off his shoulders.
“You don’t hate me?”
“Why would I hate you? I’m your woman, aren’t I?” She tilted her head and winked at him.
He grinned, his head swimming with happiness. “Yeah.”
“Go talk to Dare.”
“Do I have to?”
“You sucker punched him in the nose, Logan. Don’t you think you at least owe him an apology?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah. He’s going to kick my ass, you know.”
“You probably deserve that. But I’ll kiss it and make it better.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“So you’d let me?”
“Let you what?”
“Do things to your ass.”
Logan gawked at her.
She lowered her eyes. “Forget I asked that.”
“Depends on what you have in mind. No strap-on dicks allowed in my bedroom.”
She laughed. “Why would I use a strap-on . . .”
Her eyes widened when she apparently figured it out. She was still so innocent and he was so enjoying making her naughty. Logan stroked her hair from her lovely face and tucked it behind her ear. He stared down into the inquisitive brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses and couldn’t help but smile. It was a permanent condition when she was around. What was it about this woman that had him in knots? God, he hoped he didn’t fuck things up with her. Yet he figured it was inevitable. He tended to fuck up everything eventually. Except his music. It was the one thing he had under perfect control, but maybe that had more to do with his bandmates, the crew, and his anal-retentive manager than it had to do with anything he did. “You’re beautiful. We’ll try things—some of them so naughty your glasses will steam up.” He kissed her forehead before leaving the room to seek his well-deserved ass-kicking.
Pissed off and out of sorts, Dare had let his guard down and was completely surrounded by a collection of lead-guitarist worshipers (mostly male) and rock-star -dick worshipers (mostly female). Logan knew exactly how to earn Dare’s forgiveness. Free him from the hell of adulation. At least Dare considered that hell. Logan wouldn’t mind a little more of it.
“Hey, Dare,” Logan called over the crowd. He had no chance of making his way through the flock of admirers. “We need you in the dressing room. Pronto.”
Dare gave him a measured look. He obviously knew Logan was lying. Now he just needed to decide which was the lesser of two evils—fans he’d allowed to get too close or one of his best friends who was currently on his shit list. Logan thought Dare had decided to take his chances with the crowd until he lifted one finger, said, “Excuse me,” and the crowd parted before him like the Red Sea.
Dare stalked toward the dressing room which was labeled Band ONLY—No Guests, and Logan followed him, hoping there were witnesses present behind that closed door in case Dare actually killed him. He was such an easygoing guy until someone pissed him off.
Dare stormed into the dressing room, and Logan closed the door behind them. They probably should have knocked before barging in. A rhythmic pounding of flesh on flesh came from the couch on the opposite side of the room. Logan couldn’t see anything but one feminine foot poking over the back of the sofa, but he could hear a whole lot.
“Yes, Steve. Oh yes!”
Well, that explained where Steve had been during the meet and greet. His head appeared above the sofa back, and his confused gaze shifted from Logan to Dare.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Steve asked as he took in the bit of bloody tissue Dare had shoved up one nostril.
“Logan.” Dare pulled the tissue out of his nose and dabbed his nostril on the back of his hand to check if it was still bleeding.
“Don’t stop, baby. I’m almost there,” crooned a woman from somewhere beneath Steve.
Steve continued to stare at his bandmates, but he was moving again. The sound of wet pussy getting pounded was unmistakable. “Did you punch him or what?”
“Yeah,” Logan said, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to. Well, yeah, I did. I overreacted when I saw Toni hanging all over him. I thought he was making a move on her. I’m sorry I hit you, Dare. I overreacted.”
“Logan is stupid over a woman,” Steve said. “Now his ignorance knows no bounds.”
A hand with long hot-pink fingernails moved to Steve’s hair. He flinched as she got a handful and pulled.
“Ouch. Don’t yank.”
“Then stop talking. I can’t concentrate.”
“Me neither.” Steve shifted and moved to kneel on the sofa,