Page 4 of Staged (Exodus End 3)

He turned toward the woman beside him. His brush-off hadn’t sent her packing. “What are you having?” he asked.

“Appletini.”

She sipped the pale green cocktail through a tiny straw, her eyes giving him hints about what she’d be willing to suck on if he presented it to her.

“Wanna taste?”

She held her glass out to him, but he lifted a hand and shook his head. He didn’t want to lead her on. It wasn’t his style. She was hot, and normally he’d have loved to have a great time with her, but he wasn’t interested. Not tonight. Having always been driven by feelings and needs, Steve wasn’t one to overthink why he didn’t want her. He just didn’t.

“Do most chicks like those drinks?” he asked the bartender, who shrugged. Steve sighed. “Give me an appletini.”

While he waited for the bartender to mix the vile-looking concoction, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the crowd had finally thinned around Baroquen; Max had entered the room, and crowds naturally gravitated toward him. Even five hot chicks in corsets and short skirts were less of a draw than Exodus End’s exasperating lead singer.

Steve scraped his drink and the newly mixed appletini from the surface of the bar, gave Logan a nod—though he was deeply immersed in conversation with Toni now and didn’t notice—and crossed the room, unable to take his eyes off a certain keyboardist. Perhaps she sensed the weight of his interest because when he was about ten feet away, she sent a few exceedingly sharp eye daggers in his direction and turned her back on him.

Steve stopped walking and gawked at her very cold shoulder. It had been a while since a woman had rebuffed him. Been even longer since one had posed any challenge. The corner of his mouth curved upward as he resumed his current trajectory. He stopped about two feet from her.

She tried so hard to ignore him that her body went stiff. If he shifted into her peripheral vision, she turned away slightly, until they were practically twirling in circles.

“The asshole brought you a drink,” he said.

“No, thank you.”

“He also wanted to apologize for calling you a hooker.” Surely that would make her at least glance at him, maybe even smile. But no. “I didn’t really think you were a hooker. It was a joke.”

“Not a very funny one.”

“Yeah, well, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She angled toward him—finally—and their eyes met. Hers were a deep green with a beguiling rim of gold around the iris—undoubtedly the most beautiful eyes he’d ever stared into. His heart skipped a beat and began to pound as familiar lust scorched his veins. She licked her lips and turned again. “Apology accepted. Excuse me.”

She walked away. From Steve Aimes. Like he was just some random douchebag on the dance floor hitting on her. What the fuck? He trailed after her and tapped the edge of her drink glass against her shoulder.

She stopped and turned slowly.

“Your drink.”

“I don’t drink,” she said, her eyes cold as she stared up at him. “And in case I wasn’t clear, I’m not interested, so go bother someone else.”

He actually felt a stab of hurt with the added knife twist of insecurity. He hadn’t been rejected in a great long while, and he wasn’t sure why instead of turning him off—he could have his choice of easy pussy in the room—it made him ache for her.

“I think you’ve misjudged me,” he said.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

At least he had her talking. “I wanted to welcome you to the tour and ask if there was anything I could do to make this transition easier, but I guess you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

She stiffened slightly.

“So I’ll be on my way.” He tossed back her drink, forcing himself not to wince at the sweet and tart flavor of it. “Thanks for the drink.” He tilted the empty glass in her direction and nodded.

When he turned to walk away, she touched his arm. Her fingertips seemed to burn into his flesh.

“Wait,” she said, shouting over the loud Pantera song blaring in the background. “You probably think I’m some ball-busting megabitch.” He liked that about her. “If you want to talk business, I’d love to hang out with you, but if you’re just trying to get in my pants . . .” The fire was back in her sensational eyes as she quirked an eyebrow. “. . . still not interested.”

“I assure you,” he said, “I only want to talk business.” When had he become such an accomplished liar? He almost had himself believing his words.

