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  He secured his boxer briefs and pants over his softening cock. Blowing out a slow breath, his heavy-lidded gaze returned to her mouth. “When I said we’d have an unforgettable night, I wasn’t thinking only about the sex.”

  “It’s what I’m good at… what you pay me for.”

  All slumbering satisfaction slid off him like water from a sheet of glass. “I know you want men to see you as a sex object, but I’m thinking there’s a whole lot more depth to you than that. I know there is.”

  Her chin tilted. “Maybe you’re right. But it’s not what you pay me for, is it?”

  He frowned, but when the stretch limo slowed, he rasped, “We’re here.”

  He escorted her toward a dingy little brick building on the corner of the busy city street. Inside the building was no bigger or better, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character. A wood-paneled bar ran the length of the back of the room and, nearby, a piano tinkled out a jazz song while patrons took up the bar stools and deep sunken lounges.

  Amos put his arm around her and guided her down some thick wooden stairs to a dark underground room where candles flickered on round tables with crimson tablecloths. Most of the tables were already full, but Amos had reserved their place right near a stage at the front.

  Once the skimpily dressed waitress in a ruffled black miniskirt and cut-off white blouse, left them with their menus, Tiffany looked around the room with excitement buzzing deep in her belly.

  “This is all so exciting,” she said, turning to him with a smile.

  His teeth glinted along with his eyes behind the candlelight. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

  She leaned forward, her hand curling around his thigh. Even under his slacks she felt his muscles clench in response. “You come here often?”

  “No, it’s my first time too. But, after hearing all the hype, I promised myself I’d take someone special here with me one day.”

  He was calling her special.

  Warmth radiated through her chest and she was left feeling giddy with joy and stupid hope. “I’m glad it was me you chose to bring here.”

  His hand enveloped hers on his thigh. “I couldn’t imagine experiencing this with anyone else.”

  He bent his head and she leaned even closer for a slow, lingering kiss. Though what they shared wasn’t openly passionate in the shadowy, but crowded, room, their intimacy was startling. She pulled back, wondering if her eyes shone as clearly as his did. This didn’t feel at all like what a client and an escort shared, not one bit.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  She bit into her bottom lip. It wouldn’t do to let him know how precarious their relationship was getting. It was only with Toby that she had allowed her feelings to slip, and had then lived to regret it. She straightened in her seat, putting distance between them. She wouldn’t go through an emotional rollercoaster, not a second time.

  She doubted her heart would recover.

  The back of her neck prickled again, and she breathed in slow and deep even as she fought off the urge to peer around and find whoever watched them from the shadows. In her kind of work, gaining a stalker wasn’t anything new. But if she let Maisey in on her suspicions, she had no doubt the madam would instantly sic her chauffeur-come-occasional-bodyguard onto Tiffany.

  That was the very last thing she wanted.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Amos repeated.

  She used every bit of her acting abilities to send him a full-wattage smile. She then used even more of that ability to withdraw her hand from his thigh when everything in her yearned for the connection.

  The cabaret show started and her pulse returned to normal. Her shoulders relaxed and her stomach muscles unclenched. She’d never be safer or more secure with a man like Amos. It was time to enjoy the show.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Amos probably should have concentrated on the cabaret show a little more, but it was next to impossible for him to notice anyone but Tiffany. He had no idea what it was that drew him to her, but her allure was irresistible.

  He’d always had a weakness for blondes, but that had little to nothing to do with the way he felt about her. She was the whole package. Beautiful, sweet but sassy, with an edge of vulnerability that he occasionally glimpsed beneath her strength and the shell she’d built around her heart.

  He took a swallow of his scotch. What he’d do to crack into that shell and expose the woman he so desperately wanted to get to know.

  The scantily clad waitress placed their plate of food in front of them. He nodded thanks, but wasn’t even slightly tempted by the pork cutlets with garlic scalloped potatoes and green beans.

  He hid a smile when Tiffany ate her dinner with gusto, her expression animated as she watched the show, in-between sliding him furtive glances he couldn’t fail but notice. Of course he noticed; he hadn’t looked anywhere else but at her since being here.

  Still, he’d also picked up an odd vibe from her and, for a moment, thought she might be having a panic attack. Her pinched, pale face and wide eyes had immediately alerted him. Lord only knew he’d suffered them enough times as a child after his parents had died in a car crash, which he’d survived.

  Music had become his life saver, and given him the strength needed to push past his anxieties.

  But not everyone was as lucky.

  Perhaps Tiffany didn’t like overcrowded, small spaces like this one? Except not even a minute after he’d asked if she was okay, her anxiety had dissipated like smoke into the air.

  He cut and then pronged a piece of his pork chop and chewed it thoughtfully. He’d keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t succumb to any deep-rooted phobias she might carry around. Because the one thing he wanted more than anything, aside from the woman in question, was to take care of her.

  The show carried on without his attention. His gaze strayed back time and time again to Tiffany’s profile, noting the delicate but aristocratic sweep of her nose, her high cheekbones and jutting chin, framed to perfection by her long, expertly mussed silver-blonde hair. She was every artist’s wet dream, a beautiful woman who stimulated every part of him, including his muse.

