Chapter 2

2

TREY

I climb into my van, wave goodbye to Mrs. Karagen, and reverse down to the end of her driveway. Then I stop to check my phone and read the text Dad sent me a couple of minutes ago about some emergency situation at "the Jones studio".

I instantly know who he means. That musician couple on the edge of town that acts like they're super famous.

That's mean. Apparently they are, in their genre. The rest of Sandersville either seems to love them, or…be amused by them.

I've only seen them around town once or twice, even though I've been shadowing Dad at various jobs since I was sixteen. I think maybe I was away camping the week he did all the wiring for their music studio.

After responding that I'm on the way, I drive out to the edge of town, hoping this is just a quick job. CC and Ryl Jones have fancied themselves big shots ever since they were in that movie, and they're kind of obnoxious. At least that's what Dad mentioned the last time he had to do something in their house.

The place is set at the end of a long, curved driveway, mostly hidden from the street. It's a big rambling farmhouse, with an obvious extension on one side that must be the recording studio. There's parking for at least ten cars. Well, there would have to be. I've heard that they sometimes have all their friends over for massive jam and recording sessions.

CC Jones is the attention magnet of the pair, according to the media. I don't really follow that stuff, but I have seen some articles that mention Sandersville. Supposedly their massive home studio was designed so that CC could work on the garden during the songwriting process, which sounded like an answer manufactured to make her sound likable to me. But what do I know.

With my smallest toolbox in hand, I knock at the front door. It flies open, leaving me staring at a willowy young woman with long, rich brown hair. Her eyes are dark blue, almost navy. She's barefoot, wearing black yoga pants with gray swirls on them, and a slouchy oversized gray sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder.

She's also holding a small ice cube to her lip, drawing my eye to her beautiful, dark pink pout. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and a charge of raw lust instantly zips up my spine.

"You can't be Ray." She removes the ice cube to smile.

"No. I'm his son, Trey."

The smile fades. "Are you as good as he is?" Her free hand flutters to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just freaking out, that's all."

"I've apprenticed with him for years, and I'm sure I can handle whatever the problem is. But if not, he's just a phone call away." I always tell people that when I get the inevitable question. Somehow letting them think he's magically supervising from a distance puts them at ease.

But nothing is going to put me at ease with this gorgeous girl. She's enchanting .

She holds out her hand. "Electra." I nod, ignoring the fact that it's exactly the sort of name pretentious musicians would pick for their kid. Her hand is soft and delicate, yet her grip is firm. "Thank you," she says. "I'm sorry that this is such a rush."

"No problem." Suddenly I need this to be a big job that will keep me here with her for at least a few hours. "What's with the ice cube? Some new beauty treatment?"

Electra laughs. "Yeah. I wanted that bee-stung lip look, so I intentionally shocked myself with a mic."

I laugh with her while shaking my head. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. I mean, it's just irritated, not really burned…right?"

She tips her lips up for me to get a good look. As an electrician, I guess I'm supposed to be an authority on shocks, but nothing can explain the searing hot current flowing through my veins and into my heart as I gently cup her chin to tilt her lips to the light.

I can barely stop myself from leaning forward just a few inches. To kiss those lips would be…life altering.

"You're right. No burn. The ice is a good idea, but that's probably enough for now. You don't want to irritate it even more."

"Good point." She presses the ice to her lip for just a few more seconds, then tosses it into the driveway. "Come on in, I'll show you the mean ol' outlet that attacked me."

We walk into the foyer, which is crammed full of massive photos of CC and Ryl with all manner of award-winning musicians and actors. A quick peek into the next room confirms that this place was designed to make an impression, not be comfortable.

I follow Electra down the hall, ignoring the bohemian decor to focus on the sensual sway of her hips. This girl is bewitching. Mesmerizing. Everything I've ever wanted in a woman, from her sass to her bright eyes to her ability to laugh at herself.

She's electrifying.