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I rub the heel of one hand into my eye.
God, I feel sick.
“I’m heading back.” The deep, rumbling voice makes me jump, and I whip my head round to find Dex Kincaid. He’s standing close to my elbow, towering over me with those broad shoulders, blocking out the still-shining spotlights.
The guitarist is scowling, thick eyebrows lowered and jaw clenched. He looks pissed off, but when he speaks, his tone is soft. “Want to come back with me? We’ll get you settled at the hotel.”
I open my mouth, but the grateful thanks stall in my throat as all of Mom’s warnings about rock stars bounce around my skull, way more shrill in my mind than they were in real life.
They’ll use you…
Knock you up and leave you hanging…
Can’t be trusted…
Dex’s mouth twists. “No funny business,” he mutters. “I’m heading that way anyway.”
“Right.” My spine jolts straight, and I remember myself. Of course the legendary Dex Kincaid is not propositioning me—he only knows I’m alive because I’m his band mate’s daughter. If this man wanted a hookup, he could walk out onto that stage and take his pick. “Yes, please. That would be really helpful.”
Dex nods and turns away, looking sour.
Jeez, he’s a major presence on stage, but he’s somehow even bigger up close. I swear the floor vibrates under his feet as he leads me out of the wing, back through the winding dark halls to the green room.
“Need to grab a few things.”
There’s already a guitar case in one of his hands, and he snags my backpack by the top handle with the other. I’m so tired, I can barely make my arms work to shrug out of the straps, but it’s such a relief to walk without that heavy weight. Following Dex Kincaid through the warren, I feel like I’m floating.
“Is the hotel far?”
Dex shakes his head, not looking over. His beard is thick and dark, trimmed but still bushy enough that I could squeeze two big handfuls.
…That’s a weird thought. Is this what sleep deprivation does to a person? Makes you picture the strangest things about the people around you, like how I keep thinking about tugging Dex Kincaid’s t-shirt up and seeing where his tattoos go underneath his clothes?
None of my business.
Damn, I’m thirsty when I’m low on sleep. I bet I’ll crash out for the next day and a half, then wake up and barely notice this man.
I won’t want to lick his sweaty throat.
Won’t want to kneel at his feet and hug his thigh.
I’ll be normal again.
Definitely.
Four
Dex
I’ve had a few hours to get this attraction under control, and I’m better now. I’ve got this. I sweated out the worst of my frustrations on stage, and I’m ready to be a human being again.
Yeah, I’m still wound so fucking tight I might snap with how much I want the girl walking next to me, but I’m tamping it down. Keeping a lid on things.
Because the last thing London needs after seeing her dad pull that stunt is another big, hairy rocker making a pass at her. She’d think I see her the same way, as a cheap one-night stand—easy come, easy go. It’d chase her right back onto the plane she flew in on.
Nothing could be further from how I feel.
London is special. She’s precious.
