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staying?”
    â€œI’m staying at the Opryland Hotel. Why?”
    â€œSo I know where to send someone for your things—if I’m not unblocked by morning.”
    â€œExcuse me, I don’t recall saying I’d sleep with you, even if you are Dakota Law.”
    â€œAnd I don’t recall asking—even if you are Chelsea Stone,” he said darkly.
    â€œThen what exactly are you suggesting?”
    â€œI have a ten-acre place that will afford us a lot of privacy about a half hour from here. I’m suggesting that if we spend enough time in close quarters together, maybe you’ll annoy me so much, I’ll get unblocked just to rid myself of you.”
    â€œI don’t know how I can refuse such a charming offer,” Chelsea said, shooting him a sardonic look. “And for my part, I promise to do my very best to annoy the hell out of you.”
    â€œI doubt you’ll have to try.” Dakota mumbled.
    C HELSEA RAN HER HAND appreciatively over the soft buttery leather interior of Dakota’s new sports car.
    â€œActually I think you ought to thank me for wrecking your car. This one is a huge improvement,” she said.
    Her comment only drew a scowl from Dakota.
    She tried conversation again. “Do any of your family live with you?”
    â€œNo.”
    Interesting. His no had been both final and unbreachable. She’d have to think about that—later. At the moment, she needed a subject that would interest him.
    Since his songwriting was the reason the two of them were hurtling through the star-bright Tennessee night together, it was probably a safe bet. “You really shouldn’t worry about it, you know.”
    â€œAbout what?” he asked, glancing over at her.
    â€œYour writer’s block. I’m certain the more you keep thinking about it, the harder it will be to break through it. I know it’s difficult to be creative when you’re anxious about ever writing again. And when you can’t come up with any ideas, it’s easy to get down on yourself and give up.”
    â€œYou can put your mind at ease. I’m not giving up. I don’t plan on having you for a permanent houseguest. You’ll get your song somehow. What I can’t figure is why you’re fixated on my being the one to write a song for you. Not when your songs are playing on MTV and MTV refers to country music as yee-haw music.”
    â€œI’m not thrilled about being forced to make this career change, but as you said, I’m a pragmatic woman. After my throat surgery, I knew I couldn’t go on abusing my vocal chords as I had in the past. I knew your romantic ballads would be kind to my throat. Besides, I think it might be interesting to rock some country.”
    He slid her another glance. “You really think country music is ready for Chelsea Stone?”
    â€œIt will be if I’m singing one of your songs,” she said, laying on the sugar.
    Dakota snorted in derision. “More likely it’ll kill two careers with one song.”
    â€œI like you, too.” Chelsea turned her head to stare out at the black-and-white ribbon of highway unfurled before them. They rode for a few minutes in silence. She considered the reasons why Dakota might be blocked. Was it because he was being too hard on himself? Too impatient? Or was it because he was afraid to fail, afraid of losing the success he’d grown accustomed to? She could certainly relate to that particular fear.
    The silence between them began to make her nervous and she reached to turn on the radio.
    â€œI’d rather you didn’t,” Dakota interjected covering her hand with his. “Hearing other people’s music depresses me at the moment.”
    â€œOkay,” she acquiesced, pulling her hand back to rest in her lap. “I know, let’s play.”
    â€œForget it.” Keeping his eyes on the road, Dakota added, “I’m not counting out-of-state