For a nanosecond she lingered on the idea of being naked with him.

“Perhaps you might explain the problem?” Kate said, trying to get grip on her professionalism.

Ha! You mean your hormones!

No, she had it under control. Really.

But her heart started racing the moment she locked eyes with the Marquis again. His gaze shifted, and his lips parted, showing her his teeth. Her breath caught.

“Over here.”

Kate turned and discovered that the back of the Marquis was just as devastating to her libido as his front. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to a lean waist, and the pair of jeans he was wearing gave her a perfect look at his ass.

Yummy.

“I’m out of pants,” he said.

Syon pointed to two long, rolling costume racks. Various pairs of leather pants were hung up. Kate moved closer, spotting problems instantly. She pulled one navy-blue pair out to look at the way the lower half of the leg was shredded.

“Don’t ride double with Taz. He’ll dump your ass,” Syon said.

“You were wasted,” the Asian guy on the weight bench yelled across the suite, “and fell off.”

She released the blue pants and pulled out another pair, which was covered in what looked like bleach splatters.

“Cleaning ladies don’t have a sense of humor.” Syon clicked his tongue. “She decided to help me clean up my act.”

Kate pulled out another pair and gapped at the missing fly. It was just cut clean away with jagged slices from a pair of scissors.

“Some girls get impatient—”

“I bet,” she cut him off. He shrugged and sent her a self-satisfied smirk. “But you let someone cut your custom-made performance wear?”

“Heat of the moment” was his reply.

Arrogant ass. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it too. The part of her that knew how hard it was to make quality pants was itching to take him down a notch.

Professionalism.

She looked back at the rack. There were three pairs on the end of the rack that didn’t seem to be damaged.

“They don’t fit,” Syon informed her. “Giles forgot the special instructions.”

A note in his tone warned her against asking. But he also shut his mouth, just daring her to ask. It was a verbal game of cat and mouse.

“Giles doesn’t make mistakes that affect fit. Elaborate. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.” There. She hadn’t asked.

He straightened up and moved closer, looming over her and sending a trickle of sweat down her back. “There’s not enough room for a hard-on,” he drawled in a low, sensual tone. “At least, not a really hard one. Understandable really. Giles didn’t turn me on during my fitting. I had to improvise.” His gaze lowered to her cleavage.

Her nipples twisted into hard little nubs. He was an asshole, but he also oozed sex appeal. She felt like she was going into heat.

“I get hard every show,” he continued. “Music is a sexual experience for me.”

Oh boy, did she believe him.

Her attention dropped to his package, a split second before her face exploded in flames, and she jerked her head back around to the pants. The blood roared in her ears, but she thought she heard a soft sound of male approval behind her.

She’d looked at his… Damn it!

Fangirls gained a smidgen of respect in her book. There was something about rock stars that just scrambled a girl’s wits.

He chuckled and reached out to stroke one scarlet cheek.

His touch sent her clit throbbing.

And her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

It was humiliating.

And exciting on a scale she’d never experienced. Not that she would be admitting it.

But his eyebrow rose. “Any chance you can help?”

“I think so.” Provided she could jump-start her brain.

She made her way over to where the polo-shirt-wearing crew was busy opening every single case she’d brought. She stopped after a few steps because her hips felt like they were swaying too much.

Sweat actually beaded on her forehead. The guy was sending her into a sexual frenzy for Christ’s sake.

Her vibrator was so getting a workout when she got home.

She bit her lower lip, realizing she needed more information.

“What side do you tuck on?”

He rolled his lips back, baring his teeth at her. “Left, because there is nothing right about me, Ginger.”

That was for damned sure!

Problem was, she really liked it.

* * *

He was making her nervous.

Ramsey was warming up behind him, and Syon really should have joined him, but Kate had his full attention.

She had a curvy body that fascinated him. The little edge of her top was flipping around like a fringe scarf on a belly dancer, teasing him all to hell. One moment he could see her cheeks, and the next, that fabric was sweeping across her tight ass. Did she wax or keep a nice little nest of ginger curls between her thighs?

He wanted to bury his face in them.

She was trying not to look at him, apparently attempting to ignore the charge between them. It was thick and heady. He closed his eyes and waited to see if the connection would dull without the sight of her.

It didn’t. He could still smell the scent of her skin, and it turned him on to see her working on the crotch of his pants. A clean scent of warm, female flesh with a hint of some sort of bodywash that was just subtle enough not to strike him as fake. He knew when a female was pushing herself into his space, saw it a hundred times a day. Kate was being herself, grooming to her own standards instead of trying to hook his attention. That confidence was sexy. Her determination to remain professional was a serious kick to his libido. It was hitting him out of left field too, because it wasn’t like he had a shortage of possible companions. No, it was a little bit more like fate reminding him that some girls were quality, and that beat quantity every time.

She had skilled little fingers too. Long and nimble, they worked on the waistband of his pants with a finesse that mesmerized him. She stroked her fingers across the surface of the leather like she loved it. Well, she had to. The pants she was wearing were perfection. They didn’t even have an inseam. She was a fucking goddess of leatherwork. And he could see why. She was so absorbed with her work, he didn’t seem to even register in her world as she threaded a machine and started it up. She even ran a loving hand over the thing before beginning to feed his pants under the head.

First time he’d been beaten out by a pair of pants.

Ramsey started in on a solo, turning up the volume. Syon sighed and turned around. The show always came first.

He picked up his guitar and began to let the music take command of his brain. It wasn’t a hard switch. Kate had him worked up. Music was an extension of his soul. Lust was just one of several powerful components. There was also aggression and drive. What he put onstage was the inner demon that most people in the civilized world struggled to conceal. His music was a raging of his desires for everything from sex to blood. The song crested, he and Ramsey in perfect unity. They both had their heads thrown back, bodies arched, as they pushed out the last wailing notes.

Satisfaction moved through him, but it was one peak in a chain that he planned to climb that night.

He wanted to lick her…

Syon turned to find Kate watching him. The tip of her tongue passed over her lower lip. She looked back down at what she was doing, but the dark blush on the side of her face was still visible.

“I think she bites…” Ramsey cooed, his fingers moving across the strings.

“She’s mine.”

“Says who?” Ramsey demanded.

Syon took the lead, feeling the music pulsing through his veins. It was a crazy combination of rhythm and stimulus, pushing him into revealing just exactly what sort of animal he was to the screaming fans waiting to glimpse it. Kate’s presence was more potent, more intense than any he’d felt in a long time. It was the unknown factor that was driving him to a fevered pitch—that hint of challenge she presented, and something else that he had no fucking idea what it was, beyond the fact that it made him feel mean.