“Court.” This time, he reached for her hand. Cautiously, because if she didn’t want the touch, he’d let it go. Let her go. Let her have her space.
She didn’t let him go though. Allowed him to link his fingers with hers.
There it was, that buzz of excitement again. Except this time it was about holding a pretty girl’s hand. When the hell was the last time that had happened?
“You’ve seen what can happen,” he whispered, so he wouldn’t spook what seemed like a truce between them. “The fans who take a very vested interest in us need a reminder to keep some distance.”
She grunted in reply.
The grunt shouldn’t have been cute—she probably didn’t want it to be cute. Yet there it was, being cute.
Some of those fans and groupies and followers forgot that rock stars were people too. He made it a point to protect his family. Courtney might not think of herself as his family, but he’d always thought of her that way. Ever since she rode her Soft ’n’ Sweet bicycle down the sidewalk as a seven-year-old and biffed it in front of his house. He’d been twelve, and he’d wanted nothing more than to make the scrapes on her knees disappear.
His parents still lived on that street.
Linx’s parents might have moved away long ago, but his parents didn’t see the purpose of leaving what they knew.
Not when they’d already paid off the house. So Bax ensured that security was provided. Since the band’s first record hit platinum and the shadow figures started emerging from the alleyway every-fucking-where.
Twice security had had to step in.
Twice he’d been grateful as hell that he’d placed them there.
Because the thought of the alternative?
Not an option he would entertain.
“You’re the target,” she mumbled. “Not me.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Because I’m a target, you could be.”
She turned to him. This time not arguing, but clearly her hackles were raised. “I’ve been Linx’s sister the whole time, and no one has ever targeted me.”
“You’ve never been pregnant with the lead singer of Dimefront’s kid,” Bax said. This changed things. Changed her position with the band. Her position with the fans.
Was it him, or did the skin on her chest get a little red?
“Next time I guess I should go for a drummer, huh?” A tickle of a grin twitched her lips.
“No drummers.” He gripped her hand harder. “We’re in this together. Let me be in this with you.”
She squeezed back, and dammit all to hell, that felt amazing. Like they were a dysfunctional football team that didn’t know how to play the game but wound up on the field anyway.
“You know what?” Courtney held up her hands in surrender. Unfortunately, this meant she let his hand go.
He didn’t like that.
“Fine,” she continued as she brushed a small piece of hair from her forehead. “You want to hire a driver for me, and you want to bring along a security detail? Fine.”
Well, this was progress, wasn’t it? Slow progress. But progress just the same.
“The thing is, you could’ve mentioned it before. Talked with me about it. Given me a heads-up so it didn’t blindside me.” This she said under her breath.
“You’re blindsided?” he asked, trotting to keep up with her.
“I thought this was just us,” she said, under her breath. “I didn’t realize there would be an entourage…”
The light bulb over his head seemed to click on.
