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I was texting back and forth with the organizer of tonight’s party as I rode the elevator up to Brodie’s suite.
But all my thoughts about work short-circuited as soon as I walked down that hallway and spotted Brodie with his back to me, standing with the band.
I’d never seen him wear that vest before, but it was sexy as hell. It cinched his waist and was held together by black laces that crisscrossed down his back, the edge of the vest hitting the upper curves of his ass.
I smiled as I caught sight of his kilt. Not for the first time did I wonder what, if anything, he was wearing under it.
He wore them on stage all the time; sometimes, it was the only thing he wore.
As we made our way to the elevator, my eyes wandered back up to Brodie’s face, his eyes rimmed in dark liner, his mouth slick with gloss.
I didn’t know which was sexier, him all-natural or made up. Either way, in my eyes, he was a gorgeous human being.
And even if you stripped away his physicality, he would be the same to me.
His talent, his drive, his connection to his fans - it had everything to do with who he was as a person, not what he looked like.
He turned his head toward me, and a slow grin graced his lips.
There was power in that secretive smile of his, and it had me shaking, my hands so sweaty I nearly dropped my phone.
“Remind me again about the woman hosting this party,” Brodie murmured as he leaned closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine, his hot breath hitting my ear.
I shivered and shook my head, trying to get my brain and mouth to work together again.
Some people assumed Brodie’s smart-ass attitude meant he didn’t give a shit about anything. But he took his job seriously. No matter what, he showed up when called and gave the fans and supporters what they wanted. It was the reason why the label allowed him leverage, room to say whatever he pleased.
If the fans were happy, everything was good.
“Um… Juliana… Green,” I managed to reply, my voice hoarse.
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.
“She’s a socialite and donates a lot of her time and money to causes in the city. She and her husband own a trucking company and several other businesses. They heard about the concert and the fact that we’re donating the proceeds to one of their favorite charities, so they were only too happy to host a meet and greet. There will be limited on-site press for photos only since this is a private event. If anyone tries to get a statement from you, let me know.”
“You better stick close to me. You know how aggressive the media can get.”
I met Brodie’s intense gaze and swallowed hard.
“You’re a seasoned pro by now. I think you can handle it.”
Brodie was about to argue with me, but we finally hit the parking garage and the doors opened.
Regan went first, then Dawson flanked Brodie, and I walked behind.
We headed for the two black SUVs, parked side by side.
Brodie got in the back seat of the first vehicle, and I followed. The rest of the band headed forthe second car.
Once everyone was ready, we venturedout into the busy New Orleans night.
Every street we passed had colorful architecture and people outside talking, singing, and dancing. I loved the flow of the language down here, including the smattering of French that I recognized and felt at home with.
Maybe the day after the concert I’d take some time and explore a bit. Visit a few local clubs and soak up the atmosphere. And have a sumptuous meal or two.
I noticed Brodie’s leg tapping out a nervous rhythm and, without thinking, reached out to touch his thigh.
“You all right?” I asked, then quickly pulled my hand back.
