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  His phone started vibrating on the table. He glanced down at the screen and almost laughed out loud. Bix Jenner. The guy’s timing was uncanny. Flipping his overgrown dark hair out of his face, Dev grabbed his phone and stood up. “Bix. Give me some good news,” he said as he strode toward the end of the deck.

  “I didn’t need Viagra to bang my wife last night” was Bix’s gravelly response.

  “Not quite what I had in mind,” Dev replied with a grimace. Bix had managed Dev’s career since the day he’d called him up seventeen years ago and congratulated him for attracting the interest of the best manager in the business. Despite his immodesty, Bix’s claim wasn’t without truth, and Dev trusted him with his life. But Bix’s crass manner came with the territory, and even on a good day it grated on Dev’s nerves.

  “You never did appreciate real humor, Stone.”

  “It’s not that you’re not funny, it’s that I don’t believe you,” Dev responded dryly, hooking a flip-flop over the railing.

  “You’re goddamn killing me. How about this, then—Jerry Farr’s guy is looking to move on. Said he’d take on the assistant job.”

  Dev nearly dropped his phone. “What the fuck are you talking about? Vanessa’s got it covered,” he said, referring to his assistant of two years.

  A beat. “You’re kidding me. She hasn’t told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “She quit. Sent her notice in three days ago. She really didn’t—?”

  “Quit? Why the hell would she do that?”

  “Wouldn’t give a reason. But between you and me, I heard she’s moving to France with her boyfriend.”

  Dev slapped a hand to his forehead. Vanessa was the best assistant he’d had in a long time, and with their high burnout rate they were hard to come by. “Nice of her to clue me in. We kick off rehearsals in two days!”

  “You don’t have to tell me. Lucky for you, your fairy godfather found you a solution before you even knew you had a problem.”

  “I’ve met Jerry’s guy—he’s a wet freaking noodle.”

  “A noodle’s better than jack shit.”

  “Is that what your wife says, too?”

  “Screw you, Stone. He’ll get the job done.”

  Dev shook his head tiredly. “I’ll have to think about it.” He paused, considering his next question. When it came to his career, offers went one way—they came to him. But it was making him crazy that a producer had recently dangled a carrot and then never followed through. “Listen, you ever hear from Larry Weatherby again? He seemed pretty hot for me to write for a few of his artists a couple months ago.”

  “Nah. Reality probably kicked in—someone as big as you, he had to know it was a long shot. Besides, you’ve got the tour to focus on now.”

  Dev suppressed a sigh. He’d started his career by writing songs for other artists until Bix had taken him under his wing and brought him into the spotlight, insisting that Dev was way too talented and easy on the eyes to keep hidden. Bix’s promises of fame and fortune had all delivered, but sometimes Dev wondered if he would have been better off staying where he’d been. Even a platinum album at the age of twenty hadn’t settled the beast of anxiety he tangled with onstage each night. The voracious crowds he’d dreamed of as a kid had turned out to be the stuff of nightmares. It wasn’t always like that, of course. When he managed to control his nerves, the adrenaline high from a great show could leave him buzzed for hours afterward, better than any drug. But more often than not, touring meant sleepless nights of worry, a hammering heartbeat and cold shakes as bad as any junkie’s.

  “Listen, Stone, I know what’s on your mind, okay?” Bix continued, as if he were right inside Dev’s head. “And I want you to take all that worry and put it into Uncle Bix’s back pocket. We’ll handle it—you and me. Don’t we always?”

  “Sure,” Dev said flatly. It was true—Bix was the only person in the entire world who knew the price Dev paid to get up on that stage night after night, and he made sure he had everything he needed to get through it.

  “I’ll see you in London. And, hey—nice job on the Rolling Stone piece. If that doesn’t put you down in history as rock god of the century, I don’t know what will. People are eating up the new album. They love it. They love you, and don’t you goddamn forget it.”

