Taste Me (10 page)

***

“It doesn’t fit.” Jesse clutched a handful of black leather at Scarlett’s hip. “We just had this fitted two weeks ago.”

“Can we pin it?” Scarlett said with a full-body shiver.

Jesse noticed, and flipped on the heat lamps recessed into the dressing room bathroom’s ceiling. “Nope, the fabric won’t take it. With another hour before curtain, I might have been able to take it in, but we don’t have an hour. Step out.”

“I’m sorry.” Scarlett let the ball gown slither to the floor.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” Jesse said as he picked it up. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have asked you to try it on earlier today.”

Scarlett’s eyes stung as he carefully put it back on its padded hanger. She loved the dress, and had counted on it to give her a boost of confidence. The skirt was a black leather mini no wider than a place mat, but yards and yards of black-violet tulle exploded from its hem to flutter down to her calves. It had a matching leather corset that laced up the back. When she’d tried it on last, Garrett had declared that she looked like a Goth ballerina.

Everything that could go wrong today had, and the damn dress not fitting just added insult to injury. It didn’t help that her traitorous mind wouldn’t stop replaying that hallway encounter with Lukas Sebastiani on continuous loop: her, melting over his oversized body like chocolate. Him? As cold and unaffected as ever. Walking away.

Lukas was really good at walking away.

“Sweetie, you really have to do something about this,” Jesse said softly, snatching the purple calf-length fleece bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and bundling her into it.

She blinked quickly at the weak, reactive tears. “I’m working on it, Jesse.” At his “yeah, right” look, she nodded and amended, “Okay, I
will
work on it. Now that we’re off the road, I’ll let you all fatten me up. I’ll stay in bed for a week and eat nothing but your truffles. You’ll need a forklift to move me.”

While Jesse snorted and zipped the dress into a protective wardrobe bag, she tried to calm her queasy stomach. The pre-show jitters were especially bad tonight, and hadn’t let up even though she’d thrown up over an hour ago—in her own toilet, which was a bit of a luxury; she didn’t have to wonder how many strange asses had used the facilities before she had. Her stomach lurched again as she thought of the set list she’d just delivered to Garrett, explicitly crafted to make Lukas Sebastiani writhe. What the hell had she been thinking? What had possessed her? That gorgeous hunk of rock would be standing mere feet away from her, all night long. She’d be wading through his luscious pheromones for hours.

She dragged breath through her suddenly tight throat. This idea was sure to boomerang back on her, big-time.

“Scarlett? Let me see the dress,” Garrett called from the dressing room’s large common area, a tranquil, Zen-like space decorated with overstuffed couches, plenty of lamps for indirect lighting, and grass-scented candles.

Jesse carried the wardrobe bag over his arm as he left the bathroom. “Time for Plan B. The dress doesn’t fit. We need to find something else for her to wear.” On the way to the closet stretched across one full wall, he detoured momentarily to brush a smooch against Garrett’s cheek. “Thank Jupiter we unpacked her trunk, or else she’d be wearing that bathrobe onstage.”

“The bathrobe is an improvement over those ratty-assed yoga pants,” Garrett said with a shudder. “Scarlett, promise you’ll let me put them out of their misery. I want to do the honors.”

Garrett and Jesse had very firm opinions about her “look,” which was good, because she sure didn’t. She dressed for comfort—and more importantly, for warmth. If Garrett wanted her favorite lounging pants, he was going to have to pry them off of her cold, dead body.

While the men stood at the closet muttering about knits versus leather, and debated the merits of this belt or that one, Scarlett sipped her cooling Throat Coat tea, brushed her teeth, and practically danced around the bathroom trying not to scratch at her head. The hot rollers Jesse had set her hair with had cooled off, and tiny teeth bit into her scalp something fierce.

Exclamations of success emanated from the living room. Jesse hurried into the heated bathroom carrying a handful of black cotton knit, and Garrett was on his heels with a long leather wrap belt.

As she slipped off her bathrobe, Scarlett caught a glimpse of the three of them in the vanity mirror and burst out laughing. Garrett was all suited elegance. Jesse was rough and ready in black leather pants and a white wife beater. And standing between them was her—shivering, pale, and nude, except for a miniscule black thong and the rollers in her hair.

“Blackmail shots, anyone?”

