Part 1 (2/2)

This man was not safe.

The man's middle name has to be s.e.xG.o.d. Holy mother.

”Kevan Landry,” she mumbled before her brain kicked in and had a chance to reconsider.

Making an effort to keep her wits and avoid embarra.s.sing herself further, Kevan closed her mouth to prevent drool from running down her chin. She was used to a little male attention, but never had her body betrayed her so quickly. Reacting with such strength to an almost innocent and chaste action was not a good sign, especially since she was there for one reason: to find the band's manager for a brief meeting and get the heck out before she got into trouble. And even more so since she'd sworn off men for the foreseeable future.

She didn't belong in his arms. The more comfortable she became with his hands on her body, the faster she should run away. But his strong arms around her and the sweet kiss on her hand had somehow rendered her stupid...and more than a little h.o.r.n.y.

”Nice to meet you, beautiful Kevan Landry. Mason Dillon.” A slight smile touched his full mouth, sending more tingles of warmth down her arms at the mere thought of those lips on her body. Mr. Cla.s.sy Businessman definitely had her teeny tiny panties in a twist.

Toast finished up their first set, and the club echoed with the excited chatter of fans mingled with random yells for songs and chanting for Manix.

”You don't look like a cowboy at all.” The heat in her face spread down her neck.

Cowboy? Really, Kevan? That's my clever intro to the hottest guy in the history of forever?

A vague recognition of his name and maybe his face drifted in the back of her mind, but it quickly evaporated the moment she stared into his enticing eyes. Maybe she knew him from somewhere.

”I am from Texas.” He grinned. A heartbreaking, light-the-room-up, panty-melting smile. For a moment, he didn't seem so serious or dangerous at all. He seemed kind, approachable, and full of life.

At the front of the room, the band started their second set, tearing into a spirited cover of Korn's ”Coming Undone.” The woman standing next to them squealed, loud even over the noise of the band. As she jumped up and dragged her friend into the roiling mosh pit-a quilt of undulating flannel, black T-s.h.i.+rts, and denim-Kevan was pushed against Mason. Again.

As soon as the heat from Mason's intoxicating touch began to warm her frigid soul and dormant libido, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Tyler rushed up and grabbed her arm. As he dragged her toward the front of the crowd, he leaned in close. ”I'm sorry, too.” Then he flashed a sloppy bad-boy grin.

”You know you're a letch, right?” She laughed as he pulled her farther into the audience. Tyler had always been good to her and Bowen. And it was probably best to leave her new friend before she decided to drop her latest resolution like a bad habit. One minute to dance with Tyler wouldn't kill her, then she would go back to finding the band's manager.

Kevan flashed a stilted grin at Mason. Thankfully, he met her silent apology with that d.a.m.n smile and waved before pointing to his watch. What did that mean? Did he want to meet with her again? Or did it mean it was time for him to leave?

She didn't have time to process the s.e.xy man's cryptic gesture. Tyler turned her toward the band. Nathan, Bowen's best friend, raced his fingers like lightning across the guitar neck. Before Bowen's life disintegrated, her brother would have been up there jamming next to Nathan, performing the same complex dance they'd executed flawlessly for years onstage. Closing her eyes, she let the music take her. The notes collided and churned as the tune took over, and her busy brain stopped thinking and focused only on the melody. Her hips, her legs, her body swayed.

With half-open lids, she watched Nathan. His long black hair fell over his face as he concentrated on his mistress, his love, the guitar and the melody it created. He flipped his sweat-drenched hair back and gave the audience his patented wolfish smile. The smile said he could make a woman scream with pleasure and then make her beg for more. If they ever decided they wanted to be more than an opening act, his grin had rock star written all over it.

Kevan was pretty sure every straight chick in the room got a little wet thinking about Nathan Carter. The dude was hot. Not that it mattered to her. Kevan looked at Nathan like a brother. Just like she did all the guys at the tattoo shop.

Once again, she found herself scanning the room from one corner to the other, involuntarily searching the dark club for Mason. She dropped her shoulders, and her stomach clenched. He was nowhere to be found. Not that she'd intended to do anything about the attraction, but he was nice to look at.

He's gone. d.a.m.n. Now focus on your future.

It was for the best, really. Kevan needed to quit looking around for Mr. Wrong and get back on her A game. Tonight was her Hail Mary pa.s.s to sign the coolest local metal band as her first major entertainment marketing client. Time to go big or go home.

Chapter 2.

Tonight was Kevan's one chance to sign Manix Curse before they were out of her league forever. Over the last four years, they'd played the local music circuit so often that fans joked they were Portland's official house band. In the last six months, though, the band had honed their sound and built a substantial fan base in Portland and the surrounding areas. They'd scored a dream gig-opening act later that year for metal superstars Pagan Saints.

