His pulsed spiked. He focused in on her lips and the mere thought of "shacking up" with her. Then her words began to sink in, evaporating his smugness.

"Deal?" he asked weakly.

She looked at him like he had two heads. "No. s.e.x. Remember?"

Now he remembered. He straightened and grinned. "Whatever turns you on, sweetheart."

"Don't just stand there looking pretty. Help me with my bags." She gestured to the pile of suitcases on the sidewalk.

"Say 'please.'" Instead of taking the bait, she rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

He smiled, walking over to the RV. "Your wish is my command." Before she could respond, he stuck his head into the rented motor home and called out to the driver, "Ben, can you please take Ms. Landry's belongings into the room at the back?"

Ben, a stocky man in a too-tight black suit, with thinning gray hair, exited the vehicle and bobbed his chin at Kevan. She grinned and stuck out her hand to shake his, but her words were for Mason. "I don't want any special treatment. Mr. Dillon will keep the stateroom, and I'll take the guest bunk."

Mason shrugged, and Ben picked up the bags.

Ben's face was a tight grimace as he tugged on her heavy bags. "Whatever you say, boss."

Mason stepped up on the first step and offered his hand to her, palm up. Kevan's lip curved slightly, but she smacked his hand away. "After you, boss."

As Ben gave Kevan a brief tour of the bus, Mason sat at the small built-in table. The driver indicated where the food was stored, where the office supplies were located, and the dresser and closet areas she could use to house her many bags.

Really, how many suitcases does one person need for a nine-day road trip?

He counted at least four. Four full-size suitcases. The woman had high maintenance written all over her.

According to the itinerary, they were to make the short drive to Eugene, where the band was headlining a small show to be opened with the college-town favorite, Chaotic Reign. They'd play until eleven, pack up, and get back on the road for tomorrow night's stop in Medford and then on to California.

It was another hour before they hit the highway through the Pacific Northwest. After a quick call to Joe, Kevan flopped down across from Mason and set up her laptop, using her phone as a WiFi hotspot to do G.o.d knows what-Tweet? Facebook? Mason didn't know how to use Twitter. He let his admin, or Steve, GEM's VP of client relations, do all that. Or he had. He'd kept Steve out of the loop on this. No one knew he was on the tour with Manix.

Needing to keep his mind from wandering, Mason booted up his laptop, got onto the Internet, and made a half-a.s.sed attempt to check and respond to email. He occasionally glanced at the beauty across from him, absorbed in her own world as she tapped away at the keys. They worked in companionable silence as the RV rolled along the winding highway. Well, it was mostly silent, except for the occasional lyric Kevan would sing off-key, forgetting the accompanying band was in her headphones. He should have found the distraction and interruptions annoying. Instead, it was comforting to have someone working next to him. Not alone.

Yep. Push that one down, too, buddy. Add it to the little pile of stuff not to think about now. Label it "Later." Or "Kevan."

Except, he enjoyed looking at her, watching her twirl blue-streaked lengths of hair around her finger while obviously deep in thought-probably pondering some element of her strategy.

Catching him staring, she yelled at full blast, "What?"

He smiled. Should he tell her he was thinking of dragging her back to the bedroom for a repeat of their all-nighter? Probably not.

"You look hungry," she yelled.

So f.u.c.king hungry...for you.

"I'll cook," she said even louder.

He winced, and she gave him a quizzical look. He pointed to his ears. She laughed, hopefully forgetting for a moment she didn't like him. She ripped the large pink headphones off and smiled.

"I'll cook for you. For us, I mean. And Ben," she said at a more tolerable volume. When he scrunched his brow, she added, "You know, for the ride and everything. I don't want to feel like I owe you for the RV."

"You don't owe me, dar..." He caught himself. "Kevan."

"So you say. Let me cook, and I'll feel like things are more even." Kevan's eyes brightened as she pursed her lips in a beseeching manner.

"How can I possibly refuse? I'm a horrid cook, and it's not one of Ben's responsibilities."

The sweet, satisfied smile that lit up her face was stunning. d.a.m.n woman, twisting up his brain again. making him want more than a couple of more tumbles in the sheets with her.

"Thank you."

"Under one condition." Mason grinned.

"Now what?"

"You promise not to throw any food or utensils at me."

