“You know, I haven’t performed that song once on this tour?”

“Your choice?” Paxton asked.

Devin shook his head.

“Man, you can’t bow down to the haters,” Flynn said. “The song is about the writer’s vision, not the listener’s.”

Simple truths always had the most impact on him.

And sometimes it made him impulsive. “What say we remedy that tonight? You guys interested in playing it with me?”

Paxton looked at each of his brothers and they nodded. “How about if we go one better? You might’ve been discouraged from playing that song on this tour, but we haven’t. We can make it our last song, and you can join us onstage to perform it.”

Devin grinned. “Brilliant.”

“Devin?”

All five men turned when Liberty skirted the corner of the stage.

And like every other time Devin saw her, his heart beat a little faster and his smile got a little wider. “Come meet the opening band.”

Just as he opened his mouth to introduce them, Liberty blurted out, “I can’t believe I’m standing here with the Wright Brothers.” She stepped forward—way too close to Paxton—and kept blathering. “I have all your CDs. And, wow, all you guys look so much better live in person than in your videos or pictures online. They don’t do you justice.”

“I’m liking this woman quite a lot already. Is she . . . ?” Paxton’s unspoken yours? caused his pierced brow to quirk.

Devin snaked his arm around Liberty’s middle and hauled her out of mauling distance—not from the Wright Brothers, but because she looked ready to pounce on them. Which was way f**ked up because she never gushed or went all fan girl on anyone. Especially not on him. “This is Liberty. She’s my personal assistant. This is—”

“Paxton Wright.” She wiggled out of Devin’s hold and took both of Paxton’s hands in hers. “I’d know you anywhere. My roommate in Kabul was obsessed with you. She had posters of you all over her side of the room. I gotta say, you’re much hotter without the guyliner. And the earrings.” She reached up and touched the end of his hair where it rested against his pectorals. “It looks good longer. Hits that mark between rock-’n’-roll bad-boy hottie and soulful balladeer.”

He couldn’t believe she f**king touched Paxton’s hair. His hair! Then she stepped back and giggled. Fucking giggled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to violate your person. I know how Devin gets about that when strange women do it to him.”

“No worries.” Paxton flaunted his trademark grin and she sighed.

Fucking sighed.

But the torture wasn’t over yet.

Liberty moved on down the line, chatting and f**king flirting with the brothers, who had a revolving door to the bedroom on their bus and were rumored to be major stockholders in a condom company. Jesus. She was acting like she’d never been around anyone famous before, fawning over them like a starstruck groupie.

He froze.

Was this what it felt like to be jealous?

Yes. And just think; this is what Liberty deals with for hours every day.

Devin draped his arm across Liberty’s shoulders, trying not to make it look as if he was pulling her away from the Fab Four—aka the Wrong Brothers. “Great havin’ you guys here. We won’t keep you. We have some things to discuss, so I’ll see you at rehearsal in an hour.”

Liberty damn near broke her neck craning around to say good-bye to them. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “What is wrong with you? You were borderline rude to them.”

And you were borderline slutty.

Okay. He had to take this jealousy thing down a notch.

He didn’t speak again until they reached his private room.

She flipped on the lights, but as soon as the door shut, he locked it and plunged them into darkness. Then he pressed her against the wall, holding both her wrists in his hands behind her back, immobilizing her.

“Devin, what are—”

“So you want to f**k Paxton Wright.” He nuzzled her neck, letting his stubble scrape her tender skin. “Or maybe you want to f**k Flynn Wright.” He followed the edge of her jaw up to her ear.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the question of the day, ain’t it, darlin’? Didn’t you say you couldn’t tell the difference in the dark?” He spoke in that low, velvety tone that had her trembling from head to toe. “We’re completely in the dark. You could live out your fantasy of f**king Paxton . . . with me. I’ll even sing one of his songs as I’m doin’ you.” He started the chorus to their Grammy-winning tune, knowing exactly how much Liberty loved the sound of his voice—his voice, not Paxton f**king Wright’s voice—in her ear as he f**ked her.

She trembled, but she rallied with “You are an ass. Just because I find him hot doesn’t mean I want to bang him. Don’t go attributing your practices with groupies to me. I am not a groupie with you or anyone else.”

“Former practices,” he said with a snarl. “You’re the only woman I want. You’re the only f**king woman I see whether we’re in a room with a thousand people or when we’re alone.”

Heated silence hung between them.

“God, you slay me when you say stuff like that—you know that, right?”

He placed his lips on the pulse pounding angrily in her neck. “I mean it. Baby, you know I mean it.”