“So, you all ran off in a hurry.” My uncle walks ahead into the kitchen, finds an empty space against the counter, and narrows his stare at the guys. He taps his toe almost inaudibly against the stone flooring and glares.

I slide into the kitchen and find a place on the wall.

Trent shrugs. “You found us.”

“Yeah.” Bedo turns his attention to the young woman in the room. “Who’s this?”

Yes, who is she? She drips with more sweetness then the freshly-baked rolls on the counter. God, how I’d like a taste. Of the food and the woman. It’d be rude to ask for either, but I’m sure as hell tempted.

“Meet my new PA,” Trent says, and the girl glances up. The second her golden green eyes meet my stare, her pale skin colors in a blush. Her auburn red locks are pulled back from her face, making her eyes stand out. Captivating. The freckles that dust across her nose and cheekbones, along with the simple flowery summer dress only add to her all-American look. Gorgeous. But it’s all natural.

“I wasn’t aware you needed a personal assistant.” My uncle stares at Trent.

“Well, I do.”

“The label would have provided one.”

Trent shrugs with all the nonchalance in the world. “Not necessary. I already hired Opal.”

For a second I’m worried my uncle might snap, that’s how tightly wound he appears. Silence compounds the tension in the room. Trent meets Bedo’s stare, but our lead singer’s lips tick up with the ghost of a smile. While Austin watches the stare down, my attention’s caught up with Trent’s new assistant. Does she have a boyfriend? Is she joining us for the tour?

“Let’s go downstairs.” Bedo’s voice is hard, but he’s the one to finally break. “Looks like we have lots to catch up on.”

Opal dishes out a plate of cinnamon rolls and hands them to Trent. “Oh, take these with y’all. They’re best warm.”

Y’all? Dear Lord, her country girl look is not an act. Fuck me, that’s hot. The urge to discover everything about her, where she’s from, how she ended up here, her family, her dreams—what turns her on—overcomes my thoughts and I suddenly want to know it yesterday.

“You coming, man?” Austin catches my stare and nods to where Trent and Bedo are already walking down a hallway.

“Yeah.” Shit. I don’t want to leave without speaking to this gorgeous woman. “Can you point me to the restroom?”

Austin purses his lips like maybe he doesn’t believe me, and then nods for me to follow. “It’s down here, third door on the left. Come back this way, and down that hall you’ll hit the stairs to the basement.” He catches my stare again. “Meet you down there?”

“Yeah, cool.” I’m trying for a less refined vocabulary.

Austin’s gaze darts back to the kitchen. “Don’t get lost.”

I can’t tell whether it’s meant to be a warning to stay clear of Opal, or he doesn’t want me wandering around his house, but either way the message is clear. Finish in the bathroom and get my ass downstairs. I find the restroom, step inside, and wait a good thirty seconds before exiting again. Relieved to find Austin’s not hanging around outside, I beeline for the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked goodness beckons as much as the beauty dancing inside.

Gorgeous. She shimmies those hips to the music streaming through the speakers, and sings along while she places a few ingredients back inside the cupboards. I’m tempted to stay here and stare. Hell, if time weren’t an issue I’d do just so. She’s beautiful and totally uninhibited. A sweet voice, too. Maybe she’s trying to make it in this biz.

She reaches for the flour and spins, letting loose a yip of surprise the second her eyes find me staring. Shit! The container falls from her hands but she catches it before it hits the floor. Unfortunately, not before half the contents dump onto the counter, floor, and mostly her.

“Goodness!” She sets what’s left on the counter, and her hands fly to her chest. She is covered—literally covered—in flour, and yet the sight stirs something inside me, along with my dick. If this were porn, she’d strip out of everything but that apron and we’d roll around the floor till we were both covered in flour and sweat.

“Lord!” Her wide eyes and exclamation pull me out of my naughty daydream.

“I’m so sorry.” Taking long strides, I close the space between us and reach for the rag in the sink to wet it. “Here, let me.” I reach forward.

“Oh, don’t mess your clothes.” She takes the rag from my hands before I can argue. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think anyone was up here.”

God, I feel like a dick. Not only did I scare her by staring like a voyeur, but I also make her feel worse by offering to help clean up. “My fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

“Go ahead.” She nods toward the hall. Shit. I need to get down there before they wonder where I went.

“You sure? I feel horrible.”

“No. I’m the one who should feel bad.” She exhales a big sigh, her gaze taking in the layer of powdered dust that covers this entire area.

“Opal?”

“Yeah?”

“Hand me the dishcloth.” I hold out my palm and she finally hands it over. Our fingers brush, just for a short moment, and fuck, it’s as if my entire body comes alive.

“I’ll wipe down the cupboards.”

“You don’t—”

I level her with one of my charming smiles. “I know. I want to.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze drops to her feet, and she doesn’t meet my eyes or say a word as I get to work. She retrieves another wet cloth and together we clean the spill in silence. Well, not exactly since the country music serenades our work. Our hands make light of the mess, and within minutes the kitchen is back to its flourless form. And I still know nothing about this girl other than I’m inexplicably drawn to her.

“So . . . personal assistant? How’d you get started in that?”

