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Dante’s attention swung from the ridiculous fan moment his agent had begged him to endure tonight, landing on the last person he expected to see, and the one he’d give his soul to be with—Kennedy Swift. And holy hell, she looked stunning. She’d poured her svelte body into a mind-blowing, skin tight dress. His attention swiftly pooled at his groin, leaving the barest minimum brain functioning for any intelligent reasoning, let alone conversation.
Tiny gold hoops glinted from her ears. Her silken hair had been pulled along the side in a loose ponytail, the tail of which hung along her left shoulder. Dante hungrily traced her shocked face and glossy, kissable lips, sweeping down the path of golden hair. His eyes caressed her long, swan-like neck, gliding across her collarbones, pausing at the spiral of ink peeking out over her left breast. He licked his lips and continued his unhurried, visual exploration, savoring every inch of her he could see.
“Shut your Magic Mouth, Dante, you’re starting to drool. Dante.” Male fingers snapped in his face. “Come back to us.”
Dante closed his jaw, turning to his keyboard player, Jim “Keys” Johnson. “What?” he snapped, pushing his hand away.
“Where’d you go?” Keys turned to follow Dante’s line of sight. “Oh,” he said, drawing out the word like reveling in a delicious confection. “I’m Keys,” the pierced, spiked hair pianist said to Kennedy, leaning his long body across the table in greeting. His slender fingers, heavy with rings, enveloped her petite hand.
She bit her lip, clearly on edge, and said, “Kennedy Swift.”
He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it, murmuring, “Enchanté,” in sloppy French.
“Down, boy. Back off.” Dante punched Keys' shoulder, wanting to deck the guy. “Treat her with respect.”
The large male grinned. “I am treating her with respect, aren’t I, darlin’?” His eyes lingered on Kennedy, with a hungry, wolfish expression.
She let out a timid chuckle and bowed her head, studying something in her lap.
Turning his head to Dante, Zander asked, his gaze ping-ponging between Dante and Kennedy, “You two know each other? We only became acquainted a few minutes ago. I met Simon, here, at a climbing competition in Washington State last year.”
“We used to. A long time ago. We went to the same high school,” Dante said, keeping his eyes trained on Kennedy. He glanced at the male sitting next to her possessively and reined in his attention, glaring at him before turning to look at Zander. He’s no match for me. Even if they’re screwing like rabbits, I’m going to take him out of the game.
Gia, Keys and the other male in his band pivoted to stare at him.
“What?” he barked again.
“I’ve never seen you gob-smacked before. This is what the great Dante Vega looks like when he’s gob-smacked.” She let out a laugh.
Gia’s opinion-blurt caused Dante’s face to burn with heat. Kennedy’s cheeks turned a brilliant red as well.
Gia had dressed in a tank top and skinny jeans, her usual attire. She’d gelled her hair with some goo that made her hair stand out wild like she’d stuck her finger in an electric socket. “Hi, everyone. I’m Gia, drummer for the band. You already met Keys, our keyboardist. And this guy is our bassist, Trevor Heat. Heat’s not his real last name. We all call him that because when he’s rocking the bass, he makes women come on the spot.”
The bass player, a stocky male with short, brown hair and dark eyes, grinned mischievously, wiggling his fingers at Kennedy. “Want to see?” The guy had been a linebacker in high school and did a brief stint in college football, before pursuing his dreams of musical stardom.
Dante felt the urge to leap on the table in front of Kennedy and wave a torch in everyone’s face, warning them to stay the fuck away from her. He already had to woo her away from the prick sitting next to her without having to worry about his whorish bandmates. He strode around the table and sat next to Kennedy. Placing his arm along the back of her chair, he leaned across her front, crowding her, feeling her stiffen in response. Looking at the guy sitting closely to her, he said, “Sorry, didn’t catch your name. Dante Vega. Lead guitarist for Marked Love.”
