Hardly the most poetic way to describe a beautiful woman, but Sawyer’s face lit up, her smile beaming, telling him wow suited her just fine.
“You like?” She did a little shimmy, causing the material around her hips to glisten in the waning daylight. “The dress is three years old, purchased on a whim. A little glam for my everyday lifestyle. Tonight, I thought what the heck. Beck said shiny, I’ll give him shiny.”
The dress fit Sawyer like a dream. Deceptively simple, the silver lame didn’t cling to her curves so much as skim them, highlighting every inch of her body with a subtle sexuality. The hem hit mid-thigh, short enough to show off her toned legs. A pair of spiked heels added an extra va-va-voom.
Like the garment, her hair and makeup didn’t scream look at me but drew the eye, nonetheless. Sawyer chose a simple upsweep, leaving the creamy skin of her neck exposed. Her hazel eyes were highlighted with a touch of mascara, her lips colored a bright red. Otherwise, Beck didn’t understand what mysterious secrets she employed. All he knew was the effect left him as tongue-tied as a hormonal teenage boy.
“You—” Beck swallowed then dropped a cliché so old the sentence practically creaked. “You clean up good.”
Again, Sawyer graciously overlooked his bumbling attempt at a compliment. The tension left from her mother’s visit had drained away. She glowed, inside and out. And her smile. Oh Lord, what a smile. Breathtaking.
“A suit and tie.” She ran a finger down his dark-blue tie. “Very classy. Silk?”
“Of course,” he nodded.
Beck might not understand women’s fashion, but he learned a thing or two while part of a first-class concert tour, including how to elevate his look from grunge to rocker-chic. The same lesson applied when going from his everyday contractor persona to a sophisticated man in the city.
“Not your average business casual,” she said, approval shining in her eyes.
“No doubt; we look spectacular,” Beck teased, relieved as his usual easygoing charm returned. “One look and Las Vegas will roll out the red carpet.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Sawyer warned, locking her door. “We— Holy cow! Is that your car?”
Beck followed her gaze to the silver-blue sports car parked by the curb.
“You like?”
“Who wouldn’t?” She approached slowly. Running her hand over the polished surface, she let out an appreciative whistle. “Where’s your truck?”
“In my garage,” Beck said, his grin widening as she slowly walked around the vintage Porsche. “Thought tonight called for something fancier.”
“Yours?” Sawyer asked as she completed her inspection.
“One of the few things left from my misspent youth.” Beck shrugged. “Do you approve?”
“Depends?” She bit her bottom lip. “Will you let me drive?”
“Sure.”
Sawyer’s mouth opened, then closed—with a snap. She seemed shocked that he’d agreed so quickly. Or agreed at all. Beck understood her surprise. Some men were overprotective of their automobiles, a trait he would never understand. He saw no reason to get anal about a few pieces of nicely put together metal and bolts.
“Now?” If possible, her eyes grew wider. “Really?”
“Can you handle a manual transmission?”
“In my sleep. My first car had a stick shift.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” He tossed her the keys. “Let’s head out.”
Sawyer did a happy dance all the way to the driver’s side. Beck followed, enjoying his view from behind. He reached ahead and opened the door.
“Your mother raised such a gentleman.” Sawyer brushed her hand over his. “Remind me to thank her.”
Beck settled into his seat and fastened his seatbelt. The inside of the car already carried Sawyer’s unique scent. A bit elusive and one hundred percent intoxicating.
She started the engine, gave him a wink, and eased from the parking spot without a single jerk or hesitation.
Sawyer guided the car through town and onto the freeway, shifting gears with the skill of a professional. She knew her way around a manual transmission, just as she had said, proving once more what Beck already knew; she might exaggerate from time to time—who didn’t? But she didn’t lie.
“Las Vegas, here we come,” she said. “How about some traveling tunes?”
“Any preferences?”
“You choose.”
