All you have to do is avoid him.

That’s what I’d been telling myself in preparation for this day. This tour.

Just keep it platonic.

Keep it professional.

And when all else fails… Avoid.

I took a sweeping glance across the parking lot; the members of Dirty were meeting up behind their former rehearsal space, which was now Jesse’s wife Katie’s art studio. There was room for a few of the tour buses to pull into the lot, but the sporting goods store across the alley had a larger lot where the rest of the buses had filed in.

It was a commercial-industrial neighborhood and not much else was stirring; it was ungodly-early for a January morning, the sun just starting to lighten the sky, and I could see my breath as I looked around.

I glimpsed a few of the band members. Jude’s security team. A few of our road crew milling about, those who hadn’t already headed south yesterday with the trucks. Our tour manager, Alec, counting heads, his assistant passing out coffees.

Not one sign of Zane.

All clear.

I raised my mochaccino to Alec; he waved back, and I turned to head across the lot.

“Hey, Maggie.” Zane’s bodyguard loomed in front of me, and I almost pissed myself. For a giant man, Shady was incredibly light on his feet. He eased back, seeming to realize he’d almost literally scared the piss out of me. “Uh… good morning?”

“Hey, Shady,” I mumbled, dashing past him.

I waved a hasty hello to my bus driver, who was talking on her phone, and beelined for my bus. I’d already glimpsed it across the alley, parked behind Katie’s studio. While the rest of the buses were silver-and-black, mine had a purple swirl down the side.

I turned to cut between two of the massive buses.

And there was Zane.

I stopped so suddenly, I almost spilled coffee all over myself. It slopped out the sippy hole in the lid and burned my hand.

Fuck.

I licked the coffee off my skin and glanced up.

Zane hadn’t seen me. His left side was turned toward me.

I wasn’t even sure what he was doing.

He was just standing there, alone, in the shadows between the buses, staring at the ground and kinda muttering to himself… like he did when he was nervous before going onstage, or when he was working on a song in his head.

Then his hand raised to his mouth, trailing smoke. He was smoking a joint—because, you know, that was a normal thing to do at the ass-crack of dawn.

If you were Zane Traynor.

He wore biker boots and fitted jeans with the knees ripped out, a white Henley shirt with pushed-up sleeves and one of his trademark black leather vests. He had maybe a week’s growth on his jaw and his blond hair had been freshly buzzed on the side into a swatch of velvet, the long part on top falling forward.

Gorgeous.

Dangerous.

Dirty’s lead singer.

My legal husband.

Technically, he was also one of my employers. And the one man I’d have to avoid as much as humanly possible on this tour, without making it totally obvious.

Because no one was supposed to know about us.

About the fact that we’d secretly gotten married in Las Vegas almost two years ago.

Or the fact that he made my heart race and the backs of my knees sweat… and occasionally made me spread my legs for him and scream like I’d never screamed for any man before.

To all the world except for the very few people who knew the truth about us, I was simply Maggie Omura, Dirty’s assistant manager, and he was Zane Traynor, Dirty’s lead singer, and we were nothing more to each other than co-workers and, on a good day, friends.

We definitely weren’t a married couple who weren’t really a couple but who occasionally fucked, fought, and generally had a totally fucked-up relationship.

I just stared at him, afraid to move and not breathing at all. My heart was beating too hard and several parts of my body were starting to sweat, right on cue.

Zane tipped his head back and ran a ring-laden hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face as he looked up at the sky. He took another drag from his joint… and I slowly backed up.

I got the fuck out of there before he caught me staring at him.

I pretty much ran for my bus, and when I got there, I frowned to see Jesse’s guitar tech, Jimmy, stepping out. Jimmy was definitely one of the good ones; he’d carried my bags for me, whisked them away before I was even out of the taxi—but still. He was a dude.

I gave him a look and pointed at the pretty pink sign I’d posted on the window of the front door yesterday, when I’d personally decorated the bus. It said, in giant silver glitter letters: NO DUDES.

Jimmy smiled sheepishly. “Your bags are inside, Maggs.”

