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  The crowd went wild, Wren was sure of it, but the noise felt muffled, as if her head were wrapped in cotton batting and dunked in a bucket of water. Maybe she’d misheard. That was possible, right? Or maybe there was more than one Logan Enders. Yes, there were two Logan Enders—that had to be it.

  “Holy shit, Wren!” Emmy squealed. “Look, it’s him.”

  As Emmy pointed mercilessly at the stage, Wren felt enough heat rise in her cheeks to melt icebergs in Alaska. Wren quickly tried to figure out which would cause more attention: Emmy’s ridiculous two-fingered whistles or Wren just keeling over and dying right there at the table. She decided her dying would ruin the show for the other patrons, so she sat in shock and decided to let Smith handle the craziness that was his girlfriend.

  Logan, the sexy guy she had walked up to in a dance club and kissed in lieu of an introduction. The guy she’d spent the night dancing, laughing, and talking with before running away like a teenager trying to get home before curfew because the Fortune Ball had advised retreat instead of further communication. The same guy she’d just shared her vulnerability with by explaining her need for said Fortune Eight Ball while hoping that he wouldn’t run screaming from her lunacy. Sure, he’d beat feet away from the table, but whether he was booking from her crazy had yet to be determined. Then again, did it really matter?

  Wren could never get involved in even a physical relationship with someone who craved the kind of attention a rock star received. She was self-aware enough to know that she and her ball would crack under the spotlight.

  Speaking of spotlights… damn! The stage glowed, lights shining on Noah as his sticks met with the Mylar for the first time.

  Within the first few beats of the drums, Wren’s heart thundered in time with the rhythm. The rest of the band joined in, playing their first number-one hit. Wren would never forget the first time she’d heard, “Worship Your Body.” At eighteen, she’d yet to have anyone come close to her body, especially after everything that had happened with Thurston. But when that song came out, the thought of any man thinking, let alone saying, the things Greg Landon sang…Wren still blushed when she thought about the amount of self-induced orgasms she had while listening to that song.

  Yet in that moment, she felt as if she was hearing the song for the first time, as if she was hearing it the way it was meant to be sang. Logan Enders didn’t just sing the song—he owned it.

  “I want him to worship my fucking body.”

  “What?” Emmy asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Wren, you just said something, but I didn’t hear you.” Emmy’s smirk shouted that she’d totally heard but wanted Wren to repeat herself. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

  “Nope, I just hiccupped.” Wren winked.

  I’m gonna treat you like the queen you were born to be,

  But I’ll ravage your body ‘cause it belongs to me,

  Won’t hold you down when you need to soar

  But I swear to god, baby, you’ll never want for more.

  I’ll worship your body.

  A song that had been engrained in Wren’s brain for the better part of a decade would forever have a different voice and that voice, a different face. And that face…was staring straight at her. Wait, what? No. Logan was clearly a professional performer, Wren reminded herself. Every woman in the bar probably thought he was singing directly to them.

  As the first song melded into the second and then into the third, Emmy leaned over and shouted, “Jeez, are your panties wet or what?” Wren’s expression must have been entertaining, because Emmy’s laugh turned into a snort. “I’m just saying, if I had a guy singing every song directly to me, my undies would be floating by my ankles by now.”

  “Oh my God. Go… go stick your tongue down Smith’s throat. Leave my wet panties alone.”

  “So they are wet!”

  “Shut it.”

  Wren wasn’t sure if Emmy continued talking or not because her attention was yanked back to Logan and the guys onstage when the opening notes of “Oxygen” played. Of all of the Shades of Certainty songs, “Oxygen,” a song from their newest album, was her favorite. The stripped-down song was so pure and carnal that it left Wren, well… breathless the first time she heard it. Now, having met the man who wrote the incredible lyrics, having heard his gritty voice over the past half hour or so, she practically shook as she waited for the first words to depart his mouth.

