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“Am I giving you a boner, Aimes?” she teased.
“Let’s just say that the socks I keep in my pants are being displaced to the left at the moment.”
“Hah!” she said. “I knew that bulge was socks.”
He bit his tongue and shook his head. “No, babe. That was a joke. That bulge is all me.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes again.
“I’ll show you sometime.” He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.
“It’s the title to a car!” she shouted, loving to tease this man as mercilessly as he teased her. She had no use for a car; the van she shared with her sisters had room for everyone. “I can’t believe you’d get me a Ferrari. You really shouldn’t have.”
“If you want one, it’s yours,” he said, not missing a beat. “But I think you’ll find this is far more valuable than an Italian sports car.”
She made a grab for the piece of paper he was holding up between two fingers. He flicked his hand toward his chest, keeping her from her prize.
“Is it a winning lottery ticket?” she asked.
“Even better.”
She snatched the paper from him and opened it. After scanning the ten-digit number, she lifted an eyebrow. “Is this your phone number, Aimes?”
He grinned. “I told you it was awesome.”
“Can I trade it for a winning lottery ticket?” she asked.
“You don’t want to do that.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being cocky or teasing her.
“Maybe I don’t want to associate with you,” she said.
“You know you do.”
“You have a dirty reputation.”
“The dirtiest.” He grinned. “That’s why you want that number. It’s the real deal. The one I actually answer.”
“I don’t think I’ll use it,” she said, tucking the slip back into his hand. “I need to be thinking about my career right now, not . . .”
He leaned close to her ear. “Not how hot you feel when I do this?”
He nipped her lobe, and fire spread through her veins like napalm. Holy Jesus. How did he know what he did to her?
“If you want more, you’ll call me.”
“But—”
He tucked the paper into the top of her corset, his fingers grazing the inner curve of her breast. “And you want more. Much more.”
She wanted to lie and say she didn’t. They had no business getting involved. For one thing, Iona would murder her for potentially destroying their band’s opportunity to advance. For another, she couldn’t think when he was near, and if they got naked together, she was pretty sure her brain would stop functioning entirely. If she was completely brain-dead, she wouldn’t be able to play her keyboard.
“If I wasn’t leaving for Atlanta in ten minutes, I’d give you what you want right here,” he added.
He was leaving? She tried not to pout when she shot back, “You don’t have any idea what I want.”
His seductive smile made her belly quiver. “I know exactly what you want, Red. It’s you who’s struggling with the idea.”
“I . . . I’m going to be too busy rehearsing and getting ready to leave for Europe to get involved with you.”
“Call me. We’ll talk. A month of deep conversation will give me plenty of time to get you addicted to me before we meet again.”
As if.
“Roux?” Iona called from near the partially shut door. “What are you doing? I know networking is hard for you, but—”
Roux jerked away from Steve just before the door swung open. “Oh!” Iona said when she recognized Roux was not hiding from everyone. Just almost everyone.
“I’m chatting with Aimes,” Roux said brightly.
“About?” Iona glanced at Steve curiously.
“How much keyboards suck,” Roux said.
“She’s almost got me convinced otherwise,” Steve said. “Be seeing you, Red.” He took her hand and gave it a curt, completely platonic shake. Call me, he mouthed before he wrapped an arm around Iona’s shoulders and directed her out into the main office. “So where did you learn to sing like that, Pretty-in-Purple?”
Roux tugged at the bottom of her corset, trying to get her head on straight more than to rearrange her clothing. The piece of paper with Steve’s number shifted against her breast. She was not going to call him. That was just asking for trouble. She took a deep steadying breath and then followed Iona and Steve toward the crowd congregated in the large cubicle-filled room.
As soon as she had a minute, she’d dig his number out of her top and toss it in the garbage. If she didn’t call him, she was certain he’d lose his fascination with her before the tour started. Unless Butch’s advice was correct and the best way to keep Steve interested was to keep him guessing. But what did Butch know?
