Page 15 of Shining Through

God, it sounded like something Fiona would say. But his tilted grin said that he liked their flirting, and the scary thing was, she did too. Rather than continue to agonize over her bad performance, she let herself luxuriate in his sexy presence, which was better than any bubble bath. For the first time today, her smile felt real.

At least until two young women approached, dressed in red uniform shirts that bore the logo of a major credit card company. The blond’s shirt must have shrunk in the laundry and was much too tight for corporate standards. “Hi Daniil,” she said.

“Happy birthday, CiCi.”

Tabitha’s smile slipped. How did he know this chick’s name, or her birthday?

Daniil touched her arm. “Deana and CiCi, meet U.S. ladies’ champion Tabitha Turner.”

The taller girl tossed back her long dark hair. “We saw you skate today. Too bad you fell.”

“But at least you tried,” added the blond. “I mean, ice skating’s really hard! I always fall when I go.” She turned to Daniil. “We came to see if you wanted a ride to the bar?”

So he had plans with these two. Marvelous. She should have known.

“No thanks. I have to wait for my friend Ruslan, who is still busy with the fans, so we’ll come in a cab. Tell me the name?”

“The Pour House.”

Daniil tapped his phone a few times. “Found it.” He turned to Tabitha. “Maybe you would like to come too?”

Deena cast a withering glance at Tabitha’s sparkling water. “You probably wouldn’t like it. It’s not really an ice princess kind of place.”

Tabitha stiffened, less angry at the brunette’s rudeness than at the fact that what she’d said was true. She was an ice princess, or rather, an Ice Queen. She didn’t belong in the same world as these two. Or Daniil. Right then, she wanted nothing more than to get the hell back upstairs. She’d done her duty. Now it was time to leave. “Nope. I’m sure it’s not my kind of place at all.” She set her half-finished drink on the table and turned to Daniil. “Nice chatting with you. Good luck in Vancouver.”

Without another word, Tabitha headed for the exit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

UPSTAIRS, THE ROOM WAS EMPTY.Samara and Xtina weren’t here, but that was a relief. Tabitha threw herself on her bed and closed her eyes. If only she could forget this awful day and Daniil Andreev.

No such luck.

It was bad enough that her skating had been subpar, but now she was jealous! She, who always played it safe, and knew that if she ever let a guy get under her skin he would be nothing like Daniil.

He wasn’t her type at all. Okay, he was good looking, she’d give him that. Make that great-looking with male model-perfect features, a killer smile and those gorgeous dark rock star eyes. A voice flavored with an accent as sexy as sin. He had a body to die for. He was muscular, but not bulging. Lean and hard, in the way male skaters were. Lean in the way Tabitha liked. If she paid attention to such things.

Arrgh. Of course she paid attention to them. Even if she was Little Miss Wholesome who could count on one hand the number of guys she’d kissed. But Daniil wasn’t wholesome. He was edgy. He was intriguing. And now he was off with two girls who were hot, willing and no doubt, a much better time than Tabitha.

She kicked off her shoes and settled in for a night of TV, flipping through channels. There wasThe Sound of Music, with Julie Andrews as a singing nun, falling for a man she had no business falling for. There wasGrease, which she’d watched dozens of times with her mom and Samara. If her sister’s varied career had earned her the role of Beauty School Dropout, Tabitha was prim and proper Sandy. There was figure skating, too. She could watch her crappy program and Machiko’s perfect one. What had Daniil’s little blond friend said? “It’s good that you tried.” Tabitha sneered, and kept scrolling through channels finding nothing, until—

Oh my God, they have porn.

She’d never seen one. Wholesome types who didn’t drink, swear or rat their hair didn’t watch movies like this. But she was stuck here, so why the hell not?

Backstage at some rock club, a bleached blond with too-plump lips, a fake tan and huge boobs sat atop a black amplifier. Her cut-off blue jeans were so short the pockets stuck out, and her tiny white t-shirt looked ready to rip under the strain. A dark-haired dude in black leather pants and guyliner—seriously?—loomed over her in a way that was kind of menacing and kind of hot at the same time.

Tabitha scooted closer to the TV.

He ran his hands over Blondie’s thighs, then her crotch, and lifted her t-shirt to let her melon-sized breasts bounce free. He latched his mouth over her nipple; she writhed against the speaker. Tabitha writhed too and deep in her core, a pleasant weight settled.

Blondie moaned. “Oh Rod, I want you to fuck me so fucking hard.”

Rod—what else would his name be?—stopped sucking long enough to grunt out his lines. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard Baby, your pussy’ll fucking scream for fucking mercy. You’ll beg for my cock, you wet, horny bitch.”

Who talked like that? Were the Birthday Girl and Daniil saying stuff like that to each other? Did people really do it on amps, backstage? She could always ask Fiona though her mother’s wild groupie days weren’t something she wanted to dwell on while watching this.

But it bothered her that she didn’t know. She had even less experience with rock clubs than she had with kisses. Three. One for each year she’d been in her twenties. And never backstage.

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