Sweat from the performance trickled down my back.

“I don’t understand.” I blinked at the address on the napkin, then up at Bridgette. “Taryn was here?” Bridgette chewed her lip, staring at the scrap of paper in my hand. “Just tell me what the fuck she said.”

Bridgette was still salty about the way I’d talked to her before the show. But, shit, she was the one who’d barged into my fucking living room.

Lifting her gaze, Bridgette peered at me with glacial green eyes. “She came in for her wallet. I guess she left it in your loft. But then she saw you on stage and got pissed off and left.”

I rolled my head to get out the kinks in my neck, and when that didn’t work, I swiped a bottle of Gentleman Jack from the top shelf.

As I poured three fingers into a rocks glass, Bridgette propped her hip against the bar and said, “When I saw Taryn in your loft, I thought maybe Logan and Cam finally wore you down—convinced you to use some of your connections to get them that introduction at Twin Souls they’ve been angling for. But after I saw you kiss her, I got the feeling it wasn’t business.”

Scanning the crowd over the rim of the glass, I ignored her question for as long as I could. But the girl was relentless. I finished my drink, and she still hadn’t moved an inch.

Pouring a second shot, I sighed. “Nope, not business.”

Bridgette sucked air through her teeth, shaking her head. “Then I’m assuming you fed her the standard ‘I’m only a bar manager’ line?”

Bridgette walked the razor’s edge of insubordination on a regular basis. Usually I didn’t mind. But I wasn’t about to stand here and let her dress me down in my own bar. On the clock, no less.

“Let it go, Bridge.”

Since I was the one that needed to let it go, I crumbled up the napkin and stuffed the wadded paper into my pocket. Whatever was between Taryn and me—crazy attraction, fascination, lust—it was over now.

“You should’ve known that wouldn’t work on her,” Bridgette mumbled.

Blowing off my glare, she flounced off, taking the expensive bottle of bourbon with her.

Fuck this.

I ducked out from behind the bar, heading for my loft at a good clip, but my phone buzzed, slowing my steps. A message from Calista, the sober companion I’d enlisted to help with Laurel. Logan may not have agreed with transitional living, but this was non-negotiable. And since I trusted Calista with my life, she was the natural choice.

Dropping Laurel off. The kid is a handful. Refused to go to a meeting.

“Fuck,” I growled, and then nearly tripped over the leg blocking my path. Glancing from the shapely calf to the bronzed thigh, I moved up a smidgen, drinking in the ample cleavage spilling from her body-hugging tank top. Tiffany.

“Hey, darlin’,” I said.

Her lips curved into a welcoming smile around the straw of her cocktail. “Great set.” She nudged the empty chair with her foot. “Have a drink with me?”

I’d always enjoyed the cat and mouse with Tiffany. Even pictured her mouth wrapped around my dick on a couple occasions. But tonight, nothing stirred below the belt.

Flopping onto the wooden chair, I looked around, hopeful. “Where’s your friend?”

If Tiffany couldn’t get the job done, maybe a double shot was what I needed.

“She’s around.” Her foot brushed the back of my denim-clad calf. “Did you want me to find her?”

Bridgette picked that very moment to stroll up to the table. She slammed a rocks glass in front of me. More Jack, I assumed, from the color of the liquid.

“Figured you might need this.”

I met her furious gaze with a smile. “Thanks, darlin’.”

Exasperated, she spun on her heel and stomped off.

“Friend of yours?” Tiffany asked with a smirk.

I picked up my drink, my gaze roaming over Tiffany’s tits. I could clearly see the outline of two pebbled nipples straining the thin fabric of her camisole.

Well, fuck me. Why not?

“I have friends,” I slipped my free hand over hers, “and I have friends. Bridgette’s not that kind of friend. Know what I mean?”

Tiffany licked her lips. “I know exactly what you mean. Why don’t you finish your drink and we’ll go find Amber?”

A night with Tiffany and Amber sounded like just the kind of distraction I needed. She shivered as my palm skimmed up her arm.

I tipped forward, and we were eye-to-eye. “You read my mind.”

What the actual fuck are you doing?

Less than fifteen minutes ago, I was headed out to the parking lot at Nite Owl with two very willing women. Then, inexplicably, I waved down a cab and hustled them into the back seat.

Now, here I was in the lobby of BlueBonnet Towers being scrutinized by the night watchman.

Phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, he fanned himself with Taryn’s license, smirking.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I glanced at his name tag while I drummed my fingers on the marble desk.

Murphy.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Morales,” Murphy said to the head of building security. “I’ve got a Chase Noble trying to access the mainframe to speak to a tenant. Says he works at The Phoenix Group.”

Even if I hadn’t heard Javier’s roar, I could pinpoint the exact second my head of security delivered the news. Murphy’s face went ghostly white, the smile dropping from his lips.

Pulling the receiver from his ear like the plastic was burning his skin, Murphy held it out for me. “He wants to s-speak to you, Mr. Noble.”

Mr. Noble? Ten seconds ago, I was pond scum. If I were a betting man, I’d place a hefty wager that the security guard now knew he was standing in front of the owner of the whole damn building.

