Manaconda (Hammered #1)(19)

Hunter left me off-balance—always.

He skimmed his fingertips down my arms, the calluses leaving electric aftershocks along the silk of my jacket. The backs of his knuckles grazed the sides of my breasts before he carefully stepped back and raised his hands to my face. He cupped my cheeks, his fingers slipping into my hair. “It’s easy. One little syllable. Yes.”

My brain had emptied with each successive touch. What was I saying yes to again? Right. Being with him.

I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t really spit out yes either. There were too many reasons why I shouldn’t—career suicide, personal boundaries, all the smart things I should be thinking about.

He nipped my lower lip. “I’ll find you. If you try to leave, I will still find you.”

A shiver ran up my spine. Then there was that. Sweetness fell away as his rain-swelled gray eyes met mine. His face was devoid of laughter, the teasing long gone. Within fifteen seconds, he’d gone from seduction to demands. The words bordered on a threat, but the pounding in my clit was not on board with Stalker 101. It liked it.

I liked it.

And I kinda wanted to make him chase me.

All kinds of wrong.

When he disappeared past the curtains and out of view, my senses snapped in like I’d been stuck in a vacuum. I shivered at the wet spot over my nipple, from the dampness of my clothes due to his sweat, at the buzz in my fingertips after touching him.

I was a wreck.

I’d literally vined myself around a sweaty rockstar. My gag reflex should have been activated, for God’s sake. And here I was tempted to wait right there and get the full effect after the show. It was that thought that got me moving.

I scooped up my discarded iPad. A dent in the corner of the rose gold case now had Hunter Jordan’s name etched on it. I pushed back my hair and turned to find Indie.

Fuck.

“So, the other picture-happy moment wasn’t enough?”

Every instinct urged me to look away from her. Instead I kept my gaze defiant. I wasn’t ashamed. I was too keyed-up to be ashamed. I wanted him. He wanted me. We were adults.

After tonight, he wasn’t my problem anymore. He would be an ex-client and my favor to Donovan would be fulfilled.

I just needed to get through the afterparty, and wall of press waiting in the wings. I’d gathered enough information during the meet and greet to know what they needed to know about him and the band.

“Have you ever had a guy get under your skin?”

Indie tipped back her hat. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t. I’m not going to lie. I hate it, but…”

“But it’s hard to walk away from a man that turns your skin inside out.”

Relieved, I nodded. “That about covers it.”

“Well, you’ve got a brain in your head, unlike the other women Hunter’s hooked up with. He usually goes for the damsels in distress. Not exactly a label I’d slap on you.”

I snorted. “Definitely not.”

She shrugged. “So, just don’t rip his heart out through his nose, all right? He’s delicate.”

I laughed. “Delicate?”

“The big idiots always are.” She wasn’t laughing with me.

“I’m not looking for anything other than what this is.” I twisted my fingers into my purse strap.

“Make sure he knows that.”

I nodded. “All right.”

“Good, then we’re cool.” She lifted her hat and shook her tawny hair back before replacing it. “Now, you have about twenty-five rabid reporters waiting to talk to you. I’ll send Hunter along when he’s cleaned up.”

Send him out sweaty. I strangled my inner voice. That bitch’s filter was broken.

Instead of replying with anything more than a nod, I took myself to the ladies’ room. I was a wilted mess. Thanks to my emergency kit, I was able to pull myself together. I’d go back to my room and change for the afterparty. That was a much more glammed out affair.

I stepped out into the lobby. A long table was set up with microphones and nameplates. A six-foot-tall copy of the Rolling Stone magazine was right behind Hunter’s spot. Well, that was going to put him in an awesome mood.

As a PR girl, I knew that was where it should be. Personally, I wanted to shove it off to the side. I didn’t want to deal with the surly Hunter again. He’d started loosening up on stage and by the end of the show, he’d been the smiling sex symbol he was born to be.

I shook my hair back and went to the podium. I’d be fielding questions and keeping everyone on track for the next hour.

I was impressed with the number of magazines that had shown up for the show. Local news was peppered in with the bigger magazines, vlogs, and TV shows.

“Thanks for coming, everyone. The band will be out in a few minutes. They’re just showering off the stage sweat.”

“We want them sweaty!” came a shout from the back.

You and me both, sister.

“I guarantee it’ll be worth the wait. Now, does anyone have any questions I can answer about the album or the upcoming shows in LA this week?”

“That little display in the hall before the show? Real or publicity stunt?”

My gaze snapped to the woman in the smart chocolate suit. I knew that voice. Music Life’s lead reporter, Kim Forrester. Blonde, gorgeous, and far too smart for her own good—she was one of the few reporters that I loathed and respected at the same time.