Pointing her iPhone at the crowd, she recorded the VIP lounge, making sure to capture Geneviève and Roderick on camera. Her sister was notoriously shy about her personal life and Demi knew posting the intimate footage would send Geneviève’s fans into a frenzy—and increase traffic on Demi’s YouTube page. Wanting to give her viewers an exclusive experience, she’d interviewed Instagram models, the first family of reality TV, a Formula One race car driver and the members of Geneviève’s all-female band, Divalicious. The group consisted of four bad-ass musicians who were as talented as they were fierce. After years of working together, Charlotte, Akari, Esmerelda and Shante were part of her girl squad, and Demi couldn’t have asked for more loyal and supportive friends. The VIP lounge was so loud, she worried the sound quality would suffer, so she exited the room through the sliding-glass door.
The corridor had high ceilings, pendant lights, and framed caricatures covered the burgundy walls. Demi spotted a portrait of the King of Pop and snapped a selfie in front of it. Using the image as her backdrop, she continued recording, chatting excitedly into her iPhone about the album release party. “This is my first time to Ibiza, but it won’t be my last. I love everything about the island—the people, the food, the energy and the atmosphere—and I’d stay here forever if I could.”
“In His Arms” played inside the corridor. The ballad was an irresistible hit, telling a love story about faith, hope and second chances. It was a brilliant song with powerful lyrics set to a sultry beat that Demi loved dancing to. “If you don’t have a copy of Love Is, get yourself one today. It’s Geneviève’s best album yet and you won’t be disappointed—”
Hearing angry voices in the corridor, Demi broke off speaking. Annoyed, she glanced over her shoulder to see what the commotion was. A tall, dark-skinned man in a khaki suit was standing between two women, imploring them to calm down. The females were speaking Russian and even though Demi didn’t understand what they were saying, she knew they were pissed. They were shouting, and pushing each other, and she feared they were going to trade blows.
“Ladies, you shouldn’t be fighting...”
At the sound of his voice, her skin tingled. Oh my! Demi thought, licking her crimson lips. He sounds dreamy! Hearing the stranger’s accent, she guessed he was from New York and studied his distinguished profile. He had black, cropped hair, broad shoulders and a toned, athletic physique that deserved to be on the cover of a men’s health magazine.
Curious about what was going to happen next, Demi ended her recording, and shoved her iPhone inside her tassel-style clutch purse. This is crazy! And highly entertaining, she thought, watching the women glare at each other. Damn, I wish I had buttered popcorn! Shouting insults, the women lunged at each other, swinging their hands wildly in the air, whacking the stranger in the head. His eyes darkened but he spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Please stop,” he said, his gaze darting between the brawling duo. “I came here to party, not referee a fight.”
The elevator pinged and a bridal party group decked out in feather boas, cut-out dresses and fishnet stockings sashayed down the hall, laughing hysterically. Returning her gaze to the brawling duo, Demi realized the stranger had turned around and was now facing her.
Desire barreled through her body and her legs wobbled. Oh wow, he’s hot! No wonder they’re fighting over him! He was wearing designer eyeglasses, but he had dark, soulful eyes that a woman could get lost in—and she did. Demi had no words. For the first time in her life she was speechless, dumbfounded at the sight of this scrumptious hottie with the smooth, mocha-brown complexion, full lips and dimpled chin. He had a face that belonged on the
big screen and a voice that inspired lustful thoughts.
“You have to pick,” insisted the heavyset blond.
The stranger gave Demi a pleading look and an idea popped into her mind. A smirk curled her lips. Tucking her purse under her forearm, she sashayed down the corridor as if it was her own personal runway, and it was. Her confidence was her greatest asset and Demi was going to use her fearless, take-no-prisoner’s attitude to rescue the ebony Adonis with the chiseled physique.
“Baby, there you are,” Demi cooed, raising her voice to be heard above the loud, bickering blondes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
The stranger coughed into his fist then cleared his throat. “I went to the men’s room.”
“Gosh, I can’t take you anywhere.” For effect, she playfully swatted his forearm. “The minute I turn around, you’re gone. Just like my terrier, Luna, but she’s a three-month-old puppy who needs to be trained. What’s your excuse?”
“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Wearing an apologetic smile, the stranger spoke in a low voice that rippled across her flesh like a warm summer breeze. Their eyes met and Demi felt light-headed, as if she was going to faint, and willed herself to keep it together.
“I went to check out the rooftop bar, ran into some friendly tourists, and lost track of time.”
“H-h-honey?” the blondes stammered. “You have a girlfriend?”
“He sure does.” Demi linked arms with the stranger and rested her head on his shoulder. His biceps were firm, rippling with muscle, and his spicy cologne made her mouth wet with hunger. He was even sexier up close and touching him aroused her. Staying in character, she inclined her head and narrowed her eyes. “Ladies, find someone else to fight over because this is my man, and I don’t like sharing, so bounce!”
The blondes didn’t move. They scowled and Demi glared back. Born and raised in one of Philadelphia’s worst neighborhoods, she’d learned how to defend herself as a child and she wasn’t afraid of anyone, especially not a pair of Barbie lookalikes in knock-off Gucci dresses.
“Dog,” muttered the blue-eyed blonde, “you said you were single.”
“He told me the same thing and he invited me to the VIP lounge.”
“Babe, let’s go to the bar,” the stranger proposed to Demi, gesturing to the elevator with a nod of his head. “I need another whiskey and I bet you could use a watermelon martini.”
Winking, Demi spoke in a sultry voice. “Among other things, Big Daddy.”
A devilish grin covered his mouth. Resting a hand on her lower back, the stranger hustled her down the hallway and into the waiting elevator. The doors closed, sealing them inside, and Demi burst out laughing. “Geez, if I’d known acting was that much fun, I would have taken drama in high school!” she joked, wearing a cheeky smile. “I’m Demi. What’s your name, handsome?”
Chapter 2
Chase Crawford stood inside the private elevator at Infamous nightclub with the American woman in the eye-catching dress, wondering if her crimson lips tasted as good they looked. Checking her out, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and leaned against the wall. The caramel-skinned beauty had it all. Blinding white teeth, curves like a winding road and sleek, toned legs he wished were clamped around his waist, pulling him deep inside her. Attractive women were a dime a dozen in Ibiza, but the woman stood out and not just because of her taut derrière. She had a magnetic personality and a smile that would haunt his dreams. Her doe-shaped eyes were mesmerizing, her lips tempting and her skin had a youthful, vibrant glow.
“Are you going to stand there lusting after me? Or are you going to tell me your name?”
Breaking free of his thoughts, Chase wore a sheepish smile. He’d been so busy admiring her physical assets that he’d forgotten to introduce himself. It wasn’t his fault. From the moment he’d left New York it had been one problem after another and he was exhausted. On the plane, his British seatmate had accidently spilled her champagne on him. At the Ibiza airport, he’d discovered the airline had lost his luggage. At the club, he’d suddenly had to navigate a fight between two women with bad tempers. Things could only get better, and if Demi turned out to be even half as cool as he thought she was, they were going to have a good time together. The thought heartened him. Made him momentarily forget his problems.