Work was why I’d had to leave Violet in Remington’s capable hands and fly back to the states. Apparently I’d agreed to some kind of photo shoot for the end of my brother’s summer tour during a weak moment, not thinking about all it would mean I had to do.

  Cannon had been sketchy when he’d made the request earlier in the summer while he was on the road, but I’d been distracted at the time, and I’d barely paid any attention to what he was asking. I hadn’t even remembered to tell my agent about it because I’d assumed it was just a favor to my brother. But Cannon had called her himself, and she’d reminded me about the job when she’d called with all the information she had on the WAR-SAW Global contract.

  Which was why I’d flown to Miami instead of going home to Santa Monica like I wanted to. Or stayed in London and watched the adorableness that was Violet and Remington as I’d really wanted to do.

  Mom and Dad had been with Cannon during the tour. They were supervising my grown brother, because while he’d changed a lot for the better, thanks to Violet, he was still a total dick when it came to Piper Bryant, who was one of his opening acts on this tour. Also, because he and Jagger were still not friends for whatever reason, and since Aunt Emmie couldn’t tour with her son, it was my parents who had to keep the peace between the two of them.

  My plane touched down, and I was met by some goon in a suit who probably worked for Barrick’s security. He held up a sign with S. Cage wrote on it, so I rolled my carry-on in his direction. But as soon as I got within three feet of him, Jagger appeared as if out of thin air and slung me over his shoulder.

  “Get her things, Quincy,” Jagger instructed the guy with the sign.

  Surprised at the sight of him, I didn’t struggle or cause a scene as he carried me like that out of the airport and deposited me in the back of a limo, where another goon in a suit was waiting to open the door.

  As soon as my ass touched the leather seat, I scooted across until my back hit the opposite door. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded as I glared at him while he slid calmly onto the seat beside me.

  “Just picking up my girl,” he said with a shrug. The door shut, and then I heard the other guy storing my case in the trunk. Meanwhile, I just sat there staring at Jagger like he’d lost his fucking mind.

  Maybe he had since he’d been on tour the entire summer with my brother. I could understand the loss of his mental health after having to deal with Cannon’s ass for so long, most of that time crammed together on a bus with nowhere to have a break from him.

  “I’m sorry, do you have brain damage? I am not now, nor have I ever been, your girl.” I turned so I was facing forward and folded my arms over my chest. “I guess you forgot that somewhere during the past two years.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve just been biding my time, letting you cool your jets. But I’m done being patient, Dimples. Your time is up, and I’m not letting you run from me anymore.”

  “‘Letting me’?” I repeated in a soft voice and slowly turned my head to look at him. “You let me?”

  “Yes, baby. I allowed you to run after misunderstanding what was going on in my apartment that day you returned my key. I allowed you to hide away with your sister in Tennessee for an entire summer. I let you avoid me for the past two years. Because I knew in the end, I would come out on the other side the winner.” He reached out and tucked a few locks of my hair behind my ear. “And here I am, with you right beside me. Where you belong.”

  “You didn’t allow or let me do anything, asshole. You. Are. Nothing. To. Me.”

  A voice in the back of my mind whispered I was a liar, that no matter how hard I’d tried to forget about Jagger Armstrong, it hadn’t worked. I still wanted him. Still stupidly loved him. But I’d be damned if I told him that. He wasn’t worth my time or the tears he would bring with him if I let him back into my life.

  His jaw clenched for a moment before he grinned again. “Keep telling yourself that, Dimples. Maybe next time you shouldn’t let me see those beautiful baby blues when you lie to me. They give you away every single time.”

  The limo started moving, but I was half tempted to jump out of it. But I had other jobs lined up in the coming weeks, and I couldn’t risk injuring myself or scraping up my face. After I’d canceled on clients for months, it had taken a lot of work to show them they could rely on me again when I’d finally felt like going back to work. I’d spent the last fifteen months proving to them I was worth the money they were shelling out to make me the face of their products.

  Deciding ignoring him was the best course of action, I retrieved my phone and texted my brother.

  Me: What the fuck did I agree to do for you again? I can’t seem to remember what the job description was.

  Cannon: I didn’t specify at the time. You’re going to be in a music video.

  I narrowed my eyes at the way he’d worded that last sentence. A music video. Not his music video.

  Me: Whose video is it, Cannon?

  I saw he’d read the text, but he didn’t message me back, and I swallowed a curse.

  Me: If it’s not for you, I’m not doing it!

  Cannon: You signed an airtight contract, baby sis.

  Me: When THE FUCK did I sign a goddamn contract?

  Cannon: The day after I asked you to do this for me.

  I didn’t remember signing any frigging contract. But a few texts to my agent later and I was looking at the scanned document with my name scrawled across the bottom. I would have called bullshit, but my signature was too unique for anyone to have tried to forge it. They must have tricked me into signing the damn thing somehow, but I didn’t know how. I always looked over everything I signed.

  Deciding I was going to murder my brother—and my agent for helping him—I dropped my phone back into my purse and glared out the side window until the limo pulled up in front of the hotel a good twenty minutes later.

