Lead Me Astray

Chapter 1

"Keep it moving. She's only seventeen," I said.

"I wasn't looking at her." He had a resonant Yat accent, very Brooklyn meets Deep South.

Haley nudged me. "He was looking at you," she whispered. "Boom. Enjoy this, my sexually repressed one." I hardly noticed her slipping away. The hot interloper handed me a shot, and I followed the glide of his tongue across his lips.

"I was standing over there, thinking you and I should raise a glass."

"To what, sir, pray tell?" I asked sarcastically.

"To how you successfully crashed my exclusive event."

"Wait. Your event?" I choked.

"Mm-hmm, and you probably shouldn't call me sir unless you're asking for a good time."

His grin was seductive. I stammered an apology, but he waved it off and tapped his glass to mine, even as I tried to turn it down.

"My sister and I were just—dammit, where did she go?"

"She's fine. She's under my protection."

Frowning, I followed Haley with my eyes. She was my responsibility, not his. He directed my gaze to three private security types shadowing my little sister. When a bubbly beverage materialized in her hand, our handsome host gestured, and one of his guys confiscated the champagne and replaced it with soda. That made me feel better.

Revelers in pursuit of various kinds of debauchery filed around the stranger and me. I stared longingly at the exit, but I could play nice. Give this guy two or three more minutes.

"Cheers?" he said, as if reading the capitulation on my face.

I downed my shot. Whatever was in the glass mellowed me immediately. I wasn't sure I liked that, but I tossed my wavy hair over my shoulder and gave him a winsome smile to get this over with.

"So, you must be some kind of big deal," I probed.

He shrugged modestly. "My name gets around. Places where I don't usually see girls like you. Tell me, what's the girl of my dreams doing here, like a lost sheep amongst wolves?"

I snorted a laugh. "Calling me the girl of your dreams—issa no."

"No?" He lifted a delicate eyebrow.

"Nope. Call me Aurie."

"You like the word no, don't you, Aurie?"

My smile froze. "Yeah, sometimes. It's a handy word."

His fingers found my wrist and lingered over my fluttering pulse. I scanned the room again for Haley. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly as his nostrils flared. There she was, talking to her agent.

"I told you, she's safe," he said. Why did his voice both soothe and unnerve me?

It was surprising to see Haley's straitlaced modeling rep,

Patricia Gramercy, at a party like this. She probably had Mom on speed dial, too, which meant there would be hell to pay for our bumping into her here. Still, better the devil I knew than the one I didn't. I pulled away from the sweet talker.

"I hate to drink and run, but it looks like my ride is here."

"Your ride? Are you sure?" he asked.

I hurried to the exit as I dug out my phone and texted Haley that I would meet them downstairs. I glanced behind me to see the charming host watching, but not following me. The world tilted once I hit the hotel corridor, and I stumbled into the first elevator I found. Vertigo. I was such a lightweight when it came to hard liquor.

As the elevator descended, I read Haley's text: Meet who dwnstrs? What r u talkn abt?

My brow furrowed from a sudden headache. What was she talking about? I dialed her. "You and Pat," I said. "I saw you talking to her. Tell her I'll explain everything to Mom."

". . . Been in the bathroom, Aurie. My agent isn't . . ." The signal was patchy. I jerked my head to clear the brain fog, and Haley's voice came in clearer. "Come back up. Back upstairs." The call dropped.

The elevator dinged. Ground floor. Lobby. Unsteady feet. Some of the people . . . looked weird. Double take. Blurry. I kept moving. Through the revolving door, into the night, running from . . . had that been Haley's voice? That mesmerizing command. Made me want to . . . Come back upstairs.

Get away from this place.

A concerned face swam in and out of focus, and a lady clasped my shoulders. "You okay, sweetie? Had too much to drink?" It was New Orleans. Everybody always had . . .

"No," I slurred. "I think I've been . . . drugged . . ."

"Jesus. Okay, hun. Gonna get my truck, just—"

"Help me," I pleaded. My vision faded on the woman jogging to a vehicle idling near the hotel entrance. Everything went black. I never saw what hit me.