Chapter Two

“Hell fucking no,” Shane snapped, the hard edge of his voice alien to his own ears.

He spun away from the cowboy’s raised eyebrows and Jonas’s startled expression, bumping into a solid wall that was Isaac, who, stealthy as ever, had come up behind him. He growled at Isaac.

“Seriously.” Shane poked a finger at Isaac’s muscles-on-muscles chest. “Why can’t you be my bodyguard?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Shane?” Isaac said with a rueful shake of his head and sincere apology in his dark eyes. “I don’t do close protection.”

Shane did know, unfortunately, but that didn’t mean he could hope Isaac would change his mind. While Isaac and his team toured with Audio Siren, Isaac wasn’t a personal bodyguard. His job was to clear a path for concerts and signings and interviews, so Shane and his bandmates could move about without being mobbed by fans. Shane loved his fans, one hundred percent, but he wasn’t keen on having his clothes torn and hair tugged and getting body-mauled by boundary-lacking admirers.

But Shane knew Isaac. Trusted him. They’d had a good rapport from the jump, and even though Isaac was straight as an arrow, he took Shane’s occasionally inappropriate flirting and teasing with aplomb, giving back as good as he got. That was a man secure in his masculinity. If Shane had to have a bodyguard with him every second of every day, then he wanted it to be Isaac.

“I wouldn’t trust your safety to just anyone,” Isaac said. “You know that, right?”

Shane nodded with a huff. “But a cowboy ? ”

Shane had never hidden his dislike for cowboys, but Isaac didn’t know why. Didn’t know how deep that aversion ran.

A bitter memory threatened to surface from the depths of Shane’s mind—a ruggedly handsome face shaded by the low rolled brim of a Stetson—but Shane stomped that mofo back into oblivion with a pair of mental biker boots. There was nothing worth looking at in the rear-view mirror of his life before Audio Siren.

Isaac frowned at him. Confusion clear in his midnight eyes. He opened his mouth, but Shane wasn’t done.

“This has to be a prank, right?” Shane flapped a hand in the general direction of the foyer, where Jonas and the cowboy still stood. “Because bodyguards are supposed to all look like secret service dudes, or like Men in Black with the memory-wipe thing.” Shane waved his hand at Isaac. “Or like you.”

Isaac and his team certainly fit that bill, with their bulky muscles and crisp suits and mirrored aviator sunglasses. Except Isaac’s usual attire was a long-sleeved black Henley under a sport jacket rather than a dress shirt and tie.

But a dude who looked better suited to roping cattle than touring with a rock band?

Shane glared at said man, staring back at him with stormy, gray-blue eyes and an appealing air of confidence about his lean, muscular frame. His legs were long and strong, and his jeans bunched at the bottom over a pair of too-fancy looking brown cowboy boots with turquoise stitching. Gold, rust, and white dissected a navy plaid flannel shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders, and his strawberry-blond hair was neatly trimmed above the collar line. If Shane had to guess, he’d put him somewhere close to his own age, if a few years older. To top off the unwanted flashback to Shane’s youth, the guy wore a brown felt cowboy hat with a low rolled brim and an espresso leather band around the crown. Without the hat and boots and big-buckled belt, he’d totally be Shane’s type.

And why the fuck did he even notice?

He pursed his lips into a frown.

“Shane,” Isaac warned. “Don’t be an ass. Wes is the best in the business. And a friend of mine. ”

Shane huffed and pushed past Isaac toward the wall of windows as Jonas and the cowboy entered the main living area of his suite. He kept his back to them, his gaze fixed outside on the endless horizon that stretched beyond the shores of Lake Ontario, boats bobbing lazily on the gentle steel-blue swells. Shane the rock star could deal with anything. Shane the gangly rancher’s kid he’d thought long dead and buried, whose unrequited love for a wrangler changed the course of his life? Not so much.

With effort, he sealed the gap in his armor back into place, that the mere presence of the cowboy bodyguard had cracked.

Sonia, Shane’s personal assistant, sat at the end of the table closest to the windows. Shane watched her out of the corner of his eye, her head swiveling between him and Jonas, Isaac, and the cowboy .

“Wes! Holy shit.” A deep, breathy oof promptly followed Isaac’s enthusiastic shout. Shane didn’t turn around, but he pictured Isaac pulling the cowboy into a full-on bro hug. “Good to see you, man. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it?”

