Sultans of Swing // Dire Straits

My hand slides up the curve of her waist, touching bare skin. I'm heated, needy, and so is she judging from the little moan my touch elicits. My lips are on her neck, nuzzling under her ear when my fingers brush up against the underside of her breast.

"Oh." Her breathy voice hits my ear. I rub my thumb along the swell of soft skin, burning to touch her, feel her, everywhere.

"Clinton, more."

Two words I've been dying to hear spill from her lips. More. I'll give her so much more she'll be begging me to stop. More. I can absolutely handle more.

My heart pounds with the ideas running through my head. The desires. I've been holding them back for a year. Longer? I can't remember a time when I wasn't struggling with my need for her. I lean back to look into her eyes, the bluest eyes I've ever seen. But her eyes are closed. I can't see them.

"Open up, baby. Let me see."

"Clinton." Her voice is no longer laced with desperation for my touch. Now it sounds angry.

"What did I do?"

"Clinton!" She yells while some kind of banging rings in my ears. "Open up!"

"That's what I said. Open up." My brows wrinkle and I look at her again but it's not her. It's not Colleen. It's no one. She's gone.

"Open the door, Clinton!"

I sit up in a flash, looking around to get my bearings. The hotel room, not my place. I'm on tour, not at home. Not with Colleen.

Oh shit. I had a sex dream about Colleen. And it was the hottest fucking dream I've ever had until she disappeared. I rub a hand over my face, half trying to forget it ever happened and half trying to burn the images into my memory.

The pounding on the door pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Are you up? The new kid said you hadn't left your room yet."

I groan, throw the covers back and adjust my shorts to accommodate the remaining evidence from my dream.

"Hang on." I lumber to the door.

"Finally." Zack grouches at me as I swing the door open. He storms past me and orders the door shut.

"Tell me after I take a piss." I don't wait for his approval as I push past him into the bathroom.

"I'll tell you while you piss. Curt's here."

I do that slow head turn thing when you hear something that can't possibly be true.

"Curt?" I finish up and wash my hands as Zack confirms what he said.

"That's what I said. Curt. Randy got him in. Bastard. I knew that guy was bad fucking news. Never should have hired him. The asshole is down in the lobby with half the roadies having breakfast. He tried to get to Char's room but Jacob's hiding her out in Bree's suite."

I dry my hands and rub my face with cold water. No time for a cold shower so this will have to do. Although, hearing Curt's name pretty much zapped any desires that might have been remaining after the dream which will not be mentioned.

"Let me suit up and I'll go down there to kick him out."

"I don't want a scene. I don't want any publicity about this, Clinton."

I eye him. "When have I ever made a scene? I'm not going to touch him."

Zack takes a deep breath and nods. "Noted. I'm aware of your methods. But this can't happen again. Why were we caught off guard? You're supposed to know about this shit before it happens."

Yeah, that's on me. I've been...distracted, to say the least. My thoughts have been divided between my life back home and my life here. I have to get my shit under control and keep focused.

"You're right. I dropped the ball. I'll add a surveillance operative to the comings and goings of all roadies. And that emergency tracker system embedded in all employee phones will be activated if we have reasonable suspicion."

"Curt showing up is reasonable suspicion."

"Not according to the law. We don't want anything to come back on us, because whoever ends up with a case will file it against Brianna." I level a pointed look at Zack. The implication is clear. If he doesn't want Brianna dragged through the mud, he needs to follow my lead.

"Fine. But I want Randy fired."

"Same here, but I don't have a justifiable cause so until I do, he stays."

Zack gets in my face.

"I want the motherfucker off of this tour."

I hold my position, knowing the anger coursing through Zack's veins is all about keeping Brianna safe. I wrote the manual on that feeling, and Zack is doing a shit job of reining it in. But I can't blame the guy. I'd feel the same way.

I'm just better at disguising it.

"He is in my sights. If he breathes wrong, I'll have the evidence to send him packing. I'd bet my left nut he'll be gone before the next show."

Zack looks down, running a hand through his hair, a move he's probably done a hundred times already this morning. When he takes a step back and turns around, I know he's on board.

"I'm losing my fucking mind, Clinton. Curt looked at her. Pointed right at Bree during that hearing. Blamed her for everything. He's unhinged."

"He won't touch her. Give me five minutes and I'll be downstairs letting him know his shit doesn't fly."

Keeping his back to me, he nods. Then he walks out my door and back to his girl. He knows he doesn't have to ask me to let him know when it's done. That's a given.

I pull on my uniform of black polo, black jeans and black boots. Jacob accused me of commanding female attention. Looking at my reflection, I can see how he figured that. My clothes fit my form, outlining my muscular build. It might seem like I'm emphasizing my body for attention, and I am. But not female attention. All the motherfuckers in the room need to know they have a snowball's chance in hell of getting past me.

I step out of my hotel room exactly two minutes later, making my ETA in the lobby coffee shop right on time. The elevator appears to have been waiting for me, opening up the second I hit the call button. Without any stops on the way down, I make it to the lobby one minute early according to my schedule.