“Simon Preston. Kennedy’s brother. Art curator at MoMA. And I know who you are.” He met Dante’s gaze with a challenging glare, a world of meaning transmitted through his storm cloud eyes.
Dante’s brows knit together briefly, wondering what was behind the “I know who you are” statement.
“Man, oh, man,” Gia said, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Do I smell testosterone, or what? Cool your jets, D. Let’s get some drinks.” She lifted her hand to the waitress stepping toward their table with a tray of drinks.
Everyone chuckled, and Dante gave them all a frosty glare. He focused hard on Gia, who, of course, ignored him. He’d, no doubt, be playing babysitter again tonight when all he wanted was to be with Kennedy. Something about this woman sitting next to him made him nuts inside. “Sorry, I, uh...well, Gia and I watched her almost get mauled by a tiger this afternoon. I’m feeling a bit protective, especially from you two.” He waved two fingers between Heat and Keys.
The waitress set the beers and soda in front of them, remaining as unobtrusive as possible.
“A tiger?” said Zander, astonished.
“Are you kidding?” said Kent.
“Oh, no,” said Trisha. “That’s horrible. What happened?”
“That’s way messed up,” Mia added, shaking her paper umbrella at them. She dipped it in her cocktail again, before sticking it in her mouth like a toothpick.
“It was a big mistake,” Kennedy said, arching away slightly from Dante. Then as if needing a place to land, she melted into him.
As the contact deepened, Dante’s cock began to whimper, begging for release from his jeans. He tried to shift discreetly, to ease the discomfort.
“I work with them at the Heights Animal Sanctuary. An intern got some misguided information from my director. Nothing but a mix-up,” she said, but her lip caught between her teeth.
“You work with tigers?” Trisha said. “How cool.”
Dante didn’t believe her nonchalance for a second.
Her face completely drained of color, and her hands shook as they reached for her drink.
His arm, still draped along the back of the chair, buzzed with the electrical charge zinging between their skin. He knew Kennedy felt it, too. He let his hand drop, oh, so casually, and allowed his forefinger to lazily trace small circles along her upper arm, sensing subtle shivers coursing through her. He brought his mouth to her ear, close enough to taste her intoxicating fragrance, and whispered, “I’m glad you’re all right. I’m even gladder you’re here.”
She shuddered in response to his breath on her skin, or maybe from magnetic energy rolling between them.
Catching her sibling trying to burn a hole through his skull with his gaze, he removed his arm from her shoulders and placed his hands on the table. Instantly, he regretted the loss of touch. He adjusted his chair, causing it to scoot a little closer until his arm barely brushed hers. That should keep brother dear off the attack. “It didn’t look like nothing,” he said. “It looked deadly.”
She turned her head and looked at him earnestly. “Let’s set the record straight. I love wild things. They’re as real as it gets. They’re honest. They don’t bullshit you, lie to you, or leave you.”
Gia guffawed.
That sentiment landed squarely in Dante’s gut like she’d hauled back her fist and punched him. He instantly became seventeen, his world in teenage torment, longing to find out what Kennedy Swift felt like naked beneath him, while being pulled in a million directions by his father, his friends, and his brother’s medical complications. Still, he didn’t look away.
“But they’re unpredictable. That’s what makes the big cats deadly. I try to get inside the tiger’s head to source what he’s thinking, but I lack a whole lot of personal experience as a tiger. I trick them into thinking I’m a mother figure by giving them bottles of formula. That’s my best shot at building an alliance.”
“No shit?” said Gia. She snagged the waitress’s apron as the woman began to saunter away. “I’ll have a rum and Coke. Get those three dipshits amber ales.” She waved her hand at Dante, Keys, and Heat.
“No shit,” Kennedy confirmed. “Take Raja, the young male who went on the attack today. He suckles his big bottle, sometimes draped across me. Then he licks and grooms me with his huge, raspy tongue. You saw how Raja charged me?” she said to Dante.
