The next morning, Skye slipped out of Ash’s bedroom suite and went to find Forest. The only clothes she had were the scrubs she’d worn from the day before—comfortable but dirty.

A cascade of bodies filled the main living area. Crew members and groupies in various stages of undress were draped over one another in their post-coital haze. Empty alcohol bottles lay strewed about the place, but there was no evidence of powder lines, bongs, or needles.

A quick search failed to reveal her brother. She nibbled at her lower lip, wondering how Forest had fared against the temptation of alcohol. Ash had promised he’d have someone watching out for him. But had Forest caved to the temptations of his demons?

Her need to find Forest overrode the social conventions of not peeking in private bedrooms. There were six in the penthouse suite—one for each of the band and one for their manager, Thomas Tuttle. She tiptoed among the sleeping guests and pushed open the doors.

Bash, Bent, Spike, and Noodles each slept soundly in their own beds with at least one naked girl in bed with them. Only Thomas Tuttle’s room was empty although the bed had certainly seen action the night before. More importantly, Forest was nowhere to be found. Why was he not in the penthouse? Ash had mentioned Forest had to bunk with security. Where did they sleep?

She walked back to Ash’s room and fished her cell phone out of her backpack.

Where are you, Beanpole?

A quick search revealed her sneakers, and she slipped those on while waiting for his reply.

Downstairs.

She released her breath.

You with anyone?

My babysitter.

Another relieved breath escaped her lips.

Still sober, my summer Skye. Relax.

Can we talk?

Always.

Her heart skipped, and she wondered about the annulment papers their lawyers had prepared. She’d done some serious thinking after Ash had fallen asleep. Their worlds didn’t make sense together, but they did.

He texted.

I’m eating breakfast. Want to join me?

Okay.

Lover Boy coming?

He’s asleep.

A few minutes later, she found Forest in the hotel restaurant with Reggie. A half-demolished stack of pancakes sat in front of Forest alongside a plate of eggs and bacon.

Reggie waved her over when he saw her enter. “Good morning, Dr. Summers.”

“Please, call me Skye.” She smiled at him.

“Good morning, Skye. If you don’t mind”—he pushed back from the table—“I’ll go check on everyone upstairs.”

“Thank you for staying with Forest.”

Reggie shrugged. “After-concert parties can get kind of tiring when you’ve been around as long as I have. To tell you the truth, it was kind of refreshing to be apart from it all. Your brother is an interesting guy.”

“What did you do all night?”

Reggie put his hand to the back of his neck and stretched. “He straightened out my finances.”

Of course.

“Can’t believe I’ve been making so many mistakes.” He stood and shook Forest’s hand. “Thanks, pal.”

“No problem,” Forest said. “Just call, anytime.”

As Reggie left, she gave Forest a look. “Did you really spend all night discussing finances?”

He nodded. “Yeah, and I set him up with an investment account.”

“Your favorite band was upstairs, partying, and you were talking investments with one of their security guys?”

“Well, my favorite band drinks and fucks chicks. The only one who doesn’t drink was holed up with my sister. That kind of leaves me out on pretty much every level.”

“I’m not really into the rock-star lifestyle either,” she said.

Forest’s voice softened. “Funny, because it doesn’t look like you want to end things.”

But she should. “He deserves someone who isn’t broken.”

“You’re not broken.”

She returned a flat stare, unwilling to argue the truth. “Okay, how about this? He comes from a religious home. What are his parents going to say when they learn their son’s wife was once a whore?”

Forest’s eyes narrowed. “You were never a whore.”

But men had paid money to have sex with her. She would’ve done anything to keep her little Beanpole safe.

“Get your food, and we’ll figure this out.” He directed her to the buffet line.

When she returned, his pancakes were gone. The waiter stopped by and put a hot cocoa in front of her place.

“Thank you.” As she set down her plate, her hand shook so hard that she nearly dumped everything onto the table.

Forest gripped her wrist, holding it steady, without flinching.

She stared, stunned by his touch and the ease with which he continued to hold her hand.

“I refuse to let him rule my life anymore,” Forest said. But sweat broke out on his brow. “You shouldn’t either. When I touch you, I remember how he made me enjoy it. I still feel it. And it makes my insides twist. But it wasn’t my choice. I’ve decided that I let him control me for far too long. It’s time for you to do the same.”

“Forest…” She pulled away, seeing the strain in his face.

He grabbed her hand, a determined expression on his face. “I need to be the kind of man who can protect my sister. I hate what happened the other night. I hate what those few moments did, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. It’s never really been an issue, me not touching you, but only because it was too easy to keep my distance. I never realized how handicapped that made me until I could barely protect you. If I can’t protect my summer Skye, what kind of man does that make me?”

He released her then and took a sip from his coffee. His hand shook with fine tremors. “It’s time to overcome this, to kill this demon. And, like drugs, I’m going to win this war. I’m not Pavlov’s dog even though he conditioned me to be. Neither are you. It’s time to stop.” He rolled her hand over in his and gave it a squeeze. “Beginning with a simple touch.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

A presence clotted the air behind her. Forest glanced over her shoulder.

“Good morning.” The cultured deep voice had the hairs at her nape standing on end.

Thomas Tuttle balanced a plateful of scrambled eggs and sausage links in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other. Despite the early hour, he was dressed in a suit, and his short brown hair was slicked back with gel.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He sat before either of them could answer, placing his dishes on the table. He flagged down a waiter and ordered water and coffee.

“I’m surprised to see you down here. I would have thought you’d still be upstairs. The guys don’t usually start moving until noon, especially Blaze.” He shoveled eggs into his mouth.

