Page 160 of Tempting Fate

“Damn right he can. Mr. Moneybags.”

We’re giggling as we exit the bathroom.

“Nadia, preziosa.” The man with neon-green hair and cheekbones to die for crooks his index finger at my best friend. I recognise him as Pax Cerulli, the Japanese-Italian bass player from Apollo’s band. “We started a rather interesting conversation back at the stadium that I’d love to continue if you’re willing…”

Caught between her loyalty to me and the sexy as hell man who’s blatantly offering her a night in his bed, Nadia freezes. She looks at me. Back to the bass player. Me again. With my shoulders shaking as I suppress my urge to laugh at her deer caught in the headlight’s expression, I push her toward Pax.

“Go. Have fun. I’ll be fine.”

Nadia frowns. “But you’ll sleep with him if I leave you alone.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“What do you say, preziosa?” Pax croons. “Are you going to make me the luckiest man here tonight?”

“You’ll go straight back to Slash?” Her eyes grow round when Pax strokes a finger up and down her forearm. “No detours. No more wine. No Zeke.”

“I swear.”

As Pax leads Nadia deeper into the penthouse, I head in the opposite direction. With every intention to keep my promise, I search the main room for Slash. He’s sitting by himself, messing around with his phone. I take a step in his direction, but a blonde woman cuts me off. She perches on the arm of his chair and twirls a lock of his hair around her finger. Although I can see his heart isn’t one hundred percent in it, I decide to leave him to make up his own mind about moving on.

So far, Bebe doesn’t seem to be fighting too hard for him.

He deserves some consolation.

Especially when it comes in a package as beautiful as the woman flirting with him.

When a waiter walks past with a tray of drinks, I snag two glasses of Moscato. It’s a bad idea. I know it is. Still, I toss them back, one straight after the other. The buzz goes directly to my head, and a wave of warmth travels through me.

I grin.

That’s more like it.

Since I can’t find any familiar faces in the milling crowd, I duck out onto the balcony that wraps around the corner of the building. It’s too noisy to think and my head is spinning a little, so I pull the sliding doors shut to give myself some peace. The smell of a cigarette burning makes me screw my nose up. Intent on asking the other person to put it out, I duck around the ornate Roman pillar, only to stop in my tracks.

Zeke.

Gaze fixed on mine, leg bouncing to a beat only he can feel, he stubs his smoke out in the ashtray. The hunger from earlier tonight returns to his eyes. I swallow deep, then wrap my arms around my waist. Slumped low in the padded patio chair, one arm folded behind his head as he braces it on the wall at his back, he looks like a badarse tattooed cover model.

The penthouse is full of beautiful men.

Only Zeke affects me.

I’m in trouble.

“Metukà shelì.”

“Zeke.”

“Come here.”

I shake my head. “N-no.”

“You know you want to.”

Another head shake. “I can’t.”

Sitting up straighter, he regards me with a steady gaze. “Do you want me to come to you?”

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