Part 1 (1/2)

Beautiful Crazy.

Kasey Lane.

For Jeffrey, my big, bad handsome man. Thank you for pus.h.i.+ng me to chase my dreams and cosigning all my crazy.

I love you.

Chapter 1.

Kevan Landry couldn't catch a break. No matter how hard she tried to alter her fate, everything just got worse. Same s.h.i.+t, different f.u.c.king day. Case in point: her self-destructive brother Bowen. At the moment, the bruised and bloodied idiot was sleeping off an epic and near-fatal high in a local rehab center, New Beginnings. She and two of his buddies had dragged him half-conscious into the bright, sterile admitting room the night before during a typical Portland fall downpour.

She'd lied to the counselor about being able to pay the whopping bill for treatment. Truth was she did have some savings that would help, but the bulk would have to come from somewhere else-what she made at her part-time job at the tattoo shop and her full-time gig as an event marketer wasn't going to be enough. Unfortunately, the one promising opportunity had gone down in a fiery ball of flames when she'd had to choose between saving Bowen and making a meeting with an up-and-coming band. She'd just have to find another better-paying promotions job.

Which is exactly how Kevan found herself hurrying into the Tiki Torch Bar and Lounge with a new plan to keep Bowen in treatment and save Jolt Marketing, her fledgling company. Somehow she had to convince the headlining band, Manix Curse, they couldn't live without her marketing genius. Fortunately, she knew most of the band members. Unfortunately, according to Jax, Manix's drummer, all business decisions were made by the band's manager, Joe McKellan, whom she didn't know well. Now she just had to locate him and pitch her services.

Searching for Joe, she felt the eyes of another man watching her. Hair rose on the back of her neck, but she wasn't cold. It was practically a sauna in the packed club. She smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her dress and glanced over her shoulder. There. A handsome stranger's gaze followed her movements through the room. Their eyes locked and she held her breath. She turned and forced her eyes back to the crowd, trying to locate the man she needed to find.

Her pulse quickened, and her heart slammed against her ribs, either from the man's perusal or anxiety from approaching Joe. Maybe both. At first, she'd thought her excitement was from being in a club again. She loved the way music cast its spell, allowing her baggage to drop away as it swept her up in the magic of the moment. The pounding drums and gyrating bodies filled her with freedom as she swayed to the fantasy created by the instruments.

d.a.m.n, she loved live shows.

The opening band, Toast, worked the capacity crowd into a frenzy of sweat and thras.h.i.+ng bodies. Careful to steer clear of the widening mosh pit, Kevan leaned against the end of the battered wooden bar. Turning her head, she attempted to catch a surrept.i.tious glimpse of the striking man who'd tracked her from the shadowy edge of the club.

Yep. He was watching. Not leering. Just observing her with a slightly amused curve to his lips. He leaned against the wall, with his long legs crossed at the ankles. Arms folded against his broad chest in a way that might make another man appear surly. He didn't look surly.

Oh no. Mr. Hot Conservative Suit Guy looks interested.

Two words: goose b.u.mps. Her nipples hardened, tightening just from some suit eyeballing her across a crowded, dingy club. The lights dimmed, and the bodies moving between them made it difficult to get another good look, but he seemed familiar. Unlikely, though. She'd remember a looker like him, especially if he'd been walking around in an Armani suit. Suits did things to a girl. Good things.

Kevan tried to gather the b.u.t.terflies twisting in her belly and summon her saucy minx persona-as Bowen called it-the one she used to use to cover her nerves and get guys to buy her drinks. Before she slipped her mask into place, her former coworker and token jokester, Tyler, staggered up and bent his long, lean body over her.

”Haven't seen your tight a.s.s around here since you quit and started your little business.” He reeked of cheap whiskey, and his sour breath a.s.saulted her nose.

”You're a real charmer,” she said. ”You always work drunk, or is that something new?”

”I'm not bouncing tonight.”

”Good. You're so wasted you couldn't bounce your way out of a paper bag.” She s.h.i.+fted to peer around him. Tyler followed her gaze until his eyes landed on her target across the bar. When she pulled away, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

”Stick with your own kind, Kev.” Tyler moved to block her view and raised his slurred voice over the cras.h.i.+ng guitar solo. ”That one is way over your pay grade, sweetheart.”

”I have no idea what you're talking about.” She turned her attention to the band onstage. The band her brother had started with his childhood friend, Nathan, and had eventually been kicked out of after too many missed practices and shows. Bandmates tend to frown on guitarists who don't show up for paying gigs.

”A suit like him will only use you and break your heart. He'll kick you to the curb with your cute little tail between your long, hot legs. Play it safe and come home with me, gorgeous.”

Kevan ground her teeth. She'd been good-natured about dodging Tyler's lines for years because he was related to her a.s.sistant, Tina. But this s.h.i.+t was getting old. Her cheeks burned as she clenched her fists and stuck her chin out.

”Knock it off. I like you. As a friend.”

Tyler flinched and took an uneven step back, stopping short against the bar. ”A f.u.c.king friend? I don't want to be your friend.”

