Page 25 of Sweet Temptation

I flopped back onto my pillow. Fuck, I’d dreaded this. Everyone’s reaction to what happened last night was half the reason I’d had trouble sleeping.

As the reality sank in, I knew they were all gonna flip. Last night was just the first taste of it. Brody, all gloomy and sympathetic, biting the hell out of his tongue while he traded loaded glances with the other guys…

Ronan, especially.

Clearly, they were all conspiring to put me on extreme lockdown, a team of muscle men shadowing my every move. And that was gonna seriously cramp my style.

After Brody and the other guys had left, Ronan texted me that he was on my couch. Brody had insisted that someone stay with me, and honestly, I didn’t mind that part. I didn’t exactly want to be alone in my house for the rest of the night. Though when I’d said I’d prefer to call in one of my friends, Brody had put his giant managerial foot down and insisted I have professional security for the night.

I then pictured Brody going home to his wife, telling Jessa what happened. He’d probably called Jude, too, either last night or this morning. And by now, everyone was talking about what happened.

It all felt so unreal.

And yet, it was vividly real.

I looked over at the curtains over the glass doors that led out to my balcony. They were closed. And the thought of a man—Blair—creeping out there made my skin crawl.

I threw off the covers and got out of bed. I went straight into the shower, dove under the spray of hot water and just stood there for a long while. Part of me wanted to stay underwater for a few long days until this whole thing just washed away.

Another part of me wanted to get dressed, head downstairs, and check on my houseguest. Offer him fresh towels for the guest bathroom so he could shower. Offer him breakfast and coffee or tea with half a bowl of sugar, the way he evidently liked it.

I couldn’t help that part. It was second nature. They didn’t exactly call me the party queen for nothing.

Yes, I threw incredible parties. I was a natural born hostess. And the thought of someone in my house, possibly hungry and lacking the comforts of home, made me incredibly uncomfortable.

He probably didn’t have a change of clothes for today. And he definitely didn’t have a proper bed to sleep in last night, because I didn’t offer him a guest bed. If he was anyone else, I’d be waking him up with music, the smell of a latte frothing and a smile.

But I stayed right where I was.

He’s not your houseguest. He’s security.

The thought made me extremely uneasy.

The fact that bodyguards shadowed my famous friends around was… entertaining. For me. They were always impressively fit, and sure, they provided some eye candy. Sometimes they were even fun to flirt with, just to see if I could. To see if they’d break form, flirt back.

Some did.

Some did not.

But having one right in my home? In my personal space?

Lurking while I played gigs and hovering at my house parties?

No. Fucking. Thanks.

DJ Summer parties were all about freedom. Dancing, drinking, drugging—if you were into that—and of course, getting laid. Making connections. Celebrating life, for fuck’s sake.

And feeling good about all of the above.

Without judgment.

Nothing would kill the mood at my parties like a bodyguard with a stick up his ass—standing guard over me, staring down my friends with his sour-assed Judgey Judgerson face and refusing to join in the fun.

Granted, it wasn’t Ronan’s fault I didn’t want him here.

He seemed extremely professional, and I knew Brody would never have left him here overnight if he wasn’t totally qualified. And to be honest, he wasn’t all that sour faced, just kind of… stony faced. The man had the look of a Secret Service agent or something. With forearm tattoos. Tough as hell, and definitely alpha. He’d brought this certain energy into the room that just told you he wasn’t to be fucked with.

That was energy I needed last night.

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