Applause echoed through the packed arena, reverberating off
the concrete flooring and resonating to the domed ceiling. Micah Randolph slung
his guitar behind his back and waved at the fans who’d come to see the kickoff of
his and Max’s summer tour. The concert had sold out due to their new single
topping the country charts. The energy of the crowd and intense stage lighting
made the temperature soar.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and Micah lifted the
hem of his T-shirt to swipe at his face. Another round of thunderous applause
started. He smoothed his shirt back over his abs and shot a grin to the girls
in the front row.
Max, the other half of the band’s duo, unplugged his guitar
from the amp and strode over to smack his palm in the center of his stomach.
“Tired of being a sex object yet?” his slightly younger brother asked with a
smirk.
“You tell me,” Micah shot back. His brother experienced no
lack in the female attention department either, despite his attempts to stay
out of the spotlight.
“It’s you they come to see,” Max remarked. He waved to the
crowd, and the cheers increased. “Not me.”
Micah arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Shut it.” Max gave him a quick nod. “Good show.”
As one, they turned to take a bow. They exited the stage to
the pounding of drums and an electric light show to rival any of the big-name
country artists. The production was nothing like the small gigs they’d done in
Nashville, playing their hearts out for the small crowds at Deanie’s.
Backstage, the crew gathered around the brothers and handed each an ice-cold
beer. Micah took a deep draw from his bottle before raising it in a mock toast.
“To my brother for writing kick-ass songs.”
Max, ever the unassuming one, shoved his elbow into Micah’s
gut and grunted. “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Drake and Emma are waiting
for us.”
Micah’s good mood evaporated. He’d forgotten his oldest
brother and new wife were coming to Atlanta for the first show. Although he
loved his family, he’d been in the mood to celebrate. Something Drake, stern
alpha that he was, didn’t appreciate. Since his marriage to Emma, Drake had
become softer but not soft enough to allow his younger twin brothers to party
it up all night at a club.
Micah drained the bottle and tossed it into a nearby trash
can. Another crew member pressed a second bottle into his hand. He unscrewed
the cap and drank half of it on the way to his dressing room. Thank God no
press functions were planned for the night. He and Max had been on the media
circuit for weeks, gearing up for their first headlining tour. With the success
of their latest single, they’d garnered the music industry’s attention, and all
the major networks sought an interview.
He shifted the bottle of beer to his left hand and turned
the knob to his dressing room. The scent of flowers assaulted him. Roses
permeated the entire room, not something he’d expected to find in the space
he’d left just ninety minutes ago. He recognized the scent in an instant.
It betrayed the familiar female standing before the dressing
table even before he locked eyes with her.
Celeste.
Gorgeous as ever. A tall, willowy blonde with perfect teeth
and perfect hair. Unattainable. The one woman he’d always wanted but could
never have. Despite Drake finding a mate, Celeste was still off-limits to
Micah.
“Celeste.” He placed the bottle on a table near the door and
carefully shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Celeste shoved aside the items littering the top of the
vanity and placed her delectable ass on the counter. She swayed long legs,
encased in tight leather, back and forth. “Hello, Micah.”
He ignored the greeting and strode forward. The closer he
came to her, the angrier he got. How dare she come here? He’d said everything
he’d had to say to her at Drake’s wedding. “I repeat. What are you doing here?
Did Drake invite you?”
She cocked her head to one side. One long, loose curl fell
over her shoulder to coil around a full breast pushing against the lacy corset
she wore. “Drake doesn’t know I’m here.”
Despite his anger, the attraction was undeniable. Celeste,
with her fucking million-dollar smile and tight-ass body, drove him insane. He
sneered at her, struggling to keep lust from clouding his judgment. He’d given
into it once. Damned if he’d do it again.
“You’ve always been such a good little beta. Are you sure
you want to risk Drake’s anger by coming here and fucking around with me?”
His cruel words hit their mark. Her lips turned down at the
corners seconds before her eyes glowed with the flame of her anger. “It’s been
a month, Micah. I thought we agreed it was a mistake.”
“It was a mistake.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “We
were drunk. You were drunk. The perfect shifter who always follows the rules.
What would my brother say about you drinking yourself into oblivion after his
wedding and ending up in my bed?”
She lifted her chin, and a hint of the wolf appeared in her honey-gold
eyes. “I don’t have to explain my actions to him.”
“Damned right you don’t.” He strode forward and grasped her
haughty chin in his hand. “But you owe me an explanation. Why did you fuck me
that night?”
Her gaze slipped away from his. “We were drunk. You said it
yourself.”