I gave him a curt, “Thank you,” then disappeared up the steps inside. I set my coffee down on one of the tables in the lounge, glanced around and called out, “Hellooo?” But clearly none of the other girls were here yet.

There was a loud, staticky blip that almost made me jump out of my skin—apparently, I was that tense—and a voice spoke over the walkie that lay on the table.

“Hey, Maggie. You there?”

I picked up the walkie and replied cheerily, “Hey, Alec!”

“You seen or heard from Zane or Dylan yet this morning?”

“Nope!”

Half-true.

I’d definitely seen Seth, Elle and Jesse in the lot. I hadn’t seen Dylan, but our drummer was pretty much always late, so no panic there just yet.

And Zane, well… Alec would find him soon enough.

“Oh, here’s Dylan,” he said. “Hopefully Zane checks in soon.”

“Uh-huh. You know, we can always roll out without him. If he misses the Seattle show, Jesse can cover his vocal parts, right?”

“Uh… okay?” Alec chuckled. “Just let him know I’m looking for him if you see him?”

“Will do!”

I tossed the walkie on a couch with my leather jacket and headed down the back hall, where the bunks were. I supposed Alec didn’t share my little theory that we didn’t really need our lead singer, but this was his first Dirty tour. Maybe his opinion would change; Zane had that effect on people.

Either way, no way was I holding Zane’s hand—or anything else—through this tour. If he couldn’t “check in” with Alec, not my problem.

After stashing my pretty makeup bags full of toiletries and cosmetics in the washroom, I started unpacking and putting away some of my clothes in my designated closet/locker. Then I made up my bunk with the bedding I’d brought; soft sheets, velvety-soft blanket and a multitude of cushy pillows. There was no window by my bunk, but there was air and temperature control, some recessed lighting and a little cubby where I could store a few things.

Comfy enough.

This would be my home for the next four months while we toured North America, before we headed overseas to continue Dirty’s Hell & Back world tour. We rarely traveled by bus on other continents but here at home we had so many tour dates, especially in the U.S., that it made the most sense, both economically and comfort-wise, to travel by bus.

These days, every member of Dirty had their own luxury bus—except for Elle and Seth, since they were a couple. Our road crew traveled on other buses with a bunch of bunks in them. Once we rolled into a city, the band and management would stay in a hotel, but for the most part everyone preferred traveling this way—for each of us to have our own space, with our own stuff, set up the way we liked it; a home-away-from-home that rolled right along wherever we went.

For my part, I was already in love with my bus.

The Lady Bus.

It was the bus for the female crew, and there really weren’t many of us.

There was me.

There was my assistant, Talia, whom I’d begged to come on the tour at the very last minute. Since my boss, Brody Mason—Dirty’s manager—had a new baby and wasn’t coming on this tour full-time, he’d offered me both a promotion and an assistant. I was pretty sure he did it out of guilt when he saw how stressed I was leading up to the tour, but he really didn’t need to feel guilty. My stress had little to do with my workload.

I’d turned down the promotion, as usual, but jumped at the chance to take on an assistant, and Talia was my first choice. I was actually afraid she might say no since she was in school, but as it turned out, the opportunity to go on tour with Dirty—one of the biggest touring rock bands in the world—was too much to pass up.

Lucky for me.

I adored Talia. She reminded me of a younger, blonde—and very possibly hotter—version of me. She had a work ethic to rival my own and, in my opinion, the fact that she was a babe with impeccable fashion sense was just a point in her favor.

It had always irked me when certain men in this business—and there were a lot of them—took one glance at me and assumed I didn’t belong here, or worse, that I was just some fangirl. If you asked me, women could be pretty, sexy, fashionable—or anything else they damned well wanted to be—and kick ass.

I’d spent the last eight years of my life proving that was true. In high heels and a manicure.

Talia and I would be joined on the Lady Bus by Elle’s assistant, Joanie. I liked Joanie, too. No bullshit, great work ethic, and she’d been working closely with Elle for years. She knew the lay of the land.

