Chapter 1
“I don’t remember him being this hot in high school.”
Kate Schaffer curled her hair over her ear, despite the fact
that she was trying to tune out to listen to the women standing a foot away
from her with drool practically dripping down their chins. Ever since Shaw
Tyler and his band, Cell Block Tango, had taken the stage, every comment she’d
overheard had run along the same lines.
At least, every comment from a woman.
“I should have left my husband home with the kids.”
“Shaw Tyler sure has aged well in all the right places,
hasn’t he?”
“I always wanted to be a groupie, but I never had the nerve.
God, what have I been missing?”
Kate pressed her lips tightly together. She knew the answer,
but she wasn’t going to share. She was not a member of the St. Aloysius Class
of 2002 currently attending their tenth high school reunion at the Celebrations
resort outside Chicago. She was assistant to party-planner Erica Holt and the
woman who had arranged for Cell Block Tango and their hot lead singer to play
the reunion, as she had for dozens of events since she’d taken over
entertainment bookings for Events by Erica. She had no business taking too much
interest in Shaw Tyler’s smooth gyrations and sinfully sexy vocal stylings.
That road led to ruin.
Unlike these twenty-somethings creaming their panties for a
man they’d never have—at least not for more than a couple of hours—Kate knew
precisely what it felt like to be a groupie. And while hooking up with hot
musicians had definitely had its perks in her youth, she didn’t have time for
such nonsense anymore.
Which, she admitted to herself as Shaw ground out a gravelly
phrase about making love in the moonlight, was a damned crying shame. Unlike
the salivating women gravitating closer and closer to the stage, Kate had been
with guys like Shaw. Sexual. Raw. Fearless.
Dangerous.
“I don’t know how you resist him.”
Kate jumped, as startled by her boss’s unexpected appearance
as she was by the tweak of pressure between her thighs at the momentary thought
of not resisting him at all.
“It’s not hard,” Kate lied, returning to her task of fanning
reunion schedules on a table near the exit. She should be working, not watching
Shaw Tyler swivel his hips so subtly and yet, so artfully, a twinge settled in
an area of her body that had no business asking for attention this weekend. “Guys
like him are a dime a dozen.”
“Really? When’s the last time you hooked up with a guy like
him?” Erica challenged.
Kate pushed her glasses further up her nose. She wore the
red-framed, cat-eyed spectacles because she thought they were funky, fun and
amusing. They also gave her something to do with her hands when strangling
someone was out of the question.
“Do you mean a guy most likely to forget my name by morning?”
Erica arched a brow. “Since you’re the girl most likely to
want him to forget your name, how can that be a bad thing?”
“I’m not that girl anymore.”
“Maybe you should be,” Erica mused. “From what little you’ve
told me, that girl had a lot of fun.”
Kate shoved her hands onto her hips. Maybe Margarita Mondays
at the offices of Events by Erica weren’t such a brilliant idea. She invariably
spilled more about her private life than was wise, especially to her boss.
Ordinarily, Erica was in full support of Kate’s decision over
a year ago to clean up her act. After a scary blackout incident had changed her
corporate-lawyer-during-the-day, wild-party-girl-at-night routine, Kate had quit
her job at a law firm and joined Erica in organizing Chicago’s social life. Willfully
and willingly, she’d exchanged legal briefs and depositions for engraved invitations
and wedding receptions. And since she now partied for a living, she no longer
needed to sow her wild oats in the dark of the night with guys who’d she never
acknowledge in the light of day.
Guys like Shaw Tyler, for instance.
“I thought you
“I don’t remember him being this hot in high school.”
Kate Schaffer curled her hair over her ear, despite the fact
that she was trying to tune out to listen to the women standing a foot away
from her with drool practically dripping down their chins. Ever since Shaw
Tyler and his band, Cell Block Tango, had taken the stage, every comment she’d
overheard had run along the same lines.
At least, every comment from a woman.
“I should have left my husband home with the kids.”
“Shaw Tyler sure has aged well in all the right places,
hasn’t he?”
“I always wanted to be a groupie, but I never had the nerve.
God, what have I been missing?”
Kate pressed her lips tightly together. She knew the answer,
but she wasn’t going to share. She was not a member of the St. Aloysius Class
of 2002 currently attending their tenth high school reunion at the Celebrations
resort outside Chicago. She was assistant to party-planner Erica Holt and the
woman who had arranged for Cell Block Tango and their hot lead singer to play
the reunion, as she had for dozens of events since she’d taken over
entertainment bookings for Events by Erica. She had no business taking too much
interest in Shaw Tyler’s smooth gyrations and sinfully sexy vocal stylings.
That road led to ruin.
Unlike these twenty-somethings creaming their panties for a
man they’d never have—at least not for more than a couple of hours—Kate knew
precisely what it felt like to be a groupie. And while hooking up with hot
musicians had definitely had its perks in her youth, she didn’t have time for
such nonsense anymore.
Which, she admitted to herself as Shaw ground out a gravelly
phrase about making love in the moonlight, was a damned crying shame. Unlike
the salivating women gravitating closer and closer to the stage, Kate had been
with guys like Shaw. Sexual. Raw. Fearless.
Dangerous.
“I don’t know how you resist him.”
Kate jumped, as startled by her boss’s unexpected appearance
as she was by the tweak of pressure between her thighs at the momentary thought
of not resisting him at all.
“It’s not hard,” Kate lied, returning to her task of fanning
reunion schedules on a table near the exit. She should be working, not watching
Shaw Tyler swivel his hips so subtly and yet, so artfully, a twinge settled in
an area of her body that had no business asking for attention this weekend. “Guys
like him are a dime a dozen.”
“Really? When’s the last time you hooked up with a guy like
him?” Erica challenged.
Kate pushed her glasses further up her nose. She wore the
red-framed, cat-eyed spectacles because she thought they were funky, fun and
amusing. They also gave her something to do with her hands when strangling
someone was out of the question.
“Do you mean a guy most likely to forget my name by morning?”
Erica arched a brow. “Since you’re the girl most likely to
want him to forget your name, how can that be a bad thing?”
“I’m not that girl anymore.”
“Maybe you should be,” Erica mused. “From what little you’ve
told me, that girl had a lot of fun.”
Kate shoved her hands onto her hips. Maybe Margarita Mondays
at the offices of Events by Erica weren’t such a brilliant idea. She invariably
spilled more about her private life than was wise, especially to her boss.
Ordinarily, Erica was in full support of Kate’s decision over
a year ago to clean up her act. After a scary blackout incident had changed her
corporate-lawyer-during-the-day, wild-party-girl-at-night routine, Kate had quit
her job at a law firm and joined Erica in organizing Chicago’s social life. Willfully
and willingly, she’d exchanged legal briefs and depositions for engraved invitations
and wedding receptions. And since she now partied for a living, she no longer
needed to sow her wild oats in the dark of the night with guys who’d she never
acknowledge in the light of day.
Guys like Shaw Tyler, for instance.
“I thought you
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