Part 10 (1/2)

”Now, why are you so happy?” she asked.

”Looks like we're going to have a special guest at tomorrow's show.”

An icy finger of apprehension slid down her spine. ”Who?” she asked.

”You'll see tomorrow night.”

”How the h.e.l.l is that fair?”

”I'll tell you tomorrow. It's your turn tonight.” His eyes softened at the apparent strain on her face. ”Don't worry about it, Bettie. Really.”

”Whatever,” she mumbled as the bus pulled into the club lot and parked. When the RV stopped, she jumped from her seat and darted out the door. She drew in long pulls of the fresh air. Hopefully, some deep breathing and stretching would quell the churning in her belly. She had to focus on the interviews today and the meet and greet tonight, not whatever card Mason had tucked up his sleeve.

The band's tour bus pulled up behind Mason's RV and came to a stop. A couple of minutes later, Mandi sauntered down the steps in hot-pink yoga pants and an oversized T-s.h.i.+rt. Peeling a banana, she waved at Kevan and walked over.

”Hey, chica, how's it going over there on the love bus?” she asked, brus.h.i.+ng back a few wisps of her pink pixie 'do, managing to goad and appear the picture of innocence at the same time.

”You're kidding, right? We're competing for your business, remember?” Kevan replied, hoping the heat in her cheeks didn't show.

”And if you keep telling yourself that, we'll all believe it.” Mandi nudged her with her shoulder. ”Oh, relax, the guys are clueless. No one else can tell but me, and I'll never say anything.” She drew her finger and thumb across her mouth like a zipper closing. Kevan gave her a weak smile. She didn't really have any close girlfriends and liked the idea of being friends with Mandi, even if Kevan was a few years older.

”Everyone awake?” Kevan asked, and Mandi nodded. ”I set up a couple of interviews this afternoon. I'd really love to hand out an opportunity for a musician fan to join you guys onstage for a song. Think the band's up for it?”

”Definitely. How cool is that? Girl, you know I like your way of thinking.” Mandi laughed. Her energy was contagious. ”We're all eager to see your marketing stuff on this tour. Because most of us are serious about getting out of the garage and into the arena.”

”Most of you?” Kevan asked.

”My brother's been acting kind of weird.”

”Weird?”

”I don't know. Noncommittal.” Mandi drew her brows together and rubbed the back of her neck. ”He won't really talk about anything beyond this tour, and he's not chasing the girls like he used to.”

”He likes to stay in the moment. It'll work out.” Kevan stepped toward Mandi and put her hand on her shoulder, giving her a rea.s.suring squeeze. They made arrangements for everyone to meet an hour before the interview to discuss details and expectations and then said their good-byes.

After a quick walk to clear her head, Kevan returned to the kitchen area of the RV. Mason still sat working on his laptop. There really was no way around it. The man was hot. And the causal version of Mason was s.e.x-on-a-stick in old faded jeans hanging low on slim hips, beat-up Doc Marten boots, and a Portland Timbers henley s.h.i.+rt. Give the man a s.e.xy tattoo, and she'd be done for.

Done.

For.

Too bad she'd declared him off-limits. Maybe she should have thought that decision through. Was there really anything wrong with sharing some s.e.xy times with this man, especially since he seemed remorseful for leaving? She could keep her heart fenced off. Right? Well, no, probably not, but she could try. Besides, he was kind of a jerk. A s.e.xy jerk.

Kevan rubbed her thumb across the faded love bite he'd left on her shoulder. His mark. h.e.l.l's bells. Just thinking about his teeth on her, his lips sliding against hers, his tongue in her, his hard d.i.c.k...oh my G.o.d. Stop.

She was in big trouble if simply standing there observing him work was making her nipples pucker and her p.u.s.s.y wet. Thinking about the strength in those hands and the power of one look from him had her practically moaning in desire. No. Think about what a band-stealing, smug, player f.u.c.kwit he was.

Mason looked up from his laptop, and their gazes locked in mutual surprise. Dammit. She must have sighed or mumbled.

Holy h.e.l.l, this is going to be a very long trip.

He smiled, almost tentatively, his hesitancy endearing for such an overbearing man. Without thinking-as usual-she let her mouth curve up in response, but then broke eye contact and sat back down in front of her computer. The look was too intimate after everything they'd shared. He could see too deeply into her with those demon eyes.

Remember, he's the enemy.

She forced her thoughts back to obtaining Manix Curse and their business. There wasn't any room in her life for a fling, no matter how aflame the flinger made her feel. Better to focus on preventing her life from going down the toilet. She looked over at the tall man across from her as he chewed on the end of his pen. Was it weird to feel slightly jealous of the mangled plastic between the man's perfect teeth?

It was time to get lost in her drug of choice-music. Pulling her headphones back on, she turned up the volume on her iPod and scrolled through her playlists for something all consuming. Rockabilly? No. Hmmmm. Maybe some metal will help tune out the noise of my thoughts? In This Moment? Butcher Babies? No, something more melodic...yes, In Flames.

