She practically vibrated with excitement. And just a little anxiety. How many times had Bowen looked her right in the eye and given her that charming grin while lying through his teeth? h.e.l.l, near the end, most the time he hadn't even needed a reason. He'd lie just to lie. For the heck of it.

Mason kissed her forehead. "It's going to be fine, darlin'. You'll see."

He squeezed her hand and stepped forward to ask the receptionist to check them in and call Bowen. As she scanned the room again, a tall man stood in the meeting area and shoved his hands in his pockets. He peeked up through long black hair and she locked her gaze with eyes like hers. But instead of seeing the hollow husk of Bowen she'd visited several weeks ago, there stood her tall, strong brother. His hair was a little s.h.a.ggy, and his head was tipped down, almost shy, but it was Bowen.

A squeal tumbled from her lips, and her feet were racing across the room before she could stop herself from jumping into his arms. Someone was crying. Deep sobs sounded around her.

When she heard her brother whisper, "Don't cry, Kev. I'm okay. Shhhhh," she realized the cries were coming from her. She wanted to wipe her tears away, but she couldn't imagine letting him go. Ever. She pulled her arms tighter around his neck and breathed deeply, dragging in a stilted breath. Gone was the stale acidic smell of booze and general unwellness that had followed him like a fog for so long. Bowen smelled like Bowen again: an earthy smell with hints of orange or lime or something citrusy.

"Bo, Bo, Bo," she chanted while he stroked her hair until he set her gently on a couch against the wall and turned toward Mason.

Her brother jabbed his hand forward. "Bowen." She looked back and forth between the two men who owned her heart, both standing with feet wide and tight smiles, wariness clouding their eyes as they shook hands.

"So you're Dillon. The guy who broke my sister's heart, then glued it back together again." Bowen crossed his arms, sleeves of colorful ink flashing from under the cuffs of his shirt.

"I love your sister. Did from the beginning. And I'm not going anywhere."

She reached across to grab Mason's hand. Bowen intercepted her hand first, turning it back and forth so the pink diamond sparkled under the harsh florescent lighting. A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Mason had had it specially designed. A reworking of an antique setting with modern stones. A declaration of his love and an artistic version of them-contemporary and vintage, sa.s.sy and bossy, forever set in a circle on her finger. And it was so sparkly that Mason had insisted she turn the ring in toward her palm when she drove so she wouldn't be distracted by the shine. It's not like she actually hit that woman on the sidewalk. Sheesh, one near miss and everyone starts getting all paranoid.

"This makes you happy?" Bowen asked, looking up from her hand and pinning his laser eyes on her. "He makes you happy?"

Kevan could feel the skin on her face stretch as that d.a.m.n smile took over. Again. "So freaking happy."

Bowen brushed his hands on the front of his pants. "What can I say? I guess it's cool with me." He shifted to catch Mason's eye, and Kevan felt her pulse race. Now what? "But I'm back in the game, my friend. You don't get to hurt her again."

Mason stepped forward and smacked Bowen on the back. "No worries there. I'll kick my own a.s.s if I so much as muss one of her lovely blue hairs." He laughed. "Truth is, Kevan can take care of herself. You raised her right."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake, you guys, let's get out of here."

Bowen leaned down and picked up his duffel bag, then threw his arm around her shoulders. His strength was back. He must've been using the exercise room there. Something close to hope tingled in her fingertips and toes.

"Where we going?" he asked as they walked toward the exit.

"Home," both Mason and Kevan said at the same time.

Bowen nodded but didn't ask for details. Good. He'd figure out soon enough that they had a new home. A new life. One that had started the day Mason had joined Jolt Marketing and they'd signed Manix Curse as their first major client.

They were no longer alone, individuals forced to navigate the treacherous real world on their own. They were a family. And family was everything.

