Page 114 of Sweet Temptation

So maybe after the show, I’d ask him what was up his ass.

When I was done shopping, I had dinner with an old friend—after Ronan searched the entire restaurant for signs of danger. He was way more stony about everything than usual, which was saying a lot.

But maybe this was how he always was when traveling with a client?

We arrived at the posh nightclub where I was playing a black-tie fundraiser that night, Ronan and Andre and I, about an hour before my scheduled performance. I wanted to check out the opening act and the crowd.

It was a big, newer club, and I’d never played here before. The fundraiser was for a music therapy charity that Yancy had hooked me up with, and it was a packed house. An oddly formal affair for a DJ Summer nightclub event, but the dance floor was already full when we walked in.

Good sign.

I’d worn a fabulous black feathered cocktail dress, designed by Devoid. I was in the dressing room backstage, touching up my makeup, when Ronan, who was standing guard outside like a bad-tempered watchdog, knocked on the door. He opened it and leaned in, and my eyes met his in the mirror.

“Yancy is here to see you,” he said gruffly.

“Yancy!” I welcomed Yancy with a tight hug while Ronan stood a foot away, glowering. He knew who Yancy was, though, and that he was coming tonight. I’d given him a thorough list of my business associates, and my former booking agent didn’t exactly have a common name.

“Summer, gorgeous. Come have a drink with me before you go on.”

“Walk me out,” I said, taking his hand.

I glanced at Ronan as I walked past him. He stared at our connected hands. He seemed to be silently simmering, the same way he had at my other shows when I touched other men.

Interesting.

He shut the door behind us and followed us in silence up the hall. He was definitely in an extra foul mood. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but ever since this morning… it was like he’d woken up with male PMS. I kept catching him on his phone, just out of earshot, speaking in hushed, growly tones.

As we tunneled through the bodies in the club, he remained close at my heels. The crowd was packed tight, and I felt him brush against me. He was inches from me, and I could feel his body heat. His jacket sleeve brushed me whenever he put an arm out to keep someone from bumping into me or inadvertently getting too close. I could smell him, and it was making it incredibly hard to ignore him.

Once, I swore I felt his hand brush my ass, though that had to be accidental.

When Yancy paused to speak to someone, Ronan pressed into my space. I glanced over my shoulder, checking him out.

The man looked hot as hell in a leather jacket, but since this was the first time I’d seen him in a suit, I was gonna stare.

Yum-my.

“Is everything okay?” I asked him. I hadn’t planned to ask him until after the show. I didn’t need any external stress or distraction when I was rocking a hot DJ set in front of a packed house—especially at a fundraiser filled with VIPs who weren’t necessarily fans. I intended to win this crowd over tonight.

But Ronan was doing that surly man-pout thing again, and it was hard to ignore. I was getting a little worried that something had gone wrong. With one of his company’s other clients?

Or with me.

If there was bad news about Blair or something, I wanted to know.

But all he said as he looked down at me from his hooded brown eyes was, “Yancy?” And I did not like his tone.

“What?”

“What kind of man is named Yancy?” he said.

“What’s wrong with Yancy?”

“What’s wrong with a grown man’s name?”

Hmm. I studied him for a minute. He didn’t drop my gaze.

Was he looking for an argument? Right here and now?

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