Nothing like stumbling into the lobby of a fancy Vegas hotel in a herd of smelly roadies, still scraping grit out of your eyes.

We get more than a few strange looks as we wait for Terrel and Lass to get us checked in. Gobber is leaning against a post, head back and mouth open, like he’s two seconds away from starting to snore right there.

Maybe I can nap by the pool. They’ve got to have one here, right?

I let my duffel drop off my shoulder. The tequila was pouring before we even pulled out of the parking lot a few hours ago, and it looks like half the crew is ready to head to whatever bars are still open and the other half is ready to gear up with some sleep before tomorrow. None of that happens until after Terrel starts handing out room keys and lectures.

He smacks Gobber to wake him up enough to hand him a key, and I look over at Skeet but Terrel doesn’t give him the next card. He just shrugs so I turn my head to find Lass, but she just shrugs at me too. Her shrug has mischief in it, but I have to wait to find out why until everyone else has their key and is leaving the lobby.

“Here ya go,” Terrel says, pulling a key card envelope from his pocket. It’s a different color than the others. “And don’t shoot the messenger.”

He hands me the key and quickly walks away. I look down, flip it over, and gasp.

It’s a key card to the penthouse.

My head snaps up, but everyone is gone.

After three tries to get on the right elevator, I finally make it to the correct floor. Even from the skinny windows in the hallway the views are spectacular. Thousands of lights twinkle below like it’s Christmas.

The hallway turns several times before I find the door. Before I can swipe the card, I hear commotion inside. My head falls back and I blow a hard breath toward the ceiling. If this is some sort of prank, I’m setting someone on fire.

I raise my fist to knock, but the door swings inward.

And yep, there stands Grady fucking Baker.

I’m totally throwing a firecracker at Terrel’s heels the next show.

“There you are! Finally. It was the elevators, wasn’t it? Yeah, they fucked us up too. Get in here.” Grady grabs the strap of my duffel and has it off my shoulder and into the living area of the suite before I can protest.

“I’m just heading out to a party thing, just a few people who live around here, but if you want to go, I’ll wait for you,” he calls. Then he steps back into the hallway, his head tilting as he looks at me still standing in the hallway, hands planted on my hips. “Are you a vampire? Do I have to invite you in?”

“You did, actually. If ‘get in here’ counts as an invite.”

“Considering you have a key, you don’t really need an invite, now do you?” He’s too pleased with himself. And I am too exhausted and too covered in dirt not to want a fight.

But I can’t think of words, so I wave my hand at the door. “Fucking explanation?” I finally demand.

His eyebrows draw together. His gaze shifts from me to the door and back to me as he bites his bottom lip. Of course his teeth are perfect. Makes me want to bare my not exactly straight and not exactly white ones in response.

It’s all I can do to keep my lips together.

“Well, that’s a door,” he says haltingly. “And you walk through them into rooms. Or to the outside, but in this case a room.”

“Why am I walking into a penthouse suite?”

His head tilts to the other side, and even though I’m being stupid angry, it’s just cute enough to make me want to scratch behind his ears like he’s a giant puppy. Which also describes the eyes he’s giving me.

“You needed a quiet place to sleep. I asked Terrel to find you a room by yourself, but the hotel is booked. Some conventions or bridal showers or whatever. But there’s plenty of room in here, so…” He waves his hand to the room stretching out on his left, and in his suit jacket, rock and roll styled, of course, he looks like a game show attendant. If the game show was Guess How Dirty I Fuck.

But his expression is only earnest and a little confused, so I drop my hands and trudge into the room. Maybe I closed the door a little bit harder than necessary.

And maybe he’s a little too satisfied as I stop beside him and look into the room

And holy crap.

The sunken living room sprawls to a wall of windows and a deck beyond, the lights from a small pool wavering in the water and illuminated potted palms and furniture as swanky as that in the room.

“This room is on the pool deck?” It’s a dumb question, since I’m looking at it, but exhaustion. And the living room is twice the size of my entire apartment back in LA.

“Nope. The suites on this side all have their own little spa things. Heated, I think. You can jump in anytime.”

I don’t have a bathing suit in my duffel. Skinny dipping is in my wheelhouse, but not with Grady around. The last thing I need is for him to have any idea the effect he has on my nipples.

“Um, so this is nice and all, but we really shouldn’t be sharing a room. Doesn’t exactly look good.”

“One, who cares? And two, we’re not sharing a room. We’re sharing a suite. There’s two bedrooms.” He points across the living room to a sturdy set of doors. “Yours is through there.” Then he thumbs over his shoulder. “And mine is back there. They each have a bathroom too, so no chance of seeing me naked unless you ask nicely.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He puts up his hands and backs away, but his smile doesn’t fade. At all.

“So, party?” he asks. “It’ll be fun. I think. Low key.”

I look down at my dingy cargos and tank top, then at his clean, stylish outfit and raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t really pack clothes for the occasion.”

“Pfft. No one will care.”

I sigh and put my hands back on my hips. “Do you always invite the hired help to parties?”

“Only the ones who won’t get smashed and menace the furniture. We’ve taken Lass and Terrel and the techs with us before.”

Oh. Well. Sheepish, I run my hand over my hair, and it sticks to my palm.

“Maybe another time. I could use a shower. And some sleep, like you said.”

“Oh, um. Okay. Let me leave you my number in case you need anything. Order room service if you’re hungry. Everything is set to be charged to me, so it’ll probably get here pretty quick.” He walks over to a small desk, pulling his autograph marker out of his coat pocket as he does. It’s ridiculous how hot a man can look doing something that simple. My gaze catches on the marker, and I’m not sure if I should snort that he carries a marker specifically for autographs, or that I should be impressed he doesn’t have an assistant carrying it for him.