“Where are the paparazzi when you need them?” Jesse said, leering at Scarlett playfully. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Scarlett Fontaine’s Pre-Show Manwich.’”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I wish.” If anybody knew how long it had been since she’d had sex, it was these two. “Get these damn things out of my hair, will you?”

Jesse quickly pulled the cooled rollers out of her hair, and she scratched her skull with a blissful sigh. “Time?”

Garrett looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes to curtain.”

Jesse handed her the wad of fabric, and Scarlett pulled it over her head without question. Fine-gauge cotton knit slid down her body, stopping at mid-thigh. Hmm, a T-shirt dress. The belt would wrap twice around her hips. Casual, fun, though a little… um,
breezy
with her choice of undergarment. It didn’t have quite the oomph of the ball gown, but it would absorb sweat like a sponge. “Good call,” she told Jesse.

“It fits,” he responded dourly. “Go pick out some boots.”

Scarlett went to the closet, where her performance footwear marched across the floor like soldiers on parade. Her eyes flitted over the options, mentally bypassing any boot that had a high heel. Her feet just weren’t up to it tonight. Where were those…
Aha.
“You cannot hide,” she intoned, kneeling so she could reach back into the corner of the closet.

“Whoa, full moon alert,” Jesse called from the open door of the bathroom. “Want some different underwear?”

“They’re all upstairs. We don’t have time,” Scarlett said, emerging with a pair of thigh-high pirate boots with wraparound studs at the ankles. The top of the boot folded over a couple of inches south of the hem of the dress, and best of all, they were nearly flat. Her feet wouldn’t be screaming ten minutes into the show.

“Perfect,” Garrett said.

“Duh.” Scarlett quickly put on the boots, then scurried back to the bathroom, where Jesse opened his makeup kit and selected the magic wands he’d wave to turn wan, pasty Scarlett Fontaine into Scarlett!! Fontaine!! “Are you sure twenty minutes will be enough time?”

“They’ll wait for you, honey.”

“I guess that answers that.”

She focused on the face emerging under Jesse’s skillful hand. Who was this woman? Her familiar, flaky face became exotic and dewy. Her eyes, now smoky and emphasized, blazed with mystery. Separating her lips, Jesse applied her favorite matte lipstick, the one that didn’t come off on her microphone. Cheekbones? No problem, she had cheekbones to spare—except now they looked sophisticated rather than emaciated.

Jesse put down the lipstick and picked up a can of hair spray. “Assume the position, please.”

Scarlett stood and bent over from the waist, closing her eyes and holding her breath while Jesse sprayed her hair. Once she stood up and sat again, he busily brushed and back-combed near the roots to create some volume. Sprayed again.

“You know this is a losing battle,” Scarlett said. “I’ll sweat through this in a half hour, tops.”

“But you’ll look great until then.”

Scarlett snagged a black elastic band off the vanity table, snapping it onto her wrist so she could pull her hair into a hasty ponytail if she wanted to.

A knock came from the dressing room’s outer door. “Scarlett? Garrett? We need you out here. Now.”

“Thank you,” Garrett called back. “Breathe,” he told Scarlett.

She felt flop sweat bloom on her forehead and upper lip. “I’m going to throw up,” she muttered to Garrett as Jesse bundled her back into the purple fleece robe.

“No, you’re not,” Garrett replied, though she noticed he patted his suit pocket to make sure he had the airline sickness bag he carried for just such an event. “You know how this goes. Once you get through the first song, you’re home free.”

Scarlett breathed through her teeth, trying to ignore the sour sting at the back of her throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Garrett and Jesse each took an arm and hustled her out of the dressing room door. Everywhere she looked, faces stared back. Scarlett shrank into Jesse’s body, letting it shield her from at least some of the inquisitive eyes. Four men she didn’t recognize joined them, walked with them. “Just some extra security, remember?” Garrett said comfortingly. “Ignore them, sweetie. Remember to breathe.”

One foot in front of the other. Scarlett counted off the steps in her head until they reached the common area adjacent to the stage, where the band gathered before the performance. In contrast to the Zen calm of Scarlett’s personal dressing room, this area snapped with motion and energy. Burgundy, purple, and turquoise couches popped against the charcoal gray walls, and over on the food table, the destroyed tray of sandwich fixings and nearly empty candy bowls indicated to Scarlett that, as usual, her band mates hadn’t had any trouble with pre-show nerves. Three insulated coolers labeled Beer, Pop, and Water had been placed on the floor next to the table, and a recycling bin stood nearby.