Order Kasey Lane's next book

in the Rock 'n' Ink series

Beautiful Mess On sale March 2017 Here's a sneak peek at book two in Kasey Lane's sizzling Rock 'n' Ink series

BEAUTIFUL MESS.

Jax looked around at the a.s.semblage of people sitting around the conference table. At the head sat his band's manager, Joe McKellan, marketing reps Kevan and Mason, and his band, Manix Curse, which included their singer Marco, ba.s.s player Conner, and his little sister, guitar wunderkind Mandi. This was everything he'd worked toward for the past several years: success as an artist, sitting on the tip of a rocket about to launch them into the rock and roll heavens where he'd be a heavy metal G.o.d.

He glanced at his phone. In about two minutes the one chick he'd never really gotten out of his system was going to walk into the conference room, contractually obligated to share breathing s.p.a.ce with him. Boo-f.u.c.king-ya. Maybe he'd get the chance to mess up her perfectly coiffed lady bun. Maybe he'd turn on the charm and get her to go out again. One more night together. For old times' sake. Because one more night was all he'd ever get once she unburied the truth about their breakup.

Right on cue, Joe's new receptionist led Jami toward the conference room where they all waited for her. What would she say when she realized he was in the band? Did she already know? Tingles of antic.i.p.ation sparked up his spine, not unlike the spikes of adrenaline he felt zipping through his body before a show.

Had Kevan and Mason told her he'd be there? Probably.

They all stood as she walked through the open door wearing a pristine pantsuit and matching heels. She was giving off that school princ.i.p.al vibe in waves, but he knew what hid beneath her overly practical clothes. White-hot fire burned under all that navy-blue ice.

She smiled, the type of smile most would accept at face value as genuine. But he could tell the smile didn't quite make it to those cerulean-blue eyes; it was a practiced, lawyerly smile. And as she began to shake hands with everyone and make her way around the table, Jax knew without a doubt this was the all-business Jami, the one she showed the rest of the world. He wondered again if the hair in her tight bun at the base of her neck still felt soft and satiny like silk. Would it snag on his calloused fingers when he ran it through his hands? And, more important, was it still long enough to wrap around his fist as he took her from behind?

Whoa. Time to cool your jets. Business first. Fun later. If he was lucky.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake the image of her heart-shaped a.s.s under his palm as she searched for her brother and then Kevan. Then...wait for it. Bam! Her gaze fell on him like a f.u.c.king hammer and she nearly dropped her briefcase.

So that would be a no. They hadn't told her. Interesting.

Jax couldn't hide the knowing smirk that spread across his face. He'd bet dollars to doughnuts the three of them were the only ones in the room to see her smile falter and the lines momentarily mar her otherwise smooth forehead. Oh yeah. He liked ruffling her feathers. He liked it a lot.

Regaining her composure, she held out her slim hand, her nails short, shiny with clear polish. A funny thing for him to notice because he was a guy and all, but she'd always done that to him, made him notice the little things.

"Jackson Paige, a.k.a. Jax Pain." Her lip curved up and the dimple in her cheek popped. The gleam in her eye said so much more than her words. "Mason and Kevan neglected to mention you're in the band."

His much larger hand swallowed hers and he tugged her arm. Just a little. Not enough to physically throw her off balance. "JamiLynn Dillon, esquire." And then without thinking about it-because if he'd thought about it he wouldn't have done it-he pulled her all the way in for what looked like a chaste hug between old friends. But he could feel her slight tremble and hear the catch in her breath. G.o.d, he'd forgotten how tiny she was. How voluptuous and small and how the curve of her body fit perfectly with his taller, leaner one. And her smell. Flowers. Sweet, simple flowers. A soft edge to the sharpness she tried to portray to the world.

"h.e.l.lo, sunshine. Miss me?" he whispered in her ear, brushing his mouth against her soft lobe. The sharp intake of breath and the way she melted into him before she pulled away meant he could still affect her. Good.

