Page 66 of Rock Bottom
Later, after the performance, I’d throw on an indigo tux jacket before heading back to our table. I had men’s dress shoes in the wardrobe bag, but screw it — the sneakers were staying.
I set my phone on a stand and hit record so I’d have video proof I’d handed the diamonds to the security team. Ridding myself of the millions of dollars’ worth of sparkles was a huge relief, but being in comfortable shoes was still a bigger deal.
Later that night, I’d realize the coin had moved itself, so it was around my neck while we performed, glowing in the stage lights on the backdrop of my black shirt.
Oddly enough, the waist chain was titanium around my waist, but turned black when it migrated, blending perfectly with my shirt.
When I watched video of our performance the next day, the gold of the coin sparkled in the lights while I played. The damned coin understood exactly how to showcase itself to be seen, whether in an interview or on stage.
The coin didn’t just have a mind of its own, it had a flair for dramatic timing.
We won a couple of awards, so there were more trips onstage after we returned to our seats, but thankfully, nothing else of note happened during the show.
I checked my phone in the limo and saw some texts from Julian telling me how much he enjoyed our performance, and congratulating us on our awards — but he did it as my boyfriend, not a fan, and that made all the difference in the world. My heart warmed, and I video-called him so we could all talk to him a few minutes on the way to our first afterparty. I missed having him with me, but the little interlude lifted me up, reminding me someone back home loved me and was waiting for me to return to him.
We hit several afterparties, the band circulating, socializing, being seen — and damn, was I glad I was in sneakers. A few people commented on the outfit swap, from dress to tux, and I just shrugged and told them I had to change to perform, and no way was I putting those heels back on if I didn’t absolutely have to.
Charlie had made sure our performance clothes were waiting for us backstage, and he promised to get everything back to our hotel rooms. Sure enough, the dress was hanging neatly, the torture-heels in a bag, along with all the makeup and hair stuff I’d packed.
I opened my suitcase, folded the sort-of-a-tux into it as I stripped, tucked the necklace into a side compartment, grabbed a t-shirt and sleep shorts, and made my way to the shower.
I didn’t stay in long. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, rinse — the usual. I held my face under the spray a few minutes, letting the hot water wash away the lights, the noise, the chaos. Just me and the soothing white noise of the falling water.
I’d set a towel within reach, and when I shut off the water, I grabbed it with my eyes closed and rubbed my face dry, slow and deliberate, savoring the quiet before I lowered the towel and opened my eyes.
And there he was. An absolutely gorgeous man leaned against the far wall of the bathroom like he’d stepped out of a wet dream, arms crossed over a muscled bare chest, and a sexy smirk with the promise of what those lips could do.
Even if Marco hadn’t projected his image into my head weeks earlier, the loincloth and the lust curling low in my belly would’ve told me exactly who this was.
My dick hardened and my pussy clenched, but I ignored both. I also managed to keep from screaming hysterically like a girl, and instead wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked it in, calm as hell, even if my pulse was racing past allegro into prestissimo territory.
“Xaephan,” I said. “In the flesh.”
“Jules Alva Copperfield,” he replied, voice like sin on velvet. “Stage name Silver.”
I didn’t need to check. I knew the necklace was back because I could feel the cold metal on my heated skin, but I ignored it.
“No deals,” I told the sexy-as-fuck demon.
He pushed off the wall, lazy and lethal, and started toward me with a predatory grace, his dark, honey-bronzed skin catching the light like wet heat, obsidian hair swept back to bare cheekbones honed like blades, as if beauty was just another weapon. His eyes were a flickering gold today, otherworldly and scorching, and he wore nothing but that damn loincloth.
Every inch of him was built for temptation. Every breath he took remade the air around him, and heat flushed through my body, my mouth went dry. Hell, my whole nervous system locked up, humming like a fucking live wire.
His grin was slow, wicked, with the promise of countlessdevastatingtemptations, and the visual wrapped around my spine and squeezed my dick like a vice.
Closer and closer, until he opened the glass shower door so there was nothing between us, and used a smoky voice that vibrated through my blood like bass under my skin to ask, “Even if I could turn you one gender or the other?”