  “Thanks, man,” Dev said, and hung up. He knew Bix’s assurances should make him feel better. In a world being taken over by rap, EDM and sugary pop, Under My Skin, his tenth rock album, was selling almost as well as his first. His career was a resounding success, the one thing in his life that he’d always been able to depend on. And he knew he had to take the good with the bad; it was time for him to go out there and be a superstar again.

  Back at his table, Alex and Nicola were deep in conversation and his beer was still waiting for him. Dev traced a finger through the condensation. Enjoy it while you can, he thought. In a few days he’d have to stop drinking altogether if he was going to get through his tour alive. He brought the bottle to his lips.

  Six weeks of anxiety-filled days and nights. A woman he couldn’t get out of his head. And now no assistant.

  Dev drank long and deep.

  * * *

  Victoria O’Hare, Real Estate Agent.

  Sitting in her golf cart outside Pablo’s, Kiki Becker stared down at the woman’s face on her phone. Blue eyes under wispy brows, a ski-jump nose and reddish bobbed hair. Did Kiki bear a resemblance to her, or was she just trying to see something that wasn’t there? Not knowing the answer to that question had been driving her crazy since she’d come across the photo a few days ago. A search of the website hadn’t revealed anything further about her other than her recent home sales, and there was nothing else on the entire internet about any Victoria O’Hare who looked like this woman. Her picture mocked Kiki, daring her to reach out—which was completely out of the question.

  Kiki clicked her phone off and shoved it into her handbag. The emptiness swelled in her chest, spread to her belly, threatened to spill tears. But she would not succumb to it. She swung her legs out of her golf cart and walked toward the entrance to Pablo’s. It had taken all of her strength to drag herself to work, but at least today she had a plan. Three weeks of feeling down in the dumps, tossing and turning through the night and mainlining junk food had been more than enough for her. It was time to accept that there would be no encore to her encounter with Dev Stone and move on with her life. And she would do it the best way she knew how: by getting laid tonight.

  Entering the noisy bar, Kiki did a quick scan for potential victims. Several heads turned her way that she supposed would do the trick. Eventually, she’d choose one on the criteria of being unattached, relatively sober and preferably on their way off the island in the next twenty-four hours. It was how she’d operated since she’d moved to Moretta after her divorce two years ago. Just because Dev Stone had brought her earth-shattering pleasure for one unforgettable evening didn’t mean she couldn’t return to her old ways.

  Dev—damn him. Kiki pushed his face out of her mind as she lifted the door to the bar, praying he wasn’t here. She’d managed to avoid him almost completely since their night together had blown up in their faces, and she planned on keeping it that way. If she couldn’t have him for herself, the last thing she needed was a direct comparison to any other guy in this place.

  Tossing her handbag under the bar, Kiki stole a quick glance at her reflection in the mirrored back wall. She’d spent the past three weeks in shorts and baggy T-shirts, forgoing her daily makeup routine and throwing her long hair into careless ponytails. With her plan in place this morning she’d made a bit of an effort, but the dark smudges under her eyes still revealed her truth. She looked like shit. Her skin was pale, and she’d put on a few pounds. It was the one thing she hated about her roommate, Nicola—while she lost her appetite under stress, Kiki reached for the late-night cookies as if sh
e could tame the ugly monster that raged inside her with refined sugar. Crouching behind the bar, she slicked on some lip gloss, adjusted the straps of her sundress and stood up.

  “Strawberry.”

  Jesus. Dev was standing right in front of her.

  Kiki’s groin went mushy as the memory of their entangled bodies came crashing over her. His kiss, demanding and soft at the same time. His eyes on hers as he’d latched his mouth on to her clit. His beautiful body and perfect cock, his urgent breath as he’d driven into her again and again, ripping sweet cries of ecstasy from her throat. The way he’d touched her like it meant something. As they’d lain on the sofa recovering, she’d seen it in his face—the same question she wanted to ask him: When can we do this again? The answer had been twenty minutes later, but even that hadn’t been enough for her. In a few short hours Dev turned her into an insatiable sex monster. She’d wanted to break all of her no-strings rules for him, and looking back, she was almost grateful for the near scandal that had derailed them the next morning. That whole experience had sucked her libido dry, which had probably saved her fucking life. Because Dev Stone was dangerous, addictive and a straight arrow to only one thing: heartbreak.