She laughed with a confident twist to her sultry mouth. He bet only he could hear the slight tremor in her voice or see her throat move like she was swallowing dirt. "Well, I see Jackson hasn't changed. Much."

As everyone chuckled and shuffled back into their seats around the table, she sat between Mason and Joe. Jax sank in the seat directly next to his sister and across from Jami while actively avoiding eye contact with Mandi.

Mandi's glance flicked back and forth between Jax and Jami. Jax narrowed his eyes and shook his head, a warning to his pixie-sized sibling with the big mouth. But she smirked and her eyes shone with glee. Dammit. Surprisingly, she didn't cackle evilly or rub her hands together in excitement.

"So, Jami...may I call you Jami?" Mandi asked as Jami's smile stayed pasted to her face like an emoji sticker. "I know you're Mason's sister, but how exactly do you know my brother?"

"We met in law school."

"Ohhhhh, you're that-" Jax grabbed Mandi's knee under the table and squeezed hard, but not before Jami's blond and perfectly arched brows furrowed, creating a single line, like a question mark, between her eyes. Although he hadn't told Mandi about Jami, per se, he had told her about "some chick" he'd been with in law school. That it hadn't ended well. Mandi probably a.s.sumed the mystery college girlfriend was the reason he was a serial dater. She'd be correct in that a.s.sumption, of course.

"Yes. I suppose I am." Jami's lips went firm as she pulled the band's contracts out of her bag and turned to Joe, the decision maker and official suit of Manix Curse. "I've gone over the contracts Joe had delivered earlier this week. While there is some predatory language and terms we'll definitely want to negotiate, the three offers are fairly solid and have the potential to be quite lucrative. Of course, we're still waiting for the formal offer and contract from the record label. I don't expect those until next week. At that time we'll counter, if necessary."

Jax sat silently while she talked, but stretched his legs under the table, b.u.mping her foot with his and making her fumble her words briefly. She never glanced at him, but he could tell his presence was getting to her.

He should quit messing with her. Let her go and do her job without interfering, But f.u.c.k, she was hot when she put on her bossy lawyer pants and took control of the meeting.

Joe smiled, but then again he was always smiling, so it was kind of hard to differentiate his moods. "Excellent. Then you're interested in joining the Manix team as counsel?" When she agreed, he slid a stapled stack of papers her way. "This is the signed contract of our agreement, along with the retainer we promised. But, as specified in the contract, you get paid when we get paid."

"Great. Shall we go over some of these points while the entire band is here?" she asked.

h.e.l.l's bells.

Jackson Paige was, in fact, Jax Pain, the drummer of Manix Curse.

That thing in her chest tightened around her ribs, making it hard to breathe.

This new little development was further complicated by the fact she'd been hired by the band to negotiate their tours, sponsorship, and recording contracts.

As she slowly rinsed her hands in the sink and checked her updo for any out of place strands, she pretended it didn't make a difference. She had a way of doing things-rules, structure, plans-that worked for her now. A life that made sense. And Jackson had no place in the calm order of her life. None. He was a bl.u.s.tering tornado that would rip apart anything good and calm she had, leaving behind only a mess. And his effect on her panties had nothing to do with real life. It was something she needed to note and then forget. She took a deep breath, allowing the oxygen to fill her lungs and relax that pinch in her chest.

By the time she found herself striding back down the hall to grab her briefcase from the empty conference room, she'd quelled the pounding of her heart to a slow tempo. She could do this. The soup of emotions boiling up from seeing him at the tattoo shop and again today would go away. It would. She would be okay. She was not a frivolous, impulsive girl easily swayed by tall, muscly tattoo artists, let alone superhot musicians. She was a d.a.m.n lawyer. A respected member of the judicial system, a sworn officer of the freaking court.

Jami didn't like all these messy feelings. She'd gotten used to being in control. She looked down at the front of her suit as she smoothed her jacket. Her outfit screamed conservative attorney. Or it a.s.serted it politely, but resolutely.