Bonus: I’d never seen Joanie or Talia so much as bat an eyelash in Zane’s direction. When Zane Traynor walked by, women tended to get starry-eyed, stupid, and slutty.

Myself included, unfortunately.

But not these women.

And then there was Sophie, our newish merch girl; girlfriend of our longtime merch guy, Pete. On the last Dirty tour, Sophie had proven herself an asset; tons of fun, zero drama. She had an easy, hearty laugh, and though I was pretty sure she was devoted to Pete in every way, she tended to laugh heartily at pretty much everything that came out of Zane’s mouth.

Nobody’s perfect, right?

Pete was riding on one of the crew buses, and while Sophie really could’ve stayed on there with her man, I’d definitely upsold her on the perks of riding on the Lady Bus.

Perks that included pretty decor, cleanliness and a fresh, unoffensive scent.

So, along with our female driver, Bobbi, we had five ladies traveling on a luxury six-bunk bus—just enough for me to convince Brody that we needed our own bus.

Thank God.

No way was I ending up on a crew bus crowded with farting, snoring men. Been there before, repeatedly, and paid my dues in full.

And no fucking way was I ending up on a rock star’s bus.

Elle and Seth had Flynn and Bane, their bodyguards, on their bus. Jesse and Katie had Jude, our head of security and Jesse’s best friend and bodyguard on their bus. Dylan had his girlfriend and our tour photographer, Amber, with him, as well as his bodyguard, Con.

And Matt, the bassist we’d hired on for this tour, had his own people.

Which left Zane, who had nobody on his bus with him except his bodyguard, Shady. Our ADHD-afflicted lead singer was the one rock star on this tour who probably needed some kind of assistant-slash-life-manager-slash-therapist on his bus. For a biker, Shady was a lovely man, but I’d literally had to teach him how to open an email so he could access the tour schedule; no way he was gonna assist Zane with anything other than watching his back and maybe rolling him a joint.

I was organized as hell, and while I certainly could’ve helped Zane sort out his clusterfuck of a life, fuck that.

Brody knew nothing about my fucked-up secret marriage to Zane, but he did know, possibly better than anyone, what a lunatic Zane Traynor could be. And he respected me, deeply. I really didn’t think he’d suggest that I bus with Zane, but there was no way in hell I was willing to risk that conversation.

The Lady Bus was my insurance policy and my sanctuary.

My dude-free safe haven, as indicated by the NO DUDES sign.

There was also a large pink neon sign in the shape of the female symbol that I’d hung on the wall of the lounge (overkill much?), and an overabundance of fresh flowers to welcome the other ladies onboard.

Whatever.

I surveyed my work and I was pleased. The Lady Bus was warm and welcoming, cozy and comfortable. For the next four months, it would feel like home. We’d have girl talk and peace and quiet, a dude-free zone where we could escape all the madness of touring…

I sighed with satisfaction and turned toward the door.

And Zane was there.

I froze. My entire body immediately broke out in goosebumps, and not because he’d startled me.

My nipples actually hardened.

He stood at the top of the steps, all six-foot-whatever of his tall, built, Viking body filling the entrance to the lounge.

I crossed my arms over my chest as his ice-blue eyes wandered over me, and a hot-cold flush skittered through my body; I was starting to sweat again.

He’d let himself right onto my bus. Did he not see my sparkly sign?

Yeah. He saw it.

“I thought you were Talia,” I said stupidly, as if to explain my staring.

“Nope,” he said.

Then he just stood there.

And I just stared.

Shit. Where the hell were my ladies?

Through the front window, I could see Bobbi over with some of the other drivers, chatting, drinking coffee. But the rest of the girls?

Fucking late, that’s where they were.

I glanced at my watch.

When I looked up again, Zane had cocked his evil-gorgeous pierced eyebrow at me. He definitely hadn’t missed that I was wearing the watch he’d given me for my last birthday—when he was in hardcore trying-to-win-her-over mode.

With Zane, there were exactly three modes—where I was concerned.