Kevan stared at him, her face an emotionless mask. And then she burst out laughing again. She picked up her pencil and threw it at him. "Where's the fun in that?"

Mason chuckled at her and tossed it back.

This trip is looking up already.

Chapter 10.

The college town of Eugene was a veritable launchpad for up-and-coming bands in all genres. Acts like Tool and Korn had started out in small clubs similar to the one Manix Curse planned to tear up later that night. With only a day to lay the groundwork before the tour, Kevan feared she wouldn't have enough time to properly set up the promotional opportunities.

The best way to spread the word in a college town would be through the media and word of mouth. Kevan emailed both the rock and college stations to set up on-air interviews. Then she emailed Streetlight Vinyl and CD, a popular music store and hangout, to gauge their interest in promoting the show. As the bus chugged down the highway, she called Joe to confirm their earlier conversation about taking over the band's social media. As soon as he agreed, Kevan had her phone in her hand, shooting off tweets and Facebook posts about the show.

Eugene was a music-friendly town. It was the hometown of bluesman Robert Cray, after all. Kevan didn't receive any resistance. The enthusiastic reception filled her with energy she could feel zinging through her veins. Already, the buzz was building online. Fans had reposted and shared her updates, and her first Tweet alone had over one hundred retweets.

I can totally do this.

Over the top of her computer, Kevan snuck a glance at the maddening man sitting across from her. She studied his strong, muscled forearms through the fringe of her bangs. What was it about a man's forearms? So hot. He'd donned a pair of chunky, black-rimmed gla.s.ses that might look hipster or just plain dorky on a different man. On Mason, they looked distinguished. He was typing intently at his very posh laptop. Well, he was more like stabbing at his keyboard than typing. Seems Mr. Perfect was a hunt-and-peck typist. Deep in thought, he pursed his beautiful mouth and ran his hand through his messy dark hair.

Oh, please do that again.

Oh no, please, don't do that again.

The obnoxious ringtone Bowen had set on her phone blared through the RV. Mason looked up in time to catch her ogling him before she grabbed the offending gadget and turned toward the window. The pa.s.sing scenery was a blurred smear of greens and browns as the RV raced down the highway.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Ms. Landry? This is Mike Dean, the programming manager at KMTL."

"Thanks for calling me back. As I mentioned in my voice mail, I'm on the road with Manix Curse, and we're in town for a show tonight. I'd love to bring the band down for an interview this afternoon. I can offer some free tickets to listeners as incentive." Kevan held her breath. She hoped she had sounded confident and businesslike, even if this was her first attempt at getting free on-air promotion for a client. Or not-yet client.

"That would be awesome. Could you bring them in around four p.m.? That's when Corby hosts The Underground Steel Hour."

Her heart beat faster, and her pulse raced. A win. Finally. "Excellent. We'll be there."

After sending a group text to the band and Joe, she set down the phone and stared out the window, realizing they were already off the freeway and headed into town.

As she turned back to her laptop, Mason stared at her as he rocked back against the leather seat, arms crossed and gla.s.ses balanced at the end of his nose.

"What?" she asked. "I'm supposed to tell you, the friggin' enemy, what I have planned? I don't think so." He must really think she was naive. Or stupid.

"It doesn't take a rocket scientist, which I happen to be, to ascertain your plans, sweetheart," he said, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"Shut the front door. Now you're totally full of s.h.i.t. You're not only the entertainment marketing kingpin of the West Coast, but also a flippin' rocket scientist?" Barely able to keep her eyes from rolling back, she gaped at him. "What, are you the Tony Stark of everything?"

"Forget it," he muttered, looking back down at his computer. But one eyebrow lifted. "You think I'm Iron Man?"

"Oh, please," she teased. "Are you pouting?"

He continued typing, and without looking up, said, "I don't pout, Bettie."

"Really? 'Cause it sure as h.e.l.l looks like you are. In fact, if your bottom lip stuck out any farther, I could use it as a table. Hmmm. Maybe I'll have dinner on it."

He lifted his fingers off his keyboard and dramatically dropped his hands into his lap with a sigh. "I got my BS in aeronautics from MIT before I realized I hated science and transferred to Harvard for my MBA."

Kevan's mouth dropped open, and she was pretty sure her heart stopped beating for a second. She had known he was smart, but not rocket-scientist smart. d.a.m.n, maybe the Stark comment was a lot more accurate than she'd intended. "For real? So you have degrees from MIT and Harvard?"

