Protecting His Assets (2 page)

Bring it, assholes
.

In the middle of her first semi-major gig, an epic fight had to break out. Of course.

Summer set aside her guitar and grabbed the arm of her startled accompanist, Kyle. They’d met at church and this kind of thing rarely happened during weekly services. Or at most civilized gatherings.

It took no time for the melee in front of the stage to turn into a giant mess. Shouting, chairs being shoved aside, bodies flying. Chase Dixon in the center of it, getting his gorgeous face whaled on by the same jerk who’d tried to grope her leg.

She didn’t think, just leaped off the stage. She bit her lip and bounced back and forth on her toes, waiting for that one second of opportunity. When it came, she charged forward and dragged back the arm of the guy hassling Chase, twisting his little finger hard enough to earn his screech of distress.

A triumphant grin crossed her face at the punk’s outraged expression after he’d turned to see his assailant.
Can’t take care of myself?
Guess again
.

Brutal fingers ripped down Summer’s scalp, streaking pain across her skull. Her breath left her on a panicked scream. Somehow the sound reached Chase in the center of his two-on-one old-fashioned brawl, and he tossed the guys aside like they were no more than garbage. He launched himself at her and her unseen attacker, separating them long enough for her to see she’d been nailed by a girl who brandished a few strands of Summer’s hair like a trophy.

A
girl
. Oh,
heck
no.

“You’re done, slugger,” Chase said in Summer’s ear, pulling her aside so fast that she didn’t have a hope of slipping free of his iron-clad grip. She glimpsed Kyle gathering their instruments into their cases on stage before Chase lifted Summer over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and carted her out of the club, seemingly oblivious to her shouts and flailing arms and legs. That she faced down toward his hot cross buns was a particularly cruel blow.

“Put me down, you Neanderthal,” she shouted. Realizing she hoped to appear there again—hopefully with less disastrous results—she lowered her voice. Slightly. “I’m an adult, you jerk.”

A jerk who’d rescued her from a bar fight, but still.

He didn’t respond, continuing up the hallway while she pounded on his back. Forget back. It was like a wall, if walls had layers of toned muscle and retained enough heat to scorch her palms through his standard issue club jacket.

Oh, sugar. Chase hadn’t merely been in the crowd. He
worked
there.

Using one burly shoulder, he pushed open the back door and they burst out into the cold, moonless night. It was snowing, a fact she found out firsthand when he set her on her pathetically inadequate pumps and she immediately skidded on a patch of ice. He steadied her, silently and without reproach. Not counting his flat, all-too-knowing forest green eyes.

Those eyes had been in a few of her fantasies, and that unsmiling mouth had played a part too. Though now, that mouth was pursed tight, aloofly judging her. In her fantasies, he’d been way too…busy for that.

She was sorely tempted to rail at him for hauling her out of there like a bad child, but good manners won out as always. “Thank you for interceding. Though I could’ve taken that witch,” she added, huffing out a breath.

No response.

“So you work here? Since when? And what about baseball?”

He grimaced, but gave her nothing.

Summer pushed both hands through her hair, only remembering when her fingers got caught in the band that she’d tried to tie the crazy mass of curls out of her face. She yanked out the tie and flung it away, inexplicably annoyed when Chase’s gaze followed where it landed.

Was he some kind of nature nut that hated litter? Or did he prefer to stare at the concrete rather than look at her?

“Chase, say something. I know you’re dying to call Cass and tattle on me, so why don’t you? ‘Your dumb little friend, Summer, got herself in a bar fight, pretending she could sing—’”

“Pretending?” His voice was so low she almost missed the question. “That’s what you call what I saw in there?”

She frowned, shocked to feel her chin trembling. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got shaky and uncertain with guys, even huge, imposing ones with glacier eyes and cheeks that could’ve been carved from granite. So she’d kissed this particular one, for one exciting, incredible moment while she’d been filching the business card out of his wallet that had led her to this very place. So what?

There she was, at her first gig where more than twenty people showed. Maybe some of them had even come to hear her rather than to load up for ladies’ night. And what happened? A disaster. Like always.

She might as well change her stage name to that, since everyone thought Sunny Z was some kind of bubble gum princess. But her mom called her Sunny, and her middle name, Zoe, had been given to her for the grandma who’d died when she was a baby. Using those names made her feel closer to them, and besides, someone had probably already snagged Disaster Zone. It was perfect for a metal band or…her.

She glared at Chase. “What would you call what I was doing then?” she challenged, relying on bravado as usual. She only hoped he didn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes.

But how could he, when he was looking anywhere but at her?

He didn’t reply for so long that she turned away, already knowing the answer. Obviously her quirky country-folk-soul hybrid didn’t work for him. No big deal. She’d heard the scattered boos in the crowd. Yes, it was her first big venue in the city, and like so many other firsts in her life, perhaps she’d built it up too big in her mind. Bad enough that when she closed her eyes, she knew she’d hear those few disparaging remarks much louder than the scattered whoops and cheers.

It was only her dream they were making fun of. Just one of many that probably wouldn’t pan out. She shouldn’t make it into such a big deal. Even if adrenaline was still buzzing under her skin and even if she couldn’t quite keep still due to the leftover excitement slamming around inside her, she could chalk up those sensations to the cold. To the snow clinging to her cheeks and coating her bare arms.

She didn’t have her coat—or her purse. Crap, she had to go get her stuff.

She’d taken two steps when Chase snatched her wrist and whirled her around to face him, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. She gasped at the bruise coloring one of his rock-edged cheekbones, reaching up to touch it before she remembered she was mad at him for carrying her out and making a scene. And for not liking her music.

And for saving her…for knowing that she’d needed it.