Murphy swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the tattoo on my forearm. A phoenix rising from the ashes. The same insignia etched on the door of the building. And engraved on the brass insert between the elevators. And on his paycheck.

Lifting the phone to my ear, I rested my elbows on the marble counter while a string of apologies raced across the line from Morales.

“Javier …” Ignoring me, my head of security continued to splutter. “Javier, enough. Murphy was just doing his job.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as the chatter continued. “No need to get all worked up. I don’t have my badge. Don’t apologize.”

I handed the phone back to Murphy while Javier’s squawking continued. Murphy stared at the receiver, unsure.

“Just hang up,” I said. “He’ll be at it for the next five minutes, at least.”

Stunned into silence, Murphy followed my order.

“I meant what I said. You were just doing your job.” Handing Murphy my Nite Owl business card, I glanced over his red face and no-nonsense crew cut. “But hear me on this: there are plenty of people in Austin that don’t look like typical …” Millionaires? Moguls? Every moniker screamed arrogance. “Businessmen. We have a lot of artist types in this city. So don’t judge a book by its cover. You hearing me?”

Murphy nodded, and I was a little afraid the dude might keel over, so I continued, “If Javier gives you any shit, you call me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Murphy ran a hand over his short crop of spiky hair. “Yes, Mr. Noble. I’m sorry. I—”

“No worries. If you can just call Ms. Ayers and announce me, please? Tell her I have her wallet.”

Murphy glanced at the screen. “She’s in 6F. Just turn right when you get off the elevator.”

I leaned across the desk. “I don’t care if the president walks through that door. You never allow anyone onto that elevator without being announced unless they’re on the tenant’s approved list. Or I’ll fire your ass myself. We crystal on that?”

Speechless again, Murphy nodded.

My bravado melted away as he pressed the button for 6F. After all this trouble, I’d look like a total whack job if Taryn refused to see me.

Gripping the edge of the desk as Murphy explained the situation to Taryn, I waited for the verdict.

He set down the phone with a smile. “She said to go on up.”

I didn’t let out the breath I was holding until I reached the sixth floor. Pausing in front of 6F, I pulled Taryn’s little clutch from my back pocket.

Before I could knock, the door swung open. My greeting caught in my throat as I glanced over the silk robe tied loosely at Taryn’s waist. Miles of creamy skin from her neck to her navel begged for my touch. Or my tongue. I was still debating the options when she folded her arms over her chest, blocking my view.

“How did you know where I lived?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Driver’s license.”

Zeroing in on the little studded coin purse in my hand, Taryn made a grab for the wallet. “Thanks—”

“Hold on.” Catching her hand, I slid her arm behind her back. “Why did you walk out of the club that way? You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

“If you wanted me there, you would have asked me to stay.”

She was right, of course. But as I stared into her stormy eyes, I couldn’t figure out why I’d ever wanted her to leave. With her body pressed to mine, everything else seemed inconsequential.

“My bad.”

Hurt flashed across her features like a lightning strike. “You don’t have to keep up this game anymore, Chase. I get it.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

She chuffed out a breath. “Just give me your demo. I’ll pass it on to one of the junior managers.”

Her hand landed on my chest, fisting my shirt. Did she want to let me go or hold on tight?

A whole lot of wishful thinking, and I opted for the latter, pulling her closer. “I’m kind of insulted that you’d pawn me off on a junior anything. But lucky for you, I don’t hold a grudge. And I’m not in the market for a manager.”

It bothered me more than I’d like to admit that Taryn didn’t appreciate my music. Before any of her clients ever dug their way out of the dive bar scene, I had an agent, a manager, and a record deal.

She narrowed her eyes. “You expect me to believe someone with your talent has no interest in the music business?”

Taryn flung the words like a javelin. Definitely not a compliment.

Still, I smiled. “I can assure you, I have no interest in the music business. I don’t have a demo, and the only deal I’m interested in is whatever will get you out of that robe.”

Ghosting my lips over hers, I worked my way to her cheek and then to her ear. Fuck, she felt good. Too good.

“You want me to leave, Taryn? I’ll leave.” I flicked my tongue over her earlobe. “Tell me to go.”

Is that what I wanted—for Taryn to tell me to leave? It’s what I needed. The girl was a craving. An all-consuming flame. For me, that was dangerous. If I weren’t fairly certain that once I buried myself in her sweet body the hunger would subside, I might’ve been worried.

Her fingers trailed my jaw, but I tipped my head back. “Not good enough. You gotta say it.”

“Don’t,” she croaked.

Sliding my hand to her thigh, I hoisted her to eye level. “Don’t leave? Or don’t stay?”

She blinked. “Don’t leave.”

Something in her tone threw me a little. Vulnerability? Uncertainty?

“Are you sure?”

Quit trying to talk her out of it, you stupid fuck.

Breathy, she whispered, “Yes.”

And I couldn’t resist any longer. Burying one hand in her hair, I tilted her head at just the right angle. A chaste kiss to her lips, and then I moved down and down, until my face was buried in the crook of her neck. Rain. She smelled like the rain.

“Just a taste,” I murmured.

And when she arched, pressing those perfect tits against me, I stepped inside with her in my arms. Into the storm.