Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3)

by Jaine Diamond

  Then Ronan showed the guys around, without my help, while I eavesdropped, listening to them discuss the security concerns in my house.

  Apparently, Ronan had many.

  They headed into the garage and I headed upstairs to change out of my yoga clothes.

  It was incredibly aggravating how men kept making decisions about my life and my home without even consulting me, then pretty much telling me how it was gonna be. Like I didn’t even get a vote.

  First Brody. Jude. Ronan. Now Maddox and some random stranger.

  I was trying, really trying, to see it the way Elle did. To take her advice and Jessa’s. And Ashley’s.

  But I wasn’t Elle or Jessa or Ash, and this shit was grating me.

  I decided to call Brody to complain, and made the mistake of picking up my phone.

  I had messages. Oh, did I have messages.

  I hadn’t checked them since this morning, because I was dreading the influx of concern. I didn’t even want to know how far the news of the Great Stalker Incident had already spread.

  I took a quick look through my notifications.

  Elle had checked in with me again. Ash had checked in, and there was a concerned message from his girlfriend, Danica, which meant he’d told her what happened. There was also one from Xander’s girlfriend, Courteney, which meant he’d told her, too.

  Fabulous.

  By this time tomorrow, maybe it would be all over the web so every person on Earth could message me about it.

  I sent a quick reply to Danica and Courteney, then called Brody. Somehow, he eased me back to calm, using his soothing dad voice. Yup, he had a new parental tone too, and it sounded very much like Elle’s.

  Also aggravating, but decidedly effective.

  “Just let them do their jobs,” he said, like he was soothing a baby back to sleep. “We can discuss it later.”

  I got off the phone with him feeling marginally better… then truly wondering if “later” meant “never.”

  Chapter Eight

  Summer

  I headed down from my bedroom after my post-yoga shower with my hair in a loose bun on top of my head. I was freshly dressed in comfy loungewear—soft leggings, an off-shoulder T-shirt, and my favorite fluffy slippers—and ready to head to work. It was already mid-afternoon, yet my workday was just about to begin.

  Maddox and his co-worker had been moving from room to room, basically counting windows, mumbling to each other and making notes, as far as I could tell. They were polite and professional about it, not to mention quick. They were now in the basement, according to the distant voices I heard.

  I stopped as I walked into the living room. Ronan was just walking in the front door; he’d been poking around out in the yard again. I’d seen him from the upstairs window, inspecting my fence and typing on his phone or taking pics or something.

  This was deeply unfortunate. Because if he was about to add “handy with lumber and tools” to his growing list of attractive qualities, this whole situation was just gonna get waaay more frustrating.

  For me.

  A hot man in my house, who kept getting hotter with every passing hour, but wasn’t amenable to my flirting? I didn’t even know what to do with such a situation.

  The moment he saw me, he said, “I’ll order in dinner, around six o’clock. Do you like Greek?”

  “I love Greek,” I said, caught off-guard. I was trying to be annoyed here.

  “Great,” he said. Then he took off his shoes and stripped off his leather jacket in what felt like slow-motion… while my eyes bathed in the glorious sight of all his muscles flexing under his shirt, the buttons straining in front until I hoped they might rip right open.

  No such luck.

  He laid the jacket on top of his shoes and nodded curtly, like, Excuse me, then disappeared down the hallway in the direction of men’s voices. I heard him head down the stairs to the basement.

  I frowned at his jacket on my floor. The whole thing felt very husband-comes-home-at-the-end-of-the-day… and wife picks up after him.

  Granted, I hadn’t offered him a proper place to put his things. Very unhostesslike of me.

  But that was just because of my deep-seated aversion to this whole bodyguard situation.

  I picked up his jacket.

  I’d never lived with a man before, other than my dad and my brother. I’d had plenty of men spend the night, or crash in my home for days on end, both friends and lovers. I’d never picked up after a one of them. My hostess duties did not extend to picking up men’s socks, putting toilet seats down, or hanging up discarded coats.

  Strangely, I didn’t totally mind the feeling of picking up after this one. Maybe because the soft, buttery leather smelled of him, and yes, I took a deep inhale.

  Fucking delicious.

  The man exuded some serious alpha male pheromones.

  I hung up his jacket in my coat closet… And now I felt like some mid-century housewife, relegated to coat check duty, as I wondered what he was talking to the other men about downstairs.

  Should I put on an apron and offer them a drink?

  I would offer them a drink. Absolutely. However, given that they were essentially here uninvited, the lot of them—fuck it. They could fix themselves their own damn drinks when they got home.

  A weird thought, when I considered that this kind of was Ronan’s home, temporarily.

  So maybe I’d offer him a drink later. When the other guys were gone. They could definitely get their own damn drinks.

  I poured myself a gin and soda, spritzed it with fresh lime juice, and headed downstairs. I sauntered right past them, sipping my drink as I went. When Ronan caught my eye, I smiled and shut myself in my studio.

  I had my phone if they really needed to talk to me, but otherwise, I was locked behind this soundproofed door until approximately six-ten, when I’d wander out of here in search of Greek food.

