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  "Mick, I do hope that we can continue discussing what we started discussing on your bus last week," Mel cut in, her voice dripping with innuendo.

  Bless her heart. She hadn't understood the blatant look that had just been conveyed.

  "No, I think we covered it," he said indifferently, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I was fairly certain that the 'it' in that equation had been referring to her body. And by the words 'I think we covered', he undoubtedly meant her body with his. I cursed myself for going there and feeling a tiny inkling of jealousy afterwards. Yes, I had given ample amounts of REM time to his backside, but I had little to no interest in actually pursuing a romp in the sack with him, much less give notice to his fruitless extracurricular activities with anyone else.

  For my own selfish reasons, I watched on eagerly as Mel's lips formed into a pout. Being spurned in front of us was ten times worse than being spurned in general. I considered it a point for The Good Guys.

  "But-" she began, clearly not understanding when to quit. She was persistent. I had to give her that.

  Mick shifted his weight from one leg to the other, tapping an impatient, pointed brown leather toe. "Now, Mel, you remember the conversation that we had," he said coolly. He urged her into response when she didn't answer. "Right, Sweetie?"

  I was trying not to take offense to the fact that he'd used the same term of endearment on me less than ten minutes prior. I frowned. What was I doing? Hoping to ruin my career and lose my manager? I had to get a handle on the situation. There had to be a way that I could win where Mel was concerned but still be able to pay next month's rent on the storage unit.

  Mel didn't respond, but it didn't seem to bother Mick in the slightest. "Now, where were we?"

  There wasn't meant to be any confusion about whether or not he was flirting with me. Because he was. Very openly. My brain turned on to auto pilot. Flirting I could do because flirting was in my comfort zone. Flirting involved a lot of shooting from the hip, something I did with ease. "You were just about to apologize for ignoring me for the last month."

  His eyes showed surprise at my candor. Men like Mick usually took the reins in conversations because it left little to no room for you to be caught off guard. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving an agreeing nod. "I suppose I owe you that, Miss…" He narrowed his eyes, the intrigue still highlighted there. "I didn't catch your name."

  I ran my tongue across my lips to moisten them, but I suppose that one could've taken it as me flirting. Mick surely did because his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "No, you didn't," I agreed, turning on my heels and marching in the opposite direction.

  There was a part of me - the part that was attempting to keep me on course and in check - that prayed he wouldn't follow. But there was another part of me - a very miniscule, very annoying part that so often got me into trouble - that wanted nothing more than for him to follow.

  And, deep down, I instinctively knew that he would - could almost hear the heels of his cowboy boots slapping the concrete - because I understood men and the basicness of their needs.

  There was a lot you could count on in most men - especially a man like Mick. For starters, men wanted what they thought that they couldn't have. It was in their DNA. I think it had something to do with the whole, "Me Tarzan, you Jane", I make the rules bullshit. In addition, men liked a challenge and they loved the thrill of the chase. Blame it on evolution and the fact that they were natural born hunters. Women like Mel - the easy kind - failed to understand this point and it was to her detriment that Mick would probably never look her way again.

  So with those two thoughts in mind, I continued my walk down the hallway, my conscience being torn in two very different directions.

  To say that I was shocked when I felt fingers slide firmly around my wrist would've been an outright lie. What did surprise me, however, was the hammering that began in my chest in response to being whirled around suddenly, kinetic forces slamming our bodies together. I tried shoving off of his chest, sure that it was necessary because I wasn't the least bit comfortable with the shakiness in my limbs that the sudden nearness had created. His arms linked around the small of my back, my knees betraying me by buckling beneath me. "Whoa," he said, tightening his arms around me, the action bringing my body completely flush with his.

  I struggled against his grasp, inwardly cursing the limp noodles that had replaced my generally lean legs.

  "Uh, uh, uh," he chided. "You didn't think that you were getting off that easy, did you?"