Wes laughed, and Shane shook his head at the two of them. Straight dudes .

“Too long,” Wes said. His voice was a deep rumbling baritone that sent an unexpected shiver of desire tumbling over Shane. He clenched his jaw tight enough to grind his molars. Two words . How the hell did the man affect him so viscerally after speaking all of two words? Whatever Shane’s body thought it was up to, it needed to sit down and shut up, because he was so not on board.

Shane missed Wes’s next comment, but Isaac was laughing again, the traitor, and Jonas was coaxing Wes to share embarrassing stories about Isaac.

“There was burrito-gate,” Wes said, and damn that voice . “Remember?”

“Shit.” Isaac barked a laugh. “I forgot all about that.”

“We got called to a report about a baby in a trashcan at one of those big box stores,” Wes regaled, a note of laughter lightening his words to a honeyed rumble. “I made Isaac look first, and he started laughing.”

Shane fought turning around to give them a piece of his mind, because in what world was a baby abandoned in a trashcan laughable ?

“Turned out,” Wes continued, “the baby was a burrito.”

There was a stunned pause before the room erupted with laughter. Even Sonia was chuckling. Shane had to pinch his lips tight to keep from joining in.

“Oh my god,” Jonas gasped. “How the hell does someone confuse a burrito for a baby? Just how big was it?”

“ Huge .” Isaac said, his tone serious, and another round of laughter followed. Shane imagined him holding his arms out as far as he could stretch.

“We need to go for drinks when this is all over,” Jonas said. “I need to hear more.”

“Deal,” Wes said at the same time as Isaac cried, “No way.”

“Never mind him,” Jonas teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac said. “Okay. I need to get back to work. See you later, Shane.”

“Whatever,” Shane mumbled without turning around. He waved though, so as not to be a total dick. Isaac was one of his favorite people, after all.

The closet door squeaked open and the clatter of wooden coat hangers bumping together drifted to Shane’s ears. Isaac getting his jacket, he guessed. “Let me know if you need anything, Wes. Shane can be a bit much, but deep down, he’s actually a good guy.”

“I heard that,” Shane called over his shoulder.

Isaac chortled. A happy-sounding chime announced the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened and closed with a soft swoosh .

“Wes,” Jonas began, footsteps moving deeper into the suite. “This is Sonia Allard. Shane’s personal assistant. Sonia, meet Wes Stonebraker. Shane’s new personal bodyguard.”

Sonia rose from her seat and disappeared from Shane’s peripheral, followed by shuffling and rustling fabric behind him.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Wes said, and Shane damn-near bit his tongue. It wasn’t fair that with each word, the man’s voice grew sexier than it had any right to. He wondered idly what Mr. Cowboy Bodyguard would sound like if he put that baritone to song.

“You too,” Sonia replied, but there was a note of hesitation in her tone .

Good girl . She might be petite, but she was mighty, and she looked after Shane like a momma bear. She’d make sure Wes did his job, and that Shane didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. Well, no more than usual, at any rate.

“Shane,” Jonas called, but Shane ignored him.

Maybe if he pretended long enough that they weren’t there, Mr. Cowboy Bodyguard would disappear. Right . Just like if he willed it hard enough, his stalker problem would vanish, too. A tremor threatened to take hold at the memory of what had happened in his hotel room after their concert in New York a couple nights ago—and the reason he needed twenty-four-hour protection. He rubbed his arms at the ants-crawling-all-over-his-skin feeling the memory induced.

“ Shane ,” Jonas repeated, his irritation clear. “Play nice.”

Shane hated being talked down to, but okay, he supposed he deserved it just then. He knew he was acting like a brat because he usually reserved this level of rudeness for the paparazzi. But no one had any knowledge of Shane’s history with cowboys or his life pre-Audio Siren. All they knew was that he had an unusually strong aversion to rugged men of the land who wore wide-brimmed hats. With a sigh, he shuffled to face the music.

Jonas couldn’t have been any more opposite than the man next to him. Jonas was, as always, impeccably dressed and styled to perfection. A little too polished for Shane’s tastes. He liked a bit of a rough edge to a man, but Jonas was an undeniably attractive man. And happily married.

