Read Love, Me for Free Online Page B

license plates or anything remotely like that.”
    â€œGood grief, what kind of women do you date—and what age? I meant let’s play around with some song ideas. You never know, you might come up with a lyric or a good hook for a new song.”
    â€œAll right,” he agreed, but without much enthusiasm. “Go ahead and throw something out.”
    â€œBlack lingerie, red lipstick and motor oil,” she suggested.
    â€œYou have a really weird mind. Motor oil… where did that come from?”
    â€œWe passed a gas station back there. Anyway, the trick isn’t to judge the ideas—just to play around with words. Go ahead, you try.”
    â€œGo away… don’t come back… leave me alone,” Dakota declared, glancing over to gauge Chelsea’s reaction.
    She clapped her hands together in mock delight. “Oh, the hermit song!” Then she shook her head. “Nope, it won’t work.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause nothing rhymes with hermit, except maybe Kermit.”
    â€œAh, but you’re wrong.”
    â€œName something.”
    â€œOkay, how about permit?”
    â€œUse it in a sentence,” she challenged.
    â€œOkay.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve got it. You shouldn’t be allowed out in that red miniskirt without a permit.”
    Chelsea bristled. “I’ve just thought of another word that rhymes.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCram it.”
    â€œChelsea! I guess there’s no hope at all of making you into a lady.”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œIt’s a shame….”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause only ladies sing my songs.”
    â€œMaybe that’s why you’re blocked.”
    Dakota made no comment on her saucy remark. He stared straight ahead, his lips drawn together in a tight, angry line. The car began to slow and Chelsea wondered a bit anxiously if he was going to leave her on the road, miles outside of Nashville. She relaxed when Dakota geared down and turned into a long, winding drive.
    The drive, edged with flower beds, led up a slight incline to a large, pillared house of light-colored brick that sprawled at the top of the hill. A steeper hill was visible behind the house, which, despite its size, nestled gracefully amid trees and gardens. The whole area, including the flower-lined drive, was illuminated with a soft white light.
    Chelsea stared around her for a moment, then gave a long, low unladylike whistle of pleasure.
    The house was that beautiful—a perfect home for him to bring a debutante to. But a debutante would probably swoon, not whistle, Chelsea thought wryly.
    H OURS LATER, D AKOTA sat alone in his kitchen regretting the decision to ask Chelsea Stone to move into his house. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. He’d been angry about his writer’s block and he wanted someone to take it out on. She’d made it easy by accepting the blame.
    He tipped his head back and took a long drink of chocolate milk straight from the carton. When he caught his reflection in the chrome toaster on the counter, he smiled. He looked like a kid with chocolate all around his mouth. He felt like a kid, too—like a boy who’d just discovered the attraction of the opposite sex. He’d been all keyed up and unable to sleep since he’d shown Chelsea to her bedroom hours ago.
    It had been that line about black lingerie and red lipstick she’d come up with that was to blame. He kept picturing her in nothing but.
    Chelsea Stone. If he was entertaining any romantic notions about her, he must be crazy.
    There wasn’t one area of his life Chelsea would fit into. In her black leather and Chrome Heart accessories, she’d stand out everywhere she went in Nashville.
    He imagined what it would be like to take Chelsea Stone home with him. He could just see her wearing her red minidress to one of his parents’ charity