his career had wound up, maybe her reasoning made sense. But to him, at the time, and after everything they’d shared that summer, it had sounded like an excuse. Like a reason to run. She’d left for college in Rhode Island before he’d been able to talk her out of it. And then, instead of going after her like he should have done, he’d tucked his heartbroken tail and gone home. Expected her to come to her senses and come after him. Only she hadn’t. She’d gone to art school. Moved to Holly, North Carolina. Gotten married. And forgotten all about him.

He scratched the back of his head and sighed. A smart man would grab his guitar, get back in his car, and leave before he made things worse for himself. He had a gig in Miami on Christmas Day. If he hit the road tonight, he could be there with time to party beforehand. Meet a few girls. Forget about this stupid plan.

But even as the thought hit, he remembered the look on Ella’s flawless face when she’d gazed up at him on the stairs. Soft brown eyes as fathomless as they’d been the last night he’d held her on that beach, when they’d danced in the moonlight to the music wafting from the boardwalk. Only this time they were shrouded in secrets and heartbreak and pain.

He moved back up the cellar steps, debating what to do, and stepped into the kitchen. The kid working the grill looked to be barely twenty-one, with gauges in both ears and dreadlocks twisted up under a hairnet. A snowboarder, Tate decide. Holly Mountain was one of the best ski areas around.

He waved at the kid, then headed into the bar and scanned the room. Ella was nowhere to be seen, which really shouldn’t surprise him, not after the way she’d bolted from the cellar. His gaze skipped over the patrons, and part of him still couldn’t believe she ran a bar. He knew from his conversation with Ella’s mother that the pub had been the dead husband’s business, but running a bar in a Christmas-themed village hidden in the mountains was as far from Ella’s dream of having her paintings displayed at the Museum of Modern Art as a person could get.

Did she paint anymore? He looked to the walls, searching for something with her signature brushstrokes, but the decorations were all Christmas-themed prints and old-time outdoor sporting equipment like toboggans and skis. Nothing personal from her. He couldn’t see a single thing in the space that screamed Ella.

“Didn’t go over so well, huh, handsome?”

Tate looked to his left, where the bartender scooped ice into a cup and grinned up at him. Figuring he needed a drink to chill himself out more than anything else, he slid onto a stool and leaned both forearms on the dark mahogany surface. “What do you have on tap?”

The bartender brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced at the taps as she added soda water to the drinks she was making. “Tonight we’ve got Lazy Boy Mistletoe Bliss, Deschutes Jubelale, Alaskan Winter, and Sam Adams Holiday Porter.”

Tate shook his head. Man, this town went all-out in the Christmas department. He and Ella had only spent a summer together. He had no idea if she even liked Christmas but figured she must if she was surrounded by it twenty-four seven. “Give me a pint of Sam Adams.”

“You got it.” The bartender garnished her drinks with cherries, then set them on the end of the bar for the server. After swiping her hands on her apron, she reached for a mug from the freezer behind her, lined up the tap and glass, and pulled. “Your fans are all waiting for an encore.”

Tate glanced over his shoulder toward the group who’d recognized him in the corner of the bar and begged him to play something. Normally, he wouldn’t have indulged their request, but they’d been so eager, and honestly, part of him had hoped to impress Ella. He’d envisioned her walking in, hearing his voice, smiling, and—