Things were hopping in the backstage area by the time Kit and Noah returned. After grabbing coffees from the catering truck parked outside the marquee where the festival organizers had put on a breakfast spread, they headed toward Molly and Fox’s bus, figuring the other couple would be up.
“Kathleen!”
Kit froze, that sultry female voice with its faint trace of a Venezuelan accent intimately familiar. “Mom?” Turning, she stared at the leggy woman with masses of expertly tousled black hair striding toward her.
Adreina Ordaz-Castille was dressed in black leather pants that appeared painted on, spike heels that left sharp little divots in the rain-wet earth, and a designer black shirt that hugged her body and was unbuttoned enough to expose the upper curves of her breasts. Her jewelry was chunky silver and turquoise. She was exquisite and sexy both.
A trail of slack-jawed men gazed after her in hopeless want.
Kit couldn’t quite keep herself from glancing at Noah to gauge his reaction to seeing her mom in the flesh. Males tended to forget themselves in the orbit of the magnetic sexual allure that was Adreina Ordaz-Castille.
Noah’s eyes were wide, his muscles bunched, but not with worship.
Kit blinked. “Why are you freaking out?”
“It’s your mom,” he said under his breath. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me.”
A silly, turbulent twisting in Kit’s stomach at the realization that he looked at Adreina and saw only her mom, she said, “No, my mother loves rock stars.” Adreina had dated plenty of them before settling down with Kit’s dad.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” she said when Adreina reached her.
Her mother kissed her on both cheeks before answering, the scent of Adreina’s perfume a familiar embrace. “Your father and I are here for the festival.”
“Oh, right.” Kit didn’t know why she was surprised; her parents were very active on the celebrity circuit, and this edgy festival was starting to gain serious media cred. And Adreina did still love rock stars, even if only to watch them perform. “Where’s Dad?”
A familiar silver head appeared around the corner a second later. Parker Ordaz-Castille had two cups of coffee in hand from one of the festival trucks. “Hello, honey,” he said, drawing Kit into a hug after giving Adreina her coffee. “Noah, good to see you again.”
The two men shook hands. Following that, Kit’s mother put one hand on Noah’s shoulder and leaned in to brush her lips over his cheek. Adreina touched easily. The boys Kit had dated in high school and college had often taken it the wrong way, believing it a come-on. It wasn’t.
Noah, however, still had that wary look on his face, clearly braced for parental disapproval.
“How did you get backstage?” Kit asked her parents, the funny, twisty feeling inside her refusing to subside.
“We know people.” Parker winked.
“Oh, look!” Adreina waved at someone. “There’s Naomi. We’ll see you later, darling.”
“Sure, Mom.” Relieved it was over, Kit turned to Noah. “See, no biggie.”
He was scowling. “What the hell? If I had a daughter and she was dating a guy like me, I’d take him out back and threaten him with a shotgun to make sure he treated her right.”
Kit’s mouth fell open. “You?”
“Yeah.” He folded his arms, his scowl growing heavier. “Jeez, Kit, he didn’t even tell me to be good to you. That’s bullshit.”
Realizing he was dead serious, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Where did you pick up this chivalrous instinct?”
“My father,” he said, the sneer that usually accompanied any mention of Robert St. John missing from his voice. “He’s a son of a bitch, but he brought me up to look after any women under my care.”
“Under your care?” Kit raised an eyebrow. “Chauvinistic much?”