"Well, no." He glanced back at his laptop and shifted his hands nervously in his lap. "I dropped out of the MBA program before completing my master's and went to work as an intern for BEA."

"I hate you even more, now," she mumbled. This man was smart-smart. And totally out of her league.

He flashed an aggravating smile and looked back at his computer screen.

Against her better judgment to keep her distance and not dig, she asked, "Who does that? Switches career paths so drastically? Seems kind of indecisive."

He shrugged but didn't respond.

Leaning over the small table, she poked his arm. "Seriously, what made you change like that?"

He grimaced. "What, drop out? I realized I was done with school, and I was there only because it was expected of me."

"By who?"

"By whom."

Kevan flipped him off. There was no need to show off.

He ran his long fingers through his hair, leaving the tips standing up, making him look like a mad scientist. "My parents." He sighed. "My mom is an astrophysicist with NASA. I was expected to follow in her footsteps and become an aeronautical engineer, but I found the whole industry soul-sucking and overly political. And I kept coming back to my first love. Music. I wanted to do something in the music industry. So I did."

"But-"

"Drop it," he interrupted. "It's not complex. There wasn't any big existential crisis. Let's talk about your interview this afternoon. What time do we need to be there?"

Pushing, Kevan continued, "No drama? You weren't running away, because you seem kinda good at that. So why won't you tell me more? It doesn't make sense. Weren't Daddy and Mommy Stark p.i.s.sed when their golden boy went off the rails?"

"Yes. They were upset. Cut me off, for f.u.c.k's sake. It's not like I was going to community college. I transferred from MIT to f.u.c.king Harvard."

Ouch. The derision in his words was a sharp dagger in her chest, but she swallowed the hurt down before he could see it. She was proud of her education and wouldn't let anyone take that away from her. "Yeah, I got it. You're smart. Mommy and Daddy disowned you, though, because you were throwing your life away on s.e.x, drugs, and rock 'n' roll?"

His laugh sounded hollow and didn't reach his eyes. "Basically. And they're still not thrilled. But it's not my problem."

Nailed it. Mason had parent issues. "Is that why you went so far away from home to intern? I mean, BEA's in LA. Might as well be a different planet, cowboy. Or maybe it was for some chick."

"Give the tattooed girl a prize. You're right about getting away from my parents." He swept his hand across their work area and stared at her for a moment. "Kevan, I left Sunday morning because I thought you might have known who I was all along. A mistake. I blew it."

Wow. Another near-apology from the guy who was always right.

Don't let him fool me.

"Can we get back to work now, Dr. Freud? What time do we need to be at the radio stations and record store?" he asked, an impatient tone edging his voice.

"So no fair-haired coed enticed you to leave Texas?" She winked, trying to lighten the dark mood hanging over them.

"I told you I don't do long-term. Never works out." He ran his long fingers through his already-mussed hair again. Guess Mason had a tell. "And now this conversation is really done. What time do we need to be at the station?"

She'd let it go. For now.

"We?" Did he seriously think he was invited?

"Yes, we. I'm a.s.suming you'll be along for my events. We are both here to help the band, aren't we?" He smiled that deliciously evil grin again, a hint of a dimple in the shadow of his now-scruffy beard. "Maybe you'll learn something. You know, since I'm a rocket scientist slash entertainment-marketing Iron Man and all."

For about two seconds, she had actually started to like him again. And then not so much. "Or maybe you can learn something from me, hotshot."

"Maybe. Now quit trying to distract me with your cleavage and requests for kinky s.e.x and tell me the details of this afternoon."

Who knew Mr. Grumpy had a sense of humor? "Have I mentioned within the last ten minutes how much I hate you?"

He pulled off his gla.s.ses and wiped the lenses with the hem of his T-shirt, giving Kevan a brief glimpse of chiseled muscle. She had to resist the sudden urge to lean over and lick his solid abs.

Shaking her head and focusing on Mason's face, she said, "Fine. We need to be at the campus radio station at three for an interview and then go to the rock station at four. I thought we'd offer some meet-and-greet tickets and maybe a grand prize of joining them onstage to jam for a song."

"Now, was that so hard?" He winked and put his gla.s.ses back on.

Turning back to his laptop, he grinned wide as he pecked away at the keyboard.