It was the left one who had spoken; I noticed she had a tattoo on her chest that said "Tiffany". The other one had a similar tattoo, but it said "Amanda". They probably got mixed up often enough—and wore revealing dresses enough—that they decided to get permanent nametags inked onto their chests.

"Oops, sorry. I can be a klutz sometimes," I said.

"That’s obvious," Tiffany said.

I was more interested in finding the Siren than I was in her response, so I craned my neck to look past them down the new hallway I’d entered. There was a door at the end with a red "EXIT" sign above it. Other than the conspicuous green door on the left next to the twins, there was only a set of restrooms along the right wall. I scratched my head, wondering if I’d taken the wrong path. "Hey, do you guys know where I can find the lead singer?"

The girls exchanged looks between one another. "He’s busy right now. And he’ll probably be busy for the rest of the night," Tiffany said with an air of smugness. "We can tell him you stopped by though."

I narrowed my brows. "You know him?"

"Uh. Yes," Tiffany said, condescension dripping from her voice. "We’re like this." She crossed her middle finger over her forefinger.

"Like this," Amanda echoed, mimicking the same gesture.

I eyed them doubtfully. I noticed on the green door behind them that there was a silver star mounted above the center.

"Is he in there?" I asked. "Are you guys waiting for him?"

"That’s right," Tiffany said. She and her sister each crossed their arms in front of their large chests, clearly becoming impatient with my questions. "Like I said, we’ll tell him you stopped by. So hurry and run along now." She made shooing motions with her hand. "I suggest you fix your dress while you’re at it."

Groupies.

I probably should’ve realized it sooner, but I went to shows for the music and the crowd, not the hotties in the band. I’d never been backstage before, but it was all starting to make sense now. While I had to pick a lock and avoid detection to get back here, they probably flirted their way past security for a chance at having a threesome with a rock star. Whereas I was chosen, they probably weren’t. "Fix yours first. Get some self-respect while you’re at it." I stuck my tongue at her.

Tiffany gasped. A grimace on her face, she raised her hand and pulled her shoulder back. For the second time tonight, I was going to be smacked across the cheek, but this one was going to be much harder. Tiffany swung her arm at me. "You bitc—"

The door opened and a large hand shot out and grasped Tiffany’s arm. A tall, imposing figure stepped out from the entrance.

He was wearing a fresh pair of black leather pants, but he hadn’t yet replaced the shirt that had been unceremoniously shredded from his body earlier. With his sculpted muscles, rippling abs, and the tattoos along his arms and chest exposed, the ache I’d experienced before returned and amped up to a painful degree. His olive-toned skin was damp, and his silky hair draping along his shoulders looked wet and tousled in a deliciously sexy way, making me wonder if he’d just gotten out of a shower.

"I’m disappointed," he said to Tiffany. The cool, controlled tone sent a heated shiver through my core. "You’re not playing nice."

She looked up at him, speechless. "I—I’m s-sorry." Her other hand shaking, she pointed a finger toward me. "She started it."

Those dark eyes shifted to me and pierced me with a searing gaze. "You," he said, his voice rough yet velvety.

It was one thing imagining him, but it was a whole different thing being in his presence. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me but he carried himself with an air of authority befitting someone much older. Someone world-experienced. Scarred, but not jaded. I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

I’d met my fair share of hot guys, but I’d never met one hot enough to unsettle my composure. This Adonis in leather pants was proving to be the exception.

His sharply angled brows raised slightly. "How did you get back here? I was about to tell the guard to let you in."

I tried my best to keep my voice steady. "I, uh, picked the lock."

His gaze intensified. I suddenly felt exposed and naked before him. Vulnerable. As if he had direct access to my innermost private thoughts. Could he see his effect on me?

I thought I’d be crushed beneath the weight of that stare, but a hint of a smile touched the corners of his lips. "Interesting. You like getting into trouble, don’t you?"

I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to my lockpicking skills or my life in general."Only the good kind," I said, trying my damnedest to steel myself against his allure. "I didn’t start the trouble back here though."

His smile faded, and he turned his attention back to Tiffany—who was probably on the verge of wetting herself in more ways than one. He dipped his nose close to her ear and sniffed her neck like a predator assessing the fear in its prey.

She closed her eyes and released a faint noise that sounded like something between a moan and a yelp.

"You lied to me," he growled.

Her eyes widened. A look of terror flashed across her face. "I—I . . ."

"That’s strike one," he warned, his tone wielding a dangerous edge. He released his hold on Tiffany and her arm hung limply by her side. He looked at me again and narrowed his brows. "You’re not hurt, are you?"

The deep concern in his voice caught me off guard. "Um . . . nope."

Other than almost getting punched and stabbed during your show and now almost getting bitch-slapped. . . no, of course not.

His eyebrows remained furrowed. "You sure? Your clothes are ripped. And you’re not wearing shoes."

His left brow had a diagonal slash across the middle. The scar only added to his mysterious allure, and I briefly wondered how he got it. Maybe he was a fighter that moonlighted as a rocker. Judging by the conditioning of his body, I could imagine him throwing punches in a boxing ring or grappling in a cage or even riding bare-chested on a steed with a sword in his hand. He certainly had the hair for the latter—his dark locks could probably make the heroes on the covers of my mom’s old romance books jealous. I could also see him in my bed wrestling me beneath the sheets—both of us, hot, sweaty, and naked.

"Yeah . . . it’s kind of a long story. I could tell you in private, though."


Tags: Priscilla West Forever Billionaire Romance
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