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I totallywas.
Good news, though: I’d completely tensed up and my hand was on Coop’s forehead. I was tongue-blockinghim.
Sexy.
He stopped, obviously, and looked up at me. “Uh… are yousure—?”
“Hang on a sec, while I commit a super quickmurder.”
He backed off, letting meup.
“You sure you don’t want meto—?”
“Nope.” I rolled over and off the bed in one angry lunge, righting my lime-green thong. “I’ve got this.” I scooped up the first thing I saw—his giant T-shirt—and thrust my almost-naked self into it as I stalked over to the bedroomdoor.
When I threw it open, the scene that greeted me was pretty much what it soundedlike.
The main room of the penthouse suite had been overrun with groupies, bits of their skimpy clothing flung across the gaudy, oversized furniture. There were five of them, and while I doubted they were actual strippers—Zane didn’t tend to hang with women who expected to get more attention than they gave, since he preferred to be the center of attention in any given room—I’d definitely walked in on some kind of amateur revue for their one-manaudience.
Two blonds were dancing together on the coffee table, the one with the big fake breasts, already topless, undressing theother.
A chick with jet-black hair, in a metallic shrink-wrap dress, was bent over in the kitchen snorting what I could only assume was cocaine off the glossy countertop, showing off her matching metallic thong while she didit.
The other two were pawing each other on one of the big, plush couches. And there was Zane, front row center. Sprawled back on that same couch, legs spread wide. The girls were kneeling over him, and I really could’ve sworn he looked kinda bored as he watched them makeout.
I was already bored, but then again, I didn’t have apenis.
One of the girls in his lap was a redhead. The other looked suspiciously Filipina, and even though she didn’t look much likeme, it really fucking irritated me. The man had a serious talent for irritating me—and for sniffing out exactly when he was doing it, like some sadistic bloodhound. I was pretty sure he got off on it. It didn’t surprise me at all when his ice-blue eyes met mine, though none of the girls even noticed I wasthere.
He stared at me, his eyes flaring. He looked pretty blown away to see me, actually. Well, noshit.
Not like Iwantedto be stuck in the room adjoining his latestorgy.
I pointed one finger at him and rolled it back, in the universal gesture forGet your ass over here. Which he could’ve ignored. He could’ve told me where to go with a finger gesture of hisown.
Technically, the man was myemployer.
Instead he dumped the girls off his lap, eyes still locked on mine, and adjusted himself in his low-slung jeans. That’s when I made the mistake of glancingdown.
The top button of his jeans was undone, showing a triangle of sun-kissed skin and a hint of his golden treasure trail, not to mention the perfect, tight abs that disappeared under hisshirt.
The girls kept going at it, oblivious to his departure, as he rose and stalked towardme.
Tall. Blond. Andveryrock ’n’roll.
I just watched him, my features carefully arranged in a look of cool, unruffled displeasure as I forced myself to keep breathing so my heart wouldn’t explode in an epic cataclysm of rage and repressed lust. Luckily, I had alotof practice with this. Still, my traitorous gaze wandered down the thin black T-shirt stretched over his broad, hard chest and the badass black leather vest, the muscles bunching in his sleek, California-tanned arms… the unbuttoned jeans just barely clinging to his hips… andfuck… did it make me a total weirdo that I had a crazy weakness for the man’s barefeet?
It didn’t exactly escape my notice that his dick looked pretty hard, either. Kinda like it was about to punch through his jeans, but Zane’s package pretty much always looked thatway.
It wasn’t exactly an industry secret that Zane Traynor was well-hung.
In fact, I’d seen his naked cock with my own eyes, multiple times. Not that that meant anything. Pretty sure everyone and their dog had seen it. Since the man was Adonis incarnate, you couldn’t even blame him for showing it off, though his habit of walking around naked in mixed company—irritating for a multitude of reasons—was the main reason everyone in the band refused to share a suite withhim.
Well that, and all thegroupies.
Really, you’d think a decade would be plenty of time for your average man to tire, or bore, of the groupie thing and move on. Zane,though?
Nothing was average aboutZane.
