Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(51)
Even from a distance, she could read his body language. He didn’t like Jason Stern standing so close. He didn’t like the man’s blue eyes skimming down her body with such blatant regard. He would come unglued if he thought she’d be leaving the theater with Stern after the show.
“I’ll have a limousine waiting at the rear entrance,” Stern went on, as if she’d already agreed. “Beau Desmond will escort you to the vehicle.”
She told herself it was just part of her job. That all of this would be over by the first of September, when her contract ended and she went back to finish her last year of school.
She glanced at Ethan, saw that he had moved even closer, crossed his arms over his powerful chest in a gesture she was coming to recognize. She should have found his intrusion annoying. Instead, he made her feel safe.
She smiled into Stern’s confident, attractive features. “I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight, Mr. Stern.”
“It’s Jason, please. From now on we’ll be working together.”
“Jason . . . I’m sorry, but several of us already have plans, and Matthew has declared tomorrow a badly needed day of rest. Perhaps we can discuss the matter over lunch when the tour gets to Atlanta.”
He smiled faintly. Half the women in the show were enamored of Jason. That he was married didn’t seem to matter. From what she had heard, it certainly didn’t matter to him.
He made a curt nod of his head. “I’ll phone you as soon as you arrive, set up a time that’s convenient.”
“Three minutes, Ms. Hart!” one of the stagehands called out.
Stern made another curt bow of his head. “Until Atlanta,” he said, turned, and walked away.
She wasn’t completely sure why she felt such a wave of relief. Ethan uncrossed his arms and moved toward her.
His dark gaze followed Stern’s movements until he disappeared, then returned to her, sliding over the necklace and down her body, a trail of fire that licked over her skin. The tension she’d been feeling returned, different now. Not nerves, just burning sexual heat.
“The diamonds suit you,” Ethan said mildly, though there was something hidden in his words. “You look like you were born to wear them.”
She studied his face. “I lived on the street, remember? One lesson I learned—there are a lot of things more important in life than diamonds.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. He flicked a glance to where Stern had disappeared. “You sure?”
He thought she was interested in Jason Stern? Not hardly. She smiled. “Positive.”
His broad shoulders relaxed. “Good to know.”
“You’re on, Valentine!” Daniel motioned her toward the stage and she hurried in that direction, not daring to look back at Ethan. She knew she would see the desire he worked so hard to hide.
Taking a deep breath, she took her place in front of the curtain and pasted a smile on her face. She reminded herself she was Valentine Hart and started striding down the runway.
Ethan heard the scuffle, the thud of heavy blows, and the sound of a muffled curse. He flicked a glance toward the stage, but Val was already finished. The necklace had been safely returned and she was back in her dressing room. Beau was nearby, along with a dozen other security people.
He headed toward the sound of men arguing, saw Pete Hernandez standing in front of two hard-looking biker types at the end of a dimly lit hall that opened into a room where stage sets were built.
A man with shaggy brown hair pulled into a ponytail wore jeans and a cutoff T-shirt that showed his ladder abs. The other man, taller, even harder, had tats running down both arms. Ethan wondered how the hell they’d gotten in.
The ponytail bobbed as the first guy swung, connected with Pete’s lip, and blood sprayed into the hallway. Pete threw a solid punch that landed hard, knocking the guy a few paces backward into the construction room. The guy stayed on his feet, crouched low, and got ready for more as Hernandez followed him in.
The room was full of equipment: commercial saws, hammers of every shape and size, plywood tables, sawhorses. The smell of freshly cut wood rose up from the inch of sawdust covering the floor. The ponytail guy threw a straight-from-the-shoulder punch that hit Pete squarely in the jaw, knocking his head back. Pete staggered, tipped over a worktable, and went down like a stone.
Swearing softly, Ethan stepped into the fray. Catching the guy by his cutoff T-shirt, he spun the man around, grabbed his arm, and cranked it up behind his back, then slammed the guy’s head into a half-built fake window. The man slid down moaning and didn’t get up.
The guy with the tats stepped in front of his friend, arm cocked back. Ethan ducked the punch, tripped the guy, and he went sprawling, but he was too dumb to stay down and scrambled back to his feet. He growled as he charged, ramming into Ethan’s middle, carrying him backward into the wall.
Ethan grunted, threw an underhanded punch to the guy’s midsection that lifted him clear off his feet, one more for insurance, then shoved him away.
“Time to end this, buddy,” Ethan warned.
“Fuck you, *.” The colorful tats blurred as he swung a blow that would have been painful if it had connected. Ethan sidestepped, caught a tattooed wrist, and dragged the man forward, bent him over a wooden sawhorse in the corner, and dragged his arm behind his back. Sliding a plastic tie onto his wrist, Ethan dragged the other arm back and secured it as well.