self-respect—and honor—than to abuse the people who love them."
His gaze narrowed and Joley looked away from the mirror. She couldn't bear to see the knowledge in his eyes—or in her own—that she was really talking about herself. How hypocritical was it to condemn Denny for making wrong choices when she'd probably come here for that very thing. She couldn't even bring herself to admit the truth, hedging in her mind, pretending it was to help Logan save his child when the real reason was purely selfish.
Her body was on fire. Hot. Needy. Ultrasensitive. Her nipples brushed her lacy bra and sent streaks of white lightning zigzagging through her straight to her groin. Her body pulsed with life, with need, with want… Oh man did she want. She brushed a hand over her face to hide her expression from Steve.
A crush of what looked like teenage girls dressed in too-tight clothing, too much makeup and heels to make them look older came rushing around the walkway toward the front door. They were giggling loudly and pulling at their clothes, trying to look as if they belonged. Joley swore under her breath as memories flooded back. Young girls servicing band members and roadies. Groupies, looking to do anything with someone famous. Drugs and alcohol to deaden their inhibitions.
In the early days she had tried to stop it. Now she knew she couldn't. What others did and what they could live with was on them. The only stipulation she'd adamantly enforced was that any groupie had to be old enough. The girls didn't look it, but she was getting older and everyone seemed to look about thirteen to her these days. Maybe she was just jaded. Her manager and certainly the band would never break that one taboo, and risk losing everything.
The rush of excitement the show had produced drained away, even the fire racing through her veins, leaving her feeling tired. As if reading her thoughts, Steve cleared his throat and leaned out the window to get a better look at the girls.
"I swear, Miss Drake, looking at those girls, I'm feeling ancient. They look like they should be home playing with dolls."
"I must be ancient, too," she conceded, watching as one of them broke away and dashed around the corner to hide in some bushes. The girl pulled out a cell phone and quickly made a call.
Her eyes were bright and she couldn't stop smiling, her excitement at the opportunity of mixing with the band members and all the celebrities at the party nearly palpable. She was pretty. Young. Even with the makeup she looked no more than fourteen. Innocent looking. Definitely in need of protection. The poor girl had no idea what she was getting into. Joley pushed the door open even wider and swung her feet out of the car.
"We're not supposed to tell anyone they're letting us in," one of the other girls called out. "You'll get us kicked out. They told us not to tell anyone."
Joley glanced at Steve. "That doesn't sound good. If someone told them not to tell, they have to be underage."
The girl with cell phone hastily snapped it closed and shoved it into her purse out of sight. "I left a message for my mother that I'd be late," she said and ran to join the group.
Joley got out of the car, frowning. She wouldn't have her band members or even the road crew picking up young teenagers. That was the one hard-and-fast rule the band had sworn never to break, and if any of them had been a party to the invitation for the teens, they were gone. Just like that. She'd quit before she'd have this kind of thing going on, and they knew it. She'd done it once and she'd walk away again. She could only hope her own crew had no idea who had been invited to this party. In any case, the teens had to leave immediately.
She took a couple of steps toward the group just as a limousine with tinted windows pulled up between her and the girls. Even as Joley started around the large vehicle, the door to the house swung open and several men came out. Joley recognized two of her roadies as