Though she was vaguely aware of Michael waving to her as he nibbled on a very rare roast beef sandwich, of Joe talking on his cell, and of Tansy lying across the laps of her bondmates over on the burgundy couch, what she noticed most was Lukas, standing like a monolith in the middle of the room, sucking away all of the oxygen. He was talking with Sasha, who was clearly upset about something. Whether Lukas was doing the upsetting or was trying to alleviate it wasn’t quite clear.

“Excuse me a moment,” Garrett said, joining them. Scarlett watched him listen to Sasha, who punctuated her words with slashing hand gestures. He shook his head “no,” his face locking into an expression she privately called “Battle Stations.”

No matter how much she didn’t want to get close to Lukas, something was obviously wrong. “What’s up?” she asked when she reached the small group.

He smelled so good.

“Have you seen Stephen recently?” he asked.

It was all she could do not to let her eyes drop to half-mast as his voice shivered into her nervous system. The air around them practically pulsed. Lukas’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he absorbed her helpless reaction to him.
Damn it. Damn it.
She stiffened her buckling knees. “No. I haven’t seen Stephen since we all got off the bus last night. What’s up?”

“Little shit’s MIA,” Sasha said tightly.

“He’s got to be here somewhere.” Scarlett turned to Garrett. “You gave him a set list about an hour ago, right?”

Garrett nodded.

“But then he disappeared. His drum tech checked the bathrooms. We’ve checked all the dressing rooms except yours. We’ve searched the dance floor; we’ve looked behind the damn curtains. Nothing.” Sasha balled her fists. “That hormonal little shit.”

“He’s usually not so unprofessional,” Scarlett murmured. When Garrett cleared his throat, she amended her comment. “Okay, his personal behavior is flagrantly unprofessional, but anything having to do with the job? With the music? He’s usually the first person at practice, and he’s never missed a gig.”

When Jack Kirkland arrived and pulled Lukas away for a quick confab, Scarlett, Sasha, and Garrett had one of their own. Sasha nibbled at a nail. “He might very well show up in a couple of minutes tucking in his shirt and wiping pussy off his mouth, but what will we do if he doesn’t?”

“That’s the easiest problem to solve,” Scarlett responded. She gestured to the dance floor. “You can’t throw a stick out there tonight without hitting a great drummer.”

A crafty smile lit Garrett’s face. “Who do you want?”

“Give me a set list,” she asked Garrett. “And something to write with.” Her efficient manager produced both from his breast pocket.

Scarlett tapped the pen against her lip as she considered how to adapt the set list. “Tomas will do it, for sure,” she muttered. “Dave, how about Dave?” she said, referring to Dave Grohl, current Foo Fighters’ front man and past Nirvana drummer.

Garrett’s smile grew. Scarlett knew he was already envisioning how he could spin the situation, and the substitute drummers, to publicize and market the concert DVD they’d be filming tonight. Well, that’s what she paid him to do. Let him earn his paycheck; she had other problems to solve. Sigmund was still in her dressing room, so Scarlett mentally shuffled through the songs in the Ten Inch Screw, Foo Fighters, and Nirvana back catalogs, and then considered the flow of the show and the vibe she wanted to create. Stealing a covert look at Lukas, she crossed a few of the most egregiously sexual songs off the set list, and scribbled in several songs to replace them.

She showed the adapted list to Garrett and Sasha.

Garrett scanned the changes, and then smacked a kiss on the top of Scarlett’s head. “You’re a genius.”

“I’m on it,” Sasha said, already walking away to find the men and propose the idea. “It’s early yet. They’re probably both still sober. Maybe.” She spoke into her headset. “Tell the DJ to keep the music coming. We have a half-hour delay.”

Scarlett listened as Lukas described Stephen to his staff. “Fan out,” he ordered tersely. Lukas sounded as annoyed as she felt.

Stephen, where the hell are you?
When he emerged from whichever little hidey-hole he was undoubtedly fucking someone in, she was going to kick his ass.

“Dim house lights to 50 percent, please,” Sasha hollered into her headset, having no idea if the light tech could actually hear her instructions with the music pounding to every corner of the dance floor. From her position backstage, Sasha saw Scarlett shrug her purple robe into her manager’s arms and take a careful sip of water from one of the dozen or so bottles standing ready.