“Do you want to go out on the balcony?” she yelled. “It’s a little quieter out there, and I could use some fresh air.”

And privacy? Was she looking for privacy? Hell yeah, he wanted to go out on the balcony and be alone with her.

“Do you want to grab a drink first?” He jerked a thumb toward the open bar.

“Just water for me, but you go ahead.”

He didn’t want to drink if she wasn’t drinking. “I could use some water myself. I get dehydrated onstage, and we played three encores tonight.” That statement usually made a woman gush her appreciation of his skill on the skins—he knew for a fact that he was the most imitated drummer in all of metal music—but Roux merely nodded.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said.

He wasn’t sure how much sweat could pour off a keyboard player, but the stage lighting was brutal regardless of the amount of energy one expended onstage. She followed him to the bar, and Steve got more than one odd look when he ordered two waters. He handed her a little plastic cup brimming with ice water, took his own, and followed her toward the balcony. He tried not to stare at her ass and legs too much as they crossed the now-crowded dance floor. Max, who loved to dance, was surrounded by two-thirds of the women in the room as his dance partners. The charismatic lead singer even managed to give each one of them a bit of personal attention. Steve concentrated on following Roux as she navigated the edge of the undulating crowd, pulling his eyes off her ass every few seconds to make sure she didn’t catch him checking her out. But who could blame him? The woman was fucking exquisite.

A cool breeze stirred against his heated skin when she pushed the balcony door open. Dare was standing alone, staring out into the lights of the city. He turned toward them and nodded, a greeting that Steve returned. Steve wasn’t sure how Dare managed to be a loner no matter the size of the crowd around him. Was even less sure how he could like being alone, but there was no denying he did.

“Hello, Dare,” Roux said. “Is it okay if I call you Dare? Or should I call you Mr. Mills?”

Dare chuckled, his good-natured smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Dare is fine. You’re Rrr-raww-roxie?” He squinted, as if that would make him recall her name.

“Roux,” Steve said. “She’s the one who plays keyboard.”

Roux slapped his forearm playfully. “An instrument Steve does not approve of in a metal band.”

Fuck. So she remembered all the stupid shit that had spewed from his mouth in the limo? Sam had been there. Steve could not be expected to maintain good manners with that greedy son of a bitch in close quarters. Regardless, Steve shouldn’t have insulted her. He was sure Roux was an excellent musician. Because greedy sons of bitches like Sam wouldn’t waste time on a band that wasn’t phenomenal, no matter how sexy they looked. Unless Sam planned to market their look rather than their sound. Steve wouldn’t put it past the guy. He kept trying that stupid shit with Reagan, and Reagan wouldn’t have it, but these young women seemed a bit more accommodating to Sam’s bullshit. Steve wondered if he could protect them from the wolves. Or at least one wolf.

“I’m sure you could prove me wrong,” Steve said, tossing back his water and wishing it was whiskey. “Maybe a keyboard isn’t completely stupid. Progressive rock bands seem to like them okay.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he couldn’t help but smile. He’d known at first gl

ance that she was beautiful and sexy, but it seemed she was playful and fun too. He did love a good time.

“A lot of metal bands are introducing new elements to their music,” Dare said. “Keeps things interesting.”

“I prefer the standard bass, rhythm and lead guitars, and most importantly, drums, but I’m old school,” Steve said.

“Are you sure you’re not just old?” Roux smirked as she sipped water through a tiny red straw.

Was that why she wasn’t interested in him, because he was old? Since when was thirty-four old? Since she was probably twenty. He tried not to think about the logistics of the age difference too much. She was definitely a fully grown woman.

“You’re not even old enough to drink, are you?” he asked. “That’s why you refused that apple shit I tried to give you.”

“What?” She shook her head. “I’m plenty old enough to drink and have been for several years. I just don’t.”

“And why not? Afraid you’ll fall for my charm if you’re drunk?”

“That’s the only way I’d fall for a guy like you.”

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