He flinched away from her touch and she dropped her hand, feeling even more idiotic. “Don’t tell Cass,” she whispered. “Please.”

His jaw worked while he focused on her face, so intently that she wondered if the effort pained him. She reached up to smooth her wind-whipped hair and fought not to fill the silence. Anything was better than this void.

“She doesn’t know you do
this
, does she?”

“
This
?” She let out a hysterical laugh and gripped her bare upper arms. “You’re making it sound like I do porn or something.”

He narrowed his eyes. “From the way those guys in there were eyefucking you, you might as well have been.” He dropped his gaze to her sheer blouse and long, slinky skirt. “In that outfit, no wonder.”

Indignation bloomed, hot and welcome. At least if she got angry enough, she wouldn’t freeze to death from the chill of his disapproval. “Wow, two whole sentences. I feel honored.” She cocked a hip and noted with pleasure that his gaze tracked the move. “What happened to the wild, up-for-anything Deuce I used to know, huh? I didn’t even realize it was you at first at Cass’s party, and compared to now, you were a chatterbox.”

Sullen, moody, introverted…in the past, she never would’ve painted outgoing, life-of-the-party Deuce Dixon with those descriptions. Now she didn’t know any others that would fit. Except possibly brute, protector and sexy as all hell.

She bit her lip.
Heck
, not hell. Apparently you could take the girl out of church, but not the church out of the girl. And she wasn’t even out of church. She still went regularly, minus the occasional missed service due to Saturday night shenanigans.

During which she was thinking very chaste thoughts, naturally. As she always did. Like right now. Hey, window shopping with an option to buy didn’t hurt anything, right?

She tried to glance away from her current preoccupation with Chase’s super snug pants. Either Chase was packing a baseball bat in there or her tendency of looking on the bright side had reached critical mass. Literally.

“Since when do you call me Deuce?”

She shrugged. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Don’t you have the tat to prove it?”

“I was drunk when we…” He trailed off, apparently as unwilling to finish his statement as he was to respond to her tat question. She knew the answer anyway. She’d ogled that spread of cards on his muscled back enough to be able to recreate it from memory using chocolate body paint. “Which you well know,” he gritted out.

“Yeah, I do. I also know I kissed you, and you liked it.” She stepped into his personal space and slapped a hand on his wide chest. It was like trying to cover the land mass of China with a pocket ruler. “So why’d you run like a scared little girl?”

“I didn’t run. And look who’s talking about little girls.” He smirked down at her from his lofty height. Being short blew chunks. “Isn’t that in your job description?”

“I’m of age,” she said, hating the haughty edge to her tone. Couldn’t be helped. Her older and wiser bestie cautioned her frequently about being careful, but that wasn’t because Summer was inexperienced. Cass had walked the straight and narrow for so long that it was second nature for her to caution Summer to always keep an umbrella in the trunk of her car and to never forget to hide a spare twenty at the back of her wallet just in case.

As for the spare condom Cass instructed she store in her purse, Summer had done her one better and carried two. Emergency sex with multiple orgasms? Yes, please. She didn’t partake in pleasures of the flesh that often—despite her liberal view toward her religious upbringing, she usually only made love when in a committed relationship—but lightning struck now and then. Just in case, she brought a rubber umbrella. And sometimes attended confession twice a week.

Chase sneered down at her, though oddly she didn’t feel like the expression held any weight. What was his deal? So she was a little younger than him. From the pictures she’d seen in the gossip rags, he didn’t limit himself in any way. “You need to stick to your side of the playground and stop reaching for things you’re not ready for,” he said, his voice hard and tight.

She nodded pleasantly. As if she needed a lecture from a guy who regularly had threesomes, if the tabloids were to be believed. And she did. Believe them that is, not have threesomes. “Thanks so much for that piece of advice. Now you’ve schooled me.” She’d just get her stuff and get the hell out of there.

Darting around him, she made a run for the door. He grasped her waist in one of his forklift arms, hauling her off her feet and stealing her breath. Caught in mid-air, her arms flailing like a demented bird, she heard him laugh and her indignation increased tenfold.

“Knock it off, slugger.” He set her on the ground, his meaty hands still clamped around her upper arms. “You’re not going in there alone, not after that scene. We’ll go in, get your banjo dude and speak to the management about rescheduling your set. How many songs did you have left?”

Oh God, her set. She’d been so flustered by the fight and Chase’s appearance that she hadn’t even considered she’d essentially taken off in the middle of her gig. Her first major-ish—and now likely only—chance, and what did she do? Fight and flee.

“Three,” she whispered, deflating in his hold.

Everyone was right. Obviously she didn’t have it together. She wasn’t ready for the big time. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be.

“So we’ll get you another night. From the posters I saw and the crowd that couldn’t get enough of you, I’m guessing this wasn’t your first show. Or your last.”

That still remained to be seen, but she mutely shook her head.

“You clearly don’t have a personal team.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and ushered her toward the door. “That needs to change.”

She stumbled on another icy spot and he righted her seamlessly, practically from the force of his steel will alone. His brusque touch somehow became gentle by the time it reached her flesh. “A personal…team?” She almost asked what he meant, then bit down on her lip and hoped he’d explain.

“Security that goes with you, not provided by the establishment. You need someone, especially since you are—”

“Female?” she snapped.

“I was going to say petite. Plus I saw you and Cass get into a fight once. She whipped your ass.”

“Cass doesn’t count. She’s my best friend. Do you really think we’d be out for blood?” Especially considering Cass’s heart condition, which could be adversely affected by stress.

He lifted a brow. “How do you feel about a deal?”

Suddenly cold all over again, she rubbed her arms and took another sideways glance at the door. She’d never make it before he tackled her again.