It seemed to me that ever since our little face-off in Vancouver—when he’d seemed to think I was planning to go home with someone after my show—he’d been a man of even fewer words than usual.
I did catch him checking me out, though. More than once. He seemed especially taken with my white suede thigh-high boots.
Or maybe it was the glimpse of naked skin just above them.
The next day, when we landed in Montreal, he escorted me shopping. While I tried on clothes, he stood just beyond the dressing room area, watching me go in and out of the dressing room as the sales girls brought me clothes.
I didn’t bother asking his opinion on what I chose.
I didn’t even try to flirt.
Clearly, he was in a bad mood. A dark cloud had been hovering over his head all day, and I did not want it raining on me before tonight’s show.
No matter how safe he was keeping me, my career really couldn’t afford a hulking bodyguard with a bad attitude, exuding doom and gloom in my wake.
So maybe after the show, I’d ask him what was up his ass.
When I was done shopping, I had dinner with an old friend—after Ronan searched the entire restaurant for signs of danger. He was way more stony about everything than usual, which was saying a lot.
But maybe this was how he always was when traveling with a client?
We arrived at the posh nightclub where I was playing a black-tie fundraiser that night, Ronan and Andre and I, about an hour before my scheduled performance. I wanted to check out the opening act and the crowd.
It was a big, newer club, and I’d never played here before. The fundraiser was for a music therapy charity that Yancy had hooked me up with, and it was a packed house. An oddly formal affair for a DJ Summer nightclub event, but the dance floor was already full when we walked in.
Good sign.
I’d worn a fabulous black feathered cocktail dress, designed by Devoid. I was in the dressing room backstage, touching up my makeup, when Ronan, who was standing guard outside like a bad-tempered watchdog, knocked on the door. He opened it and leaned in, and my eyes met his in the mirror.
“Yancy is here to see you,” he said gruffly.
“Yancy!” I welcomed Yancy with a tight hug while Ronan stood a foot away, glowering. He knew who Yancy was, though, and that he was coming tonight. I’d given him a thorough list of my business associates, and my former booking agent didn’t exactly have a common name.
“Summer, gorgeous. Come have a drink with me before you go on.”
“Walk me out,” I said, taking his hand.
I glanced at Ronan as I walked past him. He stared at our connected hands. He seemed to be silently simmering, the same way he had at my other shows when I touched other men.
Interesting.
He shut the door behind us and followed us in silence up the hall. He was definitely in an extra foul mood. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but ever since this morning… it was like he’d woken up with male PMS. I kept catching him on his phone, just out of earshot, speaking in hushed, growly tones.
As we tunneled through the bodies in the club, he remained close at my heels. The crowd was packed tight, and I felt him brush against me. He was inches from me, and I could feel his body heat. His jacket sleeve brushed me whenever he put an arm out to keep someone from bumping into me or inadvertently getting too close. I could smell him, and it was making it incredibly hard to ignore him.
Once, I swore I felt his hand brush my ass, though that had to be accidental.
When Yancy paused to speak to someone, Ronan pressed into my space. I glanced over my shoulder, checking him out.
The man looked hot as hell in a leather jacket, but since this was the first time I’d seen him in a suit, I was gonna stare.
Yum-my.
“Is everything okay?” I asked him. I hadn’t planned to ask him until after the show. I didn’t need any external stress or distraction when I was rocking a hot DJ set in front of a packed house—especially at a fundraiser filled with VIPs who weren’t necessarily fans. I intended to win this crowd over tonight.
But Ronan was doing that surly man-pout thing again, and it was hard to ignore. I was getting a little worried that something had gone wrong. With one of his company’s other clients?
Or with me.
If there was bad news about Blair or something, I wanted to know.
But all he said as he looked down at me from his hooded brown eyes was, “Yancy?” And I did not like his tone.
“What?”
“What kind of man is named Yancy?” he said.
“What’s wrong with Yancy?”
“What’s wrong with a grown man’s name?”
Hmm. I studied him for a minute. He didn’t drop my gaze.
Was he looking for an argument? Right here and now?
About my former booking agent’s name?
“Yancy booked this event for me,” I informed him, “and he flew up here, from L.A., to see me. As you’re aware. So, excuse me while I get seen.”
Then I turned away and caught up with Yancy, doing my best to tune out Ronan’s bad attitude.
Yancy took my hand again and drew me into the raised VIP area, which was in a back corner alongside one of the bars. Ronan followed in silence, like a giant, grouchy shadow. I could sense people checking him out, wondering what his deal was. He wasn’t drinking, smiling… having a good time.
But that was his choice. I never forbid him from doing any of those things while he was on duty with me.
Quite the opposite.
Yancy led us to the back wall, where two cute girls were seated at either end of a couch, like placeholders holding his spot. Along the way, he leaned in to introduce me to a few people, and I caught glimpses of Ronan behind me. Even when I didn’t see him, I felt him.
A few times, I caught him giving Yancy a stare down. And when I looked at Yancy, I could see what Ronan saw, more or less.
