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“And what if I’m one of the bad boys?”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you?”
“Isn’t that your job to find out?”
Flattening her spine against the wall as I’m hauled past her, we stand toe-to-toe for a beat, and the whole time she stares back at me with an ice-cold gaze.
“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”
Her full lips curve into a sarcastic smirk. “Could you be any more cliché?”
My lips come dangerously close to her ear as I squeeze through the narrow gap that’s left between her body and the solid door frame. “You have me at a disadvantage.” My eyes dip to the front of her blouse, before I look back up into her face, taking in her high cheekbones and her slightly upturned nose. “You know who I am. I know you do. Everyone does. I can see it in your eyes. But I don’t know who you are.”
“Christ almighty,” she snorts, and the cynical sound is in no way subtle and most definitely not feminine. “Are you flirting with me?” The look on her face is one of complete horror, or maybe it’s disdain. Repulsion may be a better word. “No offense, but you’re not exactly a catch right now. You’ve got a split lip and another man’s blood all over your shirt.”
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even come close to it.
“Take him back to his room!”
Chad immediately hauls me out into the corridor before I can come up with a snarky response, fighting the dizziness and the blurred vision that comes with the sudden movement. The muscles in my lower back pinch from twisting around so quickly. “I still didn’t catch your name.”
“Don’t try to be cute, Mr. Jenkins.”
Ouch. She’s a spitfire, that’s for sure. I have no chance in hell of controlling her, but screw it if I don’t want to try. What I wouldn’t give to slide my fingers up her throat right now and push her back hard against that wall, stealing the breath clean from her lungs until she’s begging me to go easy on her.
The little hairs on the back of my neck prickle with appreciation.Oh, yeah. I might just have found a source of entertainment in this place after all.
I flash her a quick smile, deliberately making my dimple sink in a little further on my left cheek.
She rolls her enormous blue eyes.Those eyes.“I’m mortified on behalf of women the world over. Are you always so full of yourself?”
“Tell me your name, and we’ll find out.”
There’s a short pause, a sigh of defeat. Every curve of her face seems to express a defined, harsh reality. “My name is Sienna Jones,” she eventually says. She licks her lips, and the glimpse of her tongue makes my stomach clench tightly. “I’m your new therapist.”
“You’re my—”
“Be at my office at two o’clock. And don’t be late!”
Sienna
Well, isn’t this just great?
Awesome even.
Turns out I’ve been assigned one of the music industry’s most notorious bad boys as my first case here at Rochester, and isn’t that just my luck because not only does Kael Jenkins have a drinking problem, along with a long list of other things if his rap sheet is anything to go by, but apparently he has a problem controlling his emotions, his temper, and his…dick, too.
Famous people.Ugh.
I recognized him instantly. Of course, I did.
You’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of Cold Neptune, especially coming off of their most recent tour. Times Square has been adorned with neon signs and billboards featuring the band for months now, and their songs are being played all over the radio.
Kael’s face has been plastered across every magazine and newsstand in the city recently. He’s big news, impossible to miss, and not just because of his enormous stage presence. The guy is built. I’ve never seen so much ripped muscle on a man in real life before. Not totally unappealing, but nothing I’m interested in either.
I mean, sure, he might be pretty to look at, but he’s got a record as long as my arm, andphewfor that, because my recently self-imposed vow of no men—thank you very much, Jonathan, my sack-of-shit, cheating ex-husband—means I’m not the slightest bit impressed by the superior rock god and all his salacious glory.
Not to mention he’s just as cocky, and just as arrogant, as I expected him to be. More so, if that’s at all possible. What is it with musicians thinking they’re some higher power to us normal human beings? Okay, so I get the wholewowfactor, but flirting with me?