As the dulcet opening riffs of ”Come Clarity” built and then roared through the earpieces, her head cleared, and a familiar warm, almost meditative calm fell over her. Yes, music was her happy place. At that moment, it enabled her to turn her mind away from the distracting man and back to building interest for the Eugene show and the rest of the tour.

Later that afternoon, the entire crew, including Mason and Joe, met at the college station. The band was ushered into a tiny recording studio to discuss the show that night and give away tickets to callers. The next interview at the local rock station exceeded all Kevan's expectations. For the first time in forever, everything was aligning properly.

The band members were perfect rock stars, silly and full of mischief, but interesting and pa.s.sionate about their music. At the radio station, lead singer Marco had taken his usual interest in the nearest hot chick and set his sights on the redheaded deejay by turning up the charm to ten and breaking into an impromptu performance of their most popular slow song. The rest of the band had joined in for an a cappella metal ballad. It had been sublime. Kevan had cringed, hoping Marco's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Sabre, hadn't been listening in.

Other than a professional, dignified smile, Mason showed no emotion as they walked single file out into the station lobby. He surprised her with a catlike wink when their eyes met. What was it about this straitlaced businessman that made her belly twist and nether regions damp?

It's a wink, Kevan. Just a wink.

Joking and laughing as they stumbled out into the darkening evening, they were met by a group of young metalheads. Disjointed chants of ”Manix, Manix, Manix” rolled through the crowd, and the energy surge for the ”hometown” heroes was palpable. As usual, pink-haired Mandi was immediately surrounded by her adoring fans, both male and female.

Content with the flush of success, Kevan didn't resist when Mason grabbed her hand and led her back to the RV. For a moment, she wanted to forget he was out of her league and the enemy.

At the bus, he whirled her around with her back cold against the textured steel vehicle, and placed his hands on her hips. She held her breath as he stared directly into her eyes-d.a.m.n cobra-charming man-and leaned into her. Oh G.o.d, he's going to kiss me. Please let him kiss me.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned her face up to his. Waiting. Her belly churning, she felt him s.h.i.+ft, and the soft, scratchy hair of his beard brushed her cold face. When his lips finally made contact with her neck, her skin tingled, and the electricity arced between them. He dragged his mouth down the slope of her neck, burning her frozen skin and making her want so much from him. Her hands made their way from his strong shoulders to tangle in his hair. Then he pulled away and kissed her gently.

On the cheek.

Disappointed, she opened her eyes, silently asking the question. Why?

A wave of regret rolled over his face but quickly dissipated into the stoic, unreadable look he usually wore. ”You're so lovely when you're happy. All your walls drop, and I can see the real you for a moment.”

She longed to lean her tired head against his solid chest. She yearned for his strong arms to pull her into his embrace and his always-warm body to thaw her constant lonely chill. She ached for the soft kisses he'd placed at the top of her head the other night and his sharp nibbles at the tender spot on her shoulder. She wanted the committee in her head to quiet for a while as she lost herself in the bliss of Mason's body, his touch.

But, no. They weren't meant to be. There was the band, of course. But, also, they didn't live in the same world. He was Ivy League, and she was community college. He wasn't relations.h.i.+p material, and she was done with flings. There was not one d.a.m.n thing between the two of them that aligned.

Kevan stiffened in his arms. ”Just because I smile and let you drag me away from all Manix's fanboys doesn't mean you know me, Mason. Don't think for one minute because you know where I like to be touched that you see the real me.”

From down deep, she pulled the strength to duck under his arm and march back onto the bus to get ready for the show.

In the RV, Kevan took over the bathroom and the vanity in the bedroom to prepare for the concert. Her show-night ritual consisted of hot rollers, curling irons, vats of hair spray, and her ”war paint,” as Bowen called her going-out makeup. Next came choosing which ensemble to wear-fancy floral pinup-girl dress with a bright red crinoline and red patent leather peep-toe stacked heels.

When she stepped from the vanity into the living area an hour later, Mason was leaning against the small kitchen counter, tapping his booted toe against the linoleum floor and flipping pages on his phone. As he looked up at her, his gaze grew heated and his foot abruptly stopped. His usually unreadable face gave a brief hint of fire before he shut it down. He drew his gaze from Kevan's hair, over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and curves to where they landed on her feet. And stayed there. Her lips twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Note to self: Mason Dillon likes high, s.h.i.+ny leather shoes. Not that I care.

”Shall we?” he asked without a trace of leftover tension from earlier. He offered his elbow, and she wrapped her fingers around his arm. The man cleaned up-or was it down?-well. Decked out in an untucked dark flannel s.h.i.+rt over a Black Sabbath T-s.h.i.+rt stretched tight across his wide chest, Mason looked edible.

”Are you planning on going to the after-party?” she asked as they walked across the long lot to the venue.