“Pierce?”

It’s not her voice, but her hand gripping my elbow that pulls me from my thoughts.

We’re outside now, standing at the southeast corner of Sixth and Congress, just outside my office building.

“Sorry. I was thinking.” About her. “About security. Transportation. Everything.”

“Glad to know you’re on the ball. But which way?”

“Turn right,” I say, pointing that direction. “We’re just going a few blocks down.”

Sixth Street is to Austin what Bourbon Street is to New Orleans. Only cleaner and classier and without the strip clubs. And usually without the drunk revelers vomiting in the street. During the SXSW festival, though, the distinctions between the two streets are minimal, and even this early, there are already packs of college students moving along the already crowded sidewalks.

The festival isn’t limited to one location—in fact much of it takes place off Sixth Street at other venues and at performance tents set up along the river. But Austin hasn’t dubbed itself the Live Music Capital of the World for nothing, and even when there’s no festival in town, there’s a lot of live music. Especially downtown.

The Fix is a few blocks from my office, an easy enough walk even in this crowd, and I expect it’s going to be crowded since it’s set up with a stage in the main room. Sure enough, I can see a band playing through the window, and there’s a line of people, all wearing festival wristbands, waiting to get in.

“Maybe we should try somewhere else,” she says, frowning at the line.

“Trust me.” I take her hand to lead her toward the door, then feel a bit like a teenager when she doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” the door guy says. “We got a line. And you don’t have a wristband.”

“Tell Tyree it’s Pierce Blackwell. We’re not here for the music. I want to take the lady to the back.”

The guy’s young and skinny and pale—he’s either a vampire or he’s spent too many hours inside the university dorms—and he’s making the most of his power over the door. He takes his time looking us up and down, then pulls a walkie-talkie out of the pocket of his jacket and signals for Tyree. For a moment, I consider that my friend might not be on site, in which case, I’ll have to find someplace else to take Jez where we can get a seat despite the festival madness.

But then I see him approaching through the glass, a huge bear of a man whose beard and gold earring give him a pirate quality. Today, he’s wearing a short sleeved blue T-shirt with the Fix on Sixth logo, and when he steps outside and reaches to shake my hand, the deep blue tattoo on his well-muscled arm stands out against the dark cocoa of his skin.

“Haven’t seen you in a week,” he says, ushering me and Jez inside. “Where’ve you been?”

“Avoiding the crowds,” I admit. “But I thought Jez should see some of South By. And she can’t visit Austin without getting her fix.”

His teeth flash as he smiles. “Got that right. Nice to meet you, Jez,” he says, his voice loud enough to hear over the R&B band. “I’m Tyree. Call me Ty. I own this dump.”

“Hardly,” she says, looking around. “It’s great.”

“It’s got potential,” he admits. To me he adds, “Renovations and repairs are kicking my ass. But I’ll get it done.”

“Ty and I served a tour together,” I tell her. “Right before he traded in his uniform for a barman’s apron.”

“And a shit-ton of debt,” he says. “This week we’re in the black, though. So things are looking up. You here for the music?”

I shake my head. “Just the atmosphere. Jez and I need to talk. Thought I’d take her to the back.”

“You know the way, my friend. Tell pretty boy back there I said to treat you well.”

He’s grinning, and I know he’s talking about the new bartender, a grad student from the University whose name I can’t remember.

“He’s nice,” Jez says. Her mouth is close to my ear, and I know that’s only so she doesn’t have to yell, but her proximity has the side effect of kicking my pulse up a notch. “I like him.”

“Just don’t cross him,” I say, and she laughs.

“I’ll remember.”

We grab the only empty table and order two glasses of bourbon on the rocks. “So what do we need to talk about?” she asks, after the drinks come and she’s taken her first sip. “Or did you just want to get me liquored up?”

“Would you think less of me if I said the latter?”

She hesitates only a second, then shakes her head. “No,” she says, in the kind of low, sultry voice that runs over a man’s skin like a ripple of fire. “But we both know it’s a bad idea.”

“You might be surprised how many bad ideas turn out to be very, very good.”

Her smile fades, and she glances down at her drink, her finger tracing the rim.

“Jez?”

“Sorry.” She looks up with a slow shake of her head. “It’s just that we’re here because of a bad idea that was just plain bad.”