  His stare dipped to her naughty outfit, one he couldn’t wait to later peel off her body. His dick jerked against the seam of his pants and he resisted an urge to reposition his anatomy into a more comfortable position.

  Evidently having Tiffany suck him dry wasn’t near enough. He wanted to plunge between her thighs, then turn her around and take her from behind, his balls slapping her ass and his fingers speared through her hair.

  Everyone at the tables suddenly clapped and hollered as the cabaret show ended. At least he didn’t have to stifle his aroused groan. The dancers and singers on stage took their bows, before Tiffany turned to him with a flushed face and bright eyes. “That was fantastic.”

  Was it?

  He dipped his head in agreement. “A great show.”

  She arched a disbelieving brow. “So which part of the cabaret was your favorite?”

  He grinned, not even pretending interest. “This bit now where they’re all bowing and about to leave the stage.”

  “Well you missed a great show.”

  He shrugged. “I preferred the scenery over here.”

  She didn’t drop her stare, but he noted the twin flags of color on her cheeks. He’d bet she rarely blushed, and it was pleasing to know he had that effect on her.

  She glanced at his plate. “You’re not hungry either?”

  He looked down. Damn. He’d had one bite of his pork and that was it. Evidently he really had been too distracted by Tiffany and the washing machine cycle of his thoughts.

  He shrugged. “I only eat when I’m hungry.” He leaned forward and murmured, “And right now the only thing I want to sample is between your thighs.”

  Her breath hissed, a deeper tinge of pink washing over her cheeks and her eyes glittering. “You sound like the b
ig, bad wolf, about to eat me.”

  He stood. “Then let’s get out of here, Little Red Riding Hood.”

  She giggled, snaring his hand as she stood too, before following his long-legged stride around the tables and chairs and up the stairs. He knew he was rushing her, but he legitimately couldn’t get her home fast enough—the journey was already going to take way too long—and completely corrupt her.

  But the moment he hit the ground floor level, he froze.

  He tore his stare away from the woman at the bar to focus on Tiffany. “Kitten, would you mind waiting at one of the lounges for a minute?”

  Curiosity shone from her eyes, but she didn’t ask questions and, for the first and undoubtedly only time, he was glad she was a call girl and not his girlfriend. Glad she knew better than to question his every move.

  Tiffany nodded. “Sure.”

  The moment she sank into the nearest, squishy lounge, he strode over to Jasmine. The dark-haired woman sat languidly on a bar stool, facing their way, idly stirring her green drink with a cocktail umbrella.

  He bit back a curse. Damn it to hell, he couldn’t keep being the nice guy to fucked-up women because of his mother’s death. He couldn’t be responsible for this woman’s well-being because guilt still riddled him for not saving his mother.

  “What the hell are you doing, following me here?” He scowled down at her.

  She blinked up at him and beneath her innocent eyes lurked the damaged soul he prayed wouldn’t hurt anyone he knew. Her cloying perfume drifted to him, reminding him of picked roses that’d sat too long in the sun.

  “Don’t you mean, what are you doing here with her?” She angled her head toward Tiffany, a flare of unfettered jealousy leaking from her stare.

  He moved to stand between Tiffany and Jasmine. “She was my date for the night. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Liar!” She pulled free a folded piece of newspaper from inside her bra, unfolding it with savage hands before holding it up for him to see. “You were with her last night too.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Did you ever look at me like you look at her?”

  Amos stared at the photo and article that’d been printed by the local rag in record time. Damn it all to hell, he’d completely forgotten about the flash that’d gone off last night at his afterparty. The picture revealed his obsession with Tiffany as he looked down at her while they danced. He genuinely looked as if he was ready to fuck her and slide a wedding ring on her finger all at the same time.

  He shrugged, striving for casual. “What can I say, a photo doesn’t lie.”

  Jasmine tucked the article back into her bra with exaggerated care, before she sucked some of the green liquor up her straw. “I don’t recall you ever looking at any of your other dates the way you do with this one.” She sighed. “She is beautiful, I’ll give her that, but you must know she’s nothing but a filthy little whore.”

  His hands clenched involuntarily, his teeth gritting against an urge to hurl abuse. It would be just what this psychopath wanted. And though Tiffany might well be a whore, she was the most beautiful woman inside and out he’d ever had the fortune to know. “Stay away from her.”

  Jasmine giggled, but it wasn’t anything joyous. “Wow. You really do have it bad for her.”

  She turned and placed her empty glass onto the bar with a sharp clack. She twisted back to face him, her lips curling with distaste. She looked more like a witch than she did the gorgeous girl his body had once responded to.

  Once, being the operative word.

  She slowly crossed her boot-clad legs. “You know I can’t let you be with her.” At his rushed exhalation, she leaned toward him, showing off her generous cleavage as she added, “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

  There was no reasoning with this woman, she was barely even sane. “No, I’m not yours, and never will be.” He’d protect Tiffany from this madwoman with his life if need be. “Now leave me the hell alone, and go find yourself some other poor bastard to harass.”