The tour would catapult Manix Curse into the heavy metal music stratosphere with bands like Five Finger Death Punch and Volbeat. They were that good. Maybe even great, and someday might reach both the commercial and artistic heights of Avenged Sevenfold.

Toast finished their set with a big flourish, and Kevan spotted Joe as he strode toward the back of the club. Moving quickly, Kevan snaked between the bar and the edge of the pit. Avoiding flying elbows and spilled beer, she made her way to the Tiki's small green room.

”You f.u.c.king rock! We're Toast!” Nathan yelled, his voice gravelly and thick. Glancing up at the stage as she pa.s.sed, she saw him fling his damp hair back, strands sticking to his heated face like a time-traveling '80s rock G.o.d in his Slayer T-s.h.i.+rt and ripped jeans. The crowd roared. ”Thanks for coming out tonight. You guys stoked to check out Manix Curse before they hit the road next week?” The crowd went even more berserk. ”You should be. Now, go get a f.u.c.king drink and buy our new CD.”

Pus.h.i.+ng past fans in various stages of drunkenness, Kevan followed Joe through the back of the club. After opening the door to the wrong room, an office where the night manager was entertaining two ”regulars,” she located the band members and their manager crowded around a small Formica table. Kevan patted her blue-streaked, victory-rolled hair before pulling a folded brochure and contract from her clutch. Trying to ignore her sweaty palms and the thunderous pounding of her heart, she stepped into the room, ready to do battle.

”Well, if it isn't the lovely Kevan Landry. Everyone's favorite metal billy pinup.” Joe winked, his open grin bolstering her confidence.

The band-and more important, Joe-had to believe she could promote them and take them to the next level. She tried not to focus on the dollar amount floating in her head-the one from the bottom of the page she'd signed at the treatment center. Pulling in another deep breath, Kevan cleared the sand from her throat and smiled.

Joe's eyes narrowed. ”We thought maybe you were too good for us, girlie. We haven't seen you around the clubs. Seen that troublemaking brother of yours, but not your pretty face.”

Hiding a cringe at Joe's reference to Bowen's epic crash and burn at the club the night before, Kevan threw back her shoulders and moved deeper into the room to hug the guys she saw practically every day at the shop. This was different. This was their element. And really the guys were Bowen's friends. Not hers.

”Work's kept me busy. I've been doing all the promotions for Tatuaggio-”

”h.e.l.l yeah,” Marco shouted.

Kevan winked. ”And I was working with Toast before Bowen left. Put together a few shows for them.” Her lips felt tight, sore, as she tried to form them into the smile she'd practiced in the mirror.

”Glad to see your brother's getting some help,” Joe said. ”He's a good guy and an amazing artist when he's not wasted.”

She swallowed again and wished she had a drink. ”Thanks. It means a lot. But I want to talk to you about Manix.”

His playful demeanor evaporated instantly. Joe was all business as he leaned forward and waited for her to continue.

”I've always been a fan but really followed Manix Curse closely for the last year. You guys, and Mandi”-the young, pet.i.te, pink-haired guitar player smiled as Kevan gestured toward her-”have really tightened your music and taken your stage show to a more professional level. You've gained such a huge local, and even extended, following. I hoped you might be ready to discuss a marketing and public relations campaign.” Sitting down in the one open seat next to Mandi, Kevan crossed her legs and willed her restless hands to be still by folding them in her lap.

”Kevan.” Joe held up his hand as she prepared to launch into her pitch. Her heart sank. That doesn't sound good. At all. ”We were kind of thinking the same thing. And we know you. You know us. We like you.”

Awesome. ”If you're on board, I'd love to discuss some ideas I have,” she said as she set her brochure on the table in front of him. d.a.m.n. And why hadn't she thought to bring along her tablet to give them a short presentation?

”Honestly, we've been approached by a bigger, more established firm,” Joe said. Her gut dropped, and her heart melted into puddles around her four-inch purple heels.

”Oh.” The room began to s.h.i.+ft suddenly, and the smell of stale beer filled her nose, making her stomach pitch.

Think. Think. Think. Don't panic.

She could do this. She pulled deep for her most authentic smile and pointed it right at the man holding her future in his hands.

”That ill.u.s.trates my point. Manix Curse is ready for the next step. And you need someone in your court who's not only a fan, but who knows this industry, this genre, and promotions. And that someone needs to understand the importance of not spending your band's money before they make it. I can do it, Joe. You know I can.”

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