The Guy Most Likely To...: Underneath It AllCan't Get You Out of My HeadA Moment Like This

by Leslie Kelly; Janelle Denison; Julie Leto

  “I can’t believe we almost got caught,” she said.

  Rip chuckled. “There’s a lot about this afternoon that I can’t believe, and the fact that we weren’t spotted doesn’t even rank in the top ten.”

  Ten minutes later, Mr. Abernathy zoomed past them on his golf cart. When they were certain he’d turned the corner to do a full perimeter sweep, they ran full-out for the wall. Rip cupped his hands together to give her a boost, then launched himself up and over with skill that testified to his physical prowess and vast experience.

  Once on the other side, Erica flattened herself against the wall, her lungs burning. Sweat glued her vest to her bare breasts and flushed her skin with heat nearly equal to what she’d experienced underneath the stairs with Rip.

  Nearly, but not quite.

  Before she had the power to move, he was kissing her again. He tasted of salt and excitement and not an ounce of regret. She clutched his shoulders, needing one last injection of his special kind of carelessness to get her through the next test of the weekend—showing up at the resort with Rip.

  He slid his hands over her hips. “When you plan a party, woman, you plan a party.”

  From down the drive, she heard a strange hum heading toward them.

  Golf cart?

  Rip grabbed her helmet and handed it to her while he jumped on the bike.

  “Too bad the party’s over,” she said, climbing on behind him and wrapping her hands tight around his middle.

  “Party’s only beginning,” he yelled over the engine.

  With expert precision, Rip pushed her Harley to the limit. Gravel and dirt kicked up around them and despite the shouts from Mr. Abernathy, who’d just rounded the corner, he tore down the drive with more speed than she ever would have risked, took them airborne over the curb and then popped a wheelie as he sped toward the highway.

  Erica squealed, held on tight and let him drive.

  * * *

  WHEN THE RESORT CAME into view, Rip felt Erica lean her cheek into the space between his shoulder blades. Waves of her emotion seeped through his T-shirt and jacket—emotions that countered the whoops and squeals she’d made when he rode her bike the way it was meant to be ridden.

  Now, her arms, squeezed tight around his middle, gave off a pensive vibe that was entirely counter to goal for the weekend. She’d said she wanted no strings, wild and crazy fun. But he supposed the closer she got to her old classmates and professional responsibilities, the harder it was for her to hang on to saucy, carefree intentions.

  Dusk had begun darkening the clear summer sky so that the fancy gold lights on the canopied entrance sparkled like rhinestones. He eased the bike to a stop a good forty yards from where bellmen hustled to unload the luggage from the half dozen cars and taxis lining the drive, powered down and shifted his weight to keep the bike upright while he waited for her to pull away.

  She didn’t move.

  He relaxed, not realizing until that moment how much he’d tensed.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he heard her mutter.

  He slid his palm over her hands, which were still gripping his belt buckle. She was shaking. He twisted around, his fingers tight over hers.

  “Party can’t start without you,” he pointed out.

  She sighed. “That’s me. The mastermind of big events. Give me a party to plan and an unlimited budget and I can make all your dreams come true.”

  “Most of my dreams have nothing to do with big parties,” he teased.

  It took a moment of maneuvering, but he finally found the right angle that allowed him to kiss her without removing her helmet. In seconds, he was drunk off the flavor of her mouth, the texture of her tongue and the sweet pressure of her lips.

  “Mine, either,” she said. “But once I go through those revolving doors, the fantasy ends.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  She glanced at the hotel entrance, her stare a mixture of resignation and reluctance. “Doesn’t it? It’s one thing being myself around you, but once I see all those old faces, I’ll be that same old girl Erica I used to be. Efficient and prissy. Always organizing the fun instead of having any.”

  He turned around to face her before powering the bike up again. She wore her regrets like some women wore big, gaudy jewelry.

  “You don’t have to be that girl anymore.”