It takes me a second to parse the comment, but when I do, I say, “Levyl.”

“Are you familiar with the whole story? Him and Delilah?”

“Yesterday I wasn’t. Today, I have the basic Internet search version of the scandal.”

“Scandal,” she says, making the word sound as harsh as a curse. “A teenager should be able to make a few mistakes in her love life, but when hers blew up, it had to play out all over the tabloids and social media.”

“Levyl’s about her age, right?”

She nods. “He’s a year older than Del. They started dating when she was seventeen. They did a movie together—he’s the lead singer for Next Levyl.”

“It’s a boy band that won that TV show, right?”

“Exactly. And when the band hit, they were everywhere for a while, especially Levyl and the drummer. They got movies, TV shows, you name it.”

“It wasn’t on my radar,” I admit. “But I vaguely remember hearing about him and the band.”

“If you weren’t dead, you heard about them. They were that popular. Still are, really, though it’s settled into a more controlled insanity. But those first couple of years…” She trails off, shaking her head. “At any rate, Del and Levyl met when he was really exploding, and the world took a shine to them. Like the romance of the century. It was crazy—especially when she turned eighteen and the public started pressuring them to get engaged.”

“Pressuring?”

“Fans on social media mostly,” she explains. “But even talk show hosts would bring it up. It was crazy. And I think it was a little too much for Del. She adored Levyl—she still does—but when she went on location, and Garreth Todd was her co-star…”

I nod. “I read about that. Sounded to me like he seduced her.”

“He did. Hell, he’s admitted that much. And it didn’t last—Garreth dumped her. But she’s still the one who’s vilified, because she broke Levyl’s heart.” Her voice is rising, and she takes a deep breath, obviously so that she can rein in her emotions. “Like I said, only eighteen and the whole world knows her private affairs.”

“That’s got to be horrible. I don’t even like my sister nosing around in my life.”

As I’d hoped, that makes her smile. “Yeah, well, that’s the backstory. As for your part in all of this, you—”

“I think I got a sense of that last night.”

“The crazed fans? Yeah, that’s part of it. But the rest is all about my sister.” I must look confused, because she goes on. “Levyl’s coming here on Tuesday. I guess he’s performing during the festival.”

“And you think Delilah’s going to want to see him?”

“Yeah. She’s hurting. Those two together were combustible. Besides, it if was me, I would. If I’d hurt the man I loved? If I wanted to at least try to explain what happened and apologize? Yeah, I’d be all over that.”

“They haven’t talked since—”

“Just by phone. She cried for two days.”

“Poor kid. What a mess.” I rake my fingers through my hair, thinking. “We can get her to his concert. Get her safely backstage.”

She shakes her head. “No, no you can’t. Anything like that will leak. Right now, it’s starting to die down—last night was nothing compared to what it’s been. But if she goes there—if she sees him and it gets leaked—it’s going to blow up again. She’ll be vilified in the press again. Harassed on the set.”

She signals for another drink, her expression harried. “Look, there can’t be any scandal here, not even a hint of it. We can control her access to fans to keep it at a minimum, but if it blows up again—if what happened last night happens on a bigger scale—then my sister is pretty much out of a career.”

I lean back, surprised by such a bold statement.

“I’m serious,” she says, obviously seeing my confusion. “The studio’s already fired her from one job—she was supposed to have a lead in a popular action franchise. And that would have been a huge payoff in terms of money and her clout in the industry. But when the scandal broke, they wouldn’t touch her.

“But she has a contract,” she continues, her words spilling out. “And so they put her in this. It’s small and has next to no budget, but even so, they’re just waiting for a reason to kick her off. And if the scandal kicks up again, they’ll have their justification. I’m not supposed to know, but a friend who works in the executive offices told me. The lawyers have pretty much said that if the mess blows up, the producers can fire her and not be in breach of the contract.”

“But she’s in the middle of making the movie.”

She shakes her head. “No. We’ve only just started. They could fire her and bring in someone else, easy.”

I don’t know what to say to that, and she must realize it, because she continues. “So that’s what I need you for. That’s the basic job parameters. You’re protecting my sister from the fans, yeah. But mostly you’re protecting her from herself. And if you fuck it up—if you lose her and she sneaks off to see Levyl or gets herself caught up in some sort of fan riot—I will fire your ass so fast it will make your head spin.”

