Page 94 of Not Mine to Keep

“Not even a little bit, but I will be.”

I knew he had questions about what he’d heard out there, but he wouldn’t probe. He let go of my wrist and cupped my cheek and swept his thumb there. “You’ve got this.” He gave me the convincing nod I needed.

“You did good, by the way. Thanks for not getting blood on your shirt when I know you probably wanted to.” I forced out a nervous laugh, needing to ease the tension.

His lips twitched into a surprisingly sweet smile. “Not hitting him will probably go down as one of the greatest challenges of my life.” When his eyes landed on my mouth, he murmured, “But the night’s still young.”

I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about Braden, but about the challenge of not taking me in his arms later.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Calliope

An hour into the set, everything was going smoothly so far. Thankfully, Britt hadn’t followed us in. One less problem to deal with, but Braden’s required presence seemed to make Alessandro crazy. Braden had no idea he was playing with fire every time he sent me longing looks of love during our performance.

I located my husband on a barstool alongside Javier, quietly watching me instead of sitting with Nala and Imani up front.

I sure as hell didn’t want to peer into Braden’s eyes for the next song we were about to perform, “Think I’m in Love With You.” So I stared at Alessandro, unable to break eye contact when it was my turn to sing.

I’m in lust, not love. I beat the words into my head during the song.

Because no, it couldn’t be more than that. It was too soon for love. Yeah, I was a hopeless romantic, but to fall for this man would just make me plain hopeless since he’d never be able to return my feelings. Not to mention the fact I was a teacher from a small town who wanted a forever partner and lots of babies, and Alessandro was a billionaire who played vigilante at night. We were worlds apart in who we were and where we came from.

When Braden and I transitioned smoothly to the next song, “Heart Like A Truck” by Lainey Wilson, I tore my attention away from Alessandro to look around at the audience, my eyes landing last on my two friends. They were bopping their heads enthusiastically, singing along with me.

I nearly stumbled over my next words when I spied Alessandro standing. He discarded his hat on the bar top and was on the move fast, leaving the bar without so much as a parting glance my way.

What the hell?

The second the song ended, I mouthed to Braden, “I need five.”

Not waiting for him to say okay, I set aside the guitar, ignoring a man trying to make a pass at me on my way down the steps.

“You good?” Nala asked, on her feet, shooing away the creep for me since I was focused on the door, needing to chase down my husband, worried something was wrong.

“Yeah; be right back,” I murmured on the move.

Once on the crowded sidewalk, I looked around for him, finally locating him down the street talking to a woman.

Alessandro must’ve felt my presence, because he turned to the side, and even from fifty feet away, with only the street and bar lights to illuminate the area, it was obvious he was upset.

He slipped his hand into his back pocket, then handed the mystery woman something. After a quick about-face, he started my way. I’d remained glued in place. Well, mostly. I kept getting knocked into by people trying to get around me.

“You’re supposed to be onstage.” Alessandro stopped before me, frowning. Then he looked over my shoulder, and I had to assume my shadows were there. “Give us a second.” He reached for my arm and guided me into a narrow alley between two bars.

Cold from nerves and not the weather, I folded my arms, and the man didn’t miss anything, did he? He brought his hands to my biceps and slid his warm palms up and down a few times. “That was a tabloid reporter threatening to post a story about you and Braden, suggestingyou’re having an affair. She sent the story and images to my assistant with a message to meet her out here. She had photos of you somehow, and—”

“What?” I gasped, ungluing my hands from just below where he kept rubbing my arms. “What photos? What does she want? I don’t understand.”

“She wants money. A lot of fucking money not to run the story. I gave her all the cash I had on me now until I can wire the rest later to kill the article.” He grimaced and let go of me, shooting a look toward the main street, probably to our security hovering there. “But there’s someone I’m going to kill.”

“What are you saying?”

He reached into his pocket for his phone and showed me a text. Attached to the message were the alleged photos of me that somehow implicated me in cheating with Braden.

“That’s not me, I swear.” I pushed away his hand as if I could make it all go away. “I’m going to kill her. That has to be Britt in the photos.”

I was shaking now; Alessandro freed his hands to hold me instead. He really was taking the whole “be sweet, not an asshole” thing tonight seriously.

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