Jonas gestured to Mr. Cowboy Bodyguard, who was watching Shane with his assessing stormy eyes. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his snug jeans. Do not look at his package, do not look at his package .

“This is Wes Stonebra—”

“I heard.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow, and Shane waved his arm in a continue motion.

“Wes,” Jonas said. A dare interrupt me again , warning clear in his eyes. “Is not only an old friend of Isaac’s, but one of the best there is in the security and protection business. He wouldn’t be here if Isaac didn’t trust him. Don’t be a dick.”

Jonas turned to Mr. Cowboy Bodyguard—okay, Wes —after Shane nodded that he’d behave. For now.

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now,” Jonas said to Wes, “this is Shane Castle. An amazing singer, but also a constant pain in my ass.”

Sonia giggled, and Shane snorted. “You wish.”

Jonas rolled his eyes and shook his head. Their band manager was married to one of the most beautiful men Shane had ever seen. And Jonas knew just how lucky he was. Fourteen years later and he still only had eyes for his husband. The faint edge of jealousy poked at Shane’s insides for what Jonas had, but he pushed it away. He didn’t hold out any misguided notions in finding that kind of love. He’d yet to date anyone who looked past the rock star persona to uncover the real him, so pining was pointless.

“Okay. Let’s let Wes get settled in.” Jonas gestured to the second bedroom on the opposite side of Shane’s suite. “You can drop your things in there, Wes. Then we’ll all meet downstairs in the production room, so we can introduce you to the rest of the band and get you up to speed.”

Jonas stretched out his hand, and Wes took it in a quick shake. “Thanks, Jonas. We won’t be long.”

Jonas nodded and gestured for Sonia to leave with him. She cast a questioning look at Shane. He loved that girl. In a totally platonic little sister kind of way, of course. He tipped his head at her, letting her know he was good. Isaac had vouched for Mr. Cowb— Wes —and Shane trusted Isaac with his life, so by extension he should be able to trust the cowboy with it, too. Being a friend of Isaac’s, the guy was likely straight, but also being a friend of Isaac’s hopefully meant he wasn’t a major homophobe.

But why did he have to be a cowboy? Had he done something to piss off Karma?

A man like that had flipped his whole life upside down. He’d gone from a cheerful kid on a ranch without a care in the world to a kid on the street singing for food money. But that life, that kid, was long gone and Shane was the one in charge now. He rolled his shoulders back. He’d show Wes who he was. Lay it on thick and maybe, with any luck, send him running so Shane could get a bodyguard whose mere presence didn’t threaten to open old wounds and send him spiraling backward.

“Go on,” he told Sonia as he gestured toward Wes, who was dragging his single suitcase into the other bedroom. “I have dedicated twenty-four-seven protection now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

With a nod, she went back to the table to gather her tablet and notebook. She tucked a loose pile of papers into a manila folder that she left on the table.

“These are for Wes.” She pointed at the folder before following Jonas into the elevator with another look over her shoulder.

Shane barely had a second to recalibrate his mental armor before Wes came sauntering out of his bedroom. Because yeah, the man sauntered . All loose limbed and coiled lean muscle and a quiet yet commanding confidence that made his presence known without word or sound. His broad shoulders narrowed into a trim waist, and tucked under his deliciously muscled arm was a laptop.

Shane sighed. Being around this guy all day every day was going to suck, but with any luck, Wes wouldn’t be around for too long.

“So. You’re my new hired muscle.” Shane made a point of sweeping his gaze from the top of Wes’s cowboy hat to the toes of his boots peeking out from under his jeans. He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be all gym-rat muscular and brooding and sporting dark shades and a black suit? And you know, not a cowboy?”

Wes raised an eyebrow and snapped back, mimicking Shane’s tone. “I don’t know. Aren’t you rock stars all supposed to be wasted off your head and having orgies and destroying hotel rooms?”

Shane grinned. Oh, he loved a man who gave back as good as he got. He could almost forgive Wes for looking like he just stepped off the set of a western. “Maybe I’m not like any other rock star.”

“And maybe I’m not like any other cowboy.”

Touché .

“No,” Shane cooed and let his gaze roam the length of Wes’s tall frame again, a little slower this time. Let’s see how you handle this . “You are delicious. ”

Wes’s stormy eyes widened ever-so-slightly before his expression blanked, and Shane’s inner brat shouted Score ! while doing a mental victory dance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having the cowboy around for a while. There could be much fun to be had getting under Wes’s skin.

