How You Remind Me

by Julie Leto

  PRAISE FOR JULIE LETO:

  “Julie Elizabeth Leto always delivers sizzling, snappy, edgy stories!”

  New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips.

  “Blazing hot! A story so seductive you can’t stop reading!”

  New York Times bestselling author Virginia Henley

  “Steamy sensuality and passion keep the reader swiftly turning pages.”

  Rendezvous

  Main Menu

  Start Reading

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Other Works by Julie Leto

  Another “Girl Most Likely to” Story

  Contact Information

  Copyright Information

  Table of Contents

  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 wanted me on call this entire weekend,” Kate argued, “taking care of every detail of the reunion so you could adequately reunite with your guy most likely to ride out of town on a Harley. Where is Mr. Motorcycle-Man, anyway?”

  “He’s grabbing some drinks. And his name is Scott. Though he did look hot on the back of that hog. All that leather.”

  Erica practically purred. Kate flashed a glance at Shaw. The only leather he had on tonight was the strap holding his guitar across his chest, but his well-worn jeans and half-unbuttoned cotton shirt was just as bone-melting.

  Kate scrunched her nose and tore her gaze away.

  “I thought you called him Rip.”

  “That was his nickname from high school. Scott “Rip” Ripley. Bad boy extraordinaire, entirely off-limits to goodie-two-shoes, student council president Erica Holt.”

  Erica’s frown told Kate everything she needed to know about her boss’s attitude toward her reputation in high school. She’d also been tipped off earlier when Erica had arrived at the hotel on the back of a Harley, decked out like a biker chick, defying every preconceived notion her classmates might have had about how her life had progressed since graduation. Kate knew the transformation was new and entirely out of character, but Erica seemed to be enjoying the hell out of it. Even tonight, her sundress was a little more flowing and a lot more low-cut than Erica normally wore. And without a doubt, her smile was bigger, brighter and nearly infectious.

  “Doesn’t look like he’s off-limits anymore,” Kate replied.

  Erica leaned in close as Kate unnecessarily straightened the brochures. “Nope. Good is overrated, Kate.”

  “Good is safe,” Kate countered.

  “Safe is boring.”

  “You wouldn’t think that if you’d been through what I have.”

  “Maybe,” Erica conceded. “Maybe not. But if there’s one thing I learned this afternoon, Kate, it’s that the pain from the past doesn’t matter nearly as much as living the here and now.” Erica tossed a purposeful glance in Shaw’s direction. “You might want to reconsider your hands-off approach to sexy Mr. Tyler. There are fifty women, single and married, who are using all their self-control to keep from tossing their panties at him right now, but by the way he’s looking over here, the only woman’s underwear he wants is yours.”

  Erica flitted away before Kate responded, which was just as well since Kate had nothing to say.

  Chapter 2

  She was watching him. Shaw was glad he’d played this song a hundred times because the minute he became aware that Kate Schaffer’s intense emerald stare was centered on him, his brain disengaged from the music. Uptight, perennially professional, sinfully sensual Kate, who normally only spared him a grudging glance when absolutely necessary, couldn’t look away.

  Why now?

  Why tonight?

  Kate had seen him play before, dozens of times. Since Erica opened her event-planning business after college, he and his band had provided the music for countless parties, bar mitzvahs and weddings. The gigs weren’t always glamorous, but they paid th
e bills and gave him a chance to try out new songs between the covers.

  Kate, however, had never been impressed. When she spared him more than a few seconds of her attention, he caught glimpses of distrust in her expression, as if she wasn’t comfortable with the fact that she couldn’t ignore him.

  As if some part of her wanted to remember the night they’d spent together.

  But tonight…tonight, she looked…interested.

  A strident strum blared through his earpiece. Someone in the band was playing off-key…no, not someone. Him. He tore his eyes away from Kate and tried to focus on the chords. Once he had the rhythm again, he looked out into the audience, sang a few more bars of the chorus and tried to focus on someone else.

  Anyone else.

  Erica.

  As usual, she looked gorgeous. Unfortunately, she was dancing with a guy who didn’t deserve the privilege 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 headed toward the bar. They had one more set to play, but Shaw knelt down to secure his guitar to its stand when a soft hand curled around his bicep.