  “Hey, rock star,” Kiki tossed out, reaching for a bar cloth to occupy her hands. But it was no use—she could feel her fingers trembling as they swept past his. Her cheeks were warm. She was certain her nipples were straining against her dress.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said as he leaned into the counter. Those aqua eyes. That square jaw. That dark lock of hair that always flopped over his brow. She could smell his spicy aftershave, the same one that had been on her skin the next morning. Damn it.

  “Busy avoiding you,” Kiki said, scrubbing hard at an invisible spot. “It’s a full-time job.”

  “Then I’ll talk to your boss and get you fired.”

  “Very funny,” she said when a snappy reply failed her. His eyes were all over her, devouring her—why? Dev was a rock star god who had his choice of any woman on earth. From where she stood, Kiki could throw a champagne glass at at least three gorgeous household-name females. And she was a divorced executive-assistant-turned-bartender from Atlanta, guaranteed to fall short of any man’s expectations.

  “I was hoping you’d be in today,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah?” she replied over the sound of the blood rushing through her ears. “And why is that?”

  “You want the real reason, or the PC one?”

  She stopped scrubbing. “Let’s start with the PC one.”

  “My tour assistant quit today. I’m just gonna say it—I’m a little desperate for a new one. Any chance you’d consider taking the job?”

  She put a hand out to steady the martini glass she’d almost knocked sideways. “The job?”

  “Yeah.” Dev’s fingers skimmed hers as he reached out to catch the glass with her. She pulled back as they buzzed with electricity. “You’d be perfect for it.”

  “I pop beer caps for a living, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “But you used to be an executive assistant.”

  “I worked with CEOs. I don’t even know what a—a rock star assistant does.”

  “That’s easy.” He winked. “Whatever I want you to.”

  Her belly flopped over. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Why, Kiki? What are you so scared of?” Dev’s aqua eyes were unblinking. He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. It’s been three weeks, and I can still feel you under me. That’s the real reason I wanted to see you again, Kiki. I leave in two days, and I want to take the memory of you with me. I want to be inside you again. Don’t tell me you don’t want the same thing.”

  Her knees unlocked, threatening to collapse her onto the floor. God, did he really just say that? She could feel her face overheating as she measured honesty against fake indifference. As usual, honesty won. “I do, Dev, trust me. But that’s not a road I can travel down.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because it’s just not. It’s complicated. And accepting a job where I had to work anywhere within a one-mile radius of you would pretty much undo me.”

  “I feel like things would have been different if Brissoli had never happened.”

  “They wouldn’t have been.”

  “Why not?”

  “Stop asking me that.”

  He shook his head. “Even if I can’t have you, I still want your skills. What if I promised to keep anything personal out of it?”

  Kiki laughed. “After what happened between us? I think that’s beyond wishful thinking.”

  “Who said anything about wishing for it?”

  “You see?” Kiki stopped the banter with a loud thud of a wine bottle. She poured a glass out and slid it to the end of the bar for pickup.

  “I can be a perfect gentleman when I set my mind to it,” Dev persisted. “Even with you.”

  “Jesus, would you stop? So I get to see you with your groupies instead? No, thanks.”

  “It won’t be like that. How about this...” He laid his hands flat on the counter. “The first leg of the tour is six weeks long. You’re the boss. We keep it strictly business unless you decide otherwise.”

  When she didn’t come up with an immediate protest, he pushed on. “Listen—I’ll pay you whatever you want. Have I mentioned where we’re going? We start in London. Then Paris, Italy, Germany. And then onto Australia. Sydney, Brisbane—”

  Sydney. The word bounced around in Kiki’s head. Home to Webber Real Estate Agency, employer of Victoria O’Hare. A chance to solve the mystery. A chance to fill the empty ache that had been gouged into her at six years old.