I study her, and it’s easy to see that she’s entirely serious. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Competence impresses me, Mr. Blackwell. From what I’ve seen so far, you and your company fit the bill. Hopefully I won’t be kicking my ass Wednesday morning.”

“What’s Wednesday?”

“The Austin part of the shoot is just a week. We fly from here back to Los Angeles. Everything else is on backlots and in the studio.”

“I see.” It’s Thursday, and I’m more disappointed than I should be to know that she’s leaving in just under a week.

“So that’s pretty much it,” she says, as the waitress delivers a fresh round of drinks. “Your typical teen celebrity security detail. Plus angst and scandal.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“Good,” she says, lifting her drink. “Because if you fuck it up, I promise it won’t be pretty.”

I raise my drink as well, then hold it out to toast. As soon as she clinks her glass against mine, I take a sip, then put it back down, studying her.

“What?” she demands.

“You’re not as tough as you pretend to be, Jezebel Stuart.”

Her brow creases, and she glances down. I’d meant the words as a tease, but it’s clear I’ve struck a nerve.

When she looks back up at me, there’s a new kind of ferocity in her eyes. “I am,” she says. “I didn’t used to be—hell, I didn’t want to be. But this job, this life…”

She trails off with a shrug. “Just don’t fuck with me, okay?”

I want to reach across the table and take her hand. I want to pull her into my arms and hold her and tell her that I might not understand all the demons she’s had to fight over the years, but that I will slay any that come near her now. I want to tell her that I’ll keep her safe, whatever it takes.

But I know that this swell of emotion rushing up inside me is about the woman and not about the job, and so I push it back. Hold it in. And all I say is, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She swallows the rest of her drink and lets out a heavy sigh. “So I guess this job’s not as sexy as what you usually do. Protecting state legislators or whatever.”

“It’s sexy enough.” I take her glass from her hand and raise it to my lips.

“Oh,” she says as she watches, her eyes on my mouth, as I take the last piece of ice. Then I reach for her hand. It’s warm except for the chill on her fingers where she’d touched the glass, and I fight the urge to kiss those fingers to warm them.

She clears her throat, then tugs her hand from mine and puts it in her lap. “So, um, what else do you do?”

“A lot of basic protection, like you said. And since Austin’s the capital, you’re right about providing security to politicians. And we work with a lot of performers. Usually not with Del’s Hollywood pedigree, but we’ve done security for some Grammy award winners who’ve performed at the Long Center and Bass Concert Hall.”

“Any teen clients?”

“A few. One about a year ago stands out. I was still with my old firm then, but I took the job on my own, off book.”

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath and think of Lisa. “Beautiful girl. Bubbly. Lots of fun. And very smart. Had a full ride at the University,” I say, referring to the University of Texas, the prestigious, well-endowed institution that has helped shape Austin’s culture.

“She was nineteen, and a stalker put his sights on her.” It’s a case I don’t usually think about, and I take a long swallow, letting the bourbon burn down my throat, as the memories well up.

“What happened?”

“He attacked her—she was lucky. Got away with her life, but he slashed her face. Deep cuts with a jagged blade. And then he made clear that he intended to finish the job.”

“She hired you?”

“She did. Well, her father did.” Hire is a relative term. I met Lisa through Kerrie, who’d met her in Gregory Gym, where they both took a spin class. Since neither Lisa nor her dad had the money for the fee, I took the case as a barter, in exchange for her dad doing some custom cabinet work for my condo.

“What happened?”

“The stalker tried again.” I start to raise the drink, then put it back down. “He’s dead.”

“You killed him.”

I pause, then tilt my head in acknowledgement. To be honest, his death still haunts me. Not that I killed him—I’d do it again in a heartbeat—but what I saw in his eyes. I’d seen a lot of things during my time in the military, but I don’t think I truly believed in evil until I looked at that man’s face.

Jez is watching me, and I know she can feel the weight that’s settled over our conversation. She says nothing, but she reaches out and takes my hand. My instinct is to pull away, but instead I hold on, surprised by how much the contact soothes.