The man with all the answers was already rounding up his passel of stray rock stars and directing them out the door to meet the tour bus so they could head south to Atlanta for their next tour date. Butch seemed to know what he was talking about most of the time, but Roux was sure his advice to her was an exception to the rule. Steve wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to be kept hanging, and Roux pretended not to notice when he offered her one last searching look before he was shoved out of the radio studio.
Eight
Steve knew he was in trouble, but seeing as Trouble with a capital T was his middle name, he wasn’t afraid to pursue it. He had every confidence that Roux would call him—probably within the hour. A woman didn’t respond to him with such heat and intensity unless she wanted him, and in all of his worldly experience, he’d never met a woman who could resist what she wanted for long.
“I got that information you asked for,” Butch said as they made their way to the limo waiting downstairs.
Information? Steve was so distracted by a certain fiery ice princess that he couldn’t remember what information he’d requested.
As usual, Butch read him like an open book. “You forgot already.”
“I—”
“It’s the redhead. I get it.” Butch’s lips twitched beneath his mustache. “You haven’t sealed the deal with her, so your little head is fully in charge.”
“How do you know I haven’t sealed the deal with her? She was in my room after midnight, you know.”
“If you’d made your move, you wouldn’t have been drying humping her leg in the studio upstairs.”
“I wasn’t dry humping—”
“You totally were,” Max said as he followed a member of their security team out of the station. A smallish crowd had assembled near the building and released an excited cheer the moment they came into view. Max waved before ducking into the waiting car.
“The information you requested I gather about Bianca and that bitch who leaked personal band info to the tabloids.”
Oh yeah. Steve had asked Butch to investigate the connection between his ex-wife and the woman he believed was her sister Tamara. He really was in a lust-induced haze if that very important task had slipped his mind. He’d better get all his information straight before Roux called—any minute now—and muddled his thinking again.
“Susan and Tamara are the same person.”
Steve scowled. “I knew it.” Even though she’d lost at least a hundred pounds since the last time he’d seen her, there was no mistaking Tamara Brennan’s hungry
eyes. He shuddered at the thought of her touchy-feely hands. The woman was half octopus.
“There’s more, but let’s wait until we get to the bus. You never know who’s listening.” Butch glanced around the crowded New York City street as if he could spot a spy from a mile away. He probably could.
Steve climbed into the limo and found Trey at the mercy of his big brother’s knuckle sandwich. Sinners’ rhythm guitarist wasn’t struggling to get away from Dare. Instead, he was laughing and looking very pleased with himself.
“We haven’t had a song at the top of the overall charts for over four years,” Dare said.
Trey squirmed from Dare’s grasp and plopped into the open seat next to Reagan. “So I guess this means I’ve finally surpassed the master.” He finger-quoted master.
“I’d tell you not to get full of yourself,” Dare said, his smile ear-to-ear, “but you guys are totally deserving.”
“Sinners rules!” Trey said, throwing up a set of devil horns.
Steve squished himself into a limo seat. The car was made to seat eight, but was currently a couple of people over capacity. “Good news, I take it,” Steve said to Trey as he maneuvered his ribs away from Max’s bony fucking elbow.
Trey proudly showed Steve his phone, which displayed a screen shot of the iTunes sales charts. Sinners’ new single sat brazenly in the top spot above a pop diva’s latest release.
“Nice!” Steve said, fighting the urge to reach for his own phone to see if he’d somehow missed Roux’s call. He was certain she’d be calling any minute now. Any minute.
When they reached the tour bus rendezvous point on the outskirts of the city and she still hadn’t called, he wondered if he should have insisted that she give him her number as well or programed his number into her phone. He’d have lost the sexy banter session with the phone-number-in-his-pants routine he’d lain awake dreaming up, but at least he’d know she wouldn’t have to make the actual effort of dialing all the numbers. Nah, that was stupid. She’d call. He just needed to be patient. It had been less than an hour since he’d seen her. This wasn’t the end of the world.