Stepping into the conference room, she looked around for her bag. Not on the table. Not on the chairs. Dammit, she was usually more together than this. She was turning around to go back through the door and see if someone had left it in the reception area when she heard the snick of the door closing. She snapped her head in the sound's direction and a very tall, very s.e.xy Jackson stood there, swinging her bag from his hand.

"Looking for this, sunshine?" His smile was wide, but slightly predatory, and his eyes narrowed in challenge. He needed a shave. Well, another man with that amount of scruff would need a shave. Jackson, on the other hand, looked knavish and naughty as heck with his shadowy stubble and messy hair. Hair that was longer than it had been in school and shorter on the sides, brushing the collar of his gray-striped b.u.t.ton-down shirt. The edges of what looked like swirls of blue water peeked up over shoulder and across his collarbone, tickling his neck. He had his long sleeves rolled to mid-arm. Color filled his forearms to his wrists, with the tongue of what appeared to be a dragon licking over the top of one hand. The muscles in his corded arms tensed and danced when he shifted her bag.

Why did she find him so d.a.m.n hot, burning all rational thought from her head with just a glance, just a touch? Why him? She saw guys every day with his same look and never gave them s.p.a.ce in her head. There was something in the relaxed but coiled way Jackson held himself that exuded pure s.e.xual charisma. All rock-star charisma.

A rock star that had left her. Without explanation. Without a reason.

"Yes, thank you," she said tightly, reaching for her bag. He swung it out of her reach, pulling it to his chest.

Without warning, the room whirled as he grabbed her shoulders and spun her. Her back hit the door with a soft thunk and she heard, rather than saw, her bag fall to the floor. She couldn't move, couldn't look away from his piercing gaze, which might as well have been a knife the way it cut her open, exposing her. Heat from his body washed over her, blanketing her skin, overwhelming her. He didn't touch her anywhere but her shoulders, where his long fingers dug into her flesh, branding her through her jacket and blouse. They stood there staring at each other, her hands at her sides. Then he reached up and drew his index finger from her ear down along her jaw, sending sparks flinting off her body. Her nipples pulled into hard buds, almost painful as they ached for his touch. If she wasn't careful, those sparks were going to start a fire she wouldn't be able to put out. She couldn't afford to lose control. Not now, and not ever again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She wanted to close her eyes. Wanted to lean into his touch and let him take her over, like he always had when they were together. But she couldn't give in.

Not anymore. Not again.

When she moved to speak, to stop him maybe, he drew his finger over her lips, causing her to gasp. She sucked air into her lungs...air she so badly needed but couldn't quite get enough of. Big mistake since his smell-that clean, salty scent he always had, like minutes earlier he'd jumped off a surfboard after riding waves-kicked her sense memory in the gonads. And everything she'd been trying to forget about him came flooding back, making it hard to ignore the flutter in her belly.

Jackson shook his head and an unruly lock of hair fell forward over his eye, lending him a sinister and mischievous look, like the forbidden devil he was. The air between them grew thicker, weighed down by ghosts of the past and a l.u.s.t that had never gone away.

He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. "I can't ignore the thing between us, Jami. Can you?"

Yes. She certainly could and would. But then she did something completely unexpected. Something she hadn't planned or even considered. Because if she'd thought about it for even one second, it would never have happened.

She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and tugged his mouth down to hers. It was a light, sensual brush of her lips against his, but the little flutter she'd felt earlier that had been barely a blip on the Richter scale became a full-scale earthquake, threatening to destroy everything. And yet she didn't care. It wasn't enough.

Though she continued to tease his lips with her own, Jami needed more. All rational thought, all control, all her rules flew out the window and were replaced with a dark need she recognized on a visceral level and thought she'd obliterated a very long time ago. The mask she affixed firmly every day to keep order in her life fell off the second his mouth met hers. It completely disintegrated as soon as her tongue decided to lick the crease of his lips and turn a seductive taste into a feast of mouth f.u.c.king. Instantly he took over and his fire consumed her. Like it always had. It would consume and then leave her like so much dusty ash on the floor.

