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  All he cared about was the woman whose silver-blonde hair fell in disarray down her back and framed her incredible body. Not to mention her gorgeous, heart-shaped face. He couldn’t stop staring at his escort for the night. Damn, when had being with a paid woman made his cock jerk to attention and his heart do a slow somersault in his chest all at the same time?

  Of course all the call girls he’d hired had been beautiful, that was a given. But none had affected him like Tiffany. None had shot down the womanizing J.R. with such ease, nor made him catch Amos breath on first sight and want to take advantage of the fact he’d paid for more than just social chatter.

  He’d already had a raging hard-on at leaving Tiffany in his penthouse while he’d washed away his sweat from the concert. All he’d wanted was to get even sweatier with her beneath him, moaning his name.

  When she’d stepped into the shower with him, all tangible shred of self-control had evaporated as surely as the steam sucked into the overhead exhaust fan. He hadn’t cared about how many men she’d serviced before him. All he’d cared about was how much he wanted to sink into her sweet pussy and suck her delectable breasts.

  Bloody hell. If he wasn’t careful he’d be keeping Tiffany, or whatever the hell her nonworking name was, around far longer than appropriate. Except he wouldn’t let that become a reality, not when Jasmine noted his every move and every reaction to other women.

  He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, as much from the damn erection in his pants as it was for the guilt that pulled at him every which way for putting any woman at risk.

  Jasmine was mentally unstable. It was the biggest reason he never dated a woman more than a handful of times. It was also a reason he now avoided groupies at all cost. Jasmine had been one of those beautiful groupies he’d spent some time with after a concert, wining and dining her before taking her home to bed. She’d imagined that one time meant they were committed to one another. She still imagined she’d caught him in her sticky web and trapped him for good.

  Not. A. Chance.

  He was only glad he always used protection, because he’d bet everything he had that she would have played the pregnancy card real fast.

  He dragged his stare away from the gorgeous silver-haired siren next to him and stared out the tinted window. He loved his freedom. Loved having no other responsibility in his life other than writing songs and singing to his fans. As for children… they were a long way down his list of future accomplishments.

  Yet, even with that knowledge, he was drawn to Tiffany, wanted almost desperately to get to know her fully. She was a woman with many layers, and he wanted to delve deep and uncover her every gorgeous facet.

  “Are you okay?”

  Tiffany’s soft, husky voice dragged him from the whirlpool of introspections and made him realize how easily she’d read him. His heart warmed and a foolish part of him also yearned to have her know him more than skin-deep.

  He pushed aside the silly fantasy. “Yeah, sorry. I’m all good.”

  The fantasy of having Tiffany in his bed was more than enough.

  She smiled and put a hand on his jeans-clad leg. He almost groaned at her touch, which seemingly scorched him through the denim and onto his skin, a burn that travelled like quicksilver straight to his dick.

  “You looked like you were a hundred miles away.” Her beautiful, icy blue eyes reminded him of the glow that was generated from a blue flame. “Is it a woman?”

  He sucked in a breath. Did her clients often fuck her in their bedroom then gaze wistfully into the distance thinking of some other woman… a girlfriend, maybe even a wife? He grimaced.

  He didn’t belong in that category, no matter what Jasmine’s twisted mind told her. “No. I don’t have another woman waiting for me at home.”

  Tiffany’s pearly white teeth gleamed in the intermittent street lights. “I’m glad.”

  He smiled in return, his chest tight with unfamiliar emotion. “So am I.”

  Otherwise, I’d never have met you.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Tiffany tried not to read into anything Amos had said. After all, he was nothing more than her client who’d paid big money to take her into his bed.

  Except, if what he said was true, he’d never paid for sex before, and presently didn’t have a relationship with another woman.

  Despite herself, she was flattered and more than a little bit thrilled. She was used to being admired, but that her rock idol also seemed to genuinely like her was more than she’d ever expected. That he was also a genuinely decent man was just a bonus.

  The limousine climbed to the top of a summit, where big houses with their big windows took advantage of Point Piper’s views, before the driver stopped in front of a sprawling, white mansion. She swallowed back another surge of anxiety. Sex with strangers she could do, but socializing with a crowd of Amos’ avid fans… it was intimidating to say the least.

  The chauffeur opened their passenger door, and then Amos led her to the grand entrance of big double doors.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked, as though sensing her trepidation.

  She nodded, forcing back control. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  A doorman pulled open the front door. She managed a smile and dragged in a steadying breath as easily a hundred people, milling in the huge room in front of them, stopped their chatter and turned to see the guest of honor in the doorway. The chatter then became a faint roar.

  Wrapping a protective arm around her, Amos stepped into the melee. But as he stopped and spoke to the different people he knew, introducing her to everyone as his ‘date,’ she was made to feel more comfortable that she imagined possible.

  And, although she knew it was an act, when he flashed a knowing grin, or squeezed her shoulders in reassurance, she was sucked in by his charm and charisma, made warm by his attention.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked when they walked away from yet another lot of fans and had a moment to themselves.

