Danger.
“You’ll be right here?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper and it tugged at his gut.
“Right here.”
“Good.” Another smile, this one breathy and softer. Less deliberately seductive. Hotter than ever.
He was so screwed.
— —
They didn’t havean after party every night, but it was only a four-hour drive to Knoxville, and with the mountains in between, their drivers preferred to make the drive in the daytime.
So they could linger after the show, and this particular arena had a very hospitable staff.
Fine by her. She felt like letting a little loose.
Liana changed, then they joined the local opening act and her band crew, plus a bunch of VIP fans and local business people at the after party.
The arena staff had laid on a pretty nice spread of food in the second largest green room, which had great couches and a couple of nooks that suited conversation well.
She poured herself a Jack and Coke on ice, and offered the same to Dean.
“No whiskey in mine.”
“You sure? You’re off-duty. Or I don’t have to.”
“You totally should. And that’s why I don’t,” Dean murmured, smiling down at her. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
They moved deeper into the room. People smiled and took pictures with her, but conversations faded when she hung around too long, so she kept moving until they reached an empty couch. Then she sat, grateful for a moment of quiet, but even as she released a sigh she’d been holding in, her old familiar friend, doubt, made its regular appearance.
Was anyone watching her? Thinkinglook how lonely Liana is, because she pushes everyone away, and really, that’s her own fault, but how sad. If only she was more giving, more loving, more forgiving—
She took a big sip of the cold drink and waved her free hand at Dean, who was standing beside her looking ten feet tall. Fuck it. She could talk to her damn bodyguard without starting a rumour. Maybe. Hopefully.
She took another drink. “Sit down.”
He gave her an amused look as he moved around to the front of the couch and settled on the edge. “Yes, ma’am.”
She laughed. “I told you not to call me that,” she teased, knowing he’d done it on purpose.
“If I wanted to make a good impression,” he said with a completely straight face. “Maybe I’m over that now.”
“Or maybe you think you’ve made a good enough impression for the day already.”
He glanced at his watch. “Technically that was yesterday. And really mostly the day before. I didn’t do much today other than watch you tear up the stage.”
“Nice side step.”
He glanced around the terrace and spread his legs a little wider, like he was deliberately taking up real estate in front of the couch. She sank back into the cushions, grateful for the privacy he afforded her.
She should go be social, but she really just wanted to sit and have a drink and watch the room. And he was giving her that. It didn’t really matter if it was deliberate or accidental, she appreciated it either way.
West was holding court on another couch nearby. The fact that he usually paid for more than his fair share of the beer made him popular with the crew, and he knew how to work a crowd to get the extroverts telling jokes and keep the introverts feeling comfortable just hanging out.
A sharp contrast to the way Track used to hold court when they went on tour together. She’d seen a glimpse of that again in Washington. He’d dominated the conversation near the bar in the VIP tent, a little too loud and a little too forceful. She’d recognized the story he told, about a concert where everything went wrong, and she’d winced, because some of the crew involved in that show were in the tent at the time.
He was so tone-deaf sometimes, but it never seemed to splash back on him. He was made of Teflon. It was like people were so drawn to his charisma that they didn’t realize they were being served up a pile of narcissistic crap once they were pulled into his orbit.
