Sweet Possession (Sweet #5)(5)

To his utter horror, he went hard.

He smiled then. A lazy, “I don’t give a f**k” grin. It was either that or groan at his growing discomfort, and he’d eat nails before allowing her to know how affected he was by her. “The feeling, Ms. Jones, is entirely mutual.”

She frowned, then slipped an arm around one of the giants at her side, who immediately leaned down to kiss her cheek. The other huddled in close on her other side and she slanted a sly grin up at him.

She may as well have worn a sign that said “I’m f**king both of them” for all the discretion she exercised.

“I’d invite you to join us, Mr. Malone, but somehow you seem too uptight.”

He chuckled and prayed she couldn’t see his erection, because . . . damn. “I’m afraid I’m a bit choosier than you are when it comes to my bed partners.”

Color tinged her cheeks and then she turned away, both guards immediately surrounding her as she walked to the door.

Phillip cleared his throat next to Connor. Connor glanced up.

“Lyric is, uhm, shall we say a little difficult?” Phillip began.

Connor was beginning to think it was her standard description. He held up his hand. “Save it. You don’t have enough money to make me take this job. I’d have to be f**king insane.”

He was already goddamn insane because from the moment she said she didn’t like him, his c**k had roared to life and said, Come get me.

The very last thing he wanted was a bratty pop star around him twenty-four/seven, one who gave him a hard-on every time she argued with him.

He’d be nothing but a walking erection.

Lyric walked into her suite and fended off Trent when he went for her top. Surprise flashed in his eyes when she instead headed for the minibar to pour herself a glass of water.

R.J. sidled over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Something wrong, Lyric?”

She shrugged him off, unable to explain why she could suddenly not bear for either of them to touch her.

“Just not in the mood,” she said darkly.

Trent chuckled. “But, sugar, you’re always in the mood.”

“Not tonight,” she said sharply. “I just want to be . . . alone. Okay?”

The two men looked at each other in shock, then stared back at her as if she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had. Alone? What was she thinking? She didn’t do alone. Ever. The only thing worse than being alone was being one-on-one with someone. She didn’t like either option and surrounded herself with people even in sleep.

But tonight? Yeah, she could do alone. Connor Malone’s disapproving stare had rattled her. Way more than she’d ever admit aloud. She got plenty of that on a regular basis. Thrived on it, even. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what people thought of her and had made it her mission in life to give the public as much ammunition as possible. So why did one condescending ass**le get under her skin so badly?

She shook her head but couldn’t get his sneer out of her mind. He made her uncomfortable. As if he could see right past her shields, all her secrets and all her fears. It was as if he’d seen her naked and vulnerable and hadn’t been at all impressed. But then, why should he be?

“Lyric, are you all right?” R.J. interrupted. She could hear the worry in his voice, but at the moment she didn’t care and didn’t have the mental energy necessary to reassure him.

She waved dismissively at them and turned away. It was a clear signal for them to leave, and they’d be fools to ignore it. They might be intimate with her, but sex was all they offered. They weren’t her friends. Weren’t her confidants. She didn’t have those.

When she heard the door open and close, she turned back to survey the empty suite. Cold panic clawed at her throat and she took several long, steadying breaths. Sweat that had nothing to do with her exhaustive performance beaded on her forehead, and she could feel nausea well in her throat.

She gazed around, absorbing the loneliness that surrounded her like fog. It seeped into her skin. Wrapped around her bones until she was paralyzed by its grip.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Gripped her arms with her fingers and then rubbed up and down to assuage the coldness that emanated from the inside out.

Connor Malone had looked inside her. He’d looked past the flashy, brassy veneer and stared coldly at her. Disapproving. She’d felt stripped bare before him and it pissed her off. He was nobody to her. Just some flunky that her record label wanted to hire to babysit her. Fuck that.

They wanted someone to rein her in, and that cold bastard would probably delight in doing just that. Over her dead body.

She grabbed on to the anger, harnessed it like someone desperate to ride the wind. The alternative was fear.

A knock sounded at her door and she flew to open it, relief rocketing through her system. She yanked it open to see Phillip and Barry standing there in their smarmy executive clothing, but in that moment, she was so relieved to see them, she didn’t care.

“Lyric, are we disturbing you?” Phillip asked.

She shook her head and opened the door wider. “Come in. Can I get you a drink?”

They walked inside and looked around, surprised, she knew, to find her alone. Phillip shrugged out of his expensive coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. “We need to talk, Lyric.”

She bristled at his tone and donned her best belligerent sneer. “You can talk. I don’t have to listen.”