Page 159 of Tempting Fate

Clearing my throat, I act as if I didn’t just resurrect a cherished memory in front of the man who killed it. It doesn’t work. Zeke runs his gaze over me, from my braided hair to the toes of my high-heeled boots. The hunger that he once refused to hide from me invades his cool expression. His gaze heats up. A shiver runs through me as his scrutiny intensifies. When his attention fixes on my mouth, I can’t stop myself from pressing my fingertips to my lips.

Zeke blinks.

As quickly as the moment burst to life, it dies.

I clear my throat. “Please excuse me. I’m going to find Isaiah. He promised to show me the stage before the first act goes on.”

I’m drunk. Drunk enough for my head to feel light and fuzzy. Not drunk enough to blame what I’m doing on the alcohol. The perfect amount of drunk not to care about how I’ll feel tomorrow.

The concert was brilliant.

All four bands brought something different.

Pyrotechnics. Flame throwers. Aerial acrobatics. Anti-slut-shaming anthems.

From our private vantage point, it felt like they were playing just for me.

I danced with Nadia. I danced with Slash. I even danced—badly—with Isaiah, who is as rhythmically challenged as his brother is musically gifted. All the while, Zeke acted as our sentry. He watched the show. Brought me drink after drink. Ate some food when it was brought around. Clapped when everyone else did. Smiled when Apollo appeared, face flushed, high on the atmosphere his music has created. Left me alone to enjoy myself.

All in all, I had fun.

Everything felt easy.

Loose.

Calm.

So, when Apollo mentioned that he had the penthouse booked at a hotel nearby, I didn’t hesitate to climb into the limo he had on standby.

During the short drive, I found myself perched on Zeke’s lap. His palm was hot where he held it against my stomach. My body shuddered when his thumbs brushed along the under-swell of my breasts.

Overheated, I fanned myself and ignored the warning looks Nadia shot my way.

Once we’d surrendered our phones to gain access to the top floor of COMO at The Treasury and the penthouse was filled with musicians, roadies, and a bunch of other strangers determined to party their backsides off until dawn, my best friend dragged me away from Zeke.

I’ve been tucked under his arm since we arrived.

His hand hasn’t left the curve of my waist.

Mine has remained in the back pocket of his jeans.

Just like old times.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses once we’re locked in the bathroom together. “You’re supposed to be making him miss you. Talk to you. Not feel you up just ’cause he wants to without so much as an apology.”

“I know,” I cry. Leaning against her, I pout. “But I miss him.”

“Oh, Anna,” Nadia tells me with a bit of a slur to her words. “That’s normal. What isn’t normal is letting him waltz back from Sydney and lay his hands on you. Don’t let him off scot-free. He needs to explain things—preferably not when you’re drunk. Make him apologise…” She rolls her eyes. “Or buy you some expensive shoes, at least.”

“I like shoes. I love Zeke.”

With gentle hands, Nadia turns me toward the basin. “Wash your face in cold water while I pee. It’ll sober you up.”

The sound of the water doesn’t hide the moan of pleasure that comes from the direction of the toilet as Nadia relieves herself. I splash her with water, and she shrieks. After washing my face and drying it, I make her clean her hands before she can touch me again.

“Half your face is on here.” Nadia shows me the previously pristine white towel.

I smirk. “It’s not like Lo can’t afford the cleaning fee.”

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