“You literally do not.”
“But I respect it in theory.”
I groan, burying my face in my pillow.
He laughs, soft, warm, devastating, and presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. “You ready to write for me?”
I freeze. “I thought…you want me to write now?”
He shrugs. “There’s no shoot or gig today. We’re free until the party tonight.” His jaw tenses at that and I know he’s not looking forward to the record label party disguised as a day off but really isn’t because he’ll be required to schmooze executives. One thing I’ve discovered the whole band hates like a root canal from hell.
He taps my new phone on the nightstand. “I want to see Creative Ruby in action. I want to hear how you write me.”
That does something dangerous to my insides.
I drag the phone into my lap, open a blank note, and stare.
He watches me like I’m about to perform heart surgery on his soul.
I type:He looks like sin carved from starlight. And he’s going to ruin me beautifully.
Zane inhales sharply. “Damn right I am, baby…”
I keep typing.
He kisses like he’s starving and touches me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
Zane’s hand tightens on my ankle, then slides up my calf.
Then—A ding. Then another.Another.
A flood of notifications bursts across the top of my screen from social media.
@SaintsAngel86: I FOUND HER ADDRESS
@SinfulCrusader: she doesn’t deserve him. we should warn her off.
@SirensAreLies: she hums like a dying cat we have to stop her
@SaintSinAlwaysMine: I’m going there today
My blood freezes.
Zane rips the phone from my hands.
He goes dead quiet. Scarier than the shouting. Scarier than the mania.
He stands, jaw ticking. “Freddie,” he says into his phone. “Get security. We’re leaving this hotel. Now.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m bundled into the backseat of a black SUV with tinted windows so dark they look illegal. The engine roars. We peel out of the loading bay behind the arena.
“What’s happening?” I demand, clutching my seatbelt. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safer,” Zane mutters.
“But we have security, don’t we? And isn’t it harder to get to us at the top floor of a hotel?”
“Normally, yeah. But there’s a fucker we’ve been dealing with. Calls himself @SaintSinAlwaysMine. He’s a moron, tends to announce his intentions. But morons can be dangerous too. Too close. Too interested. Too… wrong.”