  A valet opened my door, and I stepped out. The humidity blasted me in the face, but I ignored the sticky heat and stomped into the hotel. As if they were watching for me, Mom and Dad appeared in front of me.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Dad said as he kissed my cheek. “How was your flight?”

  “Did you two help Cannon set this up?” I asked instead of answering his question.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked innocently.

  “Did you trick me into signing a contract to do a fucking music video?” I glared from one parent to the other, not liking the sly looks in their eyes as they smiled fondly at me.

  “Would we do a thing like that?” Dad dropped an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the bank of elevators. “Come on. We have the two penthouses and there are plenty of extra rooms, so you don’t have to check in.”

  As we stepped onto the elevator, Jagger joined us, rolling my carry-on beside him. At least six other people were riding with us, so I couldn’t yell at any of them. Each person was on a different floor, so it took forever to get to the penthouses.

  “Isn’t there a separate elevator for the penthouse floor?” I grumbled when we stopped for the fourth time.

  “It’s under maintenance,” Mom told me.

  “Sure it is,” I muttered.

  “No, it really is,” Dad assured me. “They’re doing a few renovations at the moment. There are a few floors that aren’t even accessible right now.”

  “Last week, we were at one hotel where they were doing renovations, and the only elevator was the service elevator.” Mom grimaced. “We were on the fifty-second floor but ended up taking the stairs more often than not.”

  “That must have sucked.”

  “I felt more sorry for Liam than anything,” Dad said with a twist of his lips. “His leg was killing him by the end of the second day. Gabriella told him not to use the stairs, but he got fed up with the wait. Every elevator was over capacity each time he tried to use it, and we had places to be.”

  “Poor Uncle Li.” Piper’s dad had been in a really bad car accident before he’d married her mom. He’d nearly died and still walked with a limp because of the rods in his leg. The guy stayed fit as hell, but I could imagine going up and down fifty-two flights of stairs repeatedly could cause him some serious pain.

  Finally, we made it to the top floor where both penthouses were. Each took up one side of the hotel, but when I went to follow my parents to the left, Jagger stopped me. “We’re this way, Dimples.”

  “I don’t think so,” I gritted out between clenched teeth.

  “Jags is right,” Mom interrupted. “There are only three bedrooms in each penthouse. Gabriella and Liam are in one room, and Piper has the other in ours. You are with Jagger and Cannon in that one.”

  Outwardly, I only married my eyes at all three of them, while internally, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. They were all working against me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  “Freshen up and take a nap,” Dad suggested. “You have a busy day tomorrow. Filming starts at six sharp. You’ll want to look rested.”

  “But I’m hungry,” I complained.

  “I’ll order room service,” Jagger said, pulling me toward the door he’d just opened. “Good night, everyone.”

  I caught him winking at my parents, and I stomped on his foot. But he was wearing steel-toe biker boots, and I only ended up hurting my foot. “Asshole,” I seethed as I limped into the penthouse.

  “Are you okay?” Jagger set my case by the door then scooped me up into his arms. “Baby, did you hurt yourself?”

  “I’m fine. Put me down. I can walk.” I wiggled in his arms, but he only tightened his hold as he walked through the open floor plan of the luxurious suite and nudged open a door with his foot. Using his elbow to flip on the lights, he carried me across the room to the bed and carefully placed me on the end before crouching down.

  Taking off my shoe, he examined my foot before declaring it was just a bruise.

  “Gee, thanks, Doctor. Whatever would I do without your expertise?” Rolling my eyes, I scooted back on the mattress. “You can go now.”

  “This is our room.” He nodded toward where his case was already open on the floor near the window.

  “No fucking way!” I jumped up, but he only pushed me back down with a firm hand on my shoulder. “There’s an extra bedroom. I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

  Ignoring me, he picked up the room service menu and offered it to me. “What would you like to eat? The chicken quesadilla is really good. Cannon and I both had like six of them yesterday.”

  “You and my brother are cool now?” I asked with lifted brows.

  His face hardened and he shrugged. “We’re working on it. But don’t fucking think I’m picking him over you, Dimples. He knows you’re my first priority, and he accepts that.”

  I was tired after the long flight from London, and I didn’t want to argue with him. It was a dead subject as far as I was concerned. Anything concerning us was. I’d moved on, gotten over him, and…

  I was a liar.

  I wasn’t over him. I hadn’t been able to move on.

  But he didn’t need to know any of that, or that my heart was still very much engaged.

  “Quesadilla sounds good to me.” I yawned and stood. “Do you think you can grab my case for me so I can shower?”

  Surprise flashed in his eyes. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

  “I’m exhausted, Jags. Way too tired to even attempt to keep up with you right now.” I walked into the bathroom. “Grab my case and then order my food, please.”

  While the shower heated up, I heard him bring my case into the bedroom. I walked out in nothing but a towel wrapped around my body to retrieve my toiletries bag and something to sleep in. I felt his eyes on me the entire time, and my treacherous body responded to his keen appraisal. But I ignored my painfully hard nipples and my drenched pussy as I walked back into the bathroom like I wasn’t ready to jump his bones at any moment.

  Once the door was shut behind me again, I engaged the lock, not trusting him not to try to join me while I was in the shower.

