Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3)

was saying all this because he meant it. He cared.
They all cared.
I just really wasn’t used to this many people teaming up to tell me what to do. And I loathed other people making decisions for me.
“What if he’d gotten into the house?” Ash’s blue eyes held mine. And I hated seeing that concerned look on his face the most. “That can’t happen.”
He was right. I got that.
I looked away. I could feel the prick of tears in my eyes, totally unwelcome. I blinked them back quickly and said, “Do you think this Ronan guy carries a gun?”
“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”
“Of course I want to know.”
“Then ask him.”
I sighed again. “How are you the rational one now? This is un-fucking-precedented. What the hell is happening to my life?”
He smirked and took a drag off his joint. “You might as well give up, sweetheart. You know you’re outnumbered on this one.”

Chapter Six
Ronan
When I stepped out of Brody’s house, I found Summer in the driveway with Ashley Player. I approached them slowly, watching them talking.
I knew who Ashley was. I knew he was a rock star, another client of Brody’s, and the lead singer in Summer’s new band, the Players.
I also knew he was an ex-boyfriend of hers.
I’d been up early this morning, after only a few hours of sleep, working. Finding out everything I could about my new client. For now, that meant whatever was public knowledge, and her relationship with Ashley Player was no secret.
I’d never met him before today. But he’d seemed genuinely concerned about her in the meeting.
He caught me studying him and nodded at me over Summer’s shoulder, alerting her that I was approaching. She immediately stopped talking.
“’Sup,” he said to me, as her back straightened. He took a drag off the joint that had been dangling from his mouth.
Summer half-turned, forcing out a smile in my direction. “I’m out. Have a day,” she said to Ashley. Then she kissed him on the cheek and strut away, heading down the driveway to her car.
“What, you’re not even gonna wish me a good day?” he called after her.
“I wish you whatever kind of day you dream of,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
He chuckled, and his eyes met mine as I walked past him. That look said, Good luck, buddy.
I tailed Summer right over to her bronze Mercedes-Benz and slipped my hand around hers, just as she tugged on the door handle.
She stiffened.
“Allow me,” I said.
“Thanks, but I can open a damn door.” Her hand slipped away as I opened the door anyway. Then she got into the driver’s seat.
I leaned over the open door. “I meant, I’ll drive you.”
She tossed her purse in back and fixed her gaze on me. “Uh, no, you won’t.”
“It’s my job, Summer.”
“That may be. But this is my car. I drive it.” And with that, she yanked the door shut.
I glanced at Ashley, who was still standing by, watching this play out. He smirked at me.
I walked around the Benz as she started the car, opened the passenger door and slid in.
“Excuse me?” Summer gaped at me as I shut the door and did up my seatbelt. “Did I miss the part where I offered you a ride somewhere?”
“No offer necessary.”
“So, you just let yourself into a woman’s car without asking?”
“If that woman is my client and I’m on duty, yes. I think Ashley is waiting for you to pull out.”
She glanced up. He was standing beside his truck; he flicked the remains of his joint into the grass and grinned at her.
She gave him the finger.
“Fine.” She started up and backed us out of the driveway, gunning it unnecessarily, which I assumed was for my benefit. “But don’t take this as an admission that I wanted to hire you. You saw what happened in there. I was strong-armed into it. The guys are in a panic about nothing.”
“How much did you smoke with him?”
She looked at me. “What?”
“How much pot did you just smoke?”
“Just one puff, Dad. And I promise, I didn’t inhale.”
She gunned it up the street, cranking the music she had playing. Some dance song about… dancing. And getting wasted.
And more dancing.
According to the display on her dash it was Lady Gaga.
Then she proceeded to ignore me as she drove us back into Vancouver. She hummed along to her incredibly loud music, pretty much giving her seat a lap dance while she drove, and not because she was in a fantastic mood. Nope. She was doing her best to send me the message that I was in her world now, we were doing things her way—and I’d better stay the fuck out of her way.
Because she still needed to believe she didn’t need me.
But she was wrong about that.
When the next song kicked in, she turned the volume up even more.
“Do you think you could turn it up any louder?” I said loudly.
“What?” she shouted exaggeratedly.
I reached for the volume and nudged it down.
She rolled her eyes, and I might’ve sworn she muttered something like Killjoy under her breath.
“So, where can I take you?” she asked me.
“Wherever you’re going.”
“I can drop you at home. Where do you live?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I’m just going home.”
I said nothing. I figured we’d already established—when some lowlife tried to break into her house last night—that “home” wasn’t safe, as it was.
Summer kept glancing at me, throwing me annoyed, disbelieving looks as she drove. “What, you’re just gonna sit around my living room while I eat lunch and do yoga?”
Right. Because watching her bend over in yoga wear was a great idea.
I’d already had my theories about her body last night, when I saw her in that silk robe. The tight black pants she was wearing right now only confirmed it and then some: the woman was sexy as hell.
It was probably a better idea if I looked at her as little as humanly possible.
Anyway, I wasn’t being paid to to look at her. My job was to