Scarlett was still shaking off pre-show nausea, and Lukas watching her like a hawk didn’t help. On the other hand, watching her doff that robe had pretty much made her big brother swallow his tongue. She didn’t have anywhere near Lukas’s sensory strength and skill, but even she could feel the reciprocal jolts of lust.

As the house lights dimmed, a flash of blond caught her eye, on the floor just beyond the lip of the stage. Bailey was already in position, laughing, twirling, and finally staggering into the hard-bodied guy standing next to her. He caught her with a laugh, and clamped his hand firmly to her butt.

“Shit.” Which Einstein had forgotten to give Bailey her meds? Um, that Einstein would be her. With everything else going on, with Stephen disappearing, she’d clean forgotten to give Bailey a dose of the medication that would render her immune to the effects of pheromone intoxication. Sidestepping a roadie, Sasha trotted down the backstage stairs, emerged from an unmarked door tucked in the shadows of the dance floor, and hurried over to the other woman. “Bailey?”

“Sasha!” Bailey slurred, her eyes glassy. “Hi, Sasha! This is my friend Sasha. This is… what’s your name again?” Bailey breathed into his muscular chest, her mouth grazing the nipple ring clearly visible under his sheer excuse for a shirt.

“Chadden,” he replied slowly, amusement in his eyes.

“Sorry, Chad. She’s buzzed.”

“No problem, Sasha,” the vamp holding Bailey said, his interest reflected clearly on his face. Chadden was an Underbelly regular. Sasha knew that he knew the rules, but Bailey sure didn’t. Glamour pulsed off of him; he was way too gorgeous for his own good. His long black hair was loose and already damp at the temples, but in the way of vamps, the sweat simply made him more attractive rather than less. “Who is my adorable new pal here?” He grinned down at Bailey. “You’d fit right in my pocket, wouldn’t you, tidbit?”

“No she wouldn’t,” Sasha muttered. “Your pants are too tight.” Frustration boiled. The show was about to start, but she couldn’t just leave Bailey out here on the dance floor to fend for herself. She heard Jack’s deep, smooth voice on the Sebastiani Security communication band. Maybe he had some extra meds he could spare. “Lukas? Jack? Problem,” she said into her headset.

“Go,” Lukas’s tight voice responded.

“Bailey’s intoxicated, didn’t get her meds.”

“Hi, Lukas!” Bailey said giddily, hearing the conversation in her own earpiece.

Even above the noisy crowd, Sasha could sense her brother’s tension crackling over the line.

“Damn it,” she heard Jack say as he joined in.

“Jack? Is that Jack?” Bailey slurred. “Do you know what the women at work call Lukas and Jack? ‘Beef’ and ‘Cake.’” She leaned into Sasha conspiratorially. “‘Beef’ because Lukas is so big, and ‘Cake’ because Jack’s so pretty. Beefcake. Get it? Get it?”

“Yup, I get it,” Sasha said, trying to avoid Bailey’s jabbing elbow.

Bailey tipped her head toward Sasha’s. “Don’t tell them, but a lot of women at work stare at their butts as they walk down the hall.”

“Jesus,” Lukas muttered under his breath.

“Okay, Bailey,” she said loudly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And Jack helped me get this job. Isn’t he the nicest? Sasha?” Bailey repeated when Sasha didn’t respond.

Nuh-uh, not touching that one.

“Sasha?” Lukas barked.

“Sorry, guys.” She swiped away her other headset so she no longer had dueling soundtracks in her head. “I’ve got a missing drummer and two substitutes who, while very talented, haven’t rehearsed dick. The first floor men’s room is already out of condoms. We just had a small grease fire in the kitchen. Three cars are being towed from Reserved Parking at this very minute. Scarlett’s about to barf up all that water she just drank, and I don’t know when the curtain is going up.” She took a deep breath, cursing as Chadden eyed Bailey like she was a tasty amuse-bouche. “Bailey’s out of commission until we get her some meds, and I’m fresh out.”

“Hey, Sasha.” Rafe’s voice joined the conversation. “Meet me back at the soundboard. I’ll take Bailey up to your office, get her some meds, babysit her until they hit. She’ll be back on the floor in a half hour, tops.”