  I swallowed long and hard, gulping down more air than saliva. "Quite frankly I wasn't considering getting off at all," I spat, my brain buzzing from the scent of his cologne. The mischievous gleam that entered into his eyes was a direct result of the mistake that I'd just made. Shit! Kennedy Masters did not make mistakes like this!

  "Oh you would if I had anything to do with it," he said into my hair. He tucked a stray strand behind my ear before running his tongue under the lobe, biting down gently. "It would be the only thing you'd be able to consider."

  I craned my neck back to look at him, mostly in an attempt to make sure that he didn't nibble my ear again, but also in an effort to say my next statement. "If your tongue ever gets that close to me again without my consent, you won't get it back," I managed. I was surprised at my own restraint considering my immature, buckling knees. "Now, if you'll excuse me," I grumbled, feigning annoyance. I sidestepped him with every intention of marching the rest of the way down the hallway, getting a shower and hammering back a few shots of whiskey to help me sleep his scent away.

  "Wait, I'm…I'm sorry, okay?" he offered hesitantly. I stopped dead in my tracks. "I shouldn't have assumed…" he started again. For reasons beyond me, I turned back towards him. He tore his hat from his head, revealing a marine-style buzz cut, scratching his head above his ear. "Shit, sometimes I just do things and I don't think about them," he admitted.

  I sucked in the side of my cheek and began to nibble. I could relate. I did that more often than I cared to admit. I couldn't even begin to count the times that I'd been chastised about that particular trait of mine. Generally, I made it a point to figure out a way to make said trait into some sort of virtue, but I knew the truth - that it often led to poor decision making that left me in even stickier situations on the back end.

  "Let me start over," he offered, placing his hat back on his head. "I assume that you already know who I am, but let's pretend that you don't. The name's Mick. Mick Callahan."

  He had just eaten a slice of humble pie in front of me and dammit-to-hell if he didn't look sexy standing there with pie on his face and an apology tumbling from his lips. Try as I might - and I was really trying because it would've been in my best interest - I couldn't walk away, couldn't force my body to move in the opposite direction. Plus, I still was in the revenge business and was well aware that Mel had yet to peel her eyes from us.

  "Kennedy Masters," I said, shaking his extended hand, intentionally making a show of allowing our palms to touch a little longer than was necessary.

  He held out a casual arm for me to take. Promising myself that this leisurely stroll down the hallway would be the end to both this charade and my revenge on Mel, I looped my arm in the crook of his, a little surprised when he clamped his arm down over my hand, tugging me closer to his side.

  "Where we headed?" I questioned absently, with absolutely no intention of joining him.

  "To my bus for a nightcap," he admitted. He apparently sensed my hesitation, bringing his other hand to drape over my arm. "I promise to keep all body parts away from you if that's what you want."

  Because that was supposed to make me feel better.

  His words were a challenge. He didn't believe that I could resist, and I was just the person with the wrong state of mind to try. God, I knew that I shouldn't, knew that nothing good could come from this little rendezvous, but I loved challenges. Especially those that involved sculpted chests, perfect lips and baby blues to match. "Now, what kind of self-respecting woman would be caught dead on a tour bus alone with a man?"

  "A women who appreciates very expensive, aged whiskey."

  My mouth was already watering. My mind was willing my tongue to say no and my legs to walk in the opposite direction. It was attempting to remind me of my plan and that sticking to it was the best course of action, but the careless side of me was winning. I could feel it in my bones. I wanted the whiskey, to feel the burn that would ultimately numb the insecurities that I was feeling about my career's future and my alarmingly absent abilities to create.

  "Now you're talking my language. Lead the way, Cowboy."

  The words stabbed at my conscience and I regretted them and the decision that they signified as soon as they left my lips, but I followed him through the maze of hallways anyway, my arm linked firmly in his. We emerged from the labyrinth of hallways that made up the underground of the arena five minutes later, a running bus parked in the large open space.

  As we rounded the front of the bus, Mick's driver gave us a perfunctory wave. I resented the knowing look that crept onto his face. He had just high-fived Mick with his eyes, more indication that this was a bad idea. I shot daggers at him with my own.

