Mister Romance (Masters of Love #1)

I study the guy in front of me. Dark, low-ride jeans with thick belt, snug black T that shows an impressive range of tattoos. Muscled arms strum a Gibson guitar as sensual lips brush against the microphone. There’s no denying it anymore. It’s Max. Just a totally different Max than the version I know.

I look around, desperate for Asha to confirm what I’m seeing, but I can’t spot her anywhere. It doesn’t help that the women around me have taken it upon themselves to swarm the stage, and even as I try to move toward the bar to find my sister, I’m swept forward until I’m standing just a few yards away from Max’s crotch.

I stand there gaping as the first song ends and the next one starts. So, this is the date he had planned for his client? A classic rock star fantasy? Man, Asha was right. Everybody does have one. And judging from how my body is reacting to this whole situation, that includes me.

The luxe women are still in a group, gazing at him with fierce adoration. Max seems completely oblivious to anything but the music. That pleases me, because I have a strong suspicion that if he looks down and spots me, I won’t get a positive reaction. I flat out told him I wasn’t coming so he could work unobserved, and he doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d appreciate bald-faced lies.

For good measure, I try to hide behind the girl in front of me. She’s shorter than I am, so it’s not a great fit, but I do what I can. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, I turn to the blonde girl next to me, who’s staring at Max like he’s a sexy rocker messiah.

“Do you know this guy?” I ask.

She nods. “I’ve seen him play here a few times. So gorgeous, right? And his voice ...”

“Yeah, he’s great. Have you seen him play anywhere else? Does he have an album?” I want to find out exactly how meta this setup is.

The woman nods. “He sells CDs after the show. He’ll sign them and everything. In my opinion, it’s worth the twenty bucks just to talk to him for a few minutes.” So, he sells furniture and now CDs? How many revenue streams does this guy have?

The woman looks over my shoulder. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but I’ve bought his album three times in the past few months.” She winks at me, and it doesn’t do a single thing to convince me I haven’t fallen through some sort of weird wormhole into an alternate universe.

I look back at rock-god Max. He seems so comfortable up there, singing and playing like he was born to do it. Nothing about it looks even remotely fake. I thought his speaking voice was sexy, but I have no words to describe his singing voice. It’s rough and smooth at the same time. Black velvet wrapped around sandpaper.

I have no idea if the songs he’s singing are his own, but he sure as hell sells them. He’s one of those people who looks like every word is coming from deep inside. He’s not singing words, he’s expressing emotions.

I continue to marvel over the scope of this illusion, as well as his talent, as he and his band mates play another four songs. By the end, I don’t even care if this whole thing is pretend. I’m a fan of Caleb Sykes and his sultry, heartfelt music.

After they finish up their fifth song, Max pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles. The women around me scream and clap.

“We’ve only got time for one more. Any requests?”

Without any hesitation, at least a dozen voices yell out, “Deep!”

Max raises his eyebrows. “You want ‘Deep?’” They all scream that they do. “Really?” They scream again. “Are you sure? I mean, we always do ‘Deep’. Don’t you want something different tonight?” They yell that they don’t, and Max shrugs in defeat. “Well, okay then, but you know what that means, right?” They all scream again. God, I’m seriously on the verge of going completely deaf. “It means I need to bring a lovely lady up on stage to be serenaded.” More screaming, louder now as they all throw up their hands and jump, trying to get noticed.

Ooooohkay. Now I’m going to find out who his date is. I grab my phone in preparation. If I can take a quick picture, I might be able to figure out her identity. I doubt someone high profile would allow themselves to be involved in such a public display, but you never know. Some of these society women have influential connections. She may be famous by association.

Max scans the crowd, pretending to consider all of his options.

Yeah, nice acting, buddy.

I keep an eye on the rich chicks. Like every other woman, they’re all holding up their hands and jumping in the air, desperate to be chosen.

Just when the crowd has reached the climax of their frenzy, Max looks me dead in the eyes and points. “You, pretty redhead. Come on up here.”

My jaw hits the floor. “Ah ... I ... uh...”

“Now please, sweetheart. Don’t make me wait.” The crowd whoops and hollers their approval, and I feel hands pushing me forward as voices yell how lucky I am and how jealous they are.

God. This isn’t how I saw this night going at all.

Max walks to the front of the stage and holds out his hand. “Don’t be nervous.” He gives me lusty smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Goddamn shit bastard crap. So, I’m his client? Oh, for the love of...

Did he pull all that stuff in the market just to reverse psychology me? Tell me I shouldn’t come to make sure I would?

Man, I feel so freaking stupid. And now an entire club of people is cheering as I put my hand in Max’s and walk up the stairs to the stage.

This is insane.

I hover on the verge of hysterical laughter as Max brings me behind the mic stand. Being the center of attention isn’t something I’ve ever enjoyed.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks and tilts the mic toward me. I flash him a glare but he doesn’t react.

“Uh, hi ... I’m ... uh ... Eden.” Everyone screams. Goddamn, none of these women are going to have voices tomorrow.

“Nice to meet you, Eden,” Max says with this slow-lidded blink that makes me feel like he’s imagining me naked, but not in a disgusting way. More of an I’d like to see if you taste as good as you look way.

To reinforce my suspicions, he licks his lips before saying, “So, do you play guitar, Eden?” When I swallow and shake my head, he gives me a mischievous smile. “You do now.”

He pulls me in front of him and loops his guitar over my shoulder. “Let’s get you set up here.” I shiver as he sweeps my hair out from under the thick leather strap. He’s close behind me, and the heat of the stage lights is nothing compared to the heat coming from him. I tense up when he puts a pick in my right hand and guides it over the strings.