  “You know you can’t be with her twenty-four seven.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” he ground out the words.

  He leaned forward this time, no longer caring about Jasmine’s fragile mental state. All he cared about was Tiffany, and absolutely no one threatened her.

  “If I see you near her again, don’t think I won’t do whatever it takes to protect her.”

  Jasmine blanched, her eyes glittering with helpless rage. “Are you threatening me?”

  He hid a grimace of distaste. She clearly didn’t like it when the shoe was on the other foot. He straightened. “Touch even one hair on her head and you’ll discover I’m a man of my word.”

  He twisted away from the women he could barely stomach. But as he made his way back to Tiffany, Jasmine said loud enough for him to hear, “We’re meant to be together.”

  *

  Tiffany ignored the burning eyes of the dark-haired woman who’d monopolized Amos’ time, even as a ripple of unease moved up and down her spine. Something didn’t feel right about that woman. Or maybe Tiffany was just being overprotective and a little bit… jealous.

  But of course he’d have attractive women just like the brunette after him at every turn; it was his due as a famous rock star.

  “Another rabid fan?” she asked as he stopped in front of her.

  “Something like that.”

  She hid a frown as she stood. Something definitely wasn’t right. But as he put an arm around her waist and led her to the exit doors, her concerns faded as she melted against him and luxuriated in their closeness.

  In the chauffeured limo she snuggled even closer and tilted back her head to accept his light kisses that suggested much deeper, fiercer ones to come. She shivered. No matter her growing feelings for this man, she’d do her job and do it well, and enjoy the short time she’d have with him. Not to mention take pleasure in the fact the faceless William had been replaced with Amos.

  He curled his arm around her and she wilted against his strength. Tiredness swamped over her and she was half-asleep by the time the limousine slowed down and Amos murmured, “We’re here.”

  She climbed out and stood gawping at the building, which looked more like a warehouse than any home she’d seen. “This is where you live?” She squeaked.

  He grinned. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  She clasped his upper arm and he shortened his stride as he walked up steps and approached a big wooden door. Unlocking it and swinging it open, he flicked a switch and half a dozen lights fizzed into being on the high beamed ceiling above them.

  Her eyes widened. A huge stainless steel kitchen took up residence on a far wall. A lounge area with red leather modular chairs faced a huge flat screen television. A big red and black swirling rug softened the marble-look polished concrete floor.

  The floor was a huge expanse, dotted here and there by interesting art sculptures, large vases and square tables. And behind some latticed artwork, she made out gym equipment: weights, a treadmill, punching bag, and bench press.

  “You’d get lost in here,” she said, turning to him.

  He nodded. “I like my space, and being that I work in the city, coming home is something I look forward to every night. A place to stretch out, unwind, and relax.”

  “I bet.”

  He grinned. “Come, I’ll show you my loft.”

  “Your bedroom?”

  He nodded. “There’s that, yes, but I also have my office up there.”

  Heading toward the acrylic staircase, she looked up at the floor above, which took up less than a third of the space of the ground floor. It left the rest of the vaulted ceiling free, giving a sense of limitless space.

  She followed him upstairs and into a good sized sitting room that reminded her of an indoor patio. She smiled. She could imagine him sitting up here, drinking a coffee and surveying his domain.

  He opened his carved wooden bedroom door. A big skyl
ight overhead showcased the night sky with its scattering of twinkling stars. She could also imagine lying on his huge, four-poster king bed and looking up into deep space.

  “I love it.”

  He stepped behind her, his arms going around her waist. “I never wanted to share this with anyone, until now.”

  She twisted in his embrace and looked up at him. The lights in the open area splashed just a little illumination inside his bedroom, but it was enough to witness the serious glint in his stare.

  “You’ve never brought anyone here before?”

  He shook his head. “Never. Not even my band members. This is my separation from everything business.”

  “No… girlfriends?”

  “No. Only you.”

  She blinked, feeling discombobulated and out of sorts. No wonder he’d taken her to a hotel the first night.

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Mm. And I want nothing more than to ravish you right now.”

  “Then what’s stopping you?” Damn, was the high-pitched voice really hers?

  “Nothing will stop me, but not here. I’ve made arrangements to take you elsewhere.”

  She frowned. It had to be ten or eleven o’clock at night, where could he possibly take her now?

  He grinned at seeing her confusion. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She followed him out of his bedroom, past the sitting room and another closed door which had to be his office, to narrow treads that led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Amos took to the steps like he’d done it a thousand times before, pushing the trapdoor up and stepping through.

  He took her hand as she stepped onto the flat roof, and she pressed her other hand to her mouth at seeing the big, dark helicopter sitting on the roof like a lazy, overgrown dragonfly.

  “Here’s our ride,” Amos said, amusement filling his voice.

  A strange feeling of unreality came over her, like the scene was playing out for someone else, someone far more fortunate. Someone worthy of this sort of attention.

  She turned to him. “Are you serious?”

  He grinned and nodded. “Yes.” He clasped her hand and stepped toward the flying beast. “I couldn’t be more serious.”