  She sighed, reaching up to touch his cheek with a quivering hand. “It was easy to break the cycle with you. I’m not sure how to do it with everyone else.”

  Rip closed his eyes and in a split second, his instincts kicked an idea into his brain that might just do the trick. When he looked at her again, she must have recognized that he was up to something because she was grinning ear to ear.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  She snuggled in close behind him, her body quivering with what he hoped was anticipation.

  “Yes,” she confirmed.

  He revved the Harley. “Then leave this to me. By the time this weekend is over, your reputation is going to be good and sullied.”

  She squeezed him tighter and made that little high-pitched squeal that he couldn’t wait to hear once he finally had her in bed.

  5

  “WAIT, IS TONIGHT a masquerade?”

  Kate Schaffer, Erica’s assistant, frantically brushed at the screen of her digital tablet, the bright red frames of her glasses sliding halfway down her nose. “I don’t have anything in my notes about a costume party. If you texted me about the change, I didn’t receive it. Unless, wait, I believe there is a costume rental facility on property. I think I might have passed it when I was doing our first walk-through. I’ll go and—”

  Erica threw an apologetic look at Rip, then grabbed her assistant by the arm and led her to a corner of the hotel lobby. Apparently, Kate had missed their grand entrance—one that had resulted in a burst of applause from Rip’s old gang, followed by an audible gasp when she’d ripped off her helmet and he’d kissed her in front of God and everyone.

  It had been glorious.

  The taste of his tongue tangling with hers had been sweeter than all the others they’d shared this afternoon, combined. She supposed it was selfish and shallow for her to revel in the shock on her former classmates’ faces, but she couldn’t help it. To make an omelet, you had to break some eggs—and she and Rip had just scrambled enough for a banquet.

  “I’m not dressed like this for a costume party,” she said, catching sight of Rip’s back as he made his way to the registration desk. She already had a suite for the weekend, so she’d suggested he cancel his reservation. He’d seemed to like the idea, but hadn’t said if he was going to do it before Kate had come tearing through the guests in a panic. “Tonight’s mixer is casual, just like we planned. I just went out for a…a joyride.”

  Kate pushed her glasses up and squared her shoulders. Dressed in one of her vintage 1940s pin-striped suits with a sweetheart neckline and a pencil skirt that emphasized her curves, she looked half like the intimidating lawyer she used to be and half like a femme fatale from a Sam Spade film. If anyone was dressed for a Halloween-themed party, it was Kate. She just had the nerve to do it every day.

  Hiring a former partner at Weinstein, Hobbes and Madison as her second-in-command at Events by Erica had been a risk. Kate was used to being in charge and Erica had doubts that she’d take kindly to someone younger than her giving her direction. But when she’d enticed one of the city’s best chefs to cater a dinner for forty-two on two days’ notice and claimed she’d work for one-tenth her former salary, Erica had taken the gamble. Since that move over a year ago, Kate had become an invaluable employee and a good friend—one who would, ultimately, understand Erica’s need to make drastic changes to her increasingly unsatisfactory life.

  “You went out on that death trap on two wheels again?” Kate asked.

  Erica lifted her chin. “And if I did?”

  “As long as you signed that insurance policy I took out on you, you can do whatev
er the hell you want.”

  Erica shook her head. “I’m a very safe rider and before you start mimicking my mother and saying it’s not me you worry about, but everyone else on the road—”

  “God help me if I ever start sounding like your mother…or anyone’s mother. It’s your life, but should you risk it when we don’t have a full weekend of events to coordinate?”

  “Yeah, about that,” Erica said, glancing across the lobby in search of her new hero, who was suddenly nowhere to be seen. “How much do I actually have to be involved in the minutiae of the reunion at this point?”

  Kate’s pencil-enhanced brows arched high over her wide amber eyes. “You wiped out on your bike, didn’t you?” She grabbed Erica’s helmet and inspected it for dents, scratches or cracks.

