of having his hands on her.
Rip wasn’t a bad guy, exactly, but he wasn’t up to Erica’s
usual standard. Which could be exactly what she needed.
Just like he could be for Kate, if she’d just give him another
chance—which she seemed to be doing, judging by the continued eye contact.
Thankfully, the song ended. He pulled at the collar of shirt,
afraid he was soaked to the skin. The sultry summer heat, cooled only by fans
placed strategically around the rooftop club, was starting to get to him. Or
maybe it was just Kate.
Of course it was just Kate. The woman had gotten under his
skin as deeply and permanently as the ink tattooed across his upper arm. Unfortunately,
she had no idea of the power she wielded over him. They’d “met” over a year ago
when, from the stage, he’d witnessed some creep drop something into her drink
while she was out partying after work. As the minutes passed, her inhibitions
dropped. She let down her hair, unbuttoned her blouse and started draping
herself over the prick who’d been so desperate for a date he’d opted to get one
through pharmaceutical means.
Shaw had never met Kate before that night—he’d never even
seen her before. But the minute the bastard had started to lead her out of the
club, he’d cut the band’s set short and chased them down. Two left hooks and an
upper cut later, she’d melted into his arms.
As far as he could tell, she didn’t remember anything about that
night. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t forget a single minute.
He turned to his drummer and signaled a change-up in the set,
pulling himself out of the lead singer spot. His bassist threw him a confused
look, but after the opening riff, he moved to the mike and started singing. Cell
Block Tango might not be the big time, but they were a well-oiled musical
machine.
Once Shaw got past the first couple of bars without flubbing
the beat, he faded into the background, taking up a position beside his
keyboard player. His fingers picked over the strings of his guitar, but without
having to contribute more than a couple of background “oohs” and “ahhs” during
the refrain, he concentrated entirely on Kate.
Kate. Katie-gate. His scandal in the making.
She wasn’t watching him anymore. This was what he was used
to, watching her from the stage, wondering when or if she’d ever remember the
night they spent together…contemplating the circumstances under which he would
tell her about what happened—and what didn’t.
He remembered the first time he’d shown up at Erica’s
offices to sign a contract and had come face to face with his dream woman. He’d
known after ten minutes that she either had no memory of their night together
or she was a first-rate liar. Countless times, he’d dropped hints, but she’d
never slipped, never given any indication that she’d seen him before, much less
had kissed him or dragged him into her bedroom.
Though admittedly, he hadn’t fought that hard. Not until
things got serious.
In the end, he had little to be ashamed of, but she probably
wouldn’t feel the same. So he’d held off in revealing the circumstances of
their real first meeting and instead, had spent the months since their
inauspicious first meeting into a much better second one. But she wasn’t
cooperating.
Until tonight?
A lingering stare wasn’t much of an indicator for anyone
else, but for Kate, it was practically an open invitation for hope.
He missed a string of background vocals, earning him a scowl
from his drummer. He turned his back to the audience, trying to keep his mind
on the music while he wondered if Kate had the guts to check out his ass.
The song ended. The audience applauded. He took a bow, then
returned to the main microphone to introduce his band and finally, present
Erica so that she could run through what he expected would be a very
comprehensive list of activities specifically planned for the entertainment and
enjoyment of the Class of 2002.
His band
Rip wasn’t a bad guy, exactly, but he wasn’t up to Erica’s
usual standard. Which could be exactly what she needed.
Just like he could be for Kate, if she’d just give him another
chance—which she seemed to be doing, judging by the continued eye contact.
Thankfully, the song ended. He pulled at the collar of shirt,
afraid he was soaked to the skin. The sultry summer heat, cooled only by fans
placed strategically around the rooftop club, was starting to get to him. Or
maybe it was just Kate.
Of course it was just Kate. The woman had gotten under his
skin as deeply and permanently as the ink tattooed across his upper arm. Unfortunately,
she had no idea of the power she wielded over him. They’d “met” over a year ago
when, from the stage, he’d witnessed some creep drop something into her drink
while she was out partying after work. As the minutes passed, her inhibitions
dropped. She let down her hair, unbuttoned her blouse and started draping
herself over the prick who’d been so desperate for a date he’d opted to get one
through pharmaceutical means.
Shaw had never met Kate before that night—he’d never even
seen her before. But the minute the bastard had started to lead her out of the
club, he’d cut the band’s set short and chased them down. Two left hooks and an
upper cut later, she’d melted into his arms.
As far as he could tell, she didn’t remember anything about that
night. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t forget a single minute.
He turned to his drummer and signaled a change-up in the set,
pulling himself out of the lead singer spot. His bassist threw him a confused
look, but after the opening riff, he moved to the mike and started singing. Cell
Block Tango might not be the big time, but they were a well-oiled musical
machine.
Once Shaw got past the first couple of bars without flubbing
the beat, he faded into the background, taking up a position beside his
keyboard player. His fingers picked over the strings of his guitar, but without
having to contribute more than a couple of background “oohs” and “ahhs” during
the refrain, he concentrated entirely on Kate.
Kate. Katie-gate. His scandal in the making.
She wasn’t watching him anymore. This was what he was used
to, watching her from the stage, wondering when or if she’d ever remember the
night they spent together…contemplating the circumstances under which he would
tell her about what happened—and what didn’t.
He remembered the first time he’d shown up at Erica’s
offices to sign a contract and had come face to face with his dream woman. He’d
known after ten minutes that she either had no memory of their night together
or she was a first-rate liar. Countless times, he’d dropped hints, but she’d
never slipped, never given any indication that she’d seen him before, much less
had kissed him or dragged him into her bedroom.
Though admittedly, he hadn’t fought that hard. Not until
things got serious.
In the end, he had little to be ashamed of, but she probably
wouldn’t feel the same. So he’d held off in revealing the circumstances of
their real first meeting and instead, had spent the months since their
inauspicious first meeting into a much better second one. But she wasn’t
cooperating.
Until tonight?
A lingering stare wasn’t much of an indicator for anyone
else, but for Kate, it was practically an open invitation for hope.
He missed a string of background vocals, earning him a scowl
from his drummer. He turned his back to the audience, trying to keep his mind
on the music while he wondered if Kate had the guts to check out his ass.
The song ended. The audience applauded. He took a bow, then
returned to the main microphone to introduce his band and finally, present
Erica so that she could run through what he expected would be a very
comprehensive list of activities specifically planned for the entertainment and
enjoyment of the Class of 2002.
His band
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