Page 2 of Taming Her Temptations

I make it to the top of the stairs and spot the source of the other voice standing at the bottom of the stairs. Just my luck, yet another international superstar to witness my shameful reality. Dean Marquez, the drummer of Midnight Sons, clutches the railing. He’s a dark-haired giant of a man who looks like he should be a lumberjack rather than a rockstar. His dark eyes take my measure.

“I don’t know. You look pretty tiny from here.” He rubs the stubble on his face, looking entirely too entertained about ruining my day.

“I kickbox.” I pad down the stairs quickly, hoping he’ll get out of my way. “Pure muscle under this dress, so I’d move if I were you.”

His grin looks less intimidated and more delighted by my threat. When I reach the bottom stair, he just crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow at me. Damn, he’s gorgeous this close-up. It’s something I wouldn’t have let myself notice before, as I was always the reserved and loyal wife. But now that I’ve realized I can start looking at men, like really looking… Well, I can understand the national obsession for this band. In another life, I might even be flustered to meet him. But all I can think about now is getting the hell out of here, even if it’s without my dignity intact.

“Oh no!” I muster all my best acting skills. “Did you flood the kitchen?”

He just looks at me.

“The kitchen!” I exclaim. “You should go check on it.”

“Acting is not your strong suit. Now just hand over the box and we can all get on with our day.”

“I’m not leaving without this box,” I grit out, even though I want to scream it. This house is full of my things and the last thing I need is some entitled stranger telling me what I can and can’t do.

“What do you think is going to happen? You’re a bit outnumbered.” Another voice steps out of the kitchen. I curse under my breath. Asher Moor’s haunting blue eyes take my measure, looking me up and down with the same air of quiet confidence that intimidated me when I first met him at the closing dinner. He’s the guitarist of Midnight Sons and an infamous music producer.

“Wow. The whole damn band is here.” I groan. “Why don’t you guys busy yourself with making music instead of meddling in people’s lives you don’t understand?”

“So you remember us? I didn’t want to ask you at that dinner, but now I’ll ask the question weighing on all our minds.” Asher takes a step closer, an arrogant smile dimples his cheek. “Are you a fan?”

“Not anymore,” I glare at him.

The stairs creak above me as Levi makes his way down them. I’m surrounded by them. Who would have thought that being surrounded by all three members of Midnight Sons would be so damn annoying? Okay, and kind of exciting, too. I do have blood running in my veins and the gift of vision and that’s all that’s needed to appreciate these three.

“Listen,” Dean leans a little closer to me. “We don’t want to be here either. But Madison called Levi and asked for him to deal with this. That’s better than the cops.”

“Oh, lucky me. Instead, I have to deal with three strange men while I’m just trying to get something that literally belongs to me.”

Dean shrugs. “We’ve heard you’re a vindictive little thing and your ex manages our money, so for all we know, that could be our banking info.”

I roll my eyes and shove the box into Dean’s chest. “Again, I’m not small.” I’m really not. I’m five foot eight inches in heels and they’re acting like I’m too short to get on the rides at Disney World. “And two,” I continue. “Just check the damn box and let me leave.”

I’m taking a gamble that they’ll feel like huge assholes when they open the box. Well, that and the fact that I don’t actually kickbox, so my options are pretty limited.

“Thank you.” Dean cocks his head and meets my eye contact. “Was that so hard?”

“Screw you,” I say with a fake smile.

“I’ll think about it,” he winks at me and then heads to the kitchen.

I make an exaggerated sound of disgust but follow him, not letting my eyes off the box.

Dean places the plastic storage box on the marble kitchen counter where I’ve prepared so many meals and had so many late-night conversations, but isn’t mine to use anymore. He opens the lid and removes it. Looking down, he cocks his head in confusion, but I sigh in relief to see it has the same contents. I didn’t even think to check it, but that would have been just my luck to go through all this trouble for the wrong thing.

He takes one of the bubble-wrapped pieces out and unwraps it.

“Huh,” he rubs his chin. “I’ll be honest, not what I was expecting.”

The pink and white rabbit mug looks tiny in his huge hands.

“All this trouble for whatever this is?” He looks at me suspiciously, his deep brown eyes sizing me up.

“It’s an Easter punchbowl with rabbit mugs.” I clarify. “And yes. Can I go now?”

They look at me like I’ve just told them the earth is flat.

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