  “No,” Erica said, yanking the helmet away and hating how her voice pitched guiltily. She never, ever left Kate in charge of an entire event, not because her assistant wasn’t entirely capable, but because Erica loved her job and had never wanted to be anywhere except in the middle of the action.

  Now, however, the only action she wanted to be in the middle of was in her bed with Rip.

  Sharing the ride up to the school, sneaking into the building, making out under the stairs and nearly getting caught by Mr. Abernathy had been a powerful aphrodisiac. For the first time in recent memory, Erica had felt like she could take on the world—not because she was organized and prepared and efficient, but because she’d let go of long-held fears and surrendered instead to her dreams and desires. The residual buzz of that power still zinged through her veins, enhanced by Rip’s outrageous entrance. She only wished more of her old classmates had been around to see it.

  Well, they’d get an eyeful later at the opening night party.

  If they made it to the party.

  A wolf whistle from behind skittered up Erica’s spine. She wasn’t used to attracting this kind of attention, but then, she wasn’t dressed in skintight jeans and a low-cut leather vest every day, either.

  Luckily, the whistler was a friend, a man who’d always known there was more to her than her good girl image, but who’d never held it against her.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Shaw Tyler growled, his after-sex voice as smooth and confident as when he was singing on stage. He walked lazily across to where she and Kate stood in the corner, placed his hand on the small of her back and nearly let his fingers drop onto her ass as he kissed her on the cheek.

  “Here’s the Erica Holt I always wanted to see.”

  He gave her a long, appreciative once-over. She might have slugged him except they’d been friends since they were kids. He’d always encouraged her to dress a little more provocatively and act a little less like a benevolent dictator, but Erica had pushed his suggestions aside. The son of a record executive and a famous chanteuse, Shaw’s life had never had the same expectations as hers. He couldn’t understand how hard it was to break out of the box when he’d never owned a box to begin with.

  “Well, take a good look then,” Erica replied, pecking his cheek in return. “I’m on my way upstairs to change.”

  “Need help?”

  Kate groaned, but Erica didn’t flinch. Shaw was a shameless flirt. She guessed that the reason they’d remained friends was because she’d always been immune to his charms. The Tyler family loved to buy properties and the Holt family loved to sell them. As a result, she and Shaw had known each other long enough for this game to be old, worn-out and devoid of any real sexual tension.

  “I’ve got it, thanks,” she assured him.

  “You sure? Okay, but maybe your hot little assistant here can give you some fashion advice for tonight. She seems to know how to dress to…impress.”

  Erica stepped between them. Shaw, like her, was eight years younger than her assistant, but that never seemed to stop his over-the-top come-ons. Unfortunately, they didn’t go over as well with the former attorney as they did with Erica. In fact, every time Erica hired Shaw’s band, Cell Block Tango, to play at an event, Kate made a thousand excuses to ensure that she had little, if anything, to do with interacting with the lead singer.

  “Turn it down a notch, Shaw,” she warned. “I’m handing over the reins of the whole reunion to my gorgeous assistant and I don’t need her wound up and distracted.”

  “He doesn’t distract me,” Kate protested.

  Shaw licked his lips. “But I do wind you up. Admit that much, babe.”

  Kate lifted her tablet chest-high, as if tempted to bash Shaw over the head with it. Erica pushed Shaw out of the way. “Don’t you have to set up for the sound check or something?”

  “Aw, come on, Katie-gate,” he said, unrepentant. “You know I’m only trying to get under your skin.”

  Erica watched her assistant’s nearly imperceptible blush brighten to scarlet. Shaw had started using the ridiculous nickname with her assistant the first time they’d met and even though it riled her up—or maybe because it riled her up—he continued to use it even though she’d asked him a thousand times not to.

  “Mr. Tyler,” she replied coolly. “I suggest you get to work if you wish to receive your payment on time. If Erica’s truly putting me in charge, then she won’t object to my invoking the noncompliance clause in your contract that gives me the right to deduct from our agreed-upon fee if your performance isn’t up to my expectations.”

