Page 215 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Maybe it was even time to try therapy again. After tonight, I would need it. And if she needed it too, we would do it together.

I pushed my boxers down enough to slide into her gently and watched her bloom for me. Exhaustion was too close to the surface for all that I wanted to show her, but the closeness was enough.

Her hushed, reverent sigh ending in my name was all I would ever need.

Epilogue

I stood in the back beside Noah Jordan and fingered the paper in my pocket. If I sweated any more, I was going to leave a hole in it. “How much longer?”

“You do realize my job is security, not timing staging shows, Nash.”

“I do, but I also know you must have a romantic soul under that titanium body armor. So, time?”

“I do not. But you have approximately two minutes, fifteen seconds left, assuming DuCaine stops swinging around with her guitar in a timely fashion.”

“Considering DuCaine doesn’t do anything in a timely fashion, I’m going to figure a few more minutes.”

As soon as Noah walked away, barking orders into his walkie-talkie, I bent at the waist to take several cleansing breaths. I was getting lightheaded and I hadn’t even stepped on stage yet.

Had I developed a fear of them in the intervening years since I’d been in the spotlight on one? Or was it the other part of what I was about to do that had me so vexed?

Both. I rose and rubbed my chest through my loose button-down shirt. Definitely both.

My cue to walk onstage was the change of lighting from pulsing purple and silver to a wash of red. The screens filled with hearts. Okay, I hadn’t asked for that. And cherubs? With little arrows and lip prints on their round behinds? What in the hell? I glared at Oz from backstage, since he’d told me he would speak to the appropriate parties and make sure everything was all set for my arrival.

Bloody jackass.

Lindsey glanced around, clearly confused. In honor of Brooklyn Dawn’s third sold out show at MSG, she wo

re a catsuit of dripping shimmering gold, with thigh-high gold boots to match. Along with her long blond fall of hair, she gleamed like a candle, even in the near-darkness.

So fucking fitting.

Her band all abandoned their instruments. One by one, they gave Lindsey little waves before slipping out the door that led backstage. As they passed me, each of them grinned.

I pointed at Oz when it was his turn. “It’ll be your day someday, son.”

He laughed. “Yeah, right. Like I’ll ever put on a display for some chick.”

“Not some chick, you asshole. The head bitch chick in charge.” Jamie came up behind him, scrabbling onto his back like a drunken cat. She held out her fist to me, and after a moment, I bumped my knuckles to hers. “Go bag your woman, stud.”

That was about as close to an endorsement as I would get from Jamie DuCaine.

Lindsey spun in a circle as the spotlight bounced over her. “Uh, hello? The show isn’t over yet.”

The audience enthusiastically agreed, shouting and stomping their feet.

My heartbeat slammed in my ears. I was sure I could hear the actual flow of blood in my veins.

Holy fuck, I was going to do this.

As I stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd became deafening. Lindsey shifted to find the source of their excitement, her lips parting as our eyes connected. I walked toward her, picking up the Taylor that waited for me in a stand. A tech hurried out with two stools, setting them and a pair of old school stand microphones in the center of the stage.

Out in the audience, thousands of people watched and waited. I could feel all of their eyes burning into my skin.

“Alex,” Lindsey whispered, just loud enough for the microphone to catch it.

I took a deep breath and drew her to me for a quick embrace. “Trust me,” I said against her ear, well-aware she was trembling.

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