Free Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) by Annabel Joseph, Molly Joseph Page A

chubby cheeked sound tech from backstage. They shared a fist bump. The photographer gave her a thumbs up. The crowd still roared her name, but she had to go. She waved and headed toward the stairs. Greg met her at the edge of the stage.
    “Amazing set, babe. Crowd went out of their minds!”
    She couldn’t stop smiling. “Thank you.”
    “What can I get you? Need more water?”
    She ignored Greg and danced over to Ransom, pulling out her ear plugs. “Did you love the set? Did you totally love it?”
    He didn’t smile. He didn’t look like he’d loved the set. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.
    He was so beautiful. His voice was so deep and rich and beautiful . “You’re beautiful,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.
    “Right.” He gripped her elbows and tried to dislodge her. “I think we need to get you back to the hotel.”
    The photographer returned, documenting her deep love for her bodyguard. She smiled and waved at the man, then turned and licked Ransom’s face for the camera, because his stubble felt amazing on her tongue. Greg laughed. Ransom held her waist hard. Wow, he was strong! She flung her arms around his neck and his warmth was her warmth. She wanted him inside her. He was so strong and beautiful, a perfect specimen of manhood.
    “I want your manhood,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist. Greg wouldn’t stop laughing. The backstage was crazy with people, but all she could think about was how great it felt to be in Ransom’s arms, with her body pressed to his. He started walking, turning his face away when she tried to kiss him.
    “I love you,” she said in his ear, then nibbled his earlobe. “I want to fuck you so bad. I want to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. I love you so much I could fucking eat you.”
    He didn’t say anything, but she was pretty sure he felt the same.
    *
    Ransom carried his writhing client onto the bus to the sounds of Greg’s maniacal laughter.
    “What the fuck?” He spun on him. “Are you high too? Seriously? What the fuck is going on here? What did she take?”
    Greg worked to compose himself, then held up his hands. “Nothing. I gave her nothing.”
    “She’s—” He ducked away as she licked his jaw again. “She’s off her face, man.”
    “She wants you.”
    Ransom tried to pry Lola away, but as soon as he removed her, she was on him again like a spider monkey.
    “I love you,” she said for the fortieth time. “You’re so strong .”
    “Jesus.” They didn’t pay him enough for this. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to catch her gaze but she was flying in the ethersphere, and Greg was a giggling mess.
    “It’s Amsterdam,” her manager said, waving his hands like there were still beats. “Everyone’s high here. She played the set of the century. Didn’t you see?”
    Oh, yeah, Ransom had seen it. She’d been pure joy, pure genius. Pure ecstasy. He’d thought she was sober. He’d been so fucking impressed with her performance until he realized she was chemically altered.
    He’d fallen in love with her a little as she reigned over that massive crowd and spun a seamless set of pounding melodies. He hated this electronic shit, but even he had to admit the set was inspired. She’d inspired him, and then she’d devastated him because after all his efforts to reform her, his client was high again. He had to figure out how, and why, and keep it from happening again. He’d only left her alone for the sound check, entrusting her to Greg’s supervision.
    He scowled at her tripping manager. Lesson learned.
    Now she was clinging to him, a quivering bundle of sexualized nerve endings riding a chemical high. She reached down again to fondle him. The worst thing was, his body responded to her. It responded to her energy and boldness. It responded to Lady Paradise, who’d stood on that stage and made the world a million different sounds and colors.
    “Stop that,” he said, pushing her hand away from his thickening