  I made it until about five minutes after six before I gave up on working on the set list for my next couple of shows, and headed upstairs.

  Unfortunately, I’d found it hard to concentrate. I kept wondering if the alarm guys were gone yet. And what Ronan was doing upstairs.

  And why he hadn’t texted to ask me exactly what I’d like from the Greek place.

  I could smell the food as I climbed the stairs and walked out to the kitchen. Ronan was taking it out of the bags, spreading it on the bar. The alarm guys seemed to have left, a fact that I verified when I peeked out the front window and saw that the van was gone from my driveway.

  “Hey,” Ronan said, glancing up as I wandered over. “I was just gonna call you. Wasn’t sure if the entire studio was soundproofed.”

  “It is. Though it’s not that hardcore. If you really pound on the door, I’ll hear it. Unless I’ve got the noise cancelling headphones on and the volume up. In that case, you’re screwed.”

  “Good to know. I’ll try not to interrupt when you’re in the zone.”

  “Hmm. Interesting word choice.” I crossed the kitchen behind him to get out dishes for us. “What do you know about being ‘in the zone’? I thought that was an artist thing. Are you telling me there’s a ‘zone’ for bodyguards?”

  “Unfortunately. And it usually kicks in when we’re about five seconds from being attacked by some hothead.”

  “Really?”

  “Pre-attack indicators. You learn to spot them and diffuse a situation before it turns violent.”

  “Interesting.” I laid the dishes out on the bar. I had a small dining table against the living room windows, between the sitting area and the sunroom, but I rarely used it. And maybe I figured if I sort of “set” the bar right now, less likely he’d take his food and go shut himself into the guest room again? “So… the zone, for you, is a brief concentration of focus that saves your ass?”

  “Or my client’s ass,” he said, glancing at me. “But it can also last for a while. Like if I’m working an undercover operation or surveillance.”

  Right.
Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d spent some time looking up his security company and poring over their website. It said they specialized in “elite security services,” including investigation, consultation and protection.

  The Sentinel company logo was a badass dragon with its wings and claws out.

  I still wasn’t sure what exactly his work entailed, or if the dragon meant that he and/or his partners had a subtle geek streak. But I tried to picture Ronan hunkered down in his car, “in the zone,” while on a stakeout, like in the movies.

  “Maybe we’re not so different, then,” I offered, as we started filling our plates. There was chicken souvlaki, Greek salad, and lemon potatoes that smelled like the best things since spanakopita. Fortunately for me, he’d ordered pretty much everything I would’ve ordered.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked after a moment.

  “Well, in your zone, you protect people. And in mine, I make them happy.”

  “Happy…” he repeated. “That’s how you see your job as a musician?”

  “Absolutely. And I don’t think anyone could feel truly happy if they don’t feel safe first.”

  He didn’t say anything about that. He sat down at the bar, though.

  I took it as a tiny victory.

  I sat down two stools over and we started eating in silence. I would’ve kept talking, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I was aware that I probably would’ve told him my entire life story on the spot, if he asked for it. He was pretty easy to talk to, when he wasn’t telling me what to do.

  I wasn’t sure yet how I felt about that.

  Maybe it was his silence. It was attractive and unnerving all at once. He seemed so comfortable with himself, in my home, in yesterday’s clothes.

  Obviously, he was the strong, silent type.

  The type I liked to crack open with music, flirting… anything. I hadn’t figured out, though, what would open this one up. If anything would.

  “So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Were you ever planning to tell me about the police coming out to your neighbor’s place the night before the attempted break-in?” He met my eyes. “Old lady thinks-you’re-as-sweet-as-peppermint-candy… Someone set off her alarm?”

  Well, shit. How the hell did he hear about that?

  I hadn’t even mentioned that to Brody.

  “I have no idea what set off her alarm,” I said, slowly. “But yes, the police came out. Why?”

  “And your equipment got stolen outside an event that same night?”

  Okay, he definitely heard that from Brody.

  “It wasn’t equipment. It was a wardrobe case. They kinda look the same, but I hardly think any thief in their right mind wanted that many sparkly jumpers and custom made push-up bras.”

  He stared at me, unamused. “You didn’t think this was worth mentioning to me?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re unrelated events.” I wasn’t sure, but just like everything else, I didn’t want to blow it out of proportion.

  “That’s my job to decide,” he informed me. “Not yours.”

  And there it was. Bossing me around again.

  “How did you find out about all that?”

  “We have contacts in the police department, and we use them.”

  Hmm. Contacts who were helping him snoop on me?

  “Do you think they’re related?” I asked him.

  “I think there’s a possibility Blair Sanchuk set off your neighbor’s alarm when he climbed her garage, trying to get over your fence and onto your property without tripping the motion-activated light over your driveway.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “And you think he stole my wardrobe case?”

  “It’s possible.”

  I considered that as I tried to eat. My food was suddenly way less appealing.

  Honestly, I hadn’t consciously chosen to keep that stuff from him. I’d just forgotten about it after Elle brought it up.

  Maybe I’d wanted to forget.