Dante nodded, his tongue apparently caught in some sort of uncharacteristic death grip, not allowing speech to happen.
“He’s new to the program. Hasn’t spent enough time with me. The pool is literally his therapy. It’s the place he’s the calmest. He hasn’t been able to enjoy it lately because the pipes to his pond broke. He was abused at his last place. Too many people think of tigers as exotic pets.” Her full lips pressed into a thin line. “They breed them, buy them and use them for status symbols. Or for appeal in their music videos. Raja was someone’s house cat.”
She spat out the words like they burned her tongue. “He lived in a four-by-six-foot room. He got to be led by a chain to a tiny yard to do his business and sniff the air. Can you imagine such a noble creature living like that? It would be like you living in a shoe box.” She seemed to realize all eyes were on her, mesmerized. She brought her hands up to her face as if trying to hide. “I’m sorry. I’m such a social idiot. I get all worked up about the plight of tigers.”
“It’s way okay,” Mia said. “I admire what you do.”
“Yeah, that’s so cool,” added Heat.
The waitress sashayed back with their drinks, setting them on little cardboard coasters in front of each person.
Dante picked up his beer and hefted it high. “Here’s to new beginnings and new friendships.” His eyes slid briefly toward Kennedy.
She smiled shyly and looked away, lifting her glass. “And here’s to wild things,” she added, in a soft musical voice. “May they always be protected.”
“I second that,” said Gia, playfully slugging Dante’s arm, and they all clinked glasses, before sipping their drinks.
“So, Madison Square Garden, huh?” Zander said. “Followed by Global Seduction?”
“Yeah. I’m blown away. You’re all invited. It’s being touted as the midsummer event of all time. I can comp you in, get you backstage passes, the works. I’ll even take you out in the band’s private jet for an after-party.” His eyes sought Kennedy’s. Having her at this gig would be like juicy icing dripping all over the cake.
She gave a subtle shake of her head.
He frowned, hoping that wasn’t her final answer. He saw Gia rolling her eyes at him.
“Backstage passes for everyone?” she mouthed. “Out in the jet?” She shook her head at him.
“What? It’s my band,” he mouthed back.
Before he realized it, all conversation had turned to him and the band, and Zander and his games, leaving Kennedy to squirm silently beside him, toying with her untouched drink. He tried to include her in the conversation, but his attention kept getting drawn by Gia’s mouthy antics, Heat’s raunchy talk, or a fan slipping something in front of him to sign.
A group of young women even squealed, “Ooh, it’s Magic Mouth!” and took turns shoving each other toward him. He wanted to scream at them, What part of having a private moment with my friends makes no sense to you? But, he kept seeing his agent’s pleading face swim before him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Kennedy lean toward Simon, say something to him, and excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room.
He tracked her progress across the room, still keeping up with the lively conversation around him but not really cognizant of what was being said. A few minutes later, he got up to supposedly use the loo himself. The others were engaged in a debate on which of Zander’s rock climbing competitions had been the best.
Simon snagged his wrist with his meaty paw and pulled him close. “You fuck her up, I mess up your pretty face, got it?”
Dante shoved his hand away. “I have no intention of fucking her up.”
“You don’t know what she’s been through if you haven’t seen her since high school. Leave her be.”
“Did she ask you to protect her? Does she know you’re out here playing bodyguard?”
“She doesn’t need to know. I love her. I and another friend helped her get her life back together after walking down the road to hell. She almost lost everything, and I mean everything.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. He knew a thing or two about hell, and good old Simon was, as usual, judging him as a fuck up rock star, like most people did. He shook his head. “Look. You don’t know a thing about me. I have no intention of screwing around with Kennedy, all right? She meant a lot to me a long time ago.”
“Really?” Simon’s eyes drilled through Dante’s brain. “Then why the hell didn’t you stick around?”
Dante scoffed, said nothing, and trekked across the room, determined to see if he had a chance with Kennedy Swift. Her brother could simply screw himself.
