(Jace)
I smiled my trademark cocky half-grin, the one the women in my family joked could melt the iciest of shields. They weren’t wrong, and I wasn’t above using business as a convenient excuse to get what I wanted. Again, my prerogative.
“Exactly my point. If I’m to place myself in your hands for the foreseeable future, I should know what I’m getting into, don’t you think? Have dinner with me.”
A twitch of her pretty pink lips suggested she was not completely unaffected, or, at the very least, found me mildly amusing.
“No, Mr. Logan.”
“Call me Jace. And why not?” I pressed.
It was a legitimate question. I was a good-enough-looking guy with a modicum of talent. One top industry publication even heralded me as one of the most desired men in the business. Not to mention, I was insanely well-off, thanks in large part to the marketing and PR efforts of the woman in front of me and some sound investments. At the sake of sounding immodest, I was a damn good candidate for a dinner companion.
As was she. The enigmatic and elusive Eva D’Agolino—partner of Backstage Pass and music promoter extraordinaire—was an incredibly feminine, extremely attractive woman.
That wasn’t what had me following her around all day though. It was the sudden flare of interest, the immediate tug I’d felt in my gut the moment she met us at the airport. I’d been instantly drawn to her, and let me tell you, that was a rare thing.
This instant attraction, for lack of a better word, was definitely enough to warrant a bit of effort on my part. I’d just have to dig deeper for the innate Logan charm since she wasn’t impressed by my money, fame, or looks. That alone shot her up several notches in my opinion.
“I’m flattered, really, but I’m not what you want.” She smiled, an obvious attempt to soften the rejection.
A couple hours ago, I might have agreed with her, but that was before I’d sat across from her in the stretch limo, inhaling her unique, feminine fragrance and trying not to stare at her shapely legs, crossed conservatively and leaving me wanting more.
I mean, I was a mature, successful man who’d traveled the world many times over. I’d seen and done everything at least twice, more if I found something particularly pleasurable. When you lived a good part of the year on the road and had hordes of young women flashing you night after night, it was only natural to become desensitized. Something as simple as the curve of a woman’s calf above a slim ankle bedecked with a fine gold chain barely registered on my radar these days. The fact that hers had? It intrigued me.
So, yeah, maybe I was being uncharacteristically persistent, following her around like an eager puppy, opening doors and trying to get her to go out with me while the rest of the band went back to the hotel.
Now, before you start shaking your head, mentally chastising me for thinking it was all about the challenge, you’re wrong. Sure, I liked a challenge, but it was more than her pretty face, sexy legs, and cool disinterest that appealed to me.
I couldn’t explain exactly what it was. I could only tell you that something about her called to me on a level I didn’t understand. Something familiar. As if I’d known her before, like in a past life or something. It was the strangest thing, especially since I wasn’t a big believer in that kind of cosmic crap. I did, however, believe that things happened for a reason, and that included this fortuitous crossing of paths with Ms. D’Agolino.
We were on a six-month hiatus in between tours. The plan was to write some new songs, lay down new tracks, and shoot a few videos while getting in some much-needed downtime. That left plenty of time for me to solve the mystery of what it was about this woman that so captivated me.
I wasn’t going to rest until I figured it out. Or until she slapped a restraining order on me. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that because I could be pretty determined when I wanted something. Right now, I wanted her. And clearly, she had no idea who she was dealing with if she expected me to give up so easily.
“Maybe you are exactly what I want,” I argued. “And for the record, I’m quite pleased at this turn of events.”
She sighed, tucking another stray curl behind her ear. A nervous tell perhaps? My fingers twitched, wanting to do it for her.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Mr. Logan?”
“Jace. And as long as the chase ends with you agreeing to have dinner with me tonight, then yes, let’s.”
Her lips quirked again, but her facial expression remained otherwise impassive. Except for her eyes. Dark and expressive, they flashed with something I hadn’t yet learned to decipher.
She spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I’m not your type. I’m well past the nubile rock-chick stage.”
I chuckled at her soft dig. Yes, she definitely was all woman. “I like mature women.”
She snorted, an unexpected and strangely attractive noise. “I am not mature. Just ask my kids. I’m middle-aged. There’s a difference.”
