Instead of gripping the stem of a glass, I waved him away. “Get the fuck out of here.” I slipped a finger into my pocket and stroked the most important thing on me. No, not my dick. Okay, the second most important thing on me.
The server’s face blanched, and he straightened. Back stiff, he marched away, offering his poison to other members of the recording team who happily downed the liquid.
Several of my bandmates had tried to talk to me earlier, but I ignored them, lost in my thoughts. No, not just lost in my thoughts, consumed with them—particularly that little nymph named Angela. The gall of her rejecting me. It still irked my blood. To be turned down, so coldly and completely, had done something to my pride.
One of the scantily clad girls, a blonde with big green eyes, licked her lips and adjusted her top with a slow, measured grace, her stare sultry as she winked.
Yeah, I still got it. I patted the top of my thigh. “Come here, doll.”
A bold smile stretched her lips. She strolled to me and sat on my legs, twining her hands around my neck and grinding her ass against my lap.
She was lovely and smelled of chlorine and summer. Her hair, still damp from an earlier swim in the pool, cascaded down her back, and I twisted my hands in the strands. I wonder what Angela’s hair would feel like wrapped around my fists?
My dick stirred at this image in my head, of that little angel straddling my hips, her long hair sliding across my naked chest.
For fuck’s sake, man, what in the holy hell is wrong with you?
This blondie, whatever her name was, I forgot, nuzzled my neck, scraping her teeth across the skin. “Viktor Farrow,” she whispered. “You don’t know how many times I dreamed of this when I was a little girl.”
I frowned. What? The way she’d said it made me feel old. Whatever stirrings of desire I had promptly died out. I pushed her off my lap.
“Hey.” She stumbled backward. “What did I say?”
“Run along, Tonya, Tanya, or whatever the fuck your name is. You’re still a little girl.” What had I been thinking? She wasn’t interested in me. She was starstruck by the rocker she’d idolized since she was young, which, by looking at her, wasn’t that long ago.
Something in that made me tired. I wasn’t old, thirty-five was still considered one’s prime, yet I’d spent too many nights in the arms of nameless women who’d only wanted in my pants for the glory of saying they’d shagged Viktor Farrow, the Angry God.
Being turned down by Angela pissed me off, of course, yet there was a challenge in it, too. She very obviously didn’t care about my rock-star status. As a matter of fact, she’d made it clear she couldn’t care less.
I loved a good fight. Over the years, I’d only overcome one, and that had been with the help of rehab and a good psychologist.
Energy and excitement poured through me, and I texted Andy.
Me: Get me the address for Angela Morales.
Andy: Huh?
Me: …
Andy: The DJ girl???
Me: Yes.
Andy: Why?
Me: I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to do.
He didn’t respond for a couple of minutes, so I crammed a couple of weird tortilla things into my mouth. I think Americans called them pinwheels or something. Cream cheese and some sort of meat burst with a smoky flavor. Quite good.
Andy: Okay, it’s 5986 Stryker Boulevard, Apt 273. Can I at least ask why you need it?
Me: You may.
Andy: Sigh. Just don’t do anything that’ll result in negative publicity. We’re trying to rebuild your career—not sabotage it.
I didn’t bother answering him. I’d got what I needed and headed to my room for a change of clothes. I wonder what a little angel would find attractive. Perhaps I’ll trade in my black attire for something a little more…colorful.
Tonight, she and I were going to finish our conversation, and I’d take on the challenge named Angela Morales. I’d gladly get her into my bed, and once she was out of my system, I’d drop her like a hot rock, giving the sexy devil a little dose of payback.
Chapter 11
Angela Morales
Bang-bang-bang.
I startled, sloshing bubbles and water over the side of the tub. “Who the hell would be coming by at”—I glanced at the phone—“ten o’clock.” Pushing the pause button on the music, I frowned. “Can’t even enjoy my bath in peace. This day sucks.”
Yanking the stopper, I shot to my feet, grabbed the soft, navy-blue robe hanging on its hook, threw it on, and tied the belt. After a quick swipe of the phone, I stowed it in a pocket of the robe.
Bang-bang.
“One minute, please,” I yelled from the hallway, giving my hair a quick twist into a messy bun. I didn’t even get a chance to wash it.
Marky, lying on a scattered newspaper on the coffee table, licked his butt, as if he either couldn’t hear the person on the other side about to knock down the door or he didn’t care.
Smashing my nose against the solid barrier, I peered through the peephole.
I’m pretty sure my heart stopped for three seconds. What in the hell is he doing here? I covered my mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around my middle, as if I could hold in the crazy, careening butterflies tumbling in my stomach.
I glanced through the peephole again. Hmm. I could ignore him. Except I’d already asked him to wait a minute, so he knew I was inside.
How did he even know where I lived, anyhow?
My eyes roved his body. Tall and toned, he was lean with wide shoulders, trim thighs, and carried confidence in every fluid movement. His glorious hair was tied at the nape of his neck, a few wavy wisps defying the constraint.
“Are you going to invite me in, Angel, or just continue to molest me with those lovely wandering eyes?” He grinned, showing his teeth. Two tiny, perfect dimples popped on each bearded cheek. A simple button-up, short-sleeved midnight-colored shirt stretched across his trim chest. A blood-red tie hung in the middle, emphasizing the colorful tattoos on each arm. Damn, I don’t remember him looking this sexy earlier today.
A pounding rush of adrenaline shot to my head. Wait, how did he know I was staring at him? He couldn’t, but since the door wasn’t opening and I wasn’t speaking, he must’ve put two and two together.
I cleared my throat, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled as far as the chain at the top would allow. “What do you want, Mr. Farrow?”
“Oh, do call me Viktor.” His rich, topaz eyes speared mine then moved lower, following the curve of my shoulders until his gaze rested on the opening of the robe at my chest. “Bad time?”
“It’s always a bad time if you’re dropping by.” I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Nice, Angela. Don’t let him see how much he affects you.
“Ouch.” He propped a hand on the door and pushed himself closer. “I’d like to come in and apologize.”
“Apologize for what? Being a jackass?” I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my stare. “You had to drive to my apartment to tell me? I figured someone as important as you would just send a peon to do their dirty work.”
“Actually, I did make my driver bring me.” His face softened. “Come on. Just give me a chance. I swear I’ll be on my best behavior.” He made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Your virtue shall remain intact unless you wish it otherwise.” Sparkles shone from under his half-hooded eyes, and my core tightened.