“Let’s go,” Wes said, his voice flat.

Wes crossed the suite ahead of Shane and pressed the elevator call button. When the doors opened, he scanned the interior quickly before stepping back and gesturing for Shane to enter ahead of him. Shane winked as he passed Wes and entered the car.

Wes gave no reaction as he followed, and with his back to Shane, pressed the button for the hotel’s mezzanine level. Then he stood stock-still as they descended thirty floors.

Shane took the few seconds to ogle Wes from behind, and holy hell, did the cowboy have a gorgeous behind. All round and firm in perfectly fitting jeans that hugged his butt like a lover’s hands. Shane’s own hands twitched.

“You sure you’re a genuine cowboy?” Shane couldn’t help himself. His new mission—and stalker distraction—was to poke the bear. To see how many times a day he could get a rise out of his new bodyguard. “Those boots are a bit too fancy for real dirty work. But then”—he paused for effect—“I suppose there is more than one definition of dirty work.”

Wes glared at him over his shoulder. Gray-blue eyes narrowed under brows the same color as his hair. Which meant he was a natural redhead. Nice .

“These boots are for business.” Wes turned back around, as if that was obvious.

Shane grinned. Point two for me . But before he could say more, the elevator chimed as it came to a gentle stop and the doors slid open. Wes stretched his free arm out in a stay there gesture. He took one step outside the elevator, scanned the immediate area, and dropped his arm.

“Let’s go,” Wes said, falling into pace a step behind on Shane’s right.

“Sure you don’t want to hold my hand?” Shane teased. He grinned when Wes shook his head, expression still blank, but the firm press of his lips betrayed Shane’s effect on him .

Shane grinned. He’d have a new bodyguard in no time at all.

Christ . The new gig had only just started and already Wes couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Shane Castle was over the top. And distracting with his bedroom eyes and perfectly pink lips and mischievous grin. Too bad his in-your-face innuendo and couldn’t-care-less attitude was so off-putting. Wes doubted there was much more to Shane beyond the surface, which was exactly the kind of person he avoided as much as possible.

He forced his thoughts away from Shane and focused on their surroundings, eyeing every interior door, hallway, and access point as they walked toward the production room. He cataloged every person they passed, burning them into his memory as he noted the placement of security cameras in the halls, fire alarms, windows, and exterior doors. Attacks could come from any direction, inside and out.

When Shane reached for the doors to the production office, Wes stopped him with a hand on Shane’s shoulder. The heat emanating from the firm muscle beneath his palm tingled his skin. His breath caught. He cleared his throat as he dropped his hand, discreetly rubbing his tingling palm against his thigh.

“After me,” he said, his voice gruff.

He stepped inside to scan the large rectangular room—the only access point was the door they had entered through—and seven sets of eyes zeroed in on him. Five were curious, people he hadn’t yet met; one was businesslike, Jonas; and one was speculative, Sonia. Content there were no immediate threats, Wes stepped back and motioned Shane in ahead of him.

“Mmm, I do love a gentleman,” Shane whispered in Wes’s ear as he passed by, his breath a warm caress on Wes’s neck.

Wes narrowed his eyes at Shane’s retreating back. Seemed the man was determined to make things difficult for Wes. But fine. Wes had stoic and unaffected mastered. Shane would have to do a lot better than that to get under his skin.

The space looked like the fancy-hotel equivalent of a basement family room that made Wes long for the hominess of his cabin, where everything inside was one-of-a-kind and made by hand, and soothed a weary soul with its earthy tones. Here, everything was beige on beige, from the matching factory-line living room furniture to the bland décor, generic landscape paintings, and massive L-shaped sofa drowning in oversized throw pillows.

Shane flopped down on the sofa next to a man Wes recognized from the hasty research he’d done after Isaac’s call—bandmate Daryl Phillips. He had piercings in his ears, nose, and one eyebrow, and long ice-blond hair with black roots and shaved sides. Daryl gave Shane a fist-bump greeting.

Wes lowered himself into an empty chair near Jonas, placing his back to the wall and giving him a clear view of the door. He propped his laptop on his thighs.