  But only maybe. Only if Victoria O’Hare was really who Kiki wanted her to be, which she probably wasn’t. And then there was the matter that she would be halfway around the world with Dev, a man she wanted to make her sex slave for all eternity. Who, in her most secret dreams, sang a song of his undying love to her.

  Very bad idea.

  “...anyway, you need a change,” Dev was saying.

  Kiki felt her jaw tighten. Even if she did, the only person who was going to make that call was her. “How would you know what I need?”

  “You moved from Atlanta to LA to go to university. You changed your major halfway through. You came here on your own two years ago. You switched from being an executive assistant to a bartender. Clearly you like to mix things up.”

  Kiki couldn’t help her stunned look. On the night of his birthday party, Dev had been surrounded by groupies. Kiki hadn’t imagined he would even glance at her, but his eyes had stroked her all the way from her face down to her toes, lighting her body up like she’d been zapped with electricity. After that he’d suggested a walk on his private beach, and he hadn’t even made a move on her—instead he’d actually talked to her, asked her about her life and her family, until she’d grown weary of waiting and gone in for the kiss. She hadn’t imagined that he’d retained anything she’d told him, and yet he’d just recited most of it back to her. She squared her shoulders. “So, what—you think I’m just going to drop everything because Dev Stone asked me to? Sorry, but I’m not one of your worshipping fans.”

  “Obviously.” He waited, sexy grin still in place, as if her protests were mere pebbles to kick away on her inevitable path to acceptance.

  God, he was actually serious. It was true that Kiki had been a career girl once upon, making her way steadily up the ladder in LA, but that was before her ex-husband had crushed her dream of marital bliss and made building a new life her number one priority. She could see returning to the real world one day and starting over, but making the switch as Dev’s assistant? With him night and day, in hotel rooms with him, in his dressing room, on his tour bus, seeing him perform in all his hot glory?

  “No way,” Kiki said firml
y. “And that other thing you mentioned? That’s not going to happen, either. You’re leaving in two days, and I’m going to make it my mission to stay away from you until then. Just so you know.”

  Dev gave her a slightly amused look, as if he knew something she didn’t, and then he slapped a hand down on the bar. “The offer is open until Tuesday morning.”

  As Kiki watched him walk away and disappear into the crowd, she finally began to breathe normally again. His face remained etched into her brain, as did the words she knew she’d turn over in her head over and over again in bed tonight: I want to be inside you again. Dev Stone, the man who had ruined her for all others.

  So much for getting laid tonight, Kiki thought.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONLY SIX COOKIES LEFT? How the hell had that happened?

  Kiki stared guiltily at the Chips Ahoy! package beside the open, crumb-riddled jar of Fluff on her coffee table. She didn’t even have the decency to binge on quality junk food—not that she had much choice. Her monthly shopping trip to neighboring Barbados was due next week, and in the meantime she was forced to make do with the paltry selection at the island’s tiny, overpriced grocery store.

  A key rattled in the front door of her cottage and Kiki’s roommate, Nicola, walked in, trailed by Alex.

  Kiki reached for another chocolate chip cookie.

  Nicola gave Kiki a teasing smile as she tossed her work satchel onto the kitchen counter. “I thought you said you were cutting back?”

  “This is me cutting back,” Kiki said grumpily, sinking her teeth into the dry, crumbly sweetness. She hoped to hell that enough time had passed since her recent crying jag to allow her face to return to normal. Nicola was the best friend she’d ever had; the women had known each other for a decade, meeting in LA long before Nicola had followed her to Moretta six months ago. And Kiki was genuinely thrilled that her friend had found true love with Alex, but she really didn’t feel like explaining herself to him or anyone else right now. She must have still looked a mess, though, because Alex cleared his throat as he stood at the door. “Nicola, didn’t you say you were out of coffee? I’ll just run out and grab some. Need anything else?”