  The moment that I stepped onto his bus, the luxury inside wrapped itself around me. The bus that the back-up singers shared with some of the crew was meant to transport people from city to city. Mick's bus was meant to be lived in. It was beautiful, chalked full of expertly crafted leather and marble counter tops, smooth edges and masculine decorations. It was Mick defined.

  The cold shot glass being pressed into my hand and the smell of the whiskey that followed brought me into the present. When I turned to Mick, I saw fire in his eyes. My mouth went dry. Nothing about this situation was good, and it was very quickly going from bad to worse with every moment that I stayed. I raised the glass a couple of inches in the air in a salute before gulping its contents down in one fluid swallow.

  "You didn't even give me a chance to toast to anything," he mused, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. He took the glass from my hand and headed towards the kitchen area. The Jim Beam bottle beamed at me from the countertop, a white, frozen outer layer clinging to the outside of the bottle.

  "You didn't toast fast enough," I retorted.

  Where in the hell had that response come from? I needed to exit stage-right…now.

  "I'll remember that next time," he said, downing his own shot before pouring us both another and returning to my side. "Wouldn't want a woman to drink me under the table."

  "I thought men like you liked it under tables," I quipped, smashing my eyes down sharply over my own stupidity. I was a human wrecking ball, unable to stop myself from saying careless things. Honesty was the policy I tended to lean towards. Honesty seemed to get me into a hell of a lot of trouble, which was precisely where I was currently headed.

  He took his hat off, placing it onto one of the leather couches and took his shot with the expertise of someone who knew how. We seemed to be equally matched in that department.

  "I thought we were toasting to this one," I said, attempting to shift subjects. I threw my neck back, the whiskey burning the back of my throat on its way down. If I couldn't manage to remove myself from the situation, at least I could try and enjoy the Jim Beam.

  "Men like me like it in a lot of different ways, Kennedy. Usually my women do too," he insinuated. He allowed his statement and all of its meaning ample time to sink in. And it did…all the way to the region between my thighs. Christ. "And we are toasting, but I have a good feeling that I'm going to need every drop of alcohol I can get tonight."

  "I could take offense to that."

  "It wasn't meant to offend, Sugar. Actually, quite the opposite," he said, refilling our shot glasses again and handing mine back to me. "You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen and I'm going to play hell sticking to my word earlier. These hands are finding it difficult to just be friends."

  "I'm sure you tell all of your women that," I challenged, trying to fight the pink from making its way to my cheeks. His flirting abilities - much like his drinking abilities - ran parallel to mine. He was good. The situation was not.

  "Only when it's true."

  Good and honest. Most men would've lied, told me that I was special or different to get into my pants. Not Mick. A part of me respected his honesty because I offered the same thing to those around me. But there was another part of me that resented the truth and wanted the lie. I couldn't digest the need or make sense of it, wasn't entirely sure that I really wanted to.

  "Let's toast," I offered.

  He raised his glass. "To new friends and the endless possibilities."

  New friends maybe, but I'd be damned if it turned into anything more. I threw the shot back with the same urgency that I had with those before it. I closed my eyes, shutting everything else out as I enjoyed the burn. I felt the pad of his finger slide up my neck, run over my chin and stop just below my lower lip. I froze. My eyes popped open to see him standing a half a foot in front of me, his gaze zeroed in on my mouth. His upper lip tilted into a grin as he pulled his finger from my lip and dipped it into his mouth, enjoying the whiskey that had been intended for me.

  He rolled his tongue around, sampling the small amount of liquid that he'd just wiped from my skin. "That tasted better than it should have."

  That sounded better than it should have. I felt my body flush, the heat galloping across my skin. "I thought you weren't going to touch me unless I approved."

  "I thought I wasn't either," he responded. His voice had turned low, husky and downright sexual.

