Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) by Ella Sheridan Page A

“We’ll catch Ike backstage for a few minutes before we go.”
    “Oh. Okay.” She was going to speak to Isaac Anschau. Of course. No biggie.
    Right.
    And the rock god certainly lived up to the nickname in person. As tall as Hank, he was equally broad but personified “beach boy” in his casual shorts and flip-flops on his feet, as big a difference from his sexy image onstage as it was possible to get. The change made more sense when she heard the lyrical Australian accent coloring his words as he shook Hank’s hand. “Didn’t think you’d make it. How’s it hanging?”
    “Great. Good show, man.” Hank turned to Sage. “This is Sage Lyndsey.”
    “Sage. Call me Ike.” His handshake was firm, friendly, as was his grin. “Any friend of Hank’s is more than welcome.”
    Was there a bit more emphasis on the word friend ? She glanced between the two men, but other than smiles, she couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. “I very much enjoyed the show. Thank you for the tickets.”
    “Anything for a beautiful lady.”
    Her blush had more to do with Hank’s disapproving, “Stop with the flirting, dickhead,” than Ike’s compliment. The singer appeared unfazed, his innocent grin proclaiming him anything but. Hank’s arm wrapped possessively around her back, his fingertips far too close to the side of her breast for comfort, branded her as firmly off-limits, it seemed, because Ike steered the conversation toward music, for which Sage was grateful. The two men talked business for a few more minutes, and then Hank shook Ike’s hand with a meaningful glance over his friend’s shoulder at the waiting hordes. “We’ll leave you to it.”
    Ike flashed that million-watt smile she’d seen onstage. “Don’t be a stranger, mate.”
    “We won’t.”
    Sage turned over that “we” far too carefully in her mind as they left the amphitheater. Hank had intertwined his fingers with hers in a way she wished she could escape from and yet didn’t want to. In the dark, the quiet, she admitted she was too tired to fight it tonight, even knowing that letting herself pretend, letting herself sink into the fantasy that grip ignited was just as dangerous as, well, just about anything that had to do with Hank right now. She didn’t have the strength to deny him or herself at the moment.
    The quiet crunch of gravel sounded loud as they walked in silence. Most of the concertgoers had left, and the parking lot was fairly deserted. Sage thought back to that moment when Hank’s lips had pressed against hers—would he kiss her again? Did she want him to?
    You’re not in high school, remember? We’ve been through this before.
    Of course she had, and here she was, still angsting over every little thing between them. As if they weren’t adults. What did a kiss mean, really? To a man like Hank, probably nothing; he got dozens when he was meeting with fans, no doubt. She’d been kissed before. Telling herself to stop being silly, she waited while Hank opened the Jeep door for her. Just get in, Sage.
    She tried. Good or bad, though, Hank’s grip tightened on her hand, pulling her back toward him instead. Looking to forestall any awkwardness, she blurted out, “Thank you for tonight. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to get away for a while.”
    “I’m glad,” Hank said, his words absent. The single streetlight not far from them did little to illuminate his face, but she thought he was staring at her mouth. No, she was certain he was staring at her mouth, and when his head dipped toward hers, she found herself paralyzed, a deer in the headlights of his hungry eyes.
    Their lips met. Brushed. Lingered. Just like before, only Hank pushed it further. His lips parted against hers; his tongue glided along the seam of her mouth, asking permission, asking her to accept him. How could she not?
    Except Hank didn’t wait for her to decide. He tilted his head, fitting them together like two puzzle pieces, and licked into