  *

  Breaking through the sheets of glass from the house I reside

  Falling down the rabbit hole, don’t give a shit if I live or die

  The colors have mutated

  Now they all look like shades of black;

  The songs, they all have faded

  Feelings stayed buried in the back.

  Until you

  You are my bright, my light, my muse

  You are my sharp, my heart, my fuse

  You are my oxygen. My fucking oxygen.

  Logan crooned his lyrics with all the passion he’d felt when he wrote the song. A song that came from a place of wanting, darkness, and desire, a place in his soul he rarely let himself dwell. He had no time for weariness when he was living the life he’d so carefully chosen and tirelessly worked for.

  While Logan was happy with his path, he loved performing for small audiences. Even though he jammed with the guys every time they were home, it had been a long time since he’d gotten lost in the lights, the crowd, and the music. And it had been forever since he’d looked into an audience and found someone he wanted to show off for. In fact, he had never wanted to actually impress anyone. Until tonight.

  The initial shock on Wren’s face when he took the stage worried him, especially after the situation between Smith and Emmy. But when her shock turned to awe and the ice in her mesmerizing blue eyes melted into what he could only describe as euphoria, Logan sank back into his eighteen-year-old self, performing as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered.

  “Wow!” Logan lifted his arm, garnering more applause. “It’s been a long time since I’ve received that kind of reception, and I can’t tell you how great you all made me feel. After all, Greg Landon’s shoes are pretty big to fill. So thanks for humoring me.”

  He winked, and women screamed things their fathers would be ashamed of. Quickly, Logan lowered his gaze to Wren, who had cheered and sang along the entire show. Now her smile faltered just a bit.

  Turning his attention to the band, Logan asked, “Can we tell them when and where we’ll be next?”

  “No,” the guys called together, making the audience boo.

  Logan knew the answer before he’d asked the question, but it was fun to work up the crowd and keep them guessing. Logan shrugged and stage-whispered to the audience, “I tried, sorry. So until we see you again, thank you, Fort Washington. Don’t forget to tip your wait staff and bartenders, and have a great night.”

  The temperature of the stage decreased by at least ten degrees when the lights kicked off, and the guys left the stage together.

  “Holy shit, Enders, you fucking rocked!” Noah wrapped a sweaty arm around Logan’s shoulder as they walked toward the back room.

  They quickly recapped the show and decided to go through the details the next day.

  Before the door to the office had even closed, Ethan had a joint to his lips. “Anyone wanna hit?”

  “Some things never change.” Logan smiled at Ethan’s after-show ritual.

  “And some do,” Marcus confirmed. “This whole mono thing really pissed me off. I’m not hooking up with groupies anymore. Fuck that shit. I’ll find my own chicks to bang. Maybe they’ll be less…”

  “Dirty?” Noah offered, laughing when Marcus flipped him the bird and exited the room. “Seriously, buddy, it was awesome having you back up there with us tonight. I’m grateful for every damn day we’ve had for the last eight years—wouldn’t trade a one—but having you on stage, singing your songs, playing our music…” Noah paused, as if finding the correct wo
rds was the most important job he had. He had always been the most sentimental one in the band. “It felt right. Had Greg been here, it would have been perfect, man, just like the old days.”

  For a second, Noah’s words pinged around in Logan’s head. He’d thought the same thing while he was performing, while adrenaline coursed through his veins and the crowd screamed their praise. But the spell was broken when the first “I love you” was screamed by a faceless fan in the audience.

  “Yeah, I get it. I do. Thing is, even though tonight was fucking incredible, as I’m sure the next few shows will be, I didn’t want the lifestyle then, and I don’t want it now. Let’s just enjoy this, okay?”

  Noah nodded, and Ethan, who Logan had forgotten was still in the room, rose from the couch and swung his arms around the two guys. “Enough talk. You two are like chicks.”

  “Speaking of chicks”—Noah’s brows wagged—“who was the sexy little thing you serenaded tonight?”