”You think you're any different from any other guy who's tried to get up my skirt? You're not. You're all the same. Him. You. You're all arrogant jerks who think you're so d.a.m.n hot. Get over yourself, Tyler.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, Kevan took a deep breath as regret, tinged with maybe a little righteous courage, filled her chest. Once again she'd gone too far and said too much. His withering glare s.h.i.+fted over her shoulder.

”Sorry, Tyler. But you're acting like a d.i.c.k,” she said, hating the shake in her voice.

”Well, so are you, Kevan Landry,” he said. And then he was gone. Absorbed by the writhing ma.s.s of bodies screaming and jumping to the band.

It wasn't his fault she was on edge. Tyler wasn't a bad guy, just a bit needy. And grossly inappropriate. Like a new puppy wanting to sit in your lap and lick your face all night, then take a dump on your carpet. More than once he'd come to her defense by fending off drunk and overly aggressive frat boys. Now, she had another mess to fix, because she couldn't hold her tongue. Add it to the list.

Before making her way to the ladies' room she ordered and drank a gla.s.s of water to help loosen the tightness her chest. Time to shake off the awkward exchange with Tyler and get her head back in the game.

After waiting in line for almost twenty minutes and carefully avoiding at least two of her brother's jilted lovers and one of her own, Kevan finally made it into the grimy bathroom with the chalkboard walls scribbled with profanities and silly doodles. In the mirror, she checked her face for makeup smudges and steeled her nerves, which felt raw and exposed, arcing like downed electrical wires after a storm. Attempting to appear playful, yet professional, she practiced a smile. It wasn't great, but it had to be good enough. She ran her tongue along her teeth and patted the front of her violet fifties-style pinup dress.

In the past, a night like tonight had been all about letting loose, letting her hair down, getting tipsy, maybe even hooking up with someone and getting lost in the shallow promise of a potential romance. Superficial goals she'd fully embraced once upon a time. But that wasn't her anymore. Sometimes she longed for the past, when she and Bowen could hit the clubs and party with the metalheads or the rockabilly crowd, where she didn't have to worry about responsibility. But the fun was over for good if she couldn't sign Manix Curse tonight.

Taking a deep breath, the warm air filling her lungs, Kevan smiled weakly at her reflection, ditching thoughts of loan payments, past-due rent, and rehab costs. Tonight was about finding a solution to her problems and calming the chaos swirling around in her life. Signing her first on-the-rise band would give her a chance, and she would fight like h.e.l.l to save her fledgling business and keep her brother in rehab.

Kevan exited the restroom, intent on finding Joe. As she scanned the room for the older, gray-haired man, she stepped forward and looked down as her foot caught on a tear in the thinning carpet. She lurched forward, arms flailing and grasping for purchase.

Frickin' shoes. They were too d.a.m.n high. But so cute, and they made her legs and a.s.s look amazing...or so she'd been told.

Her cheek collided with something solid. She lifted her chin and met the whiskey-colored eyes of Mr. Hot Businessman. Her heart raced, and her breath quickened. When he swept his tongue across his full bottom lip, it glistened the way his eyes did, and she nearly stopped breathing altogether. His large hand fanned across her lower back, a single finger resting above her waistband.

What a cliche. Only she would nearly fall into a mysterious stranger's lap.

Kevan clutched the fine material of the man's pressed s.h.i.+rt. His tailored suit looked like it easily cost more than the monthly rent on her tiny apartment. Her fingers rested on the hard muscle of his chest, reminding her more of a solid wall than a man's body. Time suddenly felt frozen as his hot breath feathered against her cheek, and she noticed the thick, dark lashes and soft crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes. The man was hot, definitely. But there was kindness mixed with the darkness in his calmly amused expression.

”Don't worry, darlin'. I won't let you fall.” His voice was a low drawl, dripping honey and s.e.x.

For a heartbeat, she wished his rea.s.suring words meant more than they did. They were like sandpaper and silk smoothing her jagged nerves and carried over the thumping of the club's music. All ba.s.s...matching her increasing heart rate from the rea.s.suring grip of the breathtaking man's hold on her. A woman could lose herself in those mesmerizing dark eyes. A woman could forget he wasn't her type. For a minute, a woman could, but shouldn't, imagine a white picket fence with a man like him.

s.h.i.+fting her feet, Kevan cleared her mind of the fall-induced tunnel vision clouding her head. ”Thanks for saving me from total embarra.s.sment,” she said, her face heating to the point of fever. She hoped her words got lost in the loud club. But, of course, that wasn't her luck, was it? Righting herself, she tugged her crinoline skirt straight and looked around.

They weren't alone. They were in a crowded club surrounded by dancing bodies, pickup lines, and bleak desperation wrapped up in combat boots, skimpy clothes, and copious amounts of sweat. And the ridiculously handsome man with the angular chin and firm grip on her waist was not Kevan's date, nor was he some kind of modern-day Prince Charming. He was a polite man who happened to catch her-a career klutz-before she fell on her face.

”My pleasure, Ms...?” His deep voice dragged out the words as if expecting her to offer her name. And still, he didn't remove his hand from her waist. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips, almost delicately, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

Oh. My. G.o.d. Who the h.e.l.l does that anymore?

His soft lips caressed her hand in a simple, old-fas.h.i.+oned action, but jolts of desire shot from where his mouth lingered, down her arm, through taut nipples, and straight to her sad and lonely s.e.x.