Yancy was very… flamboyant. He had crazy, curly hair and wore a purple velvet blazer with black velvet pants and cowboy boots. He exuded almost as much sparkle as I did onstage, which was saying something. But the man had a smile that made women melt across a room, and he knew how to treat a girl like the queen of the ball.
Right now, I had the full force of his attention.
Ronan didn’t seem to like that much.
Yancy shooed the girls on the couch out of the way so the two of us could sit down, and we got talking. Ronan stood by the end of the couch—on Yancy’s side. Or rather, he loomed. And I knew he’d positioned himself there, rather than at my back, so I couldn’t ignore him.
He was playing games with me, wasn’t he?
He wouldn’t touch me on purpose, wouldn’t flirt with me, wouldn’t hook up with me… but he wanted me to know he was there. Ready and willing to scare off every other male who came sniffing around.
Yancy noticed. One thing he and I had always had in common: we both wanted everyone to have a good time at our parties. And Ronan’s foul mood was obvious.
“I’ll get us drinks,” he offered. “Will your man have one?”
I was pretty sure he meant “your man” as in your giant, hovering security man, not your lover, but I liked the sound of it either way.
“He won’t,” I said. “He’s incredibly sober at all times.”
Yancy laughed and sent one of his friends to get us drinks. We caught up a bit, tossed around small talk about the show tonight. Then a cocktail waitress arrived; she set a bunch of Crantinis—one of my favorite drinks—on the table for us as Yancy leaned into me.
“So. Have you figured out my motive yet?”
“What motive would that be?”
“Well, the usual. Besides getting you back to my hotel with me tonight, of course—” His words were cut short as a shower of liquid poured down his hair and chest. He jumped, and I jumped back.
Ronan was standing over us. He held a cocktail glass, now empty and dripping. On Yancy.
&nbs
p; “Shit. Watch what you’re doing,” Yancy said.
“Sorry,” Ronan said flatly. “I think someone bumped me. Can I get you another one?”
Yancy got up, annoyed, and so did I. He threw me an apologetic look, wiping at his clothes, and said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be here,” I told him. He disappeared through the crowd, and I gaped at Ronan. “Did you seriously just pour a drink on a man to get him to stop talking to me?”
“I was trying to hand you a cocktail. Should I not have done that?”
“You’re kidding me.”
He shrugged. “I slipped.”
“Bullshit. You are zero-percent clumsy.”
“It was instinct.” He leaned closer to me as he set the empty glass on the table. I didn’t back out of his way. “I sensed a threat.”
“Well. At least you’re copping to it.”
He passed me a fresh cocktail, without spilling it this time. “He had it coming. That velvet suit needs changing.”
I took a sip of the Crantini and stared him down. “That was incredibly immature.”
“I told you, it was instinct. Sometimes you have to act fast when a threat presents.”
“A threat? Yancy? Are you kidding me?”
“He was hitting on you.” He searched my face, and I realized how close he actually was to me. We were way too close for a client-and-bodyguard conversation. At least, a proper one. “I thought it was unwelcome. Guess I was wrong.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “I didn’t think he’d be your type.”
“That’s got nothing to do with it. He’s a business contact. He’s been my booking agent for years. Flirting is part of the game.”
His eyes snapped back up to mine. “Yeah? Brody flirt with you like that? Ask you to come home with him after a show?”
“Of course not.”
“But it’s okay for Yancy to do it?”
I set my drink down on the table. “How about you take your instinct on the road.”
“What?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Take a walk around the club. Do your perimeter inspection thing. Look for threats out there.” Just then, Yancy emerged from the crowd, heading back over to us. I took a step back from Ronan and put on a better mood. “I’m fine. I’ve got Yancy.”
Ronan said nothing. He just kept staring at me as Yancy walked up.
“Hey, are you okay?” I put my hand on his arm. He hadn’t changed, which meant he didn’t have anything to change into, but hopefully he’d dried off a bit.
“I’m good.”
He gave Ronan, who was standing in his way, an uncertain glance.
Ronan backed off. I sat down with Yancy and lifted my drink from the table. He took one, too. “To an incredible show tonight,” he said, and we clinked glasses.
As I took a sip, I watched Ronan.
He stalked over to Andre, who was standing maybe a dozen feet away, against the wall. They exchanged a quick word. Then Ronan disappeared.
Andre drifted over, closer to me, and made himself comfortable in the shadows.
And I felt it in the pit of my stomach; a sinking feeling. Watching Ronan walk away, possibly angry with me, didn’t exactly feel good.
But come on. Dumping a drink on a man—a business associate of mine—because he was talking to me?
Okay, so he was specifically talking about taking me to bed tonight, and obviously Ronan was listening. But like Elle said, he was my bodyguard, and that’s all there was to it. He couldn’t exactly tell me we weren’t hooking up and then go around scaring off any man who talked to me—or assaulting them by cocktail.
Yes, it was decidedly hot when he got all growly and protective.
But still.
“Where were we?” Yancy said, leaning into me.
“You were telling me about your ulterior motives. And no, I’m not going back to your hotel tonight. I have a curfew, and my bodyguard enforces it.”
I decided to make a joke out of it.
Luckily, Yancy laughed. “Is he always so… overbearing?”