  He looked up. He expected to see one of the girls who’d ignored him in high school, but who’d shamelessly undressed him with her eyes during the set.

  Instead, he saw Kate.

  Felt Kate.

  She was touching him. Hand to arm. Skin to cotton.

  He’d prefer flesh to flesh, but he’d take what he could get.

  He tore, “Hey, Katie-gate. Enjoying the show?” out of his constricted throat.

  She smiled.

  Smiled?

  At him?

  Chapter 3

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sliding across the corner of the stage so he could stand beside her.

  She jumped back, startled, and then pushed at the frames of her glasses and straightened her shoulders. “Why would you assume something was wrong?”

  His gaze dropped to his arm where she’d made contact. “You touched me.”

  “I—,” she faltered. “I needed to get your attention.”

  And she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for. That brief moment of her skin against his had evoked a myriad of sensations that had nearly knocked her off her feet. Or maybe it was just the swiftness with which he moved or the strong, spiced scent of him, a heady mix of sweat and soap and man.

  He grinned again, taking a jab at the durability of her knees.

  “Katie-gate, not a moment goes by when you don’t have my full and undivided attention.”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to spot a hint of disingenuousness. She didn’t spot any, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t simply a master of concealing his true intentions. She trusted that Shaw was, at his core, a good guy. But he was also a musician and in her extensive experience, they weren’t entirely trustworthy when it came to sex.

  Though, if he went along with what she had in mind, he wouldn’t need to be trustworthy. Just ready, willing and able to entertain a brief affair during the off-hours of her very busy weekend.

  But first she had to see if he was really interested and hadn’t just fallen into a comfortable pattern of flirting with her with total certainty that she would once again turn him down.

  “Why do you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Flirt with me. All the time. You never stop.”

  The lack of exasperation in her voice stunned her. She wasn’t frustrated like usual…she was simply asking a question.

  He gave a quick glance at Erica, as if checking to see if he had time to pursue this conversation with her before his next performance. Kate, of course, knew they had at least ten minutes. She’d written the speech herself.

  His hand shot toward her elbow, but out of instinct, she sidestepped his touch.

  Why did she keep doing that? What was she so afraid of?

  It didn’t take a psychologist or even a close girlfriend to figure it out. Shaw represented her past—her wild, reckless past—a lifestyle that she was glad to have moved on from. Except that when she really opened her eyes, he was more than that. He was good-looking and talented, but he was also a long-time friend of Erica’s and a persistent flirt.

  And if his flirtations were for real,
she might have a shot at having some fun for the first time in a long, long time.

  He held out his hand. “Come with me for a second. Please?”

  He gestured away to a spot behind the stage, out of sight of the crowd and beyond the reach of the speakers. She didn’t take his hand, but followed until they were semi-hidden behind a potted palm and Erica’s voice was a muffled murmur of unintelligible words.

  “I flirt with you because I want to get to know you better.”

  “But why?”

  His chin twitched as if he was clenching his teeth to keep from laughing. She supposed the question was outrageous—and, to most of the women in the crowd who might have tossed their panties on the stage if their husbands hadn’t been standing a couple of feet away, crazy—but she needed to know.

  When she’d fallen into bed with musicians before, she’d dressed and acted the part. As an attorney, she’d been laced and buttoned up from the top of her slicked-back hair to the bottom of her prudish pumps during the daylight hours. At night, she’d traded her suits for tight mini-skirts or short-shorts, four-inch spiked sandals and bold, brassy make-up. Guys wanted to sleep with her because she looked like an easy fuck, which for all intents and purposes, she’d been.

  But she didn’t put out that vibe anymore. She dressed for herself, preferring vintage styles from the sexy forties and fifties, her hair loose and her contacts flushed down the drain. She was comfortable in her skin—but could she be comfortable with her skin pressed tight against his?

  A split second later, she found out. He grabbed her by the waist, pulled her close and spoke directly against the shell of her ear so that the vibrations of his voice echoed against her skin.

  “You fascinate me, Kate,” he confessed, his voice throaty and thick. “You’re a mystery and a contradiction and a damned fine looking woman. How could any man resist you?”

  Blood rushed from her head to her feet. She felt her lips thin and over the span of a heartbeat, fully expected to faint dead on the floor. And yet, he had his hands so tight around her, she knew without a doubt that he’d catch her if she fell.