  Not trusting myself not to take him up on the offer if he did.

  I took my time once I was under the powerful spray, letting the jets work on some of the tension in the muscles of my neck and shoulders. But as my muscles began to relax, my exhaustion only multiplied until it was taking all my effort to remain standing upright.

  By the time I was dry, I was stumbling and half asleep. I was going to crash as soon as my head hit the pillow, which sucked because my stomach was already driving me crazy with how it was grumbling for food.

  I’d been fine in London. The photo shoot for Remington’s car had drained me, however. But I hadn’t slept all that great the past two nights because of the time difference issue. I couldn’t sleep on commercial flights, especially if I was traveling alone. The seat beside me had been empty since Violet had stayed behind with Remington, but the idea of people I didn’t know or trust watching me sleep freaked me out. I could imagine too many Taken scenarios, starting with some perv watching me sleep and then abducting me as soon as I stepped off the plane.

  When I opened the bathroom door, I stumbled and probably would have face-planted on the floor if Jagger hadn’t caught me.

  “Whoa there, baby,” he murmured as he gently scooped me up.

  Unable to hold up my head, I laid it on his shoulder and closed my eyes as he carried me to the bed and placed me in the middle. The covers were already turned down, and as soon as my head touched the pillow, he was pulling them up around me and tucking me in.

  That was the last thing I remembered before he was placing a tray on the bed beside me, urging me to eat.

  The smell of food forced me to open my eyes, but I couldn’t lift my lashes for longer than a few seconds at a time. Using himself as a prop, he moved me so I was leaning against him and fed me a triangle of quesadilla. With each bite, I got a different taste. Sometimes, he would dip it in salsa or guacamole or sour cream. My favorite was the house-made pico.

  “Sleep now, Dimples,” he murmured, kissing my brow as he shifted me back onto the mattress and positioned my head comfortably on a pillow.

  In my sleep-drunk state, I found myself begging him to hold me. I heard his sharp inhale, and then he was kicking off his shoes and crawling in behind me. The heat of his body as he pressed himself against my back, the utter feeling of completion at being in his arms again, sucked the final drops of energy from my body, and I fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 32

  Jagger

  After so long of not being able to see, touch, or feel Shaw whenever I wanted—and I’d wanted to every damn day—having her fall asleep in my arms was enough to bring a lump to my throat.

  For the longest time, I just lay there watching her sleep. The bathroom light was still on, casting a soft glow over her, making it easy to trace my eyes over every inch of her face. Her hair was still wet, and I knew she was going to be grumpy about that in the morning, but I couldn’t do anything about that without disturbing her sleep.

  This plan of Cannon’s had better work. Because if I had to spend so much as one more day without her, I was going to lose my fucking mind. I was seriously surprised I hadn’t lost it already, and part of me wondered if maybe I had and that was why I was trusting my ex-best friend—now sort-of friend—to help me win Shaw back.

  The beginning of the summer tour had started off kind of rocky, not just between Cannon and me, but her parents and me as well. Like Shaw, they thought I did the one thing I promised I never would and broke their daughter’s heart. But once I explained the big misunderstanding, they quickly got back on board with Shaw and me being together.

  Cannon suggested the music video, because the song I wrote for her hadn’t done jack shit to get her to listen. It started off as just an apology song that I had to fight tooth and nail with the producers at Petrova to get on my solo album. I’d pushed for it to be one of the singles released before the album even dropped, and Ma had to do some fast talking to make them see it was a good idea.

  I knew Shaw must have heard the damn thing by now. Every person in the world with access to a radio had heard it at this point. The first week on the air, it had hit the top ten on both pop and rock charts. It had hit number one on Billboard and had remained there ever since. I’d hoped Shaw would call me and at least give me a chance to explain once she heard it, but she’d remained stubbornly quiet.

  Now, I was relying on Cannon’s self-proclaimed brilliant idea to get my girl back.

  There wasn’t an actual video for Shaw to be in, although I was paying her fee for her time. Everything was being staged to seem like there was one, though. Ma had even called in a favor with a director she knew, and the guy was going to be on set the next morning in case Shaw got suspicious. Her parents and even Piper were in on the whole thing, so they were playing along like everything was the real deal.

  My record label had already filmed a video for the song. Just me singing in front of a window while it rained. The storm in the background had given it a dramatic effect, and it had hit all the top music video lists as well as hitting over ten-million views on YouTube over the course of a single weekend.

  Around midnight, I fell asleep, but it felt like I’d just closed my eyes when Aunt Dallas was nudging me awake. “Hey,” she whispered. “Time to get up. Filming starts early if you want to be done in time for the concert tonight.”

  There were only two more weeks left of the tour. One more show in Miami that night before we worked our way up to Atlanta, where we would wrap things up the following weekend. We’d sold out every venue, and it was only our first time headlining. But I was ready for this tour to be over so I could get home.

  With Shaw.

  Aunt Dallas touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Time to get up,” she said a little louder, and Shaw groaned, burying her head in the pillow. “If you aren’t up in the next five minutes, you won’t get anything to eat until we get to the filming location.”