Page 103 of Sweet Temptation

She was standing in the middle of her living room in one of her many silk robes, stage makeup on and hair slicked back in a tight bun, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Are you planning to drink at the club tonight?” I asked her.

“I don’t have to drink at the club,” she said vaguely. Because apparently she’d rather insist on driving and just not drink tonight than let me drive her.

It was a constant power struggle with this woman.

Plus, there was leftover tension from today. At least, there was for me… even though I’d fucked my hand in her guest bathroom about five seconds after we got home, just so I could survive this night.

Just her standing there, defying me like that, in her little robe, was making my balls throb again.

“This is a high-profile event,” I reminded her. “You’ve been on the bill for a while now. We want to keep a low profile going into the venue, and we don’t want your car visible anywhere outside. My advice is we take my car, and once we’re there, Andre and I will be as visible and as close to you as possible. We want the fact that you now have personal security to be evident.”

“Andre’s coming?”

“This is your first event since the attempted break-in. Brody and I agreed that it would be best to have an extra set of eyes on things tonight.” I didn’t say, In case Blair Sanchuk shows up.

But for sure, that’s what Brody and I were prepared for.

At that point, she said, “I’m calling Brody.”

She took her phone upstairs, and returned forty minutes later.

“We’ll take your damn car,” she announced, as she strode over to the front door, where I was waiting for her.

She didn’t offer another word of argument, just pulled one of her many faux-fur coats from the closet. This one was a pale, silvery-gray. The silver pantsuit she was wearing had skintight pants and a low-cut bodice with silver sequins all over it—and push-up cups that seemed to barely contain her nipples—with a little cropped silver jacket overtop. She caught me checking her out as she slipped the coat on and picked up her purse, and I looked away, opening the front door for her.

We headed out to my car and I opened the passenger door for her.

She slid in with a muttered, “Thanks.”

Then she spent the entire drive to the nightclub downtown talking on her phone, flirting with friends who were coming to the show tonight.

At the venue, Andre met us at a door to backstage, where I ushered Summer inside. Then Andre headed out to park my car for me.

Summer’s roadie-slash-tech guy, Sledge, also met us backstage. The man was a mess of hair; he had long brown hair, an unkempt beard, hairy arms. He was like a grungy teddy bear with a permasmile. I introduced myself to him and Summer gave him an exuberant hug.

He told her she was all set up. He’d brought a few cases with her personal things and left them in the dressing room for her. One was a standing wardrobe case filled with accessories and shoes; the other two smaller cases were filled with cosmetics and beauty tools. More wardrobe stuff. Apparently, Sledge stored it for her with her DJ equipment, in-between gigs.

Summer closed herself into the dressing room and Sledge headed out to the bar for a drink. And when Andre got back, I left him guarding the dressing room door so I could introduce myself to the shift manager, who I’d already spoken with on the phone, and meet his head bouncer.

I took a good look around the entire venue. I was familiar with the club, but I scoped out the exits, the security cams, the bouncers’ positions. The clearest paths to each exit from the stage.

Then I headed backstage to wait for Summer, and sent Andre out into the club to keep an eye on things and make sure Sanchuk didn’t appear. I’d given printouts of his photo to the manager and the bouncers. The manager had taped them up at the front desk, the coat check, and the two bars, where only the staff could see them. The staff had been prepped that there was an impending restraining order against the man in the photo and he wasn’t allowed in the venue. They’d been instructed to notify the head bouncer or the manager immediately upon seeing him, and to call 911.

Sure, I’d heard what Piper—and Jude—had said. But if Blair Sanchuk showed up at one of Summer’s events, and the bar staff happened to call the police… so be it.

When Summer emerged from the dressing room, her faux-fur coat was gone. She was still wearing the silver pantsuit, though she’d added platform heels that boosted the top of her head up closer to my eye level, and she’d put on a long, expensive looking turquoise wig. The hair was stick straight and silky, with blunt bangs, and she’d put on more makeup. She had giant black feather eyelashes on.

She looked fucking gorgeous. Radiant and dangerous at the same time. Like some femme fatale from a film noir… set in space.

“Wow,” I muttered.

So sue me, it slipped out.

“You like?” she asked, a sultry sparkle in her eye.

“You look great,” I said, as neutrally as I could.

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