"Carly—Jaysus."

"Aye," she whispered, cupping his cheek.

Brogan heard heavy boot steps in the hall. He scrambled off Carly, tucked his semi-erect prick back in his jeans, and pulled up the zipper. Carly stuffed her luscious tits back in her bra, and her fingers struggled to do up the buttons on her shirt. He helped her, and his reward was a dazzling, sweet smile that shot straight to his little-used heart, giving it a decided zap.

Gio walked into the room. Brogan glanced at Carly. It was bleedin' obvious what they'd been doing. Their clothes were still slightly askew, they were both flushed, and the unmistakable odor of hot, musky sex hung in the air. He turned his head to gaze at Gio.

Gio gave him an I'm-going-to-kick-your-arse glare. "It's Nigel. He wants to talk to Carly right away. Like now." His intense gaze never wavered from Brogan.

Carly jumped to her feet and walked out of the room with Gio.

"What are you playing at, boss? You want to get burned… by Byrne?"

"Funny, Gio. Let me handle it, I know what I'm doing," she whispered hoarsely. They closed the door behind them.

Brogan heard their exchange, and his face broke into a wide smile. He was alive, more than he had been for years. He flopped onto the sofa as his limbs still snapped and sizzled with lustful awareness. His legs were shaky, and he was still feckin' hard. He wanted her in all ways, and the revelation shocked him. Could there be something between them, something more than the obvious? He crossed his arms and he frowned. This was one of his many weaknesses. He fell too fast for the lasses. Well, certain lasses anyway. What in the hell was he playing at? At first he wanted to seduce her for the sport of it, put her on her knees in front of him like he had so many other women. He didn't want that anymore. He liked sitting with Carly talking quietly, he liked her company, and he liked her, liked her a lot. This was getting dangerous. No one could heal him or undo the scarring on his heart and soul. His thoughts drifted to Tarrah. How could his life ever be worthy of her sacrifice? He knew his life would never be worth it. No one knew his guilt, his pain, and no one ever would.

Carly heard the knock at her hotel room door. It was Byrne. She sensed his damned sexy aura and could smell his enticing, spicy masculine scent. If she were smart she wouldn't give him access. She had never claimed to be clever when it came to hot, handsome men. She'd made a couple of mistakes in the past, and she had the sick feeling Byrne could be her biggest mistake of all. The concert tonight had been one of his best on the tour. His glorious voice, stage presence, and performance were off the charts. Everything clicked. She basked in the love and adulation of the Montreal fans. Hell, if she had a lighter on her, she would have held it up as well. The man truly had a talent. Another knock brought her back to the present. Fuck it. Why fight it? She opened the door.

Byrne had showered, and his hair was still slightly damp. His white shirt hung open, teasing her with a glimpse of rugged, muscular chest. He wore skintight brown leather pants and held an ice bucket with cans of Pepsi and two glasses.

He smiled. "Thought we'd celebrate. It was a bloody great concert, wouldn't you say?"

Carly stepped aside and bade him enter, then closed the door behind him. "Yes, it was fantastic. Too bad the tour is almost over. You're on a roll now."

Byrne set the ice bucket and glasses on the desk. "There is only Washington DC left. I've been on the road for more than year. I don't know if I'll be able to take it easy."

Carly reached for a can, pulled the tab off, and poured it in both glasses. She handed one to him. Their fingers brushed by each other, and the electric current tore through her body from the touch. She bit her lip and clinked glasses with him. "Cheers. You deserve a rest. Relax, write some music, and continue to recover from your… ah…"

Byrne cocked his eyebrow. "Addictions? My arse-hole behavior? My selfish indulgences?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Yes, all of it."

Byrne raised his glass to her and took a drink. "You've been a support, Carly. Couldn't have got through the last two weeks without you."

She swallowed a mouthful of soda, and then set the glass on the desk. "I did nothing. You have the will to steer your own destiny, and you did."

Byrne set his glass next to hers. "I'm not much of a believer in destiny, but I'll steer it tonight. I want you, Carly, on the desk, against the wall, on your knees, and on top of me. If we can manage to do it all I'd be as happy as a pig in muck."

"Byrne…"

He held two fingers to her lips. "Love, don't think about it too hard. Let's enjoy the night and take pleasure in each other."

She couldn't argue with him on those points. She wasn't in the mood for deep conversation, not tonight. There was so much she didn't know about him. One thing she did know: He was a skilled and accomplished lover. No doubt all the practice he had. He moved his fingers away.

"Aren't you tired? I mean, the show you put on…"

"Aye, I'm a bit knackered, but the adrenaline from the concert is still pumping, and the shower only revived me more. After we make love, I want to stay with you, darlin', sleep, breakfast, the whole damned thing."

She had no willpower where he was concerned. Brogan Byrne was sweet, sexy man candy, and she wanted to indulge and gorge herself, at least for tonight. Could she walk away from him in the morning? Keep her distance? Truthfully, she didn't want to be involved with a man hanging on the precipice of sobriety. She had witnessed enough of that growing up with her own father's struggles to stay sober. Her dad wasn't a mean drunk, nor was he abusive physically or verbally. He would just withdraw. The coldness became a part of life and a part of her. She didn't want Byrne clawing past her frosty defenses. The more she let him near, the more he chipped away. He wasn't perfect, but then she always thought perfection was overrated. Regardless, after tonight she'd have to protect her heart.

"The 'whole damned thing' is only for tonight, Byrne. In the morning, we part." A pained look crossed his handsome face, but it was so brief she thought she imagined it.

"Fair play. Tonight only. But I reserve the option to revisit this later."

"Much later, if at all."

He boldly cupped her breast, kneaded it, and pinched her pebbled nipple. "A challenge. Know this, Carly: What we shared yesterday is rare, and before you say it, it's not some muck-shite lie I shovel out to all women. I mean what I say."

Byrne captured her mouth in another devastating kiss. She melted immediately. Some resistance she had. She shamelessly threw her arms around his neck and ground her body into his obvious hardness.

"Take me to your bed. Have your way with me," Byrne whispered between kisses.

No way could she pass the invitation up. Taking his hand, led she him into her bedroom. The hotel suite was plush and the bed king-size, with a burgundy silk duvet and matching pillows and cushions. Carly couldn't wait to get Brogan Byrne stripped and under her. He stood stock still and watched her every move while she pushed his open shirt off his broad shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She then unzipped his leather pants and pulled them down. No underwear. Why was she not surprised? He didn't wear them yesterday either. He opened his clenched fist and dropped three packages of condoms in her hand.

"I have more, whatever we need."