“There was a small security threat recently,” I informed him. “No big deal. But Brody insists I carry Ronan in my pocket at all times now.”
At that, Yancy changed his tune. No more flirting. Now it was all outrage and concern. “What? When? What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m absolutely fine. The new bodyguard is just a precaution.”
He seemed to believe me. But it definitely changed the tone of the conversation. I spent the next ten minutes assuring him that I was fine, that Ronan was keeping me safe.
Then it was time for me to hit the stage.
The club was packed, the crowd was totally into my set, and I kept the dance floor full all night. Not bad for a bunch of people in suits and high-heels.
I only caught a single glimpse of Ronan, though, about midway through my set. That sucked.
Maybe I was getting too used to his stony, sexy face. Maybe I liked seeing him at my shows. Even if he wouldn’t dance.
After that brief glimpse, he disappeared again, and I tried to stop looking for him. Andre hung out just offstage; I could see him the whole time.
When my set was done, I thanked the crowd for being amazing and supporting the event. And since we were in a French-speaking city, I dropped the legendary French bombshell, Brigitte Bardot, singing “Everybody Loves My Baby,” while the next DJ prepared to take over.
Yancy met me as I came offstage. The nightclub manager was with him, and introductions were made.
Then Yancy cornered me. “Summer, I’ve got people throwing tantrums on my ass all up and down the west coast.” He was clearly a little drunk, so he was a lot more dramatic with his sales pitch this time. “I’ve gotten over my heartbreak that you dumped me for Brody Mason. I can live with that. But no one wants you retiring your crown. Look at this crowd. Listen to them. They want more. Everyone wants more of you.”
I smiled, buzzing with the adrenalin and noise. They did love me. Or at least, my music, which was the point. And I’d never get tired of this feeling. But… “I’m hardly retiring,” I told him. “This is just the beginning. What I’m doing is leveling up.”
We’d had this conversation several times already, long distance, but I really couldn’t blame him for making one last ditch effort to change my mind, in person, before I pretty much vanished from his professional life.
I leaned in to give him a hug—and all hell broke loose.
I saw a chair go flying through the air, above the crowd. There was this chilling collective gasp that reached right into my bones; I seemed to feel it more than hear it over the music, and the whole crowd surged like a well-dressed tidal wave.
Another chair went flying into the air, then another, like popcorn.
Somewhere on the other side of the club, people screamed, and a shiver tore through me.
Everyone around me either froze or started running.
I froze.
Someone bumped into me, and Yancy ducked. I watched him drop, covering his head.
Then a big, warm hand landed on my arm, squeezing. I turned in the direction I was pulled, to find Andre scooping me in front of his big body, shielding me from the crowd. He steered me toward a glowing red exit sign.
I barely felt my feet touching the floor.
“What the fuck…” The words rushed out of my mouth, but I could barely hear myself over the chaos of noise and the blood pounding in my ears. I was holding Andre’s arm, digging my fingers into his solid muscle through his suit sleeve, as he propelled me through the door beneath the exit sign, into a hallway.
A couple of bouncers plowed by, almost knocking us over as they pushed through the door in the other direction.
The music in the club abruptly shut off and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I swore I heard someone say the word…
Gun.
The screams and shouts got scary-real.
Somewhere behind me, a mal
e voice boomed. “TAKE THE GIRLS IN BACK.”
I looked back over my shoulder. A bouncer was holding the door open behind me and a couple of cocktail waitresses stumbled through. The lights flickered on around the club as someone started hitting switches.
There was some kind of violent brawl going on over by the front entrance of the club. The bouncers were descending on it, en masse.
That was all I could see before I lost sight of the club.
Andre ushered me down the hallway, holding me close to his big body. There were a bunch of other people rushing through the hall, staff, mostly. There was some confusion as a couple of male staff charged by, yelling at us to stay the fuck inside, and the mood got more panicky. No one seemed to know which way to go.
“Over here!”
We turned to find a woman in a black shirt with the bar logo on it calmly opening a door with a set of keys. She threw it open and the cocktail waitresses hurried inside.
Andre and I locked eyes.
Then he steered me right over to the door and stuffed me inside the room. “Stay here,” I heard him say in my ear.
I was in an office, and more girls crowded in behind me.
Andre was gone.
A bouncer leaned in to grab the door. “Stay inside until we come get you,” he barked. Then he left, shutting the door.
One of the girls locked it behind him.
I was standing in a small, crowded office with a bunch of female bar staff. It was weirdly quiet as everyone seemed to hold a collective breath, looking at one another for help that wasn’t coming.
Where was Ronan?
“Does someone have a gun? I heard someone say there was gun,” one of the girls said, looking from face to face.
“I don’t hear anything,” the woman who’d opened the door for us said. She was on her phone, typing, and didn’t look up.
One of the waitresses was still carrying a tray with drinks on it. She set it down on the desk and said, “Holy shit.”
Yeah. Holy shit was right.
But there were no gunshots. Surely we’d hear that, even back here.
I tried to listen for sounds from the club, but the blood thumping through my body was too loud; I could hear it beating in my ears, even as I stood stock-still. I just kept repeating Andre’s words in my head.
Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3) Page 22
