“I’m not scared.” She resigned herself to the inevitable. “Just concerned.” Like ripping off a Band-Aid, it would be best to get this over quickly.
Ash put a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. Sweeping forward, he brushed his lips over hers. At first soft and delicate, the press turned needful and raw, but she pushed him away, aware of the stern look Sam gave through the rearview mirror.
The sedan wove around the airport, leaving the passenger terminal behind.
“Where are we going?” She craned her neck, curious as to their destination.
“Relax.” Ash’s fingers sifted through her long curls, his eyes following every twist and turn of the strands.
“But look at my clothes!” She gestured to her baggy sweats. “I can’t meet them like this.”
“It’s okay. They’re cool,” Ash said.
Easy for him to say.He wasn’t the one facing down a group of strangers who believed she’d stolen their lead singer.
Butterflies danced in her belly, making her nauseous, but soon, the car pulled up to a smaller terminal, and she and Ash were climbing out.
He led her into a building where they passed through a security-screening checkpoint, and her backpack along with Ash’s guitar were sent through an X-ray scanner. Sam then took the lead and ushered them out of the building and onto the tarmac where a full-sized commercial jet waited.
She pulled up short. “I was expecting something smaller.”
When he’d said his manager was bringing the jet, she had imagined a Learjet, not a jumbo airliner. While she knew his band was popular, never had she imagined they had the resources to afford such extravagance.
Ash laughed. “Angel Fire doesn’t do anything small.”
A set of airstairs had been pulled up to the jetliner, and the hatch sat open. As she and Ash approached, a man called out from the open hatch. Moments later, men spilled out of the aircraft and bounded down the stairs.
She gripped Ash’s hand…hard. Vaguely, she remembered the men from the coffee shop.
Ash squeezed her hand. “Bent is the one with the black hair. Noodles has the tribal tats. Spike is the one with the piercings. Not sure where Bash is.”
One thing all the men shared, although distinctly different, was their devastatingly handsome looks. Forest would know their names and faces, but she struggled to get them right. Spike was easy. Metal pierced his flesh. Noodles, tall and somewhat lanky, didn’t remind her of a noodle, but the tribal tattoos curved around his flesh, so she could remember the curves and angles and make a connection with a noodle. Bent was the hardest to find something easy to remember him by—until she took another look at the curled mop on top of his head. Curly hair meant bent hair. With her memory joggers firmly in place, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t make a mistake in their names.
Another man stood at the top of the stairs. With broad shoulders and a bald head, he wore a T-shirt, black to match the color of his jeans, as he stared down at her with a fixed expression.
Ash pointed. “That’s Bash. We went to high school together.”
Even from a distance, Bash’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. His mnemonic was easy. He was the one who wanted to bash in her head.
She grabbed Ash’s arm. “I don’t think Bash likes me.”
“He doesn’t know you.” Ash disentangled her hand from his arm and brushed her knuckles with the sweetest kiss. “We’re like family. Don’t be surprised if they’re a bit overprotective, but they’re going to love you”
A cold wind blew across the asphalt, swirling around her legs and creeping down the back of her heavy coat. It sent a chill down her spine, prickling her skin and setting her teeth on edge. A general hum filled the air, but all the engines had been turned off, and there weren’t any other jets at the private terminal. The air hung with an eerie silence. Odd in a place she’d expect to hear the drone of jet engines.
Ash’s conviction was reassuring. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to hold in precious body heat.
A man in a suit joined Bash at the cabin door, the two of them leaning close and looking exactly like they were discussing her.
“That’s our manager, Thomas Tuttle,” Ash said.
And the only man not introduced by first name, like he wore his full name with the same hardness as the dark suit.
Ash pulled her close, wrapping an arm over her shoulder. The warmth of his body soaked into her but did nothing to dispel the chill emanating from the top of those stairs. She leaned in for support and for protection against the imposing group of men advancing upon them…upon her.
Thomas Tuttle’s mouth settled into a scowl as he gazed down from the top of those stairs. She knew what he saw—a threat to his investment and a liability to his cash cow, the lead singer.
Spike reached them first. Her attention latched on to the three rings piercing his lower lip.How did he ever kiss with all that hardware?