  Logan wasn’t ready to discuss Wren just yet, not even with his buddies. If Smith hadn’t been there the night they met, he’d be in the dark as well. Some things were meant to stay private until he figured them out on his own, and Wren, with all of her issues, had his brain all twisted like a pretzel.

  A mellowed out Ethan addressed Noah. “Dude, you writing a book?” Logan saw Noah attempting to hide a grin. Hell, even Logan couldn’t keep his lips from curving up when Ethan spoke his catch-all phrase. “Skip that chapter.”

  Laughing, the three men left the office. Two headed toward the bar, and Logan sought out Wren.

  Chapter Seven

  My Sources Say No

  “So…what’d you ladies think?” Smith set the round of drinks he had procured from the bar on the table before taking a seat and pulling Emmy onto his lap.

  “I think it’s interesting that Carly Cleavage stopped bringing us drinks once Logan left our table,” Emmy snarked, no doubt purposely misunderstanding Smith’s question.

  “Agreed,” Wren played along. “I saw some guy giving her a mammogram and a throat exam with his tongue when I was on my way to the restroom. I can only assume she wasn’t feeling well and the lovely gentleman with his pants around his knees was some sort of medic. Poor girl.”

  “Yeah,” Emmy deadpanned, “that must be it.”

  “Is she kidding?” Smith jerked his head from Emmy to Wren, his exasperation clear as the nose on his face. “Please say you are. I don’t know you yet, and I can’t tell if I should be amused or worried about you, Wren.”

  Unable to hold back, Wren and Emmy broke out laughing.

  “Of course she’s kidding, Smith. She’s quirky, not crazy.” Emmy kissed her new man’s flushed cheek, and a hint of longing tickled Wren’s heart.

  “I’m beginning to like quirky.” The voice behind her, the one that had been deep and smooth like melted chocolate, now had a rough timbre, like silk over stone.

  If just those five words affected her, what would full sentences do?

  Logan leaned close to Wren’s ear, and his warm breath caressed her neck. “It’s not too late to rejoin this party, is it?”

  Umm, a full sentence… she needed flood insurance for her panties. Get a grip, Wren. Licking his face will definitely move you from cute and quirky to wacky and weird. She turned her head and smiled. “Welcome back. It hasn’t been the same since you left.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I should have told you I’d be occupied for a while, but judging by the look on your face when you arrived tonight, you seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see you.”

  Wren glared at Emmy, then they both shot daggers at Smith, who held up his hands in submission even though the smug look on his face screamed anything but. “I’ll take responsibility where I should, but I refuse to apologize when I did the right thing by bringing the girls here tonight.” Smith lowered his hands, his attention solely on Logan. “Dude, you’ve been a broody bastard lately. Thought this might cheer you up. It was a great move, if I say so myself.”

  Knowing now what she did, Wren was grateful for the big guy’s wonky attempt at an intervention. But as she was learning about the cocky blond, he seemed to not know when to close his mouth.

  “As for us”—he curled a lock of Emmy’s golden hair around his finger—“I already apologized about withholding information regarding Marcus. So that’s over. No more lies. We’re good to go.”

  Poor Smith, adorable and dense. Emmy would chew him up in four, three, two…

  “You didn’t tell me Logan would be hauling his ass up on stage to sing with the band though. That’s one of those pesky little details that falls into the ‘no more lies even by omission’ category. Don’t ya think?”

  “Shit.” Smith ran his large hand over his face. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have noticed that part. But if we’re being honest and all, I did say, ‘no more lies from tonight on.’”

  Wren nodded. “That’s exactly what he said, Ems. I thought it was strange when he said it, but I let it go.”

  Speaking of letting go, the rest of Wren’s thoughts scattered as Logan made small patterns on her inner wrist with the pad of his thumb. Gah, did he realize what he was doing to her?

  Almost as if her voice were coming through a tunnel, Emmy giggled. “Come on, stud. I see a quiet corner where you can spill all your secrets, and I’ll come up with some delicious punishments.”