“Bullshit.” He waited for her to drag her attention back to
his face. “The truth, Celeste.”
Even angry, her beauty took his breath away—her oval face
one of pure perfection, with tawny skin and a glorious mass of blonde curls.
The locks of her unpinned hair reached beyond her waist and caressed the
rounded slope of her ass.
She took a deep breath and her chest rose. “The alcohol
loosened my inhibitions. I was horny. You were there. So I had sex with you.
End of story.”
Jesus. Just the memory of her body moving beneath his, her
lips gasping his name, sent a jolt of lust through his hardened frame. “You’re
lying.”
He stepped closer, trapping her between the table and his
hips, and enclosed her body between his arms. “You come here dressed in this
getup, expecting me to believe that’s the end of the story?”
He ran his eyes over her low-cut corset and tight black
pants. Red fuck-me heels and matching lipstick should make her look cheap, but
it was impossible for Celeste Proctor to look anything but classy.
He’d known her his entire life. She was his brother’s beta,
a shifter he’d been forced to consider as his future sister-in-law. But that had
been before Emma turned Drake’s life upside down and took the man Celeste had
always thought she’d marry.
He growled out a warning, “The truth, Celeste. Now.”
She licked her too-bright lips. “I made a mistake.”
“Damn straight,” he shot back. Only it hadn’t been a
mistake. No sane man would ever consider her a mistake. Sexy, successful, and
so damned stubborn she made his teeth ache. “You couldn’t text me an apology?”
She tossed her hair over one shoulder and glared at him.
Despite her beauty, she was fierce in her annoyance, a warrior who fought for
what she wanted. “Poor Micah, always so willing to play the victim.”
Her taunt made him see crimson. He jerked a handful of her
lace corset and thrust his face next to hers. “You played the victim card
better than I ever could. Poor Celeste. Losing the man you love to a
non-shifter. It stings, doesn’t it? Knowing you weren’t good enough for him?”
The expensive foundation and powder she wore were no match
for the flush of shame tinting her cheeks. “Fuck you, Micah Randolph.”
He grinned, but it lacked humor. “Been there, done that.”
She lifted her hand, but he caught her wrist before she
landed the stinging slap on his cheek. As a warning, he tightened his grip just
enough to feel the bones in her wrist. “Careful. You might hurt yourself.”
She tugged at her arm and cursed when she was unable to
break free of his grasp. “You made your point. Let me go.”
God, it hurt to look at her and know he could never be good
enough, too much of a fuckup to have perfection. He let go of her wrist and
shoved away from her. “Time for you to leave.”
She stayed where she was, her legs spread as if Micah still
stood between her thighs. The provocative position reminded him of tangled
sheets and sex so hot it burned in his soul.
“Micah.” Her tone dropped an octave and turned seductive. “I
need your help.”
Damn it all. Even her voice made him think of tangled sheets
and sweaty limbs. “Find someone else.”
She stood. The six-inch stiletto heels she wore put them on
eye level despite him being several inches over six feet. “You don’t even know
what I’m asking.”
“I don’t need to.” He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and dug
in his duffel bag for a clean one. “I’m not your man.”
Her gaze dropped to his chest. He would have to be blind to
miss the spark of interest there, and he’d never missed any of Celeste’s
expressions. She’d haunted his dreams since puberty. Too many nights he’d spent
jacking off to the picture of her as a cheerleader in their high school
yearbook. Too many afternoons seeing her flirt with his brother and knowing
she’d never be his.
Celeste never backed down from a fight. She ignored his
disinterest and forged ahead. “With Drake out of the picture, I’ve had to
reevaluate my position within the Society.”
Micah shoved his arms through the sleeves of a faded black
T-shirt and jerked it on. He pulled the hem down and waited for her to say
more.
For the first time, she showed hesitation. Unable, or
unwilling, to meet his eyes, she looked anywhere but at him. “I’m the last of
my family. The pressure has been on me for years to marry well. I thought I’d
found the perfect match with Drake, but I can’t ignore it anymore. I need to
find a mate.”
The words ripped into him, flaying him with dreams of what
could never be. He stuffed the old shirt into his bag and slipped the strap
over one shoulder. “Congratulations to you and the lucky bastard, whoever he
may be.”
She jerked her chin in his direction. Heat singed him from
the flames in her expression. “Don’t be an ass. I need your help.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “If you think for one second, I’m
going to play matchmaker for you, you’re…”
“I want you to be my mate.”
Her words forced him to a complete halt. “Come again?”
