Dirty Pleasures (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #2)(8)

I ignore all of them as the announcer says, “Then give a warm San Antonio welcome to Ms. Holly Wix!”

The spotlight goes dark for a moment, and a drummer starts with a beat. One guitar joins in, and then a second, and the stage lights come up.

And there she is.

My f*cking wife.

She’s wearing a tiny black leather skirt, over-the-knee silver leather boots with fringe, and a tight silver halter top. Her hair is bigger than I’ve ever seen it, and a ton of glittery makeup has her looking every inch the country starlet.

“Hey, San Antonio! Ya’ll are lookin’ gorgeous tonight.”

Her accent is thicker than I’ve ever heard it. It rarely slips out when she’s around me, and I wonder if she tries to hide it. I don’t like the idea of my wife hiding anything.

My thoughts are drowned out of my brain when the teenage girls next to me start screaming in the highest pitch humans can probably register. I catch phrases like, “Holly, we love you!” and “Holly, you’re so awesome!”

For a moment I wonder if Holly was like those girls in her younger years. Going to concerts and dreaming about standing on a stage like this, and playing for a crowd.

“Love you too, girls!” Holly calls out before launching into an upbeat song.

It’s one that even I recognize because it’s the music on a commercial that has been airing for months. Most of the crowd rise to their feet, many singing along with her.

I stay seated, soaking up the woman onstage in front of me.

I’ve heard her sing in the shower, and compared to this it was like listening to Beethoven plink out a masterpiece on a child’s toy piano—absolutely no comparison.

Holly’s incredibly f*cking talented.

And she’s mine.

The crowd loves her—including the guy with the sign that says Marry Me, Holly.

She can’t f*cking marry you, douchebag. She’s already married to me.

Right then, I realize I’m jealous. For the first time in my life, I’m f*cking jealous. And it’s of a teenage boy holding a piece of hot pink f*cking poster board.

I don’t get jealous. Ever. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and I don’t like it.

Holly plays only five songs before thanking the crowd and waving as she leaves the stage.

I could have listened to her—watched her—all night. Her sweet twang sank its claws into me, and those sassy lyrics were made all that much sassier by her red lips and swinging hips.

I think I’ve just become a country music fan. Cannon will never let me hear the end of it.

As soon as the theatre lights come up between acts, I’m out of my seat and heading for the security guy. I’ve got my wallet out and two grand in my hand when I stop in front of him.

“Not again,” he mumbles. “Dude, step off.”

“You see that woman who was just onstage?”

He nods as if he’s bored with this conversation already.

“She’s my f*cking wife.”

He looks down at my hand. I think he’s looking at the money, but his words prove me wrong.

“Where’s your ring then?”

I frown. I brought Holly’s ring to the hotel room on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t even consider getting one for myself, and Holly hasn’t mentioned it.

Right then I decide that I want Holly to want me to wear a ring. Why the hell hasn’t she brought it up before?

“I don’t have one. Newlyweds. You might have read about it in the paper. I’m Creighton Karas.”

He raises one dark eyebrow. “The billionaire dude?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head. “Yeah. I guess you could be him.”

I flash my license at him. “I am him.”

“Still ain’t letting you backstage without a pass. So put your money away, man.”

I grit my teeth, all the muscles in my jaw clenching.

“But you can wait out back by the tour buses after the show. She’ll be going out that way, and you can talk to her then. If she wants your ass with her, then she can tell her security to let you on the bus.”

I try to hand him the money, but he waves it away. “Nah, man. I’ll get fired, and I like my job.”

Fair enough. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Better get yourself a beer and enjoy the rest of the show.”

“I’ll do that.”

And I do.





Four beers and two more acts later, and I’m finally making my way around the back of the theatre to wait. What I find there surprises me. I’m not talking about the heavy metal barricades creating a path for the talent—those don’t surprise me. No, it’s the half-naked women shoving each other aside to press against those metal barricades. Security is stationed along the way, trying to hold them back, but the women are adamant that they’re going to see some guy named Boone or BT or something like that.

I make my way to the edge of a barricade as politely as I can, because I’m not about to shove my way through a bunch of women. But then again, I’m not taking a chance that I’ll miss Holly, even if I do feel f*cking ridiculous waiting outside with rabid fans like this.

Finally, the back doors open and a swarm of security precedes a crowd of people. The women start screaming, and I’m lifting my hands to plug my ears when I catch sight of Holly.