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coquette. She also pretended to be more drunk than she was. In fact, Sarah wasn’t sure Erin was drinking at all. She put her margarita to her lips occasionally, but the level in the glass never changed. Owen was constantly distracted by Erin. His eyes slid to her after every play.
    Martin did seem to make an effort at winning hands, and his face fell every time he lost. Sarah wondered again about the long-sleeved shirt he still wore in the oppressively hot night. He was awfully thin, too. She’d seen every bit of his well-formed posterioron the cover of Ass Backwards , and he’d probably lost twenty pounds since that photo shoot.
    And then there was Quentin, who seemed considerably more drunk than the other three. As the night went on, he paused longer and longer before making decisions, as if his already slow brain was slowing more.
    Finally, Erin called for a bathroom break. Owen followed her inside the mansion. After the door closed, Quentin said smoothly, “So, Susan,” grabbing both Sarah’s wrists in his big hands.
    “Sarah,” she corrected him, trying to conceal her disappointment that he’d forgotten her name. Of course he was just another drugged-up singing star, but she was crushing hard on him by now. She twisted her wrists in his grasp gently to extricate herself without causing a fuss.
    He let her go and settled for holding her hand loosely on her knee, his fingers always moving, rubbing up and down her fingers and circling on her palm. Electricity shot up her arm. “What’s your favorite Cheatin’ Hearts song?” he asked her.
    “You want me to name one you wrote,” she said coyly.
    He kept drilling his dark green eyes into her and electrifying the palm of her hand.
    She was enjoying him a bit too much. She could hold her liquor, but that margarita was clouding her judgment, if flirting with this out-of-control celebrity seemed like a good idea. The time had arrived to backhim off. She said, “ ‘Come to Find Out’ is pretty amusing. It’s unusual to hear a country song about backdoor action.” When he gave her a confused look, she prompted him, “ ‘Come to find out I got screwed in the end’?”
    He let her go in surprise. “I never thought about it that way,” he said slowly.
    Now Sarah missed the constant tease of his hand on her hand. She knew she was feeling the margarita, but she couldn’t stop herself. She hadn’t had this much fun in a long while. She baited him, “Do you come up with your album titles and covers? Are you an ass man? Because that seems to be a recurring theme.”
    “I am now.” His gaze flicked down to the region of her thigh. He cocked his head to let her know he was considering her bottom. Then his gaze returned to her face.
    “Good God,” Martin grumbled. “I have to be more drunk than this before I like to watch.” He poured himself a margarita out of the pitcher.
    Sarah came back down to earth. “Excuse me,” she said, recovering her dignity. She clopped across the flagstones in her heels and passed Erin and Owen tickling each other on their way out of the mansion.
    In the bathroom, Sarah clung to the marble counter and stared into the mirror at her pink highlights. She needed to concentrate, remember why she was here, and develop a plan. Without calling Wendy. She didn’t want to drag Wendy any further into the mess she’d made for herself at Stargazer.
    So. She wasn’t getting the feeling she’d expected from the group. She’d thought at first that the drunken party would quickly devolve into a three-way fight among Quentin, Erin, and Owen, with seemingly levelheaded Martin refereeing.
    Tension definitely filled the air. But some of it was a result of Sarah’s presence and the fact that Quentin was coming on to her. It made sense that the others in the group would want to stop Quentin from hooking up with a PR expert sent by the record company, which would create even more tension. They were about to be in hot water for missing their