Page 37 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Like a sickeningly sweet pop song we had written one night at four in the morning. A rare night of laughs had ended in ridiculous lyrics that actually became one of those juicy hit songs made for the summer.

We’d been right.

One of the Disney kids trying to go out on her own had taken a stab at it. I’d even gone into the studio to listen to her record it since she was signed to Ripper. The artist didn’t know who’d written the piece since we sometimes used pseudonyms, but it had felt oddly good to put together a song on the lighter end of the spectrum. It was a rarity in my portfolio.

I’d only managed ten minutes before leaving.

I hadn’t wanted to get sucked onto the production side and then push my ideas for the song on her and her team. Letting it go was the only way to save my sanity.

I had a feeling tonight would be the same.

My shoulders tightened. The air changed and her scent dragged me under for a moment. The aroma of night-blooming flowers, thick and unique. She looked as if she should smell like something light and sweet like bubble gum.

Instead, she was the scent of the night.

The place I lived in.

“Hey.” She passed me as she dropped into the middle of the couch. “Oh, you know how to soothe my soul.” She reached for the golden wine in the fragile glass. Her long fingers were short of nail and high of bling. Thin rings wound around more fingers than were bare. It was the only bit on her that glittered.

The rest was fresh and innocent.

My dick throbbed behind my guitar.

Christ, I didn’t need that reaction.

Ever.

It didn’t seem to matter that she’d never truly been mine. She’d been a moment’s insanity—probably had been for many a man since we’d been together. I certainly couldn’t blame them. Or even her. We all had different ways of getting through the night.

Although I doubted fair Lindsey had ever imagined horrors like the ones that lived inside me.

By your own hand.

As was my obsession with Lindsey my own doing.

With those huge eyes and distractible mouth, she was a walking wet dream. She was long and lean with curves in all the right places. Her lush tits were still carved into my memory. I’d barely allowed myself to touch her that night, yet she was still sitting in my brain like a ticking bomb.

She’d destroy my peace and leave only shrapnel behind. As if I needed one more scar.

I resisted the urge to stand and stalk out of the room. Because then she’d know just how much she fucked with my head. And knowledge was power.

I had to remember that. Treat her just like any other person. Just like the artists I worked with.

Like Angel? See how that worked out.

The strings of the fret whined under my punishing grip. Lindsey was completely oblivious to my inner meltdown. Instead, she was happily chatting with Logan. The blond tail of her braid was still wet from her shower. The thick rope left a wet spot on the white cotton and lace wisp of a thing she was wearing under her flannel. Enough that the shirt revealed a hint of purple beneath.

Lace?

Cotton?

Lindsey didn’t seem the type to wear anything but the best. I knew she’d come from the upper echelons even before her music took off. Brooklyn elite from old money. Generations of bankers and suits populated her bloodline. A true blue duchess of New York.

And yet she was acting as if she belonged here in Logan’s hideaway. Everything about her was soft right now. She wore no makeup and a worn men’s style shirt.

Logan’s shirt? Had she stolen it from him when they’d hooked up?

Ridiculous. As if she’d be so blatantly disrespectful to Bella. But still, the jealous thoughts lingered.

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