When Gio left, Carly lifted his head. "What were you thinking? Death? Finality?"

"No. I just wanted to numb the feckin' pain," he croaked. "I didn't take enough pills to kill myself."

"No," she sighed. "Instead you almost choked to death on your own vomit. Smooth move, Byrne."

Carly got him to sit upright. He leaned against her chest. Carly smelled of clean soap, baby powder, and mint. Her silk pajamas felt cool against his raging, sensitive skin.

"I'm in real trouble here, Montgomery," he rasped. His throat still burned from his vomiting. "I gave my girlfriend VD—gonorrhea to be specific. I better get tested."

"No shit. We'll see a doctor as soon as possible. I'll make the call in a few minutes. Byrne, you're a damned mess."

"Thanks, love," he said softly.

Her hand gently stroked his chest, and the motion comforted him. Her voice sounded matter-of-fact and not judgmental. "So she dropped you. Do what other broken-hearted musicians do and write a song about your torment. It sells records. When was the last time you wrote anything?"

Carly spoke the truth. He had been touring on his last album for the past year and had done nothing new. He still had one record left on his contract with Cascade. He was bloody daft. He didn't think he was a stupid gob-shite, but obviously he was. He almost choked on his puke. Real bleedin' class. His cheeks flooded with heat and shame.

One of Carly's hands touched his hair. When was the last time someone just held him and comforted him? He burrowed the back of his head in between her breasts. She had more there than he'd thought. He was getting turned on, but he wanted the soothing reassurance of her touch even more. He sighed deeply and contentedly. His head's insistent throbbing started to subside. He closed his eyes. He could sleep right here in her embrace.

Dear God, but the man was stunning. Having him lean against her like this seared her skin. She couldn't stop touching him. One hand tunneled through his silky two-tone hair, and the other stroked his bare chest. Did he just sigh, or did she? She should be raging with indignant anger; instead she comforted Byrne like a lost little boy. She was going to feed him damned chicken broth. All that was missing was the bedtime story. She had told him the truth. He was a mess, and worse than she originally thought. What dramas were next—paternity suits? Carly was surprised he didn't have a couple already. Every male rock star did, and considering how careless he seemed to be sex-wise, it was only a matter of time.

Her heart hitched behind her ribs. He had come so close to dying. Yes, her original thoughts might have been cold and calculating as she thought only of the headlines and of Nigel's reaction. Deep down, however, her emotions were more complicated and muddled. Holding him like this sparked a protective feeling she didn't even know she possessed. She had to admit physically he was everything she could ever want in a man. Her interest was sparked from her first gaze at him naked face-down on a bed.

Carly's hand continued to caress his chest. Byrne's body was muscled, tight, sculpted, and irresistible. Don't get her started on his voice. She'd read his file. He had an amazing three-octave range, each note sounding crystal clear and pure. He could have sung opera, he was so damned good. At first, Nigel wanted to go glam rock, much like Bowie did with his Ziggy Stardust persona, but Byrne refused. Probably because his vocal range and depth were often compared to Bowie, or maybe wearing glitter eye shadow and sequined jumpsuits just didn't appeal to him.

Carly had recently re-listened to his debut record, Within the Flames. The heights to which his voice soared gave her goose bumps and sent thrilling shivers down her spine. He was killing her softly with his song. She smiled at her own music pun. If Byrne's singing voice wasn't mesmerizing enough, when he spoke she swore hot liquid gushed from the deepest parts of her. The smoky, sexy Irish lilt only enhanced the undeniable appeal. His voice was musical in its cadence and smooth as dark chocolate. His damned unique scent was as appealing as his come-to-bed voice. Byrne exuded a spicy aroma that went beyond the generic hotel soap Gio had just used on him. No way. She wasn't going to let this egotistical rock monster get under her skin.

No fucking way.

Chapter Four

The odor of roast turkey filled his nostrils as soon as he opened the door. Brogan stepped across the threshold into the private banquet room of the Fairmount Plaza in Boston. The concert was tomorrow night at the Boston Garden, and then on to Newark. Three days had passed since his 'puke incident,' as Carly referred to it. His gaze fell upon the huge buffet laid out in front of him. As if he wanted to eat anything. When was the last time he had a decent meal with veg and the works?

Brogan's eyes grazed over Carly. He had to admit she was a hot chick. Besides the shapely, trim figure she had the loveliest expressive hazel eyes. The purple leather pants and matching purple leopard jacket were a turn on. She dressed the part of rock manager. Brogan thought she looked the most appealing in her oversized silk pajamas with her face fresh scrubbed like a little girl ready for bed. The way she'd held him…

What the hell was he doing? Abbie had thrown him aside only three nights ago, and already he was on the prowl? No, he really wasn't, if the insistent ache in his heart had anything to say about the matter. If he were to admit it, the ache had always been there since the night Tarrah was killed brutally in front of him. A surprising development since he supposedly willed his heart to turn to rock the very same night.

Carly sucked air between her teeth as she watched Byrne stride confidently toward her. Good God almighty, the man was a stunner. She had to stop this inward drooling. She couldn't put her finger on why he appealed to her outside the obvious good looks. There were layers of hurt and heartbreak in this man, and not just his recent smash-up with the Malibu Barbie girlfriend. There was more. It fueled him, drove him, and maybe fed the demon inside him. She knew he had one. The tortured look she caught in his eyes was proof. Damn, it made him even more appealing. She could not show her interest, ever. So much for her determination to keep her emotions tightly masked. She would have to try harder.

"Hope you're hungry, Byrne. I expect you to chow down here," she said.

Byrne picked up a plate and served some food for himself. "Who in the feck is going to eat all this? The turkey is the size of a small child."

"Funny, Byrne. Didn't know you could be. The crew can do mop-up. I said for them to come in an hour." She ladled string beans onto his plate. "Don't forget your greens, baby."

He snarled quietly but took the food to the table.

Carly sat at the opposite end. She observed Byrne eyeing the white wine sitting on the table. Damn, she should have made sure there was no alcohol of any type. His eyes were wide and full of temptation as if he could drink the whole bottle. She observed his hands trembled slightly.

"Did you take your meds?" Carly asked.

"Aye, I'm a walking Walgreens. I'm taking two different types of antibiotic, Bennies for the alcohol withdrawal, and anti-anxiety pills. And let's not forget the sleeping pills. What is the feckin' difference between these drugs and what I was taking?" he growled.

"These ones are legal and prescribed from a doctor. You can't have any wine, no alcohol at all, Byrne. You heard the doctor; your liver enzymes are out of whack. Eat your turkey." Carly lifted a forkful of whipped mashed potatoes to her mouth.