Beck turned on the satellite radio, scrolled through his playlist, and found the perfect station filled with great songs performed by some of his favorite people.
“The Ryder Hart Band.” Sawyer’s head bobbed along to Clueless Emotions, a hard-driving anti-love anthem written before lead singer Ryder Hart met and married the woman of his dreams. “One of my favorites.”
Beck hid his smile. For him, tonight would be a trip down memory lane. For Sawyer, a huge surprise, and the experience of a lifetime.
~ ~ ~
“I EXPECTED A nice dinner, maybe a show followed by cocktails with a few of your friends,” Sawyer whispered behind her frozen margarita glass. “Not all this.”
“We had a very nice dinner followed by a show. And these are a few of my friends.”
“Front row seats to see The Ryder Hart Band is not a show, it’s an impossible dream—at least for me, a mere mortal. You on the other hand?” Sawyer snorted. “I knew about your checkered past, but—”
“Checkered?” Beck took offense at her choice of words. “My past is pristine.”
“Says the man who a few hours ago referred to his youth as misspent.”
“A figure of speech,” he assured her with a wave of his hand
“Ha,” Sawyer scoffed. “Don’t forget, you told me about the orgy.”
“I did not.” Beck’s frown turned into a groan. “You were sleeping.”
“I had my eyes closed,” she corrected. “You talk a lot about your Razor’s Edge days when you think I’ve dozed off.”
“Sneaky,” he said as an interesting bit of truth occurred to him. “All the times we watched television, when you snuggled against me? You were awake?”
Not meeting his gaze—a dead giveaway he was right—Sawyer took another sip of her drink.
“Don’t change the subject,” she muttered into the glass’ salt-rimmed edge.
Beck had his answer. Sawyer liked, wanted his arms around her. The bit of knowledge made his night. Satisfied, and a little smug, he decided not to push. But he couldn’t wait for their next bad movie night.
“What was your question?” Beck snapped his fingers. “Right. Orgies.”
“One orgy. Keep the details to yourself.” Past her discomfort, Sawyer gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “When I was asleep, you—”
“Pretended to be asleep.” He’d discovered her secret, and there was no going back.
Sawyer sighed, muttered something under her breath that sounded to his ears like freaking asshole, then continued as if he hadn’t interrupted.
“You told me how young all of you were when you formed Razor’s Edge. Eager. Fearless.”
“Green as grass and twice as stupid,” Beck sighed.
“Willing to put your talent on the line,” Sawyer argued. “The actual details were sparse. Now would be a good time to expound on the day-to-day nitty-gritty.”
“Nope.”
“Come on.” Sawyer shrugged off her disappointment. “You didn’t talk about the hard times, before and after you were discovered.”
Beck drained the whiskey from his glass, needing a boost of false courage.
“I wouldn’t call the early days hard. If they were, we had too much fun to notice. Strange,” he mused. “The difficult part came later, after we upgraded from crappy motels and dive bars to luxury suites and sold-out stadiums.”
“You want to talk?”
“To you? Probably.” Beck refused to make a definite commitment. “Not tonight. We’re at a party, remember?”
> “How could I forget?” Sawyer looked around the room. “Every other person here is famous.”
“They aren’t any different from you and me.”
“Right,” she scoffed.
The party was held in the penthouse of the Bellagio Hotel. The view, one of a kind; the booze, top shelf; the food, personally prepared by a hotshot chef who charged more for one gig than most people made in a year.
“Okay,” Beck conceded with a grin. “Maybe they’re a little different.”
“Why didn’t you say the friends who invited you to Las Vegas were The Ryder Hart Band? Or that the little get-together was a freaking after-concert party?” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “For the freaking Ryder Hart Band.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
Sawyer simply raised an eyebrow.
“Surprise!” Beck said. “Want to meet them?”
“The Ryder Hart Band?