There was a table at the back of the room loaded with snacks, water, juice, and a coffee pot. He made a mental note to ensure Shane didn’t consume anything not properly sealed. Not after learning that Shane had likely been roofied after the band’s last concert.

“I’d like you all to meet Wes Stonebraker,” Jonas said, getting the conversation going. “He’s Shane’s new personal bodyguard. Where Shane goes, Wes goes.”

Everyone nodded in his direction and the woman at the end of the couch saluted him with a drumstick.

“Wes.” Jonas began introductions with a wave of his hand toward each person. “You’ve met Sonia. Next to her is the band’s publicist Chloe Palmer.”

Chloe was in her late twenties. He couldn’t get a read on her height as she was sitting down, but her legs were long and body slender. Her hair was a deep brunette, long and straight. Trendy, gold-framed eyeglasses highlighted large brown eyes. She waved a shy hello .

Sonia, Chloe’s opposite in that she was petite in stature with brunette hair layered in a short shaggy bob, sat up straight with a “bring it on” air about her, nodded at him with pursed lips.

Then to the crowd on the sofa, all of whom Wes recognized already from his research, Jonas introduced, “Daryl Phillips on rhythm guitar.”

“Hey, man. You don’t look much like a bodyguard.” Daryl also appeared to be in his late twenties, and was grinning, curiosity bright in his hazel eyes. His faded jeans, black tank top, and scuffed black biker boots matched his biker/rocker vibe. Tattoos fully sleeved his exposed arms, and what little skin showed between all the adornments was pale white.

“That’s what makes me the best,” Wes said dryly.

“Cool.” Daryl play-shoved Shane’s shoulder. “I’m happy you’re here to look out for my bro.”

Wes tilted his head. They looked nothing alike, and Wes hadn’t found anything in his preliminary information gathering to indicate they were related.

“My band is my chosen family,” Shane said, correctly interpreting Wes’s internal thoughts as he elbowed a laughing Daryl.

“On Shane’s other side,” Jonas continued, ignoring the two wrestling bandmates, “Is Jamie Lloyd. Lead guitarist.”

Jamie, wearing a button-up collared shirt with the buttons undone to mid-chest, dark jeans, and red sneakers, appeared older than the rest of the band.

“Welcome to the madness,” he said in complete seriousness. He brushed long dark hair, tipped with red highlights, off his shoulder. He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. Not so serious after all, then. Wes returned a lopsided grin and tapped two fingers to the brim of his hat.

“Second from the end is bass player River Kosaku,” Jonas said. “They/them.”

River sported a baby face but was surely older than they looked, with flawless warm-fawn skin, and short black hair styled into a spiked faux hawk. They wore a black long-sleeved shirt with bright pink splashes across the front, a bright pink scarf around their neck, jeans, and pink sneakers. Their dark eyes glittered with amusement, as though they were on the verge of cracking a joke, gaze roaming Wes’s body. River grinned at him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” River purred.

Wes shifted in his chair at the blatant perusal. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention and much preferred blending into the background, which was why the work he did suited him—people paid him to go unnoticed .

“Quit being such a tease,” Daryl admonished playfully. “We all know you don’t put out.”

River threw a pillow at Daryl. “I’d put out for him.”

Wes didn’t fail to notice that everyone was laughing, even Shane. Except his laugh seemed more forced than the rest.

Jonas cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s not be sexualizing the new employee here, people.”

Mumbled apologies and sheepish expressions directed toward Wes followed. Wes hadn’t taken offense, but he appreciated Jonas’ attempt to keep the band members in check.

Satisfied, Jonas continued, “And finally—”

“You mean, ‘and the best for last’,” the woman at the far end of the sofa said as she deftly twirled drumsticks through nimble fingers with painted red nails trimmed short. Bold colored bracelets contrasted her warm umber skin and clinked on her wrist.

“And finally,” Jonas repeated with a grin. “The best for last. . . Our drummer, Wish.”

Wish’s dark hair was styled into a loose, natural curly bob that highlighted her cheekbones and large onyx eyes that bore an expression of boredom. She tipped her head toward Wes, and he responded in kind. At first impression, she had a no-nonsense calm about her that was a nice contrast to the other band members.

