Page 96 of Unleashed By Eden

Cindy is once again perched on his lap just like she was on the plane, laughing loudly and tossing her hair around. X has one hand spread over her thigh, thumb stroking idly as if she isn’t a live grenade with the pin halfway out. He looks relaxed. Happy, even. He has no idea what he’s invited into this room, this tour, or my life.

I make a mental note to smack him in the back of the head later.

I drag my focus away from that mess and find the only person that matters.

Vi is leaning against a tall table a few steps away, hips slanted, camera strap looped around her wrist, eyes on me. Dark molten heat climbs my spine, closing a fist around my skull.

My feet carry me until I’m standing right in front of her, toe-to-toe. For a long moment, we don’t say a word. Time gets weird, collapsing in on itself. Her gray eyes narrow the tiniest bit, the start of a smirk tugging at her mouth, and I feel my responding grin pull at my own lips. The tension between us draws tight, ready to snap.

Everything in me wants to put my hands on her. Turn her, press her back against the nearest wall, mouth on her throat, hands under that dress, and feel the heat I’ve been starving for since Toronto.

But I can’t.

Megan is ten feet away, pretending not to watch me from behind her champagne flute. And the biggest reason of all sits in the back of my mind like a deadweight. Liam. Still miserably fucking unaware.

Vi tips her head, her red-painted lips spreading wide. “So,” she says, low enough that it’s almost eaten by the music. “Cindy.”

I pull a cigarette from my back pocket and light it.

She arches a brow. “That was ballsy.” There is a spark of real amusement there. “Thank you,” she adds, and I know she means it.

“I figured it was time,” I reply, blowing smoke out of my nose. “Time to stop letting old bullshit have that much power over us. Over you.”

She nods, looking down.

I lean in, close enough that no one else can hear. “And tomorrow,” I murmur, “your ass is mine.”

Her head swings back up, lips parting.

“No holding back,” I add. “Not with my people around.”

The hunger in her eyes makes my cock jump against the zipper. She looks ready to climb me or claw at me, maybe both.

“That’s a big promise,” she says quietly.

“When have I ever not delivered, Storm?”

For a moment, it’s only us. Everything else disappears. Her gray eyes are the only clear thing in the room.

Someone jostles my shoulder, shoving a hand in my face, and the moment between us cracks. I take the hand out of habit, give nothing more than a quick squeeze, then let it go, my gaze never leaving Violet’s face.

Tomorrow, we get our fill.

Chapter twenty-seven

Violet

The bus idles outside the hotel, the scent of Tom Ford’s Black Orchid surrounding me before I even clear the top step. Is someone wearing it, or did the driver spritz it into the air before we boarded? Wouldn’t put it past him when spoiled musicians are involved.

My backpack’s cutting into my shoulder; every compartment in that thing now rattles with spare lenses and memory cards. The longer this tour goes, the shabbier my luggage gets.

I catch the familiar babble of voices before I even turn the corner into the main seating section. Hailee’s the first to spot me. She waves like I’ve been gone from Eden for years, not months. Chloe is curled beside her in one of the big recliners, scrolling her phone with tired eyes. Cora’s stretched along the sofa, a bowl of chips balanced on top of her bump, radiating beautiful “beached whale” energy. She looks serene, equal parts glowing goddess and exhausted human who desperately needs a nap.

Hailee’s been my boss long enough to read my mood from thirty feet away just from the angle of my eyebrow. Chloe, too. She’s always been easy to like—a little quiet and reserved—mostly keeps to herself, but solid all the way through. Cora’s newer to me; she was only at Eden for a short time before James dragged her out of that life and put a ring on it. From the little time I spent with her, it was obvious she was honest down to the bone.

There are no Blaires or Cindys on this bus. Thank fuck.

“Welcome to my babymoon,” Cora announces, popping a chip into her mouth. “Well, mine and James’s. You lot are just tagging along.”