Sawyer’s needle seemed stuck in a grove. Hoping to shake her loose, he took her hand, tugging her toward Dalton Shaw, rock god drummer and one of the most recognizable men in the world. To Beck, he wasn’t a legendary member of an equally legendary band; he was simply Dalton, one-time mentor, friend, and all-around good guy.
“Glad you decided to show up.” Dalton pulled Beck in for a hug.
“Thanks for not giving away my tickets.”
With a half-smile, Dalton tugged on the end of his beard, a new addition since the last time they met. Forever young, he looked closer to thirty than a man about to hit the half-century mark. Dalton, the least vain person Beck knew, would undoubtedly look fifty in the eye and spit.
“We’re here for one night only. Last report, scalpers raked in ten thousand a pop for seats in the back. Front row center tickets like yours? Hell, son, I could have made a fortune.”
“You already have a fortune,” Beck reminded him. “Two or three, if I recall.”
“When you come from less than nothing, there’s no such thing as enough security.” Dalton’s gaze landed on Sawyer and gifted her with one of his patented, guaranteed to make the ladies swoon, smiles. “Hello. What are you doing with this reprobate?”
“Using him to get to you,” she said with a straight face.
Taken aback, Dalton must have recognized the impish glint in Sawyer’s eyes. He waited for a beat then broke out laughing. A father of three and the definition of happily married, he wasn’t above the occasional innocent flirtation. Angling his body to block out Beck, he raised Sawyer’s hand to his lips.
“Tell me your name.”
“Sawyer Hale.”
“Want me to immortalize you in a song, Sawyer Hale?”
“Don’t pay him any mind. My husband has used the same line since dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
A gorgeous woman dressed in skintight leather pants and blessed with long, thick hair the color of coal joined them. Her attention on Sawyer, she barely gave Dalton a glance with her bright as emeralds eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Sawyer said as the color drained from her face. “I was only teasing.”
“Colleen’s joking.” Dalton slung an arm around his wife’s slender waist. “She doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body.”
“I have plenty. Lucky for you, I’ve never had reason to let them show.”
“I became a one-woman man the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Took a bit longer,” Colleen laughed. “But you finally came around.”
“Colleen Shaw, I’d like you to meet Sawyer Hale.” Beck figured someone should make a formal introduction.
“Pleased to meet you.” Colleen nodded.
“The pleasure's mine,” Sawyer said, clearing her throat.
“And you. Come here and say a proper hello.”
Beck welcomed Colleen’s hug, the embrace of a dear friend. Seeing the bemused expression on Sawyer’s face, as though she wasn’t sure what she’d witnessed, he understood her confusion.
The back and forth between Dalton and Colleen could make an outsider’s head spin. Because like all the members of The Ryder Hart Band and their families, they treasured their privacy, the love was harder to spot at first glance. However, before long, anyone could see the marriage was as strong, stronger, than the day they said, I do.
“Been too long,” Beck said.
“Your fault, not ours,” Colleen chided. “Dalton invites you to a concert, you say no.”
“Afraid I’ll bring him on stage,” Dalton said. “A born performer, he decided to spend his time playing with cement and nails rather than drumsticks.”
Used to Dalton’s plain speaking, Beck shook his head. He couldn’t explain why he loved his life, not to a man who spent close to thirty years in the rarified air at the top of the music world. Beck wouldn’t try to defend his choices. What would be the point? However, Sawyer didn’t hesitate to jump to his defense.
“Have you seen his work?” she demanded. “Writing and performing music isn’t the only way to create art, you know. Beck uses his hands, his talent, to create beautiful buildings. His job isn’t glamorous, but the people he works for think he’s pretty damn special.”
Blinking, surprise lit Dalton’s famous blue eyes. A second later, he laughed, hard and from the belly.
“Took you down a peg or two.” Colleen grinned.
“Yes, she did.”
“A humbled Dalton Shaw? Kind of sexy.”
“Really?” Heat replaced humor as his gaze locked with his wife’s. “Want to find someplace private and tell me more?”