  She smiled up at him, and he brushed his thumb over her lip before she answered. “I’m enjoying seeing how much your fans love you.”

  A waiter with a tray of champagne flutes headed their way, and Amos passed her a glass before he secured one for himself. She took a deep swallow of the bubbles, and Amos leaned down to kiss the moisture from her lips.

  “It tastes better off your lips than from a glass,” he murmured.

  She giggled, already feeling lightheaded and as if she’d drunk more than one sip. “You’re good for my ego.”

  His eyes glowed. “Believe me, I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

  Her throat dried at his intensity. Before she could think of a vaguely sophisticated reply, a suave, thirty-something man broke free from a group of suited, executive types. “Amos.”

  Amos nodded. “Stephen.”

  The other man arched a blond brow. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

  Amos shrugged. “I must admit I considered forgoing the evening. But I’ve never let my fans down, and I don’t intend starting now.”

  Stephen glanced her way, his stare cool and more than a little dismissive, before he focused once again on Amos. “True, but you were late… and now appear more preoccupied than usual with your… friend.”

  Tiffany hid a frown. Why did men like Stephan have a problem with her being a call girl? Amos was single and rich, and was fortunate enough to be able to spend his money however he liked.

  Amos’ expression darkened, but he kept his tone even when he said, “What man wouldn’t be preoccupied in the company of this gorgeous woman?”

  Stephen nodded sagely. “True.” He swept a hand toward the end of the room, which looked more like a huge foyer of some grand hotel. “We’ve set up a signing table over there. The rest of the band is waiting for you.”

  Amos nodded, though going by the tension settling across his face, he was reluctant to leave her. “I’d better get to it then.” He turned to her, his stare assessing. �
�Tiffany, I’ll leave you in the care of my manager.”

  She nodded and forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself.”

  He bent and pressed another kiss to her lips. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  She nodded, watching as he then moved through the crowd.

  “You’re a lucky woman.”

  She turned back to Amos’ manager. “Yes, I am.”

  Stephen nodded. “I am too. I’ve been managing Amos and Frankenstein’s Blood since the start, a little over five years now.”

  “Really?” The jerk made it sound as if he was the one who’d made them famous.

  His eyes hardened. “Just remember you’ll only get a night with him. You’d better enjoy him while you can.”

  A shiver of unease trickled down her spine. Was that a warning? A message for her to stay clear of Amos after their one night together? She brushed aside the doubts.

  She was letting her damned anxieties get to her. “I fully intend to.”

  “Good.” He looked appeased. “Fucking a stranger is one thing, but having a girlfriend holding him down and distracting him on tour is quite another.”

  Her lip curled. “Seems it’s not his best interests you’re worried about, but your own.”

  Draining the last of her drink, she turned, and accepted another champagne flute before she wandered away from the obnoxious man and through the crowd. Many of the fans, male and female, wore the black Frankenstein’s Blood t-shirt Amos wore. Except he’d looked perfect in it, while everyone else looked washed out.

  Amos had a certain swagger, a cool vibe that was as charismatic as his gorgeous looks. Not to mention the fact he could sing the pants off any song.

  Not that she was biased or anything.

  She tossed back a mouthful of the champagne, letting the bubbles warm her veins and loosen the tension across her shoulders.

  An older man in a suit squeezed past her in the throng, his hand moving to rest on her collarbone and his eyes lingering approval at what he saw. She hid a frown and pushed past him, not giving him a chance to make a move.

  She knew the type. Mature enough to know his way around a woman’s body, good-looking enough to get most of those women he wanted into his bedroom. But mostly, successful enough to draw attention from the few women who wouldn’t otherwise have been interested.

  You still couldn’t afford me.

  Besides which, Amos was the only man—client—she needed to impress. Draining the last of her champagne, she handed it to an obliging waiter who offered her a full flute in return. She declined. She was a professional worker not a guest. She wouldn’t let her reputation or that of her agency down by drinking herself into a blathering mess.

  She stood back and watched the crowded signing table. Amos smiled and spoke to his fans at the appropriate moments, and yet she couldn’t fail to notice he looked distracted. He autographed a CD case and looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Her breath rushed out even as her insides melted. She dragged her stare away. She had to distance herself from him, had to ensure she kept things strictly professional.

  He paid her bills, nothing more. The pleasure he’d also given her was just an unexpected windfall.

  Someone put on the loud music of Frankenstein’s Blood. Her tension eased and she swayed to the beat and smiled. The afterparty wasn’t half bad after all. Her favorite band never failed to put her in a great mood. A few more people danced, and soon half the mezzanine floor was filled with people dancing and grinding.

  “Hey.”

  She swung around to view a young man—late twenties at best—with his formal dark jacket, red silk shirt, and dark slacks.

  His teeth gleamed white in the darkened room, and he had to all but shout when he asked, “You’re here with Amos, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He leaned close, his body inches from hers and his mouth close to her ear when he sighed theatrically and announced, “I should have known. He has flawless taste in women.” He looked down at her, his eyes glinting. “But they never last long.”

  She bit back a laugh and brushed aside lingering envy for the woman who’d one day snare Amos. Was this yet another man giving her a warning?

