Part 8 (1/2)

For a moment-barely a couple of bats of her long lashes-her guard was down, and he saw the woman from the other night, the wanton seductress with the hooded eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone. He could almost hear the click as her mask fell firmly back into place.

She pulled against the hand he had above her head. ”Let me go, Mason. I'm at work. And we're not happening ever again.”

”Never say never.”

”I didn't. I said ever... Never mind, just let me go.” Kevan shoved her hip bones forward, pus.h.i.+ng against his upper thighs and rubbing her body dangerously close to his d.i.c.k. G.o.d, he wanted to f.u.c.k this woman again. Preferably sooner than later. But almost instantly, she realized her mistake. Her lips parted, and her breath hitched before she groaned in despair and leaned her head back against the door. ”I can't do this. We can't do this.”

”Why?” Mason asked, his tone like that of a petulant child sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. G.o.dd.a.m.n, her soft curves molded against his taller, harder body so perfectly. Something about this woman sucked him in, made him want more. Trying to salvage control of the situation, he tried a different tactic. ”We're both consenting adults. We obviously have chemistry. Why not have some fun?”

As he leaned down closer, their lips were a hair's width away from touching. All the pleasure receptors in his brain fired as the memory of the other night flooded in. Images of their bodies tangled for hours in pleasure. From the moment he'd heard she was going on tour, he'd decided he needed more time with her...to work her out of his system. Pressing his mouth against hers, he whispered, ”Live a little, Bettie, and have some fun with me.”

For a moment, she pressed back, her lips and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pushed against his body. The contact sent familiar sparks of desire through him. Dragging in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and turned her head, pulling her face away from his. When she opened her eyes, he was no longer looking into pools of desire, he was-once again-looking into the eyes of a very p.i.s.sed-off woman.

”Fun, Mason? This is my work. I'm not here to have fun. And signing Manix Curse is not something I'm doing for s.h.i.+ts and giggles. I take my business seriously. I'm sorry if you don't.” She shoved at him again, but this time he stepped away and silently mourned the loss of her body heat against his.

Irritation at her rebuke began to bubble up and turned a little darker, a little redder, and felt a little more like anger.

”Don't kid yourself. I take everything seriously.” He waved his hand back and forth between them. ”You. Me. The band. Don't make the rookie mistake of underestimating me.” He put a hand on either shoulder and gently but firmly moved her away from the door. Before releasing her, he kissed her cheek, savoring the sweet smell and soft give of her skin. ”This isn't over.”

Fixing her steely gray stare at him, she took a deep breath and asked, ”Why are you here?”

”Just checking in with the band before we start the tour.” He nudged her to the side and pulled the door open. ”Nothing nefarious or underhanded. Not the villain here, Kevan.”

He turned and walked out to the open work area, hopefully leaving Kevan staring at his back.

Luckily, both Jax and Conner were done with their clients and were standing at the gla.s.s display counter, talking with Mandi. Time to get down to business.

Kevan stood in the combination office and privacy room the guys used for piercing and more intimate tattoo work, feeling like she'd been hit by a freight train. A six-and-a-half-foot-tall, all-bossy man-train named Mason Dillon, to be specific. How the h.e.l.l was she supposed to stay on track and keep her resolve when that kind of man candy was doing everything he could to sabotage her success? And why the h.e.l.l was he here of all places? Was he here to see her? More likely, he was there trying to get closer to the band members, despite his claim of innocence.

The thought of him getting to Manix behind her back flung her into the present and into action. She couldn't trust that man as far as she could throw him. After a moment to catch her breath and compose herself, Kevan marched into the front room and found Mason standing at the counter with Mandi, Jax, Marco, and Conner grouped around something in front of them. His deep voice rumbled loudly, but not loud enough for her to make out the words over the Butcher Babies song blaring over the sound system. There went her plan to eavesdrop without being too obvious.

Her circ.u.mstances dictated that Kevan had a choice to make. Either she was out of the loop and left to wonder what sketchy card Mason had tucked up his tailored sleeve. Or she was going to have to interject herself into the conversation without seeming nosy or awkward. Great. Now she was back to being the dorky kid that never quite fit in, having to perform the adult equivalent of ”hey, guys, whatcha doing?” without actually seeming like that was exactly what she was doing.

Fanf.u.c.kingtastic.

”Hey, Kevan, come look at what Mason brought.” Yeah. Saved by the pink-haired pixie. Mandi, a full-time college student at PSU, didn't work at Tatuaggio, but lived over the shop in an apartment she shared with her brother, Jax. They'd formed a bit of a bond over the last year, not quite friends, but definitely on the way there.

Kevan pasted on her biggest, brightest smile and sauntered up to the group, with her hips swinging and her head held high. She couldn't avoid the smirk pointed her way when Mason pushed the black, glossy, embossed folder across the counter.

”It's the proposed tour itinerary. Each folder contains details of the city, venue, as well as scheduled and potential promo opportunities.” His eyes gleamed in triumph. Really? That's all he had-a pretty folder with maps and locations? Maybe he'd be easier to beat than she'd thought.