But it only lasts a moment. Then, I gently pull away. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s—”

“I don’t expect to be killing anyone on this job,” I say, intentionally trying to add back some levity. “Unless of course the producer’s an asshole. Then we can talk bonus.”

A tentative smile touches her lips. “Fair enough.” She tilts her head, looking at me. “So I guess you understand teenage clients. And it sounds like you’re good with high maintenance clients from the entertainment world, too.”

“Absolutely,” I say, appreciating the tease in her voice. “But I have a feeling this assignment is going to be my favorite.”

“Because of my sister?”

I meet her eyes, and the heaviness that had been in the air is finally brushed completely away, replaced by something equally dangerous. “No.”

For a moment, we just look at each other, a faint pink rising in her cheeks. Then she finishes off her drink and reaches for the small wallet-style purse she’d left on the table. She slides the strap over her arm, then flashes an awkward smile. “We should probably go. I bet your sister has the contract ready.”

“Sure.” I stand, a little disappointed. I don’t know why—it’s not as if this were a date. As if we were going to leave the bar and head down Sixth Street, popping into various venues to drink and dance, her body pressed close to mine in the throng.

That wouldn’t happen. But so long as we sit here, I can nurse the fantasy. And I hate that Jez has thrown reality back in my face.

She’s three steps away from our table, and she looks back. “Coming?”

That’s when I realize she’s flustered, too. She hasn’t given a thought to paying, and right now, she looks like a rabbit who’s looking back at a hunter.

But this rabbit looks like she’d be happy to be devoured.

At least it’s not just me.

I toss a hundred on the table—I happen to know the waitress, Melanie, is struggling to come up with the balance of her tuition—and follow Jez to the doorway into the main area.

The bar is coming to life, along with the street. And as in my fantasy, the crowd pushes us closer together. I take her hand, ostensibly to lead her to the door, but really because I just want to touch her, and by the time we reach the exit and step out into the cool night air, I’m breathing hard and sweat is beading on the back of my neck. Not from the exertion of getting out of there, but from the effort of fighting the urge to stay.

She’s still holding my hand, and when I glance down and see our intertwined fingers, that’s it. It’s all over. I say a silent prayer and lift my head so that I can see her face, and there’s so much heat reflected back that it almost melts me.

“Pierce,” she says, but I just tug her toward me.

“Come on,” I say, urging her down the street, faster than I should since she’s wearing heels, but I can’t wait. And when we’ve gone two blocks down the street, I pull her into the service alley by my office and press her against the wall, caging her in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I have to.” I thrust my fingers into that rich, dark hair, hold her head steady, and claim her mouth with mine.

It’s probably the most wonderful, terrifying moment of my life. Jez, soft and warm in my arms, juxtaposed against the fear that she’s going to shove me back and slap my face.

But she doesn’t. Instead, her lips part more, and she leans into the kiss, her mouth as hot and wild as my own. One hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer, as the other presses against my back, giving her leverage to arch up against me.

I’m hard as steel, and it’s taking all my self control not to put my hands on the slit of her skirt and tear the damn thing right off of her. I want to slide my hands between her legs and feel how much she wants me. I want to bend my head and taste her breast. I want to lay her out naked and fuck her hard until she explodes in my arms and then begs me to do it again.

But I can’t, and so this kiss—this single, wild kiss in a filthy alley—is our stand-in for clean sheets and wild sex, and I thrust my tongue in deeper, making the most of it. She tastes like bourbon and sex, and as our tongues war and our teeth clash, I fear that this is so wild and so frantic that we’re going to draw blood.

But I don’t care. All I want is this moment. All I want is her.

She’s practically melting against me, and I’m losing my mind. My thoughts reduced to basic, primitive needs, so powerful I can barely stand it.

My condo’s only a few blocks away. I could step into the street. Grab a taxi, and take her home.

It would be a bold move. But then again, so was kissing her in an alley.

But, of course, we can’t.

“Jez,” I say, regretfully breaking the kiss. She opens her eyes, and by some miracle I grow even harder when I see the wild, blatant desire heating her eyes.

“We can’t,” she whispers, and though the words are like a knife, I know that they were inevitable.

“I know.”

Her brow furrows. “Then why—?”

“Because I don’t get involved with clients,” I say, silently damning my own stringent rule. “But I had to taste you—just once—before we sign the contract.”