“John …” I rock against him, keening.

“I know,” he rasps, “I know.”

I feel it rising, hot, cold, making me tremble. My body tenses at the precipice.

A loud buzz cuts through the air. We both jump at the sound. Hot on its heels, another buzz rings out.

My forehead rests against his. “Who is that?”

“Shit.” John swallows, moves his swollen lips over mine. “Ignore it.”

Whoever it is starts pounding on the door.

“Oy!” a deep male voice shouts. “Get your ass in gear and open the door.”

Panting, we both turn our heads toward the door in question.

John’s hands are still on my breasts, and I feel him tense before he slides them down to my hips. “Fucking cockblockers.”

I husk out a laugh and slump against his warm chest. I’m still a little dizzy and a whole lot breathless. John presses his lips to the top of my head. “It’s the guys,” he says into my damp hair. “They invited themselves over for dinner. I forgot.”

“Wonder why,” I murmur, and it’s his turn to laugh weakly.

“Fuck,” he groans, long and pained. But it looks like that isn’t going to be happening anytime soon. “Shit, shit, shit.” John breathes slowly out through his nose in a clear effort to calm himself.

I empathize. I’m too worked up, my sex is pulsing, wet, and left wanting. A shudder wracks through me, and John gives me a reproachful look, his fingers gripping my hips a little tighter. “Be still,” he warns, “or I’m going to fuck you with them listening on.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask, eyeing the cute little disk of his hardened nipple. I want to give it a gentle bite before licking away the sting. “Because I’m willing to be subjected.” But despite my bravado, and his pained groan, I ease off him. Goddamn, his cock looks good, all thick and dark with lust. It jerks in my direction, as if beckoning me back. And I’m tempted. So very tempted.

The door buzzes again with a relentless insistence.

“I’m coming, all right?” John shouts, his voice a little broken.

“Not in the way I’d hoped,” I mutter.

He husks out a weak laugh, running a hand through his hair. Sweat slicks his taut chest and abs. “Laugh it up, chuckles.”

“It’s either laugh or kill your friends.” I struggle with my bra. I’m sweaty too, my breasts swollen and sensitive. Grabbing my shirt, I pull it over my head and stand. “I’ll get the door. You fix …,” I wave a hand in the direction of his persistently hard dick, “all that.”

“I think I might break it if I try to tuck it away right now,” he grumbles before standing and hiking his jeans up. A wry smile tilts his lips. “Sorry about this, Button. I’ll make it up to you.” He gives me a butter-soft kiss, and then hustles toward the bathroom.

Chapter Sixteen

Stella

* * *

Alone in John’s living room, I run my fingers through my hair and straighten my shirt. I’m certain I’m a mess; my lips are tender and probably look bruised. But these are rockers. They’re used to sex, and I can’t feel any shame. If anything, I’m annoyed at their ham-handed instance on interrupting us.

I’m still practicing my look of cool composure when I open the front door. It abruptly fades as I come face to face with what is arguably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He stands on the threshold, impeccably dressed in a fine gray suit, his ink-black hair gleaming in the hall light, aqua eyes sharp with focus. I swear I go a little weak-kneed at the sight. But that’s not what makes me utter a gasp of true delight.

Another set of brilliant blue eyes has me enthralled. I fall a little in love just then. Because the infant cozily tucked in the chest carrier the man wears is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. The little guy clearly knows it and gives me a gummy smile while waving his chubby fist.

“Oh, my god. Be still my heart.”

The man in the suit doesn’t change his expression, but something that looks a lot like beaming pride fills his eyes and makes him suddenly seem human. He puts a protective hand upon the baby’s stomach. And there goes my ovaries. I can feel them bursting into flames as a happy sigh escapes me.

“He has that effect on people,” says another man at his side. I hadn’t even noticed him, which is shock enough because the guy is hot, not in the cool perfection of the guy with the baby, but in a rangy, easygoing way. This is a guy women flock to, knowing that he’ll treat them right even as he breaks their heart. He’s a lot like John in that way.

Recognition hits me. He’s Whip Dexter, the bassist for Kill John. He gives me a friendly but assessing smile. “One look at those baby blues and women turn into a puddle.”

John appears at my shoulder, wearing a shirt and looking aggrieved. “Jesus, you’re not falling for Scottie’s face too, are you?”

“Scottie?” I ask blankly.

“He means me,” Hot Baby Daddy says, his accent as crisp as his suit.

This is the man who hired me? Of course he is. I recognize his voice. Scottie meets my eyes and one of his black brows ticks up a touch. He knows perfectly well I was gushing over the baby but clearly doesn’t have any intention of correcting John. I wonder about that, as John keeps complaining.

“Seriously, it’s just embarrassing. He’s happily married, you know.”

Annoyance skitters down my spine. I just had my tongue in John’s mouth, and he thinks I’m crushing on Scottie? Then again, the man is gorgeous—I can see how he’d make any guy leery.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud, I was talking about the baby.” I make a goofy face at the cooing little. “Wasn’t I? You cute little dude.”

“Little dude,” repeats Whip with a smile. “I like it.”

John expels a breath, having the grace to appear chagrined. “Right. Felix. Didn’t see him there. Hey, little man.”

“You were distracted by my stunning good looks, weren’t you?” Scottie quips. “I get that a lot.”

John flips him the finger.

“Is that his name?” I ask Scottie.

“Yes, this is my son, Felix Tiberius Scott.”

Felix lifts a fist as if to say, “Respect my awesomeness, woman!”

Scottie gave his son a Star Trek name? I fall a little more in love with the both of them. Though, really, Scottie is too cold and too pretty for anything other than casual admiration. His baby, though? I want to bite those chubby cheeks.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Another lift of those imperious brows. “Miss?”

I get the weird feeling he knows but is asking out of politeness.

John and I speak over each other.

“I’m—”

“She’s—”

Whip cuts us off. “Maddy, right?” He gives me an innocent smile. “Jax told me he’s been making dinners for his neighbor Maddy.”

Maddy? Who the fuck is Maddy? I stiffen, my face feeling like concrete. He’s been making “dinner” for one of the other neighbors? I’m just one of many?

“Ah, no, I’m …”

John makes a noise of irritation. “This is Stella, not Maddy. Jesus, I think it’s pretty fucking clear she’s not Maddy, you asshat.”