Mandi's grin split her face, and her eyes nearly sparkled with glee. ”Check it out, Kevan,” she said, flipping to a page t.i.tled ”Sponsors.h.i.+p Opportunities.”

Kevan scanned the page. Holy s.h.i.+t. Mason already had the band scheduled to meet with several product sponsors. ”Very impressive,” she mumbled. And then her eyes settled on one line: Eugene, Oregon-National tour opportunities, Dan Carver 6 p.m.

Holy h.e.l.l. Mason had a meeting set for possible tour sponsors. She was totally screwed. Brus.h.i.+ng her clammy palms down her jeans, she willed her jagged heartbeat to slow.

”I have a copy for you.” The smirk had been replaced with ”all-business” Mason as he handed her a similar folder with her name decorating the cover.

”Thanks. I a.s.sume you have an electronic copy. In fact, if you can email it to me, I'll append it to the one I sent to the band this morning. Sorry, I forgot your copy.”

Mason's cool demeanor slipped. For barely a fraction of a second. But it was there. A tiny chip in his ice-cold armor. Maybe Mr. Perfect wasn't so perfect after all.

Before she had a chance to celebrate her brief victory, Mason handed her a thumb drive. ”Of course.”

He said good-bye to Conner, Jax, and Mandi, promising to see them the following morning, before he winked at Kevan, turned on his heel, and left. Leaving her standing there staring after him.

Chapter 9.

Tuesday morning, Mason was eager to get on the road, especially with one spicy, rockabilly hot tamale. Once he'd decided to move forward, he'd put his plans in motion, made the arrangements, and was impatient to test his marketing know-how. He had a company to save and a woman to seduce. And less than two weeks to get both done.

Bigger feats have been accomplished by lesser men. Right?

But would she show up? Although Joe had mentioned she was on board, Kevan hadn't confirmed or denied whether she was going when he'd seen her at the tattoo shop. Merely having the thought irked him. Either way, he'd end up with the band. And while there was no denying Kevan's magnetic allure, she was turning out to be quite the challenge-an emotional, clever, pa.s.sionate challenge.

He pulled up behind the tour bus and trailer as the band and their crew milled about the lot, bundled up against the crisp Northwest fall morning. Workers loaded equipment into the truck, and bags were packed into the cargo area of the bus. Despite the early hour and frigid temperature, the crew exchanged good-natured taunts as they worked, buzzing with a familiar energy. Something he hadn't felt since he'd signed his first act over ten years ago as an agent's intern.

Before today, he hadn't realized he'd missed this-the thrill of identifying a rising star, then formulating a plan for an artist who'd put their faith in him, put their career in his hands. Sure, Mason had a job to salvage, but he looked forward to recapturing some of his old enthusiasm.

Manix Curse was more than his ticket to keeping his job. They might also help him rediscover why the h.e.l.l he'd wanted to get into this business in the first place. The music. The excitement of watching a young band find itself and hit their stride. Maybe Kevan might be part of that too. Maybe her pa.s.sion for this band would rub off on him-reignite his zeal for the industry. Now, if he could just get her to forgive him for leaving-oh, and ”stealing” Manix Curse.

Mason hopped out of his car and walked over to his rented RV to meet with the hired driver. Scanning through the chaos of people shuffling around, he spotted Kevan.

She was bent forward, reading over something with Jax and a heavily made-up pet.i.te woman in a very short skirt and the highest heels he'd ever seen. Kevan looked up and laughed at something Jax said. The garish woman scowled, but like Mason, Jax was riveted by Kevan's gregarious laugh. Jax lifted his hand, tattoos peeking out from his s.h.i.+rtsleeve, and pushed a dark blue lock of hair back behind Kevan's ear. Mason again felt a pull, an almost instantaneous draw to run over and rip Jax's hand from her face.

Okay, that was ridiculous. Where was this possessiveness coming from? Why was he suddenly upset when another man barely touched Kevan? For whatever reason, the action twisted his gut into knots and had him seeing through a fog of red.

d.a.m.n. He needed to get his s.h.i.+t under control.

So instead of acting on his stupid impulse to pummel Jax-whom he actually kind of liked-into the cement, he forcibly spun and went to locate Joe and confirm the travel schedule.

By the time he returned, Kevan was standing in front of the band's bus, surrounded by her bags, gripping what looked like a fifties version of a laptop bag. Geez, even the woman's gadgets are retro.

He snuck up behind her and leaned over her shoulder. ”You look perturbed, Ms. Landry. Something wrong?”

Fumbling her bag and almost dropping it, she spun to face him. ”You mean other than you trying to hijack my band?”

”Your band? If they were your band, I wouldn't be here, would I?”

She shook her head, long dark waves of s.h.i.+ny hair brus.h.i.+ng the tops of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, making his breath catch in his chest. ”Wow, for a second I almost forgot you're a total d.i.c.k. Thanks for the reminder.”

”Ouch. You wound me, Bettie.” He leaned down and whispered, ”How about I show you what I can do with my d.i.c.k?”

Planting her palms against his chest, she pushed him away. ”Been there, done that. And then you ran off, remember? Speaking of running, why don't you run along to your pimped-out motor home thing over there, Mr. Fancy Pants.”