Trying-to-win-her-over mode.

Trying-to-fuck-her mode.

And pissed-off-at-her-and-fucking-other-women mode.

All equally devastating for different reasons.

I would’ve given the watch right back, but since it was the only ridiculously lavish gift he’d ever tried to give me—other than the engagement ring he’d tossed my way the morning after we got spontaneously, stupidly married—and it was actually practical, I kept it. It was Cartier, definitely worth more than my car, and perfect for me; silver with a touch of pink gold on the face and a subtle ring of diamonds.

But mainly, it would be useful on tour.

Or so I’d told myself.

“Fuck,” I muttered, starting to panic as he took a step deeper into the lounge—and every hair on my body stood on end. “Everyone’s late.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to be here. See the sign? NO DUDES.” I gave him the fakest smile in the history of smiles. “That means ever, and that means you.”

Zane appeared totally unfazed by my sign or my attitude. “We’re not even on the road yet, Maggs. Come on, I wanna see your bus.” Then he shouldered past me with his broad man-shoulders.

“For fuck’s sake. We’re leaving soon.”

“Got twenty minutes.”

“Alec’s looking for you.”

“Just saw him.”

I huffed a sigh and stood in the middle of the lounge with my arms crossed, waiting for this to be over as he poked around. Then he disappeared down the back hall.

When he reemerged, he looked around, his gaze lingering on the flowers and the strings of twinkly lights I’d hung, the fluffy pink pillows and the neon lady symbol on the wall. “So, no dudes, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I told him as icily as I could, “dudes ruin things.”

His eyelids dropped a little, and his gaze drifted south of my waist. I was wearing jeans and a little sleeveless top, both were tight, and now I was wishing I’d worn a much longer, baggier shirt. Or maybe a garbage bag. “What things?”

“For one, you’re smelling up my Lady Bus with your man smell.”

His eyes met mine again and the corner of his gorgeous mouth twitched.

And my knees wobbled a little.

It was true; I could totally smell him. He smelled like pot, a bit. But then there was that heady, sexy scent of his that had always driven me fucking crazy. Or driven my sex parts crazy. I was pretty sure the mere smell of this man had made me spontaneously ovulate a time or two. And by now, I knew exactly what it was; this spiced-chai bodywash he used combined with the leather vests he pretty much lived in… and him. Yup. Zane just smelled that good.

Totally unfair.

When Zane Traynor walked into a room—or in this case, my tour bus—he came armed with an array of weapons: his bad-boy blond hair, his ice-chip blue eyes, his devilish smile, his smoky voice, his rock-hard body… and that pussy-wetting smell of his… to name a few.

You know, like any natural predator.

While I felt like some poor, soft snail caught without its shell, utterly defenseless as he sauntered over to me, his eyes locked on mine.

“You can smell me?” he asked, in that lazy, suggestive way of his when he got close. “Over all that potpourri shit?”

“Potpourri?” I glared at him. “What is this, 1983 at your grandma’s house? It’s incense, it’s Fresh Rain scent and you’re ruining it.”

He stared at me, his tongue swiping slowly over his bottom lip, and my eyes tracked the movement. I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

Maybe because I knew exactly how that tongue and those soft lips felt… all over me.

He nodded toward the back hall. “You got a bunk back there?”

I tightened my arms over my chest, even as my stomach dropped.

Fuck. Me.

I was so woefully ill-equipped to handle this shit.

I needed to avoid this man like I needed my next breath. Because whenever he got near me, he hacked my feeble defenses right down to the quick. And when he got my defenses down, he got me alone.

And when we were alone, like this… he could do anything. Because no one was here to see it, and I’d be unable to stop it.

He could get in my face.

Mess with my head.

Put his hands on me.

And once he did that…

“Well,” I said cooly, “I don’t sleep hanging from my feet like The Lost Boys, so yeah, I’ve got a bunk.”

Attitude.

Denial.

Avoidance.

These were about the only defenses I’d ever had when it came to Zane, and as time wore on, they’d only grown less effective.