  “I won’t hold that against him.”

  For obvious reasons.

  The man’s grin widened, his approval all too clear. “He’d be crazy to move on from you. But, if he does, I’d love to meet up with you sometime.” Before she had the time to refute the idea, he added, “My name’s Harry Madossa. I own the chain of Heavy-Weight fitness centers across Australia and New Zealand.”

  She nodded. She knew the place. It was one of the gyms where Brandy and Scarlet had often worked out.

  He leaned closer but still had to shout, “I can afford you. But only if you’re interested.”

  Somehow, his gentlemanly need for her approval before he became her client left her feeling a little sick inside. Exposed. He’d obviously used the VIP Desire Agency services in the past and had seen the portfolio of photos of each woman. “You’ll have to contact the agency and talk to Maisey.”

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  His stare jerked to someone behind her and he swung away with a brief smile and wave. She turned to face Amos, her belly sinking. This was not what she wanted her client to hear.

  “Soliciting on our date, Tiffany?” he asked.

  Before she could find a suitable response, he took her in his arms. A hand on her ass pushed her against the thick wedge of his groin, his other hand splaying behind her shoulders as he gritted out, “You’re not dating anyone but me for the foreseeable future.”

  She gulped at his expression, at his stiff posture, glittering eyes, and his locked jaw that screamed possessiveness. What’d brought this on all of a sudden?

  She tilted her head back. “You don’t get to have any say on my client list.”

  His eyes darkened and her breath quickened. God, what was it about this man that made her want to please him, to acquiesce. Maybe it was because she’d yet to see this side of him, yet to fully witness the strength of his emotions.

  “We’ll see about that, kitten.”

  The song ended and a rock ballad took over, one of her favorite Frankenstein’s Blood songs. He swung her around, an adept dancer who had her automatically following his lead. Her breasts hardened as he looked down at her with more intensity than any client had the right to show.

  She blinked. “Why do you care so much, you hardly know me?”

  A flashbulb lit up the room and his face darkened at the media intrusion, even as he rasped, “We’ll discuss this at the hotel.”

  “You’ve finished the signing?” she asked, voice breathless at the thought of once again being underneath his hard, gorgeous body.

  “Right now, I don’t much care about the damn signing.”

  “Your fans—”

  “Can suck it up.” His eyes blazed with intensity. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “After I use the ladies’ room.” She managed a smile. She needed a second to collect herself and get her nerves under control.

  He nodded sharply. “I’ll be waiting, don’t take long.”

  She felt his eyes on her the whole way and, once inside the ladies’, was torn between relief at having a wall between them, and a need to have his all-consuming gaze on her once again. She splashed some cool water on her wrists, her anxiety dimming.

  Where had the gentleman singer gone she’d met just a few hours earlier? She’d had a few scenarios of clients whose lust was all-consuming, but never on a first date. And never by someone who could have just about any woman he wanted.

  She dried her hands and looked into the mirror. She couldn’t deny she’d been blessed with stunning good looks, enhanced by expertly applied kohl to her eyes and shiny, cherry-red gloss to her lips. But there were plenty of beautiful women in the world. It wasn’t enough of a reason for Amos to want her with such… ferocity.

  She shivered at the images flashing acros
s her mind at their recent lovemaking. Amos was all alpha male and hot as sin. She’d pinch herself if it wasn’t for the fact their relationship was strictly professional.

  Yeah, don’t ever forget that. Amos isn’t interested in you on a personal level. He wants to sate his lust, nothing more.

  She finger-combed her hair. It really was bedroom tousled. Amos’ fans would know the reason behind his late appearance. She blew out a slow breath. At least he’d upheld his bad boy image. The women would probably go even crazier over him.

  She uncapped her lip gloss from her clutch purse and leaned forward to reapply it as two other women clattered into the ladies’ room, their voices loud and slurred.

  “Amos is so friggin’ hot, I almost creamed my panties when he looked my way.”

  “Oh, please, everyone knows he was craning his neck to look for that blonde piece of fluff he came here with.”

  Tiffany recapped the lip gloss as the women went into the stalls side by side, neither one of them noticing her. They were too busy with their rabid gossip.

  “Who could blame him, that woman is frigging gorgeous.”

  “According to J.R., she’s a hooker, clearly not girlfriend material.” The other woman giggled. “Besides, why the hell would Amos need to pay for a fuck when we’d do him for free?”

  “He could have us both at the same time.”

  As the women snorted at their own joke, Tiffany fled from the ladies’ room back into the crowd, her heart sinking to her toes and her belly tight with despair. Why did other women with their normal lives always make her feel so unclean? She grabbed a drink and gulped it down, careless of the hit of alcohol. She wanted only to wash away the flurry of panic once again filling her from the inside out.

  How many other people in the room knew she was Amos’ escort? Bad enough the grapevine meant she’d put up with intense dislike from any number of other women at the afterparty, but to have the men openly ogle her as though she was a piece of meat at the markets… suddenly she hated this feeling of being public property.

  But that’s what you are. Men buy your body. And women are threatened by you.