Where she slept was no business of his, and Ash had been up at the crack of dawn every day he’d been with her. How well did this man know her husband?

“I was looking for my brother.”

Tuttle put down the fork and extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve formally met although I’ve heard a lot about Dr. Summers’s brother. Thomas Tuttle, Angel Fire’s manager.”

Forest shook hands. “Nice to meet you.” He didn’t give his name, but Forest liked to play with others and see how many buttons he could push.

After an awkward silence, Tuttle cleared his throat. “What did you think of the show last night?”

“Pretty cool,” Forest said.

Tuttle looked to her. He spoke, his mouth full of pancake, “Not many people get to see the show close-up. Tonight’s should be just as good. Maybe you’ll get to see the whole thing this time. I heard you only got to watch the last few songs.”

Why was he keeping tabs?

“I had to work late.”

He nodded. “How exactly is that going to work out with Blaze?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I was wondering about the logistics. Are you going to give up your practice to follow him around the country? Or will you be moving to LA where the band is based? How are you planning on working out this marriage, if it is indeed a real marriage?”

If she had hackles, they’d be bristling by now. She was two seconds away from gouging his eyes out.

Forest twirled his knife over his knuckles. “Why do you care?” He pitched his gravelly voice lower. Only a fool would ignore the implied threat.

Tuttle leaned across the table and captured her in a stare. “It’s my job to watch out for the band. I manage their problems. This marriage, for example—”

“What are you trying to say?” She hadn’t liked him when they first met, and she liked him even less now. “I’m not a problem.”

He gave a slow blink and licked the cream off a puff pastry. “Let’s say, I find it interesting for anyone to meet and marry in three days. When that’s combined with marrying one of the richest rock stars in the country, I find it concerning.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Forest growled, “or what you’re implying.”

“I’m not really sure about what you stand to gain from this situation,” Tuttle said to Forest.

Forest leaned forward, his hands fisting, but Skye hovered her hand over her brother’s, not touching but close enough to force him back into his seat.

Tuttle pulled out a stack of papers from his pocket. “Look, there’s no reason for this to get ugly. We’re prepared to make this easy on all involved.”

“We?” What the hell was he talking about?

“We’re prepared to offer a generous settlement.”

“Settlement?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

“Yes, provided you sign a nondisclosure agreement. Everyone walks away, as if this whole mess never happened. You go back to your job, and Blaze continues with his. A nice clean break.”

Forest ripped the papers from Tuttle’s hand. He scanned the ink. “A hundred thousand dollars? What the fuck? You want to buy her off? Does Blaze even know?”

Tuttle pushed away from the table and wiped crumbs from his chin. “That figure is more than fair compensation for a week of your time, Ms. Summers.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s Dr. Summers.”

“Well, I’m sure it will go a long way to paying off any student debt you might have acquired. Let me know, but this is a time-limited offer.”

“You didn’t answer Forest’s question,” she said. “Does Ash know about this?”

“Look, Dr. Summers, this isn’t the first time we’ve had to settle with some starstruck groupie who thought she’d get a piece of Blaze. This is his way of asking nicely.” He pointed to the documents. “Take the settlement, and walk away.”

“Or what?” She leaned back and crossed her arms, certain Ash would never have agreed to this but equally terrified he might have.

“The press isn’t kind. They have a knack for digging up things we all wish to keep buried.”

Forest pounded his fist on the table and rose to his feet, but Tuttle didn’t flinch under Forest’s intense stare. “You need to leave.”

“I’ve known Blaze a long time, and he can be impetuous, leaping before he thinks. He seldom stays with one woman for long. You’re little more than the flavor of the week.” He straightened to his full height, and the hardness of his gaze softened. “I don’t mean to be cruel when I say that, but I believe it’s best for all involved if I’m brutally honest. I’d hate to see you get hurt.” He pushed the papers closer. “Take the offer. You have a job, your life, and your reputation. Don’t throw that away on a fling.”

Forest shifted his gaze to the papers. He seemed to be giving Tuttle’s offer consideration. Either that, or he was warning her away. Sometimes, he was impossible to read. Her insides tumbled about, a seething mass of doubt and worry.

Tuttle was a bastard, but a vein of truth rang through his words. And the last thing she needed was a bunch of curious reporters digging into her past. Forest had concealed much of it, but secrets had a way of seeking the light.

“I want to speak with Ash about this.” She didn’t believe Tuttle, but she couldn’t help the doubt creeping into her mind. What Tuttle said could be true.

“There’s no need. He’s already signed.”

A chill settled in her chest, and the bottom dropped out of her world.

Ash hadn’t read what he’d signed. That was what had gotten the two of them into this mess to begin with, leaving the question hanging as to what Tuttle gained by breaking them apart.

There was irony in that. A random signature had joined them, and another would free her from that bond.

She pulled the papers close. “We’ll get back to you, Mr. Tuttle.”

“I’m sure you will, but the settlement is fixed. There’s no room for negotiation.” He excused himself, leaving her and Forest alone.

She grabbed the papers. “I want to go home, Beanpole.”

“You and me both, my summer Skye.” Forest’s gravelly voice wrapped her in comfort.

She might lose Ash, but she’d always have Forest.

“I’ll leave a message, telling him I went home. He has his concert tonight, and I don’t want to wake him. Give me ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Forest pointed to the Belgian waffle station. “Those waffles are calling my name. I’ll meet you by the front desk, but we’re coming back for the concert.”

“If you insist.”

In all honesty, there was no way she would miss a chance to watch Ash gyrating onstage even if it turned out to be the last Angel Fire concert she ever saw.