Page 4 of Tate
Oh, this was really going to hurt.
Glo closed the bathroom door behind her and stared into the wide, gold-framed mirror. The Bellagio spared no expense in these top floor suites. It rivaled any exquisite New York or even DC hotel with its white leather sofas, plush bedding, and spa tubs.
And some thirty-six floors below, the night was lit up with the florescence of the strip, buzzing with life.
Not unlike every cell in her body. Her face was flushed, and she could nearly see the pulse in her neck.
Thumping away as her rebellious, foolish heart ran away from her.
Outside the posh suite, across the patterned black-and-white carpet, past the massive king bed with the padded gold-fabric headboard, and through the towering mahogany doors, the man she shouldn’t give her heart away to waited with pizza and the stated intention to take her on a walk down to the courtyard.
Maybe catch a romantic view of the Bellagio’s majestic fountains.
And under the cascading kaleidoscope waters, she’d find herself repeating all her deadly mistakes.
She couldn’t fall for a man who would die. Not again.
Glo shucked off the bathrobe she’d pulled on after her bath, a late-night luxury following the Yankee Belles’ first official gig for NBR-X—a professional bull riding tour to rival the PBR. The female trio had toured, submitted tapes, auditioned, and nearly been killed trying to land the six-month weekly gig. Frankly, the band should be together celebrating tonight.
Instead, Dixie, their fiddle player, had disappeared with Elijah Blue, their drummer, to check out some famous chocolate fountain, which might be code for finally declaring their love for each other. And their lead singer, Kelsey, would right now be watching the fountains arc through the night sky in the arms of Knox Marshall, the man who had found and stopped a killer from her past striking again.
Kelsey’s real-life hero. The man she deserved.
Which had left Glo alone in the penthouse suite with the only other person in the after-gig entourage—their bodyguard, Tate Marshall.
Younger brother to the hero of the hour.
And the man she was currently hiding from. Sorta hiding, really, because a big part of her wanted to rush back out there and continue what they’d started.
Namely a very long-overdue kiss.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, felt Tate’s touch still buzzing them, like the neon lights of the strip, alive and full of promise.
Oh, what was she getting herself into?
She wore a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants under the bathrobe and ran her fingers through her hair, combing it after the towel dry earlier. Maybe she should brush her teeth.
There she went, getting ahead of herself.
It was just a walk.
And he was probably eating all the pepperoni pizza he’d ordered from room service. They’d knocked on the door just as she went into her room.
She checked her bandage—the gunshot wound was healing. She’d never forget the look on Tate’s face when he’d found her, shot, at his ranch.
Neither of them had realized thatshewas the target of an attacker who wanted to intimidate her politician mother from running for president.
No, all she’d cared about right then was the broken look on Tate’s face and the fact she had practically felt her heart leave her body.
Flinging itself into Tate’s arms.
Oh, no,no?—
Her phone pinged from where she’d left it on the counter, and she noticed the screen listed a dozen or more tweets she’d been tagged in. She tapped one and it opened.
A picture lit up the screen of her onstage, dressed in tonight’s short, black tiered dress with flouncy long sleeves, her hands around the mic, the lights turning her hair to gold.
Glo brought down the house tonight. #YankeeBelles #CountryMusic #LoveSong