Her gaze lifts with my question, her eyes wide with apprehension.

“Sorry.” I shake my head before holding out my hand. “How rude of me. I’m Leighton.”

“Opal.” Her hand, long and skilled like a musician’s, fits into mine and swear to God, my body tingles—fucking tingles—with excitement.

What the hell? I’ve been with women. More than enough. But I have never in my life become hot and bothered by a handshake. Jesus. What is it with this girl?

She pulls her hand back, joining it with the other she hides behind her back, and rocks on her heels while I’m stuck in a trance like some idiot, staring at my hand and wishing I could touch her again.

“Thanks for helping. I appreciate it,” she says softly.

“No problem. I startled you. I’m sorry again.”

Her face heats with a blush and when she glances up again it’s from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anyone you saw that.”

“What?” My lips spread wide with a grin. “Wait. You mean your killer dance moves.”

“Stop!” She lifts her hands to cover her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Yeah, I’m gonna have to touch her again. At least once. I step forward and close most of the space between us, reaching up to circle her wrists in my hands. Gently I pull her hands from her face, not surprised to find her cheeks stained pink. “Beautiful.” The word slips through my lips without meaning to say anything at all.

Her lips part on a gasp, and I swear I didn’t intend for more, but hell, how do I pass up such a perfect opportunity?

I dip my chin, slow and purposeful so she has ample time to tell me no or push me away. Of course, she doesn’t. Instead her eyelids flutter closed because she wants what I do. She wants me to kiss her.

She’s fucking perfection. That is, if your thing is the innocent, inexperienced type. Which normally is not my type at all. A surge of emotion punches me in the gut with the mere thought of defiling her purity. It’s the warning flare I need. Instead of going for her mouth, I brush my cheek against hers and my lips find the shell of her ear. “See you around.”

I command my feet to step away, because even though I know this kind of woman comes with all kinds of required commitment and responsibility, I can’t completely get my body to follow. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her. Own her. Make her come with my name on her gorgeous pink lips. Fuck. I shake my head and take a few more steps backward.

She doesn’t meet my gaze, turning toward the sink as I retreat from the kitchen. Was she disappointed I didn’t kiss her? Relieved? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m here to play music. This is my time to shine and chase dreams I’d never been allowed, not lust after some doe-eyed country girl.

I hustle down the stairs, eager to catch back up with the band. I turn the corner of the spiral staircase to find everyone staring.

My uncle’s glare instantly floods me with guilt. He’d fire my ass if he knew what I’d been doing. “Where the hell have you been?” So much for bridging our relationship.

“Oh, um, I—” I try for cool, but fuck, I feel every bit the guilty perp. I can’t very well explain I was with Opal.

“Dude, no, you didn’t.” Austin narrows his gaze. Shit. How could he know? Day one and I’m already getting fired. He draws everyone’s attention as he bursts into a cackle of laughter.

“What?” Trent’s lips pull wide with a smile as he bounces his gaze between myself and a still laughing Austin. “What did he do?” I’m as confused as Trent.

“Kid!” Austin slaps his lap and shakes his head. “You dropped a deuce, didn’t you? Kid shit in our bathroom.”

My eyes grow wide with his accusation. “What? No!”

“Oh, man!” Trent laughs, a long throaty chuckle, and narrows his amused grin my way. “Kid, you don’t drop a deuce in someone else’s house. Not on the first visit.”

I look to my uncle for help, but he only shrugs. “I’m with the guys on this.”

“What’d I miss?” Sean trots down the last few steps and pushes past me to where everyone else is gathered. “I didn’t think I was gone long enough for hell to freeze over, but I swear I just heard Bedo agree with us.” His eyes dart to the plate at the center of the coffee table, “Are those Opal’s cinnamon rolls?”

“New kid pooped in our bathroom,” Austin says matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t—” Once again I argue, but at this point no one’s even listening.

“Just now?” Sean mumbles through a bite of food, and lifts his gaze to where I’m standing. “Not cool. You gotta wait till we’re bros before you shit in our toilet.”

“My bad.” I shrug and finally relent. At this point they’re never going to let it go, and I don’t have any other reason for taking so damn long unless I want to admit to my kitchen detour with Opal. I walk over to Sean and reach for one of the remaining sticky buns.

“New kid.” He nods and his gaze zeros in on my cheek. “You got a little something there.”

I swipe my face with the back of my hand, a smudge of flour coming off. “Thanks.” I lift my gaze but Sean’s still staring, calculating, as if he knows I stole a cookie from the cookie jar—or an almost kiss from Opal—but how could he? I shake my head and laugh it off with a shrug. “Messy eater.” I shove the sticky bun into my mouth and take a bite.

Fuck, that’s decadent.

Country, sweet, and she can bake. Of course she can.

Sean nods, but his eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe me. Crap. I don’t need to draw suspicion, or be on the outs with my bandmates. Not after the way I earned my spot in the first place. With the North American tour starting tomorrow, I need to be extra careful. Keep a safe distance from any personal assistants.

This gig may be a dream come true overnight, but it can be ripped away just as quickly.

No girl is worth that.