Too Many Rock Stars: Violet's Story (Access All Areas 1)

o his money that they’ll overlook his sleaziness.”

Still, I pulled down the legs of my shorts. They didn’t pull down far enough, though. They really were skimpy, mainly because I just left them in my desk drawer for times when it got too hot back here to be bearable or for napping situations.

I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me. I was far too stuffy for a blanket but at least it covered my legs.

"Who let you in anyway? The club is shut. Not open. Closed for business."

"Drew."

Of course it was Drew. For all Drew knew, Razer could be really dangerous instead of just having a big, jerky bad boy front. All those tattoos and the hard body didn't fool me. Underneath it all, Razer was a puppy dog. But Drew hadn’t been around long enough to know that.

Razer moved around the room like he owned the place, messing with my stuff. I had a pile of notes on the demos bands had sent in and he picked them up and started reading them.

I jumped up and pulled them out of his hands.

"Can you just leave?" I asked.

I stared him down while he did that eye thing that I'm sure gets more panties wet than I could even count. I checked myself. Nope. Total dry panties here. He had no effect on me whatsoever. He could move that look on to the next girl he had in line.

Okay, that was a complete lie. He did get my panties a little wet and my heart pounding but there was no way in hell I'd ever admit that to him... or anyone else.

Our gazes locked and my body froze to the spot. I tried to think of a snappy comeback, something to break the moment, but my mind just buzzed with the smell of him and the closeness of his skin.

"If you're not going to leave, I will," I said. I grabbed my blanket and stormed out.

Drew had started mopping out the storeroom and the floor was soaking wet.

"Watch out," he called.

But it was too late. My foot skidded on the wet tiled floor. In slow motion, I slid toward the stack of boxes. I floundered, reaching out for something to support me before I ended up buried under a mountain of glass.

Then strong arms encased me, holding me firm.

"Razer?" I asked, wondering where he'd come from.

"Razer?" a voice answered. A voice like a luxurious blanket. Not a skanky blanket like the one I had around me but cashmere or silk or some other fabric too rich for my blood.

I got myself onto my feet and turned to check out my rescuer. His voice sure wasn’t familiar and neither was the rest of him.

Long hair, long legs, leather pants, sexy insolence, and a hint of darkness that proved he was the antithesis of Razer.

He grinned slowly like a sleek, pedigree cat. A lock of glossy black hair swung down in his face and he languidly tucked it away.

I knew every rocker in this town. Every single one, from the kids begging for their first gigs to the stalwarts. I didn’t know this guy, though.

He was no novice. He had that look, like he'd been around. He just hadn’t been around here.

"What's going on?" Razer walked out of my office.

The new guy stared at Razer with barely concealed disgust. Razer stared back, the threat of violence in his eyes.

I sighed, knowing this would be trouble. Big alpha male face-off trouble.

Razer sneered. "Leather pants in this weather? You must have some sweaty balls going on there."

Okay, that checked far too many boxes on my gross-out list. The new guy didn't react, apart from a slight twitch of his lips. Then he looked at me with his soulful eyes, as though the gaucheness of Razer caused him physical pain. Soulful eyes, especially if they’re the color of a perfectly brewed coffee, are the most dangerous weapon in the rocker man-whore arsenal. Those eyes could set a girl on fire, zap her full of electrical current and leave her a burnt-out shell.

I couldn't, wouldn't, burn in them.