  Erica wasn’t surprised by how powerful Kate sounded when she turned up her attorney knob, but she couldn’t help widening her eyes and staring at Shaw in warning.

  He, of course, merely winked then turned with all seriousness to Kate, his arms crossed and chin tilted at a contemplative angle. “I get the impression you don’t like me, Katie-gate. It wounds me to the core.”

  “I sincerely doubt you have a core,” she snapped.

  Shaw opened his mouth to lob another of his undoubtedly clever retorts, but Erica cut him off. Shaw and Kate had clashed each and every time she hired him to play one of her events. Normally, she found it entertaining, but as the lobby was starting to fill up with her former classmates and she wanted to find Rip and get upstairs before they were further waylaid, she took Shaw by the arm and led him toward the service elevators, where his band was loading their equipment.

  “Your guys know where to set up, right?” she asked. “The rooftop club is very intimate and the acoustics are amazing for an open-air venue. I’ll have Kate grab the hotel’s sound technician and they’ll meet you for a run-through, okay?”

  Shaw shot Kate a predatory look, then did as Erica suggested, leaving her assistant with smoke practically pluming out of her diamond-studded ears. Erica should have told him to back off. She needed Kate on her A game. No distractions. No unnecessary conflict. But she wasn’t in the mood to put a damper on anyone’s sexual mood, least of all her own.

  The minute the elevator doors closed on Shaw and his bandmates, Kate charged over.

  “I’m sorry, Kate,” she said. “I know that Shaw gets a kick out of pushing all your buttons, but I really need—”

  Kate waved away her apology. “Who is that?”

  “Who?” she asked, turning back to the elevator. “The new guy in Shaw’s band? I think his name is Richie. He’s a bass guitarist or something.”

  “Not him,” Kate said with a frown. “Him.”

  She tilted her head to the other side of the lobby, inconspicuously gesturing toward a crowd of men in the lobby. A group of old friends were hugging and laughing and making introductions of wives and girlfriends.

  And Rip was standing in the center of the melee, paying attention to none of it.

  He was staring straight at her—straight through her, even. The intensity of his gaze reignited the flame he’d sparked under the stairwell and liquefied the desire she’d hoped to keep under control, at least while they were in public.

  “He looks like he’d like to eat you for dinner,” Kate remarked. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  “No,” Erica said, an electric thrill shooting its wa
y through her system. “Just an old friend.”

  “He looks like he’d like to change that,” Kate commented.

  Erica’s mouth watered. “Yeah,” she agreed. “He does. And I’m not about to object.”

  * * *

  ONLY WHEN RIP’S KNUCKLES started to ache did he realize he was clenching his fists. A raging, fiery emotion coursed through his system—a feeling so unfamiliar, it took him a full minute to recognize it for what it was.

  Jealousy.

  Green-eyed, dangerous and undeniable.

  Shaw Tyler—he’d recognized him easily since the dude hadn’t changed one iota since high school—had put his hands on Erica. He’d kissed her. It had only been a brief smack on the cheek. Nothing to get possessive over.

  But it wasn’t the kiss that had sparked his ire. It was the comfortable familiarity between them. The way her shoulders relaxed and her smile came easily and without any agenda. With him, she was and probably always had been exactly who she’d always been. Not Erica the good girl or Erica the student body president, just Erica, the woman who was sexy, confident and strong.

  He’d always known this about her, even if he’d never let on. He’d made the discovery while watching her from a distance in high school, studying her when she wasn’t aware, when she’d drop her guard just enough for a careful observer to recognize telltale expressions, looks and movements of a girl who had more depth than she showed, more desires than she expressed.

  Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to resist the chance to tutor her in French. He was pretty sure it explained why he’d continued to meet her at the pizza parlor long after she’d raised her grade. But it definitely was the reason he’d broken things off after her attempt to take their relationship to the next level.

  Erica had deserved someone who would cherish her, someone who would bring out the best and sometimes the worst in her and love her all the same. He hadn’t been that guy back then.