Page 131 of Sweet Temptation

I knew she needed me, or someone like me, from the moment I met her and started to assess her situation. But needing me like she did last night was something else.

She’d said she didn’t want to be alone. She’d come to my room and asked to sleep in my bed. She’d asked to put her arm around me.

She didn’t ask Andre for those things.

Last night was personal, no matter how I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t.

And now she was pissed at me. I could feel it.

And I wanted to somehow make her unpissed.

I couldn’t really blame her for being pissed, given how abrupt I’d been this morning—rushing the fuck out of the hotel room when I woke up and she was in it. But I didn’t know what else to do.

Any kind of conversation under those circumstances would’ve been awkward, not to mention the raging hard-on I’d woken up with that would’ve been impossible for her to miss. I was pretty sure whatever blundering attempt at conversation I was able to choke out would’ve made the fathomless depths of my attraction to her stupidly obvious.

I couldn’t afford that.

I was here to keep her safe, and confusing things for her would only make it more difficult for both of us.

Yeah, right.

It wasn’t her I was worried about confusing.

My hormones were in hyperdrive, and I was having trouble thinking about anything else. It was like my dick belonged to some desperate teenager every time she was near me.

I picked up my phone and scanned the news for the rest of the flight, just trying to tune her out. But I was hyperaware of every tiny shift she made in her seat. Every time I heard her breathe. Every time she tapped the toe of her boot on the floor to the beat of whatever music she was listening to in her headphones.

When she passed me an empty cup to give to the flight attendant and her finger brushed mine, pure lust streaked down my spine.

I looked at her lips, and I had a vivid mental image of her mouth swallowing my cock.

I bet she gives incredible head.

Torture.

This was pure fucking torture.

* * *

We flew into Abbotsford, just outside Vancouver, then drove a rental car from the Abbotsford airport to the town of Hope, where Summer’s brother lived.

I’d known, ever since we’d gone over Summer’s schedule in detail, that her brother lived in Hope and she was planning to visit him tonight, on her way home to Vancouver.

Blair Sanchuk was from Hope.

Summer didn’t know about this—or that I’d had a guy following Sanchuk and that he was now missing—so she of course saw no reason not to visit her brother.

I’d considered telling her all, during my failed attempts to get her to reschedule this visit. But instead, I’d simply recommended that she skip the stop in Hope and go straight home to Vancouver after the Montreal show.

She declined my recommendation.

I’d weighed my options, and in the end, decided not to press. I didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily about a danger that didn’t exist.

I’d discussed it with Naveen, Andre and Brody, and they’d all agreed with me. Even if Sanchuk had fled to Hope to lay low, it was doubtful he would know Summer was in town. She wasn’t playing a show. We’d be there for one night, and both Andre and I would be with her at all times.

It was about an hour-and-a-half drive from the Abbotsford airport to the bed and breakfast we were staying at in Hope, and while I drove the car to keep myself occupied, Andre talked Summer’s ear off. About music.

The man had an encyclopedic knowledge of pretty much every subject under the sun; one of those people who read everything he could get his hands on. Even then, I didn’t think he’d be a match for Summer, a DJ with the largest personal music collection I’d ever seen.

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