“Do it,” Lukas said curtly.

Putting her other headset back on, she tugged Bailey away from Chadden and his friends to the perimeter of the room where it was less crowded, and started the long trek back to the soundboard. Bailey latched on with both arms, rubbing her cheek against the cups of the leather bikini top Sasha wore as a shirt. Inhaling as they walked, Sasha let the throbbing music, the pulsing lights, and the club’s emotional energy seep into her. The buzz was heightening as people laughed, hugged, danced, drank. Everywhere she looked, people stroked and touched. As soon as Scarlett took the stage, the energy would spike and surge, building through the night, like some invisible giant hand had shaken the club like a bottle of soda and then gleefully unscrewed the top.

Sasha spared a moment’s pity for her brother, standing in such close proximity to Scarlett backstage. Had he seen the set list? Did he know what he was in for? She didn’t know what Scarlett was thinking, but she heartily approved.

A werewolf howl split the air, louder than the music banging through the club. Things were getting raucous, and the show hadn’t even started yet. But so far, a fine tension was keeping everyone behaving in an evolutionary game of Rock, Paper, Scissors: the werewolves had immense physical strength for their size, second only to the valkyries, but both species were more susceptible to incubi and succubi pheromones than the vamps were. Vamps tended toward slender frames but possessed massive personal glamour—and having fangs didn’t hurt. Humans, physically the weakest—chum in the water, really—would actually have the clearest heads in the house, if they took their meds. She looked at Bailey, currently planting a string of tiny kisses along her jaw line.

Some friend she was.

For the next few hours, it would be the gentle sirens sitting at the top of the food chain. Scarlett, with her incomparable voice, was about to take them all on a journey of her choosing.

Why couldn’t Lukas just strap in and enjoy the ride?

***

A helpless shiver wracked Scarlett as Lukas’s body heat bled into hers from where he stood, not two feet behind her. Did he have to stand so close? Her sex clenched at his scent, a wild night forest.

Whoa. Head rush.
She stumbled backwards, and his massive hands steadied her.

“Are you okay?”

She shivered again as his humid breath puffed into the crook of her neck. His fingers momentarily flexed, gently biting into her hips as he steadied her. For a moment, just for a moment, she allowed herself to lean into his body. Into his heat. His… size.

Her eyes widened slightly as she felt the unmistakable erection pressing against her back. If the only thing she had to go on was the expression on his face, she would think that he was contemplating cutting his toenails, or maybe having his taxes done, but his body told a different story completely.

She stepped away. “Thank you.”

“Have you eaten at all today?”

“What?”

“Won’t be much of a show if you drop from hypoglycemia.”

“My blood sugar’s just fine,” she said crossly. “And if I drop, isn’t it your job to catch me?” She stared blindly at the set list duct-taped to the backstage wall. What the hell had she been thinking? Anticipation and dread swam in her stomach. Damn it, she hadn’t factored in her own reaction to the man when she’d crafted the set list. She wasn’t even singing yet, and it was all she could do not to lean toward him like a compass needle seeking true north.

She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. “Hey, sorry,” Dave Grohl said. He eyed Lukas, who didn’t show any sign of stepping back to give them a little room. Shrugging, Dave asked, “Has Stephen showed up yet?”

“No,” Scarlett said. She pushed Dave’s long scraggly bangs out of his face so she could see his eyes. “But even if Stephen were to show up right now, you’re my guy for tonight. Are you okay with the set list?”

He grinned around his ever-present gum. “I’ll muddle through. This place is gonna pop its fuckin’ cork.”

“Excuse me,” Lukas said tightly. He moved a couple of body lengths away, though his eyes didn’t leave her. Scarlett watched his lips move as he talked. Anyone who hadn’t noticed the miniscule, flesh-toned earpiece he wore would probably think he was talking to himself.

“Scarlett?”

She turned back to Dave, whose grin had turned knowing. Her face flaming, she punched him on the shoulder. “What?”

Dave backed away, hands jokingly raised. “Hey, I didn’t say anything but your name. Did I?” he said to Tansy, who’d joined them.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” the bassist replied, taking Dave’s arm and leading him to where Michael stood near the curtain. When she heard them talking Dave through the timing of the band’s entry onto the stage, her stomach clutched. At least someone was thinking. Their opening number, “Desire (Come and Get It)” by Gene Loves Jezebel, had a precision unison start for the drummer and the lead guitar. There was no room for slop, no opportunity to drift in or catch up.