Avoidance; total avoidance was the only defense I really had left.

If I couldn’t avoid him, I was screwed.

Literally and often.

“Which one?”

I just glared at him. So not his business.

“Lemme guess. The one with the pink velvet blanket and the military corners. And the five hundred pillows.”

“It’s not velvet,” I said, my tone frigid.

“Felt like velvet.”

Fucking great. He’d fingered my bed. It probably smelled of him now, too.

“It’s pretty small,” he observed. “You know… you ride on my bus with me, you get a whole bedroom with a giant bed.”

“Mm-hmm. Which I get to share with you.”

“That’s just one of the perks, Maggs.” He said that slowly, his blue-eyed gaze drifting over my face and lingering on my lips. “No one else on my bus but Shady. It’s gonna get pretty quiet.”

I said nothing.

“A guy might get lonely…”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to keep you company,” I told him, deadpan.

I was sure. Women would be lining up to warm Zane Traynor’s bed on this tour, just like they did every other day of his life.

“Should really be my wife,” he said, his tone sharpening.

“If you had one.”

He stared at me.

I glared right back.

“You ever want to come check it out, door’s open.”

“I’m sure it is.”

He didn’t respond to that. He didn’t get mad or defensive or argue. He didn’t crank up the trying-to-fuck-her charm.

“So let’s just be clear about this,” he said, in his low, dead-sexy voice. “I’m offering to share my bus with you. And you’re turning me down.”

I looked away. “I’m not turning you down, Zane. I have my own bus.”

And we already talked about this… ad nauseam.

He didn’t say anything.

But he was so close to me now, there was nowhere for me to look to avoid his chiseled, gorgeous face, but down… at his chiseled, gorgeous body. The Henley shirt, closeup, was thin, stretched over his sculpted muscles. The leather vest was narrow and open; I could see his left nipple and the piercing in it poking against the almost see-through white fabric. The shirt was haphazardly tucked into his jeans in one spot, the rest slopping out, but it definitely did nothing to cover the insane bulge in the front of his jeans.

Was he already hard? I couldn’t exactly tell. Zane had a huge dick, and while he usually wore loose-fit jeans, these ones were pretty snug.

I didn’t want to stare.

I really didn’t.

But there was nowhere else to look. He was everywhere.

Then his hand, suddenly, was on my face. Just lightly cupping my cheek, his warmth radiating into me.

I jerked back, startled, and butted up against the partition between the lounge and the driver’s seat. He’d cornered me—and as usual, I didn’t even notice it was happening.

The fact was, anytime Zane had gotten me alone he’d been able to corner me.

And fuck me.

At least, since we’d been married.

There were really only two reasons we hadn’t been fucking daily since our wedding night.

One, he let me off the hook a lot. Stayed away when I asked him to. Respected my boundaries, for the most part.

And two, I’d managed to avoid him a hell of a lot. I’d worked my ass off to keep a physical distance between us, most of the time. Because I knew anytime he got me alone… it was only a matter of time.

A few tense moments. A few hungry glances. A few heated words…

And it was all over.

He’d corner me.

I’d somehow let him.

And his giant dick would be in me.

Before I knew it I’d be halfway to my next screaming, scorching, mind-fucking orgasm.

I allowed myself to look up into his waiting eyes… and a wave of longing rocked through me.

I bit down on my tongue.

He stroked his thumb over my cheek, lightly, and over the corner of my mouth, tugging on my lip. I felt the urgent thud of my pulse between my legs, and I sucked back a breath. Then I held it, tight, like it was my life. Like if I let it go, I’d die.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he told me, in a low, rough, almost-whisper. “Together, Maggie.”

Then his lips met mine.

Warm.

Soft.

He gave me the most feather-soft, barely-touching kiss… and the floor dropped out from under me. The world turned upside-down and my throat constricted.

My heart pounded right to a stop.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I knew I was a masochist when it came to Zane; that had already been established. I was a strong woman, but I was weak when it came to him.

I was just trying not to be a total moron and fuck him on day one of this tour.

