Demon's Plaything by Lydia Rowan Page B

to shorts and flip-flops and everything in between, so she doubted her outfit would even garner a second glance. But she couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel conspicuous, like people would stare, like maybe she’d see someone she knew. Nana would say it was a guilty conscience, though whether for ditching Ian or for being involved at all, she couldn’t decide. Trying to shake off the feeling, she parked and walked toward the back entrance. If she saw someone she knew, they’d have as much to explain as her, so she couldn’t let that be a concern, not when the finish line was in sight.
    As she reached out to open the door, a hand clamped on her shoulder, and she screeched, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. She looked up and recognized one of the burly, sour-faced guys who patrolled the crowd and escorted unruly patrons elsewhere. She hadn’t caught his name and didn’t intend on asking for it now.
    “Fuck! You scared the crap out of me, dude!”
    “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, though his gruff tone didn’t corroborate his statement. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises. And please don’t return.”
    “What?”
    “I’m going to have to ask—”
    “Yeah, I got that. I guess the question is, why? And says who?”
    “I don’t know anything else, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
    The pounding of her heart morphed from fear to anger in the space of a single beat.
    “Is Ian in there?”
    She looked back at the door and shook his hand off her shoulder.
    He didn’t touch her again, but the hard look in his eye told her he’d said all he was going to. She was at a loss. The apparent ban was no big problem, but the source concerned her. And if Ian was in trouble…
    Dammit, Shayla!
    That kind of thinking had gotten her into this mess in the first place, but still, she couldn’t just leave without knowing he was okay. Her gaze drifted from the security guard to the door and back. Maybe she could outrun him…
    “Shay?”
    Ian’s call grabbed her attention, and a final look at the security guard, face still sour but impassive, his bulk seeming to loom larger the longer she stood, proved the futility of that plan.
    “What the fuck did you do, Shayla?”
    Her eyes widened at the onslaught and at the rage marring Ian’s face, making his features tight and distorted and blocking all trace of her charismatic brother.
    “I didn’t do anything.” The defense was automatic. She’d been unprepared for this attack.
    “Then what did you get your little boyfriend to do?”
    “Ian, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m here as you asked. But I’m done. But we can talk about that later. What’s going on?”
    “I had a good thing going here, Shayla, and you fucked it up.”
    “She didn’t fuck up anything.”
    At the sound of Demon’s voice, she looked back at the doorway where he stood, his large frame taking up most of the space. Her heart leaped yet again, this time from the lightning strike of relief and arousal that hit her. Even now, in a warehouse parking lot seemingly on the verge of all hell breaking loose, she yearned for him, spirit and body.
    “I told you, Ian. You chose not to listen then. Listen now, and I won’t repeat myself.” Demon’s voice was practically arctic, all hints of the playfulness that she’d come to expect wiped away completely. Maybe this was where the nickname came from.
    “Come on, man. We can work something out. I’ll split Shayla’s fee with you.”
    Those words had Shayla looking back at Ian. At this rate, she was going to throw up from motion sickness or have a freaking heart attack.
    “What fee? Ian?” she said, and the expression on his face revealed that he’d let something slip.
    “It’s…nothing, really, Shay. It’s just…”
    “Just what?” she said, voice scalpel sharp.
    “Nothing. But the doctor who attends usually gets a small…honorarium.”
    “What? What do you mean, Ian?” she