  “The more information I have,” he told me, “the better I can do my job. Even if it seems unrelated or irrelevant to you, tell me anyway.”

  I swallowed a sigh. I really hated being told what to do, but when the man was right…

  “Okay.”

  He resumed eating, but I didn’t.

  The possibility that Blair might’ve tried to sneak onto my property, but got scared off by my neighbor’s alarm, the night before he did it again and I caught him doing it, wasn’t sitting so well.

  At this point, I was actually kinda hoping he’d smoked meth out of that pipe and totally wasn’t thinking straight when he did what he did. That was scary enough, yet somehow it was marginally more easy to swallow than the idea that he’d already attempted to break in the night before, failed, and come back to try again.

  That felt a lot more calculated. Pre-meditated.

  Creepy.

  After a moment, I gathered my voice and said, “It’s really quiet in here.”

  Ronan looked at me. I wasn’t eating anymore, and he definitely noticed. Inconveniently, the man seemed to notice everything.

  Including the fact that I was so distracted by him that I’d almost gotten us in a car accident this morning.

  “You don’t like silence?” he asked.

  “I can hear you chewing. It’s weird.”

  “You prefer noise at all times?”

  “Noise. Music. People. All of the above.”

  “Sometimes silence can be good.”

  “I guess,” I said, unconvinced.

  “I noticed your music room isn’t soundproofed.”

  I raised an eyebrow, daring him to complain about that. “No, it’s not.”

  “Interesting, that you’d go to the expense of soundproofing the studio, when you live alone.”

  “Was that a question?”

  “I guess I’m wondering why you’d do that. Or if you’ve always lived here alone.”

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I’m not paid to miss much,” he said.

  I started eating again in silence. But I could hear my chewing too, and it was weird. It wasn’t that silence made me uncomfortable; it was that when I felt uncomfortable, silence made it worse.

  “Okay,” I said, “here’s the story. I bought this place just over three years ago. I was with someone at the time, and possibly optimistic that it might last. It didn’t. He was a mortgage broker who snorted coke at lunch meetings and started drinking at breakfast. I should’ve known it wasn’t gonna work out. But hey, love can be blind, right?”

  Ronan didn’t say anything, but he was still watching me with those gorgeous, assessing eyes, so I went on.

  “When I bought the house, I had a lot of renovations done, and I’d already started on the studio when we broke up. I decided to just keep going with the plans as they were, soundproofing and all.” I shrugged. “Maybe I figured some future boyfriend would appreciate it. I get loud when I’m in the zone.” I glanced at him. “It’s not entirely selfless, though. I practice my vocals down there. I hate people overhearing that.”

  He considered that, the gears turning. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m self-conscious about my singing.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I thought about that. “Maybe because it’s organic? And when it comes out of my body and I’m just practicing, I’m not fixing it or enhancing it. It’s just me, I don’t know… naked.” I glanced at him again. I didn’t like admitting my weaknesses, but I could be humble. I couldn’t exactly pretend I was vocalist of the year when I was standing next to Ashley Player. “I’m not the world’s greatest vocalist. It’s something I’m working on.”

  Ronan said nothing else, just listening.

  “How did we get onto this?” I asked, with a small laugh. “I don’t usually talk much about my exes or my insecurities. What black magic have you cast?”

  “It’s a rare gift,” he said
. And there was that subtle, dry-as-hell sass again.

  “Seriously. I don’t even want you here and you’re getting me to talk to you. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Actually, maybe it’s because you don’t say much. It makes me want to talk more than I already do, which is a lot.”

  He said nothing.

  I realized I hadn’t gotten us a drink, so I went to pour us each a glass of water. I put one in front of him. He nodded a thanks, since his mouth was full. His food was disappearing much faster than mine was.

  I slid back onto my stool.

  “So…” I said, when he remained silent. Because damn, it was true. His silence made me want to talk.

  Was that a technique of his to extract information from me? Or was he really just a quiet guy?

  “Are you always a man of such few words?”

  “I like to think of myself as a man of well-chosen words.”

  “Hmm. I don’t think I can live like this.”

  He chuckled a little.

  Holy shit. I’d just made the stoic bodyguard laugh. Barely, but still… A nice little shiver ran down my spine at that deep, alpha tone of his.

  Encouraged, maybe, I pulled out my phone. “Would you like some music?”

  “It’s your home. Like I told you, you’re not required to entertain me.”

  “Humor me. Entertaining is what I do.”

  “Music is fine,” he said.

  “Music is better than fine,” I corrected him. “But I’ll take it.” I scrolled through some artists in my music app. “Now, to figure out what you like. Don’t tell me.” I studied him.

  He stuffed his mouth with rice, like, I’m not telling you anything.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Please tell me you like music.”

  “Everyone likes music.”

  “You’d think that would be true, but there are some real weirdos in this world.”

  He took a sip of water, and I couldn’t tell if maybe he was blocking another chuckle.

  “Okay, let’s see. Security guy. Works out…” I looked him over gratuitously. “Dresses well. Was a real piece of shit in his younger days…”