Taste Me by Tamara Hogan

didn’t respond; the spike of lust he pumped into the room as he remembered her slim wand of a body pressed against him said it all. But he was relieved to hear that Scarlett wasn’t involved with the musician who’d been with her when that paparazzi shot had been taken. Seeing the man’s hand on Scarlett’s shoulder, reading the suggestive caption, had given him a jolt. He’d almost started a background check on the guy—deep background. Proctology-level background. But once he settled down and looked at the picture objectively, he noticed things he’d missed the first time around: the fear in Scarlett’s eyes, the tension in her body. The man’s defensive position. Musician or not, the guy had been ready to fight.
    “The tour’s been a huge success, the reviews are great,” Sasha was saying. “But thank the aurora it’s over. Like Garrett said, she’ll get the break she needs now.” Her voice firmed. “I’ll make sure of it.”
    “No more sex, drugs, and rock and roll. How sad. Might be too quiet for her here at home.”
    Sasha’s head snapped up. “The rock and roll part is certainly true. Scarlett doesn’t do drugs. As for the sex…” She shrugged.
    Lukas’s temper surged.
    His sister sensed it, and went in for the kill. “Hey, why shouldn’t she fuck a dozen fanboys a week? You won’t go near her.” She examined her nails. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
    Lukas opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Sasha barreled on. “And you’re a fine one to talk. You treat sex like a workout, like it’s mere body maintenance. Safety in numbers, no emotional involvement. As soon as someone wants more from you than your admittedly spectacular body, you move on.” Her voice gentled. “How much longer are you going to punish yourself?”
    BAM. Solar plexus shot.
    “You big dolt.” Sasha clenched a tiny fist and slugged him. “Pull your head out of your ass. She wants you, and you want her. Finish what I interrupted in the hall.”
    He swallowed before answering, trying to lubricate his suddenly dry throat. “Sasha, you said it yourself. She’s tired, exhausted. She didn’t realize what she was doing.” The universe help him if she did. He wasn’t certain he could fight himself and her at the same time. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”
    Sasha burst out laughing, a laughter so knowing it made the blood rush to his face. “Looked like it was working just fine to me.” She stepped around the chair and put her hands on his shoulders. With him sitting down, they were almost the same height, and he couldn’t avoid her eyes, damn it. “You’re scared to let your guard down, to meet her halfway.”
    Lukas didn’t deny it.
    “You’re scared it could work too damn well.”
    When Sasha’s cell phone rang, Lukas welcomed the interruption.
    She pointed at him. “Don’t move.” She huffed a breath, chanting “there are no tickets left. There are no more tickets. No, I don’t have any tickets put aside or tucked away” like a mantra.
    “Did I mention that there are no more tickets?” she said to Lukas, her frustration palpable. “My phone has been ringing off the hook for weeks. I should make a damned recording.” But despite her annoyance, she picked up. His sister was too much of a businesswoman to let a phone call go unanswered during business hours.
    Distorted bass pulsed in the background, making the phone’s tiny speaker buzz in protest. “Tomas! Turn that damn music down, I can’t hear you.”
    The caller was probably Tomas Diego, the drummer for Ten Inch Screw. Lukas had seen his name on the VIP list. He’d slapped cuffs on the man himself nearly a decade ago, after that notorious sex tape featuring Tomas and his pneumatically blessed wife had been beamed to all of humanity. The investigation had cleared him, determining that the tape had been stolen from Diego’s home and hadn’t been purposely leaked, but Lukas still thought the man took too many