  I scowled up at him, angrier with my reaction towards the act than the actual act itself. It had left me at a complete loss for words, which didn't happen often. The internal struggle was staggering - the pull of right and wrong, the difference between want to do and need to do weighing heavily on my mind. I heeded the internal warning and opted for the alcohol instead. "Don't let it happen again," I managed, reaching the bottle and refilling my shot glass.

  He held his hands out to the side as I passed by - a silent apology. "My mistake," he mumbled, looking like he actually meant it.

  "It's just," I began, the exasperation that I was feeling towards myself seeping through. "Does that really work for you?"

  "Does what work for me?"

  "One touch and they just melt," I answered. I didn't like that I was currently doing the melting in which I was belittling.

  "I don't know," he answered, shrugging. "I mean, yes, sometimes." He paused, mulling over his answer. "A lot of times," he corrected, a boyish grin snaking onto his face.

  "That must be real convenient for you," I noted, being mindful of how lightly I needed to tread.

  "I'll admit, it's nice to know that the scale generally tips in my favor." He made his way towards me, eyeballing me as a panther would his prey. "How am I doing as far as you're concerned?"

  I took precautionary steps backwards, my backside coming into contact with the marble I was marveling over earlier. "The jury's still out," I squeaked out, clearing my throat afterwards. "Listen, this has been fun, Mick, really, but this is where it ends," I said, patting the muscles that now stood before me.

  I headed towards the door on wobbly legs. It was imperative that I remove myself from this situation - now more than ever. The alcohol was kicking in, doing its job, and my inhibitions were lowering.

  "Not so fast," he said, grabbing my wrist and whirling me back towards him. I nearly toppled into him in the process, my arms acting as a cushion between us. "You're not going anywhere. I fully intend to have overnight company, and I fully intend on that company being you."

  Overnight company. You. His words replayed over in my mind, my instincts to run taking over. My body jolted as I attempted to pull away. He wrapped his arms tightly around me. "What in the hell?!?" I managed, feeling the bus begin to move.

  "On the road again," he answered, a devilish twinkle in his eye. He leaned forward, placing his lips to my left ear. "Hang on, Sweetie. Looks like you're stuck with me. Next stop, Nashville, Tennessee."

  Chapter Two

  The pounding in my head meant that I'd turned to the bottle again. Only this time it had nothing to do with lyrics that wouldn’t come and everything to do with…What? I couldn’t quite put a mental finger on what had transpired the night prior. My brain kicked into overdrive, willing events and memories to come to light.

  Water.

  Dealing with my dehydration problem became my main focus, overthrowing efforts to figure out what had gotten me into this situation and, instead, focusing on a way of getting me out. My eyelids clung to each other, reluctant to open, aware of the morning sun that filled the room awaiting attack. I opened my eyes, using my forearm as a shield from the pesky beams and ducking my head in an attempt to flee from the Vitamin D onslaught. I didn’t mind working on my tan, but never during a hangover.

  My free hand skimmed over the bedding that lay coiled across the mattress, my eyes shifting there for assessment. It was a handmade quilt that looked like it came from the previous century. Tiny roses littered the handiwork, dancing across the fabric in haphazard patterns. I turned my nose up, disapproving of the unknown's taste.

  Upon scanning the room, I was certain that I had woken up in some bizarre alternate world. The last thing that I could remember was being on Mick's bus, my mind focused solely on escape and his restraining arms wrapped tightly around me. Then the jolt and the grin of satisfaction that made its way onto his face as I had been hit with the realization that I had been tricked into an overnight stay with the one man that I had promised to steer clear of.

  Shit! Yes, shit! And if I didn't find two doses of hydrogen mixed with oxygen, I'd be in even deeper shit.

  The sound of an old faucet squeaked on, rushing water filled the pipes and headed towards a destination unknown. Wherever it was headed, I both wanted and needed to be. I rolled myself from the mattress, feet landing on a wooden floor. As I stood, the floor gave a groan of protest beneath my weight. Free of the quilt, my body was attacked by cool air, peppering my skin with chill bumps. Looking down, I became fully aware of my complete nudity.