  “Met my fucking match with this one,” Smith may have said as they scurried away, but Wren wasn’t certain because Logan’s thumb had worked its way from her wrist to her inner arm.

  Amazing how her skin could pebble with goose bumps and flush with heat at the same time. Impossible that the same fingers that had ripped soul-searing music from a guitar not a half hour before could caress her flesh with a tenderness she had never known. Riveting how eyes that had aroused an audience of many, looked captivated by only her.

  “What do you say?”

  “Hmm?” she asked.

  “Wow, wish I could have been there with you just now.” The crinkles around Logan’s eyes spoke of humor, but the timbre of his voice screamed desire.

  Wren’s stomach fluttered, be it with butterflies or dragons she hadn’t a clue, but the rich chocolate eyes that seemed to consume her were making it difficult for her to care either way. “Wait, I’m completely lost in this conversation. Can we start over?”

  “First, I asked if you would join me for dinner Sunday night.” Logan twined his calloused fingers through hers. “But when you didn’t respond, I realized I’d have to ask you again when you returned, because judging by the look on your face, you were somewhere much better than a loud bar on a cold Thursday night.” She couldn’t help but smile when he squeezed her hand. “Next time, take me with you.”

  “I…uh…” Wren’s eyes dropped to their connected hands. They looked so good together.

  “Wren, I’d like to see your eyes when you talk to me.”

  “Oh…” She lifted her eyes at his gentle command, her breathing shallow and her mouth dry. She slicked her tongue across her bottom lip. “You were.”

  His lips pursed in the cutest way. “Now I’m confused.”

  “You requested I take you with me the next time I space out. Which, by the way, I apologize for.” Her mouth curved, and for a moment, her eyes dropped to the table before returning to his. “But would it be bad to admit that you were with me on my little mind vacation?”

  “Fuck… Wren, you’re killing me.” Gravel dotted his smooth deep voice. “What’d we do in those short seconds?”

  “Now that is something I can’t share with you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” His small grin morphed into a full-blown smile.

  “Won’t… yet.” But soon maybe. Eeep!

  “Okay, I’ll let it go. For now. But you never did answer my question about dinner. Are you free Sunday night?”

  Anxiety climbed her spine one vertebra at a time. “I’m not sure dinner is a great idea.”

  �
��Wren, do you have someone in your life? A boyfriend, husband?”

  “Oh, God no.” That he would think that never even occurred to her. “Logan, I would never… oh, that would make me a horrible person. I am not a cheater. I have never been a cheater. I will never be a cheater. Understood?”

  Brows nearly to his hairline, Logan lifted his hands in submission. “I’m sorry I offended you. Help me understand why you don’t want to have dinner with me.”

  How did one explain to someone—let alone a talented, gorgeous someone—that meals with her meant more than just sitting down with a menu and choosing food. She sighed as embarrassment filled her every pore. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Logan. It’s just that… it isn’t a good idea.” With that comment lingering between them, Wren reached into her handbag and retrieved her ball. “Should I go out to dinner with Logan Sunday night?”

  –My Sources Say No–

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “That’s it? Your ball says no, so it’s a no? You don’t question it? You don’t do a re-shake? Nothing?”

  The perplexed look on his face was the exact reason she avoided relationships. The disappointed look that followed was why she avoided dating altogether. “No re-shakes. The ball doesn’t lie. He’s led me on the right path for a long time, and while I don’t always understand it or even like it, I follow him because he makes better choices than I do.”

  She’d just given him so many reasons not to want to see her again. The question was, had they spent enough time together that he saw in her the same possibilities she saw when looking at him?

  Running his hand through his hair, he was obviously searching for words, maybe words that would let her down easy. “Coffee. Let me take you out for coffee on Sunday. Just the two of us, daylight and a lot less noise. I’ll show you you have nothing to fear from having dinner with me.”