Twisting around, I press up against him seductively. “Rebel?”
His gaze is locked on my boobs. He always says they’re his favorite part of my body.
My nipples pebble. My fingers graze the thickness behind his fly. I tip my head back, seeking his mouth. Surely he won’t turn me down when I’m making it obvious that I’m ready and eager.
He presses his lips together as he drops his hands from my hips. Then he stalks out of the barn, leaving me alone with the muslin that still needs to be hung and my feelings in shambles.
Does he not want me anymore?
8
Riot
The party is winding down when I enter the suite, which is unusual because these things tend to turn into a fuckfestapalooza. But then we’ll be leaving soon to take Neil to rehab, so the atmosphere is more subdued than normal.
Golden and Bronx sit on a sofa with a couple of groupies. They pass a bottle between them. Golden spots me and hands one of the girls his room key then indicates to security that they should escort the girls. No doubt they’ll join them after to burn off some of the anxiety we’re all feeling over Neil.
I need a smoke. Something to take the edge off this tension headache before it turns into a migraine.
“Riot.” Sonatina’s voice reaches me.
Too late. The pain in my temples and jaw ratchets up.
She drags Carmine in my direction before I can escape. “Riot, I’m glad we got to meet. I’m so excited we’re going to collab. You and I are going to have a great time in the studio.”
“Absolutely,” I say. I don’t mean it, but I’m not going to offend Carmine.
Carmine nods and moves on to the next person he needs to talk to, leaving me alone with his daughter.
Sonatina leaps the second his back is turned. Her arms wrap around me like a python.
I do a better job of avoiding her kiss this time, her lips smacking my jaw instead of my mouth.
“I’ll go home and pack my bags. Call me when you’re ready to leave.”
“Leave?” What the hell is she talking about?
“For the wedding.” She winks.
“There is no wedding, Sonatina.” And even if it was meant to be public knowledge—I still have no clue how she happens to know—I wouldn’t invite her. I’m going with Kelsey, who I plan to have a long serious conversation with on the way.
“Call me Sonny.” She stuffs her hand into my pocket. And then she pats my chest and affects a flirtatious, baby voice. “To get you by until you come to collect me.”
Is she for real? I cross my arms over my chest. “I won’t.”
“You will. I’m every man’s fantasy. Including yours.”
Carmine’s gaze narrows on me from where he’s hovering near the door. “Carmine’s waiting.”
“See you soon, lover boy.” Sonatina wiggles her fingers at me as she leaves.
If I didn’t need a smoke already, I’m dangerously in need now. I reach into my pocket as I cross the room and pull out the gift Sonatina left me. The square of silk unfolds into a damp black thong.
I scrub a hand down my face. Women give us their panties all the time. They throw them on stage, send them in the mail, deposit them in our pockets. It happens. Frequently. But whenthe daughter of the head of the label does it, that’s some bullshit I don’t want to deal with.
A hum starts between my shoulder blades, it fills my head and melts the tension from my muscles. It’s been like this for as long as I’ve known Kelsey. I don’t have to turn around to know she’s joined us. I’m aware of her in a way that I’m not of anyone else.
I ball the panties into my fist. I’ll have to trash them later. Until then, I shove them back in my pocket. I turn and watch her walk toward me while I reach for the tin in my jacket.