“I know I’m here as Shane’s personal bodyguard,” Wes addressed the small crowd, “but that’s just a part of the security and protection business I run with my brothers. Investigations are a big part of what we do, so I’ll be asking you all some questions to get up to speed and hopefully narrow down a list of potential suspects. The police can only do so much. Your constant movement makes their job harder, but I can dig deeper. The faster we get Shane’s stalker, the better for everyone.”

“Make yourselves available for Wes.” Jonas rose from his chair and walked over to the snack table. “I’ve given him carte blanche to do whatever he needs to protect Shane and help catch his stalker.”

Everyone nodded, but Sonia’s mouth flattened. Did she know something? Maybe have something to hide?

“I’d like to start with you, Miss Allard.” Wes gestured to Jonas’s now-vacant chair, where he could speak without having to raise his voice over the band members’ chatter .

Sonia rose and sat down beside him with an air of annoyance as she crossed one leg over the other. How someone so small and unassuming could make him feel like he was all of three inches tall was beyond him.

“I can assure you,” Sonia began, her voice sharp and words pointed. “If I knew who this stalker was, I would tell you.”

Wes studied her for a few seconds. She gave no outward signs of being nervous or guilty, more that he irritated her—either him in particular, or for keeping her from her work, he didn’t know. But he never took anyone’s word as gospel. His job was to look into everyone and follow any crumbs, however they presented and wherever they led.

“I appreciate that,” Wes said, his voice level and professional. “I’d like to get an idea of what everyone does for the band, and who has access to Shane in particular. For example, I’m assuming that Jamie is married, going by the gold band on his ring finger?”

Sonia nodded.

“Then I would also assume that perhaps his spouse travels with the band, attends concerts, and things of the like. Giving them access to Shane.”

Sonia snickered. “Rosie is devoted to Jamie. No way would she be doing anything like this.”

“I didn’t say she was. I’m just trying to find out how many people, no matter who they are, have access to Shane. Friends, significant others, regular groupies, all those employed to support the band in one fashion or another. Being that you’re his personal assistant and spend the most time with him, you would know more than anyone else.”

“Fine, I get it.”

“Good, so let’s start a list.” Wes opened his laptop, clicked on his app icon, and navigated to the project folder he’d set up on the drive to the hotel. “As Shane’s PA, what does your job entail and how often are you with him?”

Sonia shot a perturbed glance at him. Like she had better things to do than sit there and describe her job duties, which he was sure she did, but she went through her daily list and answered all his questions without hesitation .

“Who in your social circle also has access to the band?”

Sonia laughed, but there was no humor in her brown eyes. “The band is my social circle.” She shook her head once and sighed. “A couple of my girlfriends come to band parties, and my boyfriend has been to a few as well. He comes to the concerts when they’re local.”

“Where’s local?”

“Los Angeles.”

“And what does your boyfriend . . .?”

“Max,” Sonia answered slowly.

“What does Max do for a living?” Wes asked.

Sonia narrowed her eyes. “Max is definitely not the stalker.”

Wes held a hand up. “Didn’t mean to imply, ma’am. Again, just getting an idea of who everyone in Shane’s circle is.”

“He’s an accountant,” she said hesitantly. “He works in an office in Culver City.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Wes added a few more notes to the column for Sonia, including all the pertinent details regarding her friends.

“Are we done?”

“For now, yes,” Wes gave her a smile. A little charm went a long way in gleaning information from people. “Thank you.”

With a curt nod, Sonia rose from the chair, her back straight as she returned to her seat across the room, and began tapping away on her tablet. Wes called Daryl over next.

A little over an hour later, Wes had compiled a list of everyone who had access to or had crossed paths with the band, and more specifically, Shane. He sighed. Touring bands encountered far too many people daily, and even the people who traveled with them were not only a large number but ever-changing. Keeping Shane safe would not be a straightforward job.

He lifted his gaze and found Shane watching him with a wicked glint in his eyes. Instead of looking away at having been caught, one corners of his mouth quirked up. Wes narrowed his eyes.

“Okay everyone.” Jonas clapped his hands. “We need to be at the arena for sound check in thirty-five minutes. Let’s get a move on. ”

Thankful for the interruption, Wes closed his laptop and rose, rolling his shoulders more for an excuse to look away from Shane than because he was stiff from sitting.

Shane himself was going to make things difficult, what with his impish behavior and annoyingly sexy eyes. Wes bit back a sigh and mentally cursed Isaac for talking him into taking this job.