This is the adrenaline rush I thrive under. All the anxiety and bullshit I've tried to leave in the gym is messing with my head. But this feeling, the one I latch onto as I cross the lobby to the café entrance, is the one that fuels me. This is why I do what I do. And probably why I have an unhealthy obsession with my job.

I stand at the entrance and scan the perimeter of the place, one booth and table at a time. I find my target at a table front and center of the main window, holding court with the roadies whose days are now numbered. As I watch, Mr. Look At Me's performance amps up. Now, Curt's animated storytelling has heads turning as well. Most of the attention in the room is aimed at him. I promised Zack I wouldn't make a scene and I don't plan to now.

Instead of confronting him in the presence of his minions, I bide my time, slowly making my way to the counter where there's an empty spot in the corner. The perfect vantage point to keep watch over Curt and catch him as he's leaving. A well-timed ride up the elevator might be just the opportunity I need. Either way, I'll find a window to have that private conversation.

And I don't wait long.

Curt stands from his throne of lies, slapping Randy and some of the other roadies on the back as he makes his goodbyes. He says something that must be salacious based on the slimy responses from the table of morons surrounding him. All of them are now on my surveillance list.

He signs a couple autographs on his way to the register, where he makes a show of dropping a hundred-dollar bill.

"Keep the change, doll," he says with a wink.

"Thanks," she says, starstruck by the has-been.

"Don't think I haven't seen you watching me," Curt says, not making eye contact with me but clearly addressing me.

I'm fully facing him now, still leaning against the stool at the counter. "Oh I know you saw me." That's the entire point. I wasn't directly in his line of sight, and I can be invisible if I need to be. But today isn't a stealth operation. Today is using all of the tools at my disposal to get a message across.

"You don't scare me." This time he does look me in the eye.

Big mistake on his part. I read the glimmer of fear loud and clear. It wouldn't be more obvious if he'd hired a plane to write it across the sky, Clinton Wilson scares the shit out of me.

"Of course, I don't." I stand and step closer. He isn't leaving yet because he knows I'll follow him. Probably thinks I'll take him by the elbow and escort him right out of the building. But it would cause a scene. And I'm not about drama. Not today.

"But I do determine who gets close to the crew and the staff. Last I heard there was an order of protection stating you have no legal right to be in the vicinity of any of the people staying in this hotel or on this tour."

"I'm in a public place. I'm staying in this hotel. Coincidences happen." His whining tone and flimsy excuses demonstrates his premeditations.

I pull out my phone. "I'd be happy to call the authorities and explain your coincidence." Looking up, I catch the dark expression before Curt slips the mask back in place.

"Go right ahead."

Ah, yes. We've reached the false bravado stage of the conversation. I dial the local non-emergency line, already programed as a tour precaution when we stop in any city. It's when I raise the phone to my ear and lock my eyes on Curt that I call his bluff. He swallows, deeply.

"Police department. How can I help you?" I'd turned the volume way up so Curt was sure to hear the other side of the call.

"Yes, This is Clinton Wilson, Brianna Royce's head of security. I have an issue regarding an order of protection. It seems that circumstances have put someone in Ms. Royce's path that is required by law to stay 500 feet away from her as well as multiple people on her tour directly in her path."

"Yes, sir. I'll patch you through to an officer in your vicinity. You can inform him directly of your circumstances."

Curt tries to appear smug, standing across from me with his arms crossed. "That's not accurate."

I raise a brow in his direction while the operator directs my call.

"I'm a guest here, too."

I nod.

"And I'm checking out this morning."

Now both brows rise. "I heard you just arrived an hour ago. Funny that you're already leaving." We commence in a stare off as the line clicks over.

"This is Officer Vick. My dispatch passed along your request. ETA 2 minutes to your location. Should I request back up?"

"Whoa." Curt's hands fly up. "This is getting out of control."

"No back-up needed. The person in question has agreed to leave the premises. But I'd appreciate your presence regardless. I have eyewitness statements that the subject threatened to approach the victim's room."

"Victim? She's no fucking victim. She's my wife." Curt says it loud enough to draw some attention from nearby.

The cop, still on the phone, responds. "Sounds like a potential domestic violence charge in addition to the order of protection violation. Could land the perp in jail if he doesn't leave the premises."

"Fuck," Curt mutters, throwing his shades back over his eyes and pointing at me. "Call off your dogs. I'm leaving."

"Leave without further incident and I will." Not that I appreciate him referring to Officer Vick as a dog. "Don't bother showing up to another stop. Or we will press charges.

Curt spins toward the door and bolts away from me. Once he hits the lobby his swagger returns. The asshole saunters to the main entrance and I know this isn't over yet.

I cross my arms, making a decision. It's time to put everything I have into the security of this tour and make sure Curt isn't able to follow through on whatever idea he has brewing. Not on my watch.

Okay but that dream...what did you think?? Like I've said before, there will be tons of overlap with the events of Jacob's story in Player and this one. This chapter is a big crossover.

ICYMI - I did add about 500 words of additional description and content to the last chapter. I should probably do that with this one for the coffee shop. I typically skim over description in books I read so I tend to skip writing it, too. Bad form and a bad habit.

Sultans of Swing is my inspiration for Clinton's 'hands off method' of intimidation. I picture him looking absolutely bored and yet completely deadly.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Thanks for reading!!