As Tansy explained the countdown to Dave, Scarlett examined the set list once again, shoving down a growing panic. Her body was throbbing already; she was halfway to an orgasm and he’d barely touched her. Where was Sigmund? Who had a pen?

It was too late for second thoughts.
For better or for worse, she’d do her best to bring things to a head tonight, using the most ruthless tool she had at her disposal.

It would help if she could tear her eyes away from the bulge at his crotch.

Then again, why be coy? She was done walking on eggshells. The goose bumps surged once again, each hair standing straight away from her body. This time she let the shiver wrack through her, watched him watch it happen.

His golden brown eyes missed nothing.

She remembered just how much painstaking attention he paid to the details of a woman’s body, how he’d known just how much pressure it took to bring her to that perfect knife edge of pain and pleasure that she now recognized she craved, and had not been able to recapture since. She’d never had a lover to match him, and it was entirely his fault.

When a girl’s first lover’s a sex demon, it’s all downhill from there.

His eyes locked onto hers, his nostrils flaring. She acknowledged it with a quirk of her lips that said, “So? What are you going to do about it?” She mapped his body with her eyes, taking in his big, Frankenstein work boots, the jeans he’d had on earlier in the day, with the same brass button that had pressed into her stomach when he’d backed her against the wall in the hallway, with the same faithful cupping of the bulge at his crotch. The sweater he wore looked expensive, soft, but slightly too small for his linebacker shoulders. It clearly wasn’t his. She moved up to his face—to the firm jaw line, the crooked nose, the fine lines that time and responsibility had creased into the corners of his eyes and mouth. The sharp planes were stubbled by a beard, and his heavy eyebrows were furrowed with annoyance. Other than the borrowed sweater, the only soft thing on the man was his tabby cat hair.

He may have thought the wardrobe helped him blend into the background, but if he did, he was delusional. He was too big, too much a force of nature, and as usual, she couldn’t manage to drag her eyes away from the son of a bitch when she should be getting ready for what suddenly felt like the most important show of her life.

She interpreted emotions with her voice, so… she’d interpret. She would throw down the gauntlet in a way he couldn’t possibly ignore.

***

Red, orange, and yellow lights exploded against the huge digital screens covering the back and side walls of the stage as the band opened the show, hitting the first note crisply. The cheering crescendoed as recognition of who was sitting at the drum kit rippled through the crowd. When Scarlett sauntered onto the stage, they positively roared, nearly drowning out the sound of the band. Over his headset, Lukas heard Sasha order, “Levels!”

Before she could finish the sentence, Randy rapped out, “I’m on it.”

The sound ratchetted up, a match held to a powder keg. The metal sculpture surrounding the stage seemed to undulate as Scarlett waved to the crowd, called out a quick “hello!” and made her way to the spotlight at center stage. There was no posing, no rock star preening. Instead, she quickly got to business, planting her feet with one foot slightly in front of the other like she was bracing herself against the firestorm that swirled around her. The music thrummed and pulsed, and the crowd swayed and reached for her before she even opened her mouth.

And the first words she crooned wrapped around his dick like a prehensile tongue. Fifteen seconds into the show and he was already locking his knees.

Lukas gritted his teeth as the yearning wave of energy pulsed through him, muting outgoing communications on his headset so everyone on the security channel wasn’t treated to his increasingly loud and labored breathing. Blood rushed to his face and he could feel each individual heartbeat pound into his groin. Even the tug of his hand through his own hair felt hypercharged against the nerve endings in his scalp. His stomach sank as he skimmed the set list taped to the wall: “Do Ya Wanna Touch Me.” “Maneater.” “I Touch Myself.” “Too Drunk to Fuck.” “Stripped.” “Erotic City.”

Scarlett had sex on the brain.

Concentrate.
The minute he allowed himself to enjoy the forbidden feelings raging through him, the second he actually entertained following up on them, he wasn’t doing his job. Thankfully, Jack was doing his. His partner’s bright blonde head was in position in the pit at Scarlett’s feet. Sasha stood immediately to Jack’s right. Nearly a dozen undercover Sebastiani Security workers stood near them in the jostling crowd.