We cannot fuck around on this tour, I’d told him, the last time we were alone together. Two months ago.

And again only three days ago, over the phone.

Yeah, Maggie, he’d said. We sure as fuck can.

Which meant we were at a stalemate.

Again.

Always.

His hand dropped away, his lips left mine and he brushed past me, leaving me with a whiff of his sexy man-scent. Then he dropped down the steps and off the bus, and he was gone.

I exhaled hard… then inhaled, deep. My lungs ached from not breathing for so long.

At least my heart had started beating again; pounding. I could’ve sworn it’d really stopped for a minute there.

And my pussy ached.

Truly, one of the worst problems with being madly, insanely, stupidly in lust with a man whom I firmly, deeply, to-the-marrow-of-my-bones believed I could never be with was that it made it difficult to be with anyone else. Impossible, actually. Which meant that I hadn’t been. With anyone.

Anyone but him, since we were married.

Almost two years ago.

And it was slowly killing me.

I, Maggie Omura, was suffering a slow, slow death by desire.

Unsated desire.

Or at least, rarely-sated desire.

It dawned on me, too slowly, that the blinds were open on the lounge windows… and panic hit me like a lightning bolt to the spine. Shit. SHIT. Did anyone see that shit?

Jesus, what the fuck were we doing?

I walked straight to the back, to the bunks, and rolled into mine. And then it really sank in.

Oh dear God.

How the hell was I gonna get through this?

Hiding from Zane the entire tour… Was that really my plan?

I stared at the ceiling, which was actually the underside of Talia’s bunk, and sighed, because yeah. That was my plan.

My ridiculous, futile plan.

I heard someone come onboard and I didn’t even poke my head out to see who it was. I just lay here, breathing slowly in and out, my head still reeling from that kiss.

“Good morning! Why’s Zane on our bus?” Talia appeared. “I thought it was no dudes allowed.”

“It is,” I said, sitting up. “It most definitely is. He’s got the memo on that now. Feel free to kick his ass out if you catch him sniffing around.”

“Okay,” she said, though she sounded uncertain. Probably didn’t love the idea of having to tell our lead singer to take a hike, but she’d learn; sometimes telling Zane Traynor to fuck off was the only sensible move a girl could make.

“Where’ve you been? We leave in like fifteen.”

“I was here half an hour ago.” She looked stricken, worried she was in trouble. “I was just talking to the crew…”

“Oh.” I slid out of my bunk and stood up. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night…” I muttered a lame apology and headed out to the lounge. Talia followed. “Can you find Joanie and Sophie, and get them in here? We should have a quick meeting before we roll out.”

“Of course. I just saw Joanie pop into Elle’s bus, and Sophie was with Pete. I’ll get them.” She dashed out the door.

So… my ladies weren’t late.

Well, good.

I forced myself, again, to breathe. Why was it so damn hard just to breathe?

It was like Zane did something to the oxygen, made the environment inhospitable to female life.

I sipped my mochaccino and tried to regroup. To start this day over again. Just pretend Zane’s little invasion into my sanctuary had never happened.

But it did.

He’d touched me.

He’d kissed me.

On day fucking one—no, moment one—of the tour

And now my whole system was out of balance.

I lit more incense to burn away the lingering smell of him. A little meeting with my lady crew to start this tour off right was what I needed—so I could go over the rules of the Lady Bus with them.

Rule number one: No dudes.

That meant any dudes, for any reason.

Boyfriends.

Hookups.

Pushy lead singers.

Unless this bus caught on fire and we needed someone to ax us the hell out… from this moment on, absolutely no dudes were setting foot on this bus.

Only problem with that plan was I couldn’t exactly hide in here forever. And I’d still have to deal with Zane out there.

I’d have to see him, talk to him, work with him.

Every. Day.

And the truth was I wanted to see him.

I hugged myself as I looked around the bus, at this pretty little cocoon I’d created to insulate myself from the world outside. From him.

And I knew; the purpose of the Lady Bus wasn’t to keep Zane away from me.

It was to keep me away from him.