A groan, a deep, low moan, sounded in the room and Jami's eyes snapped open. The groan came from her. No. Not again. This was not how this thing was going down. She was years over Jackson Paige. Years. Over. And now his band was her client, which definitely meant no kissing. Sweet or s.e.xy didn't matter.

What the h.e.l.l was she doing kissing Jackson? A cold, sharp clarity wrapped itself around her. She pulled away and ducked under his arm, and the separation felt more like a slap than it should have. A look of confusion marred his handsome face for a moment before it was replaced quickly by his don't-give-a-s.h.i.t-take-it-or-leave-it grin. Of all the looks he gave, she hated that one the most. Though, at that moment, she was grateful for his c.o.c.ky response since it was a reminder of exactly why she shouldn't be kissing him.

Her hands fisted against her hips. "I'm sorry. I was clearly out of line. We shouldn't be doing this, Jackson. We shouldn't be doing any of this."

"I disagree. I think we should do it some more," he said as he stepped forward. She held up her hand, stopping him.

"You gave up that right when you left me without an explanation or even a good-bye. Not even a 'screw you' so I knew where I stood. Nothing." She c.o.c.ked her eyebrows, waiting for something. A response. Some shame. Anything.

But his expression never changed when he swept his hand through his hair. "Fair enough, but let's not forget you basically just f.u.c.ked me with your mouth, sunshine. This isn't over."

Guilt and desire and anger mingled hot in her throat. "Oh, yes it-" She stopped abruptly when he stalked toward her and leaned down, sending shivers up and down her arms.

Jesus, what was wrong with her?

"No," he said, close enough she could feel his breath feathered against her cheek. "You're right about one thing. We do have some unfinished business."

"Jackson." His name was an exasperated sigh on her lips. "You're a client now. So even if I did want to know why you ran off, and even if I did want to take it further, I can't. We can't."

The half-lie half-truth rolled off her tongue easier than she'd thought it would. The truth was that he was a client, and they really shouldn't mess around. But the other side of that coin was that she really just wanted him to pick her up, hike up her skirt, and pull aside her soaked panties before he plunged his big d.i.c.k into her over and over again until he gave her what she knew would be the best o.r.g.a.s.m she'd had in a very long time.

But that wasn't going to happen, because no matter how badly she wanted him in her bed again, he was no good for her. It had taken her far too long to get over him, and the recovery had almost been as bad as when she'd been a screwed-up teen. In a way, maybe it had been worse.

"That's where you're wrong. We aren't done." He pressed his face to her throat. Her breath hitched as he ran the bridge of his nose up her neck and then bit her earlobe. The surprising nip sent sharp p.r.i.c.ks of desire straight to her already aching nipples. He pulled back and chuckled before turning around and glancing over his shoulder.

"That's where you're wrong," she said. "We were done a long time ago. That was your good-bye kiss."

Something dark flashed in his eyes before he pasted that d.a.m.n smirk back on his face. "See ya soon, counselor."

He strode casually out the door and into the empty reception area, leaving her raw and exposed, nerves sparking and jumping like live wires.

Like he always did.

Word must have gotten out that Manix Curse was playing the Tiki again because the club was nearly at capacity, wall-to-wall flannel and denim as far as the eye could see. Everyone from his middle school girlfriend to his high school art teacher had come up to congratulate him on the band's success.

It was cool. But frankly, it was f.u.c.king exhausting always being on. Always smiling and acting the good ol' rock star. It was bulls.h.i.t. Half the time he felt like a poser and the other half he just felt tired. Until he got up onstage behind his drum kit. Then everything else faded away-the crowd, the lights, the women. All the chaos narrowed into a fine laser point where the only thing that mattered was the music, his band. They became a fluid, unified ent.i.ty.