The Duke and the DJ (The Rebel Royals 3)

She motioned to sit up as he motioned to peer down at her. In the uncoordinated move, she bumped her for head on his chin. But his lips brushed her temple, and she shuddered.

Aiming to avoid another collision, Spin pressed her hand against his chest intending to push him away. But she felt his heart pounding at her fingertips. The feeling of it reverberated through her entire body. That beat, coupled with his words, played in her head on repeat. She worried that the song of him would get stuck inside her head.

“Spin? Are you okay?"

Spin looked beyond her muse to find Parker making a beeline for them. At the sight of Parker, Spin’s savior rose to his full height to greet the woman.

"It's all my fault,” he said.

"It was an accident," said Parker, her attention on Spin.

“I’m pretty sure it was my dance moves," he said, with a self-deprecating grin that Spin was certain had demolished many a woman’s defenses. “I’m much more adept in a ballroom than on a club dance floor. There it’s acceptable to sweep a girl off her feet."

A few of the girls present giggled, their defenses clearly knocked down and busted wide open for him to ransack if he chose. But his gaze was firmly fixed on Parker.

Spin chided herself for thinking that he could’ve been remotely interested in her. He was clearly there for Parker. He was probably one of her employees aiming to impress her.

Spin rolled to her knees in an effort to regain her footing. But before she could rise, he gave her back a fraction of his attention and put his hand out to her. Not waiting for her to take his hand, he wrapped his big hand around her wrist and hauled her up as though she weighed nothing.

Once again, Spin felt as though warm honey were running over her skin. That shock of pine scent went straight to her head. But her feelings were apparently only one-sided because as soon as she was on her feet, his attention turned back to Parker.

Spin couldn’t help but frown at the total opposites. Parker was dressed to party, while he was dressed for business. Who wore a button down shirt, a tie, and pressed slacks to a rave? And were those dress shoes? He looked like he stepped out of GQ while Parker graced the cover of Wired magazine. This guy was clearly out of his league.

“Of course, I’ll pay for any damages,” Parker was saying.

"It was my fault," said Mr. GQ. "I'll cover it."

"It's my party, Your Grace.”

Your Grace?

"Please, no need to be so formal," he said. "Just call me Zhi.”

"Zhi, I insist I cover the damages. Give me your bank account, Spin d’Elle.”

Spin looked between the two. She’d never had people fight over giving her money. Her gaze finally settled on Parker. "I don't have a bank account.”

"PayPal account?” Parker asked.

"Nope."

"Bitcoin?"

“I’m a cash-only enterprise.” Spin shrugged, unapologetically. “Besides, the set up isn’t mine. And there’s no need. There’s no permanent damage."

Turning back to the tables, she righted the equipment and flipped a few buttons. The music roared back to life. The crowd cheered. Parker fist bumped Spin.

His grace, Zhi, watched the whole exchange with a grimace. Spin had noticed that the grimace had appeared as soon as the music was restarted. But he plastered on a smile when he turned to Parker.

He held out his hand for Parker, like something out of a BBC period movie. Parker looked confused. But she shrugged and took his offering.

Spin turned in the opposite direction, as far away from the graceful Zhi as possible. She knew that honorific was for the titled nobility. She'd be sure to steer clear of him. Nobles were the wrong kinds of people. She didn't appreciate the riffraff coming into her world.

Chapter Nine

Sleep eluded Zhi. The party went on into the middle of the night. Music blared until dawn. Just a few hours after sunrise, he finally gave up the pretense of sleep and rose to greet the new day.

All was quiet on deck. The sight was as loud as a riot. The ship had sailed across a calm sea, but the deck looked as though it had been through a war zone.