“Promise not to sneak off before we catch up,” Colleen told Beck as the couple walked away.
“Um, sure,” Beck said with a nod, unsure if she heard him.
“She’s the one sneaking off,” Sawyer said. “With her husband. To have sex, unless I miss my guess.”
“You hit a bullseye. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other the first time I met them six years ago. They’ll still be grabbing each other’s butts in another sixty.”
“They’re the hottest couple I’ve ever met,” she sighed, then blushed when Beck chuckled. “Well, they are.”
“Won’t get an argument out of me.”
“I’m a little starstruck.” Sawyer leaned closer. “Think I can get some pictures with the band?”
Lord, she was adorable.
“I might be able to arrange something.” Beck tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow. “Come on, let’s find the bar. Another drink or two, and I might let you talk me into taking a turn around the dance floor.”
Two drinks led to three, then four. In between, Sawyer took her pictures, and they shared a dance, swaying in each other’s arms.
“Can’t remember the last time I had so much to drink,” she said as the party wound down just as the sun’s first light trickled through the windows.
“Chances are better than good you won’t remember this time.”
Sawyer laughed, finding Beck’s prediction hilarious.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, swayed, and found footing as they walked down the hall. “Too drunk to drive.”
“Dalton booked us a room a few floors down.”
“Aw. So sweet.” Sawyer reached for the keycard, missed, and stumbled into the elevator. Beck caught her just before she smashed her head. “Too bad he’s taken.”
“Very, very taken,” Beck agreed.
“Bet they have sex all the time. Like rabbits. Hippity, hoppity, smokin’ hot rabbits.” Sawyer patted his face. “Lucky bunnies.”
“We need to get you to bed.”
“Nope,” she declared. “Can’t sleep with Beck. Have the feeling he’d ruin me for every other man alive.”
Beck took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reminded himself they were half-assed drunk. She might not remember what she said; he hoped to God he did.
“Sleep. You need to sleep.”
“Unless…”
“What?” Beck was afraid to ask.
“I have an idea.” Sawyer poked at the buttons on the panel. “Did I hit the lobby?”
“No idea.”
“Help me.”
“Fine,” he sighed, resigned to whatever detour she had in mind.
Holding her finger, Beck aimed for the correct button. He missed twice, but the third time was the charm.
“Want to tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll see.”
Holding each other up, they somehow managed to get from the elevator and crossed the lobby without falling on their faces. Sawyer seemed to know where she was going.
She stopped abruptly.
“Surprise!”
“You’re joking.” Beck squinted, certain he read the sign wrong.
“Nope.” Sawyer shook her head. “You game?”
Beck knew he should say no. But for the life of him, try as he might, he couldn’t think of a good reason not to say yes.
~ ~ ~
“NO, NO, NO, no, no! What did we do?”
Beck, his head pounding like a thousand jackhammers battering his skull, opened one eye and winced. The hotel room curtains were wide open, letting the sun spill onto the bed in a burst of white-hot hell.
With a grimace, he took in as much of his surroundings as his over-taxed brain could handle.
He lay on top of the covers, fully clothed. Next to him, in her dress from the night before, one shoe on, one off, was Sawyer. One major difference; she was wide awake. All he wanted was to crawl into a deep, dark hole and never come out.
“Beck! Open your eyes.”
“They are open.” Tentatively, he touched his eyelids. Nope. Shut. “They were. Briefly.”
Sawyer, without an ounce of compassion for his near-death condition, gave him a shake.
“Take a look.”
“Unless the room’s on fire, I’m not interested.”
“Forget the room. Our lives are burning down.”
“Can you save the hyperbole for when the inside of my mouth doesn’t resemble a foul-tasting fuzzy slipper?”
“Open your fucking eyes.”
Sawyer’s uncharacteristic use of the F-word did the trick. She held a piece of paper in front of his face. The letters blurred together, sending Beck into a panic. Sometime after he passed out, he lost his ability to read.
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