The bitchiness is high with me tonight.

“There’s a ton of hot water,” he’s saying as he walks back toward me and it snaps me back to the moment. “And those fancy soaps and stuff on the counters. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I can skip the party—”

“Oh, no. I’m good. Um…thanks.” I just need him to leave so I can think for two seconds.

I step back out of his way as he plants a foot on the floor beside me, but there isn’t far to go. He smells way better than I do, which only makes it more apparent how badly I need a good scrubbing.

“I think there’s a washer and dryer in the kitchen, so you don’t have to go to the laundromat. If that’s something you wanted to do tonight.”

I nod. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll throw this in before I pass out.”

“Okay.”

The moment stretches awkwardly and I roll back on my heels.

It starts slow, but then, as if he comes to some decision, Grady smiles and nods his head. Before I can ask, he leans in, his hair brushing my nose as he kisses my cheek. It’s a totally innocent kiss, not exactly quick but nowhere near inappropriate. Just a bit more than a hello or goodbye peck.

It still freezes the air in my lung and every fiber of my muscles, and I stare at him stupidly as he steps back and murmurs, “Sleep tight, fire woman.”

I stare at the door, closed softly behind him, until my phone beeps in my pocket. It’s Lass, asking if I’m all right.

Did you know about this? I text back.

Lass: Not until after Terrel arranged it. Is it okay? I’ll find other arrangements if it’s not.

Me: How much shit can this cause?

I walk into the kitchen while I wait for her reply. Sure enough, there’s a washer, dryer, detergent, fabric softener, stain remover, dryer sheets, an iron. Even starch and those bags for washing delicates. Way better than the laundromat. Do people even have this much in their laundries at home?

Lass: A bit. But you know what? Fuck it. Enjoy it. They’ve done things for other people who work for them too so it’s not unusual.

Me: There’s a washer and dryer in suite.

Lass: LOL You’re so cute.

Me: Gee, thanks.

Lass: Let me know if you need anything. Promise?

Me: Promise.

I sleep in my clothes on the bus, and while I have pajamas in my bag, I stuck to wearing my clothes while sharing a room with Gobber too. Mostly because I could never be sure who was going to barge in with invites for drinks or groupie sexual escapades.

No one was going to be barging in tonight. Even if they came into the suite, there’s a lock on the doors into the bedroom Grady designated as mine.

Lass seems to think it’s not a big deal, and Grady was fairly nonchalant. I chew my bottom lip for a few seconds, then decide I need a good night’s sleep more than I need to be suspicious. Even a cocky rock star can do something just to be kind every once in a while, right?

Everything in my duffel could use a good washing, so I drag it over and dump my few changes of clothes into the machine. I pull out the packing cube with the one nice dress I brought with me, just in case. It may not need washed, but a few minutes in the dryer to freshen it up won’t hurt.

The clothes I’m wearing need to go in too, but the thought of putting on the fluffy hotel robe before I’ve scrubbed the last few days of road gunk out of my pores turns up my nose. Looking out the wall of windows, I’m pretty sure no one can see in, and I checked the door to the suite was locked.

Fuck it.

I pull off my shirt and toss in the washer, then yank off my cargoes, underwear and sports bra. In go my socks as well and completely naked, I pour in the detergent and set the machine for the longest cycle possible then sprint into my room and the waiting shower.

Grady still hasn’t returned by the time my clothes are dry and my duffel itself is banging around in the dryer. The hot water and plethora of soap perked me up for a bit, but by the time I’ve filed the rips out of my nails and smothered my hands in ointment to help heal the scrapes, my lids are heavy.

So I leave him a note to say thanks and to let me know if he needs me to clear out for anything and head into bed.

The only bed in the room, the biggest bed I’ve ever been in. With tons of squishy pillows and soft sheets and I’m out before I’ve even begun to fully wallow in how great it is.

And if Grady starred in all my dreams, well, no one needed to know.

It’s my bladder that finally wakes me up. The thin streak of sunlight the drapes can’t hold back barely registers until enough brain cells start to function to remember where I am. It takes washing my hands in cold water and splashing some on my face before I’m anywhere near fully awake.

My neck cracks as I roll my head on my shoulders. There’s no noise coming from the living area as I check my phone. It’s eleven o’clock. My eyes bulge as I turn my phone off then back on to make sure I’m not dreaming.

Even on my days off, I hardly ever sleep this late. The urge to crawl back in and doze for the entire afternoon is strong, but I need something to drink first. I crack the door and peek out, just to make sure there’s nothing orgy-esque going on. It’s quiet and still, and thankfully, there’s no naked people or other party evidence laying around.

I figure Grady’s fast asleep in the other room. No reason for him to be up any time before noon, even on show days, unless they have interviews or something.

It takes me four steps into the sunken living room before I see him. Not in the other room, but asleep on one of the low couches, twisted so his back is towards me, his feet hanging over the arm on one end and his head scrunched up against the other.

And in the middle, above the dangerously low waistband of his cotton shorts, his back dimples are on full display.

It’s not that I haven’t seen them before. But that was onstage, where thousands of other people were looking at them too. The man knows how to use his body as well as his voice. No one could deny he’s a great front man, but sometimes I really wish he’d just leave his shirt on.

Not right now though. His back rises with his next breath and he squirms a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. It makes all the lean muscle in his back bunch and smooth out, and I’ve taken several steps closer before I know it.

My fingers itch to trace the shallow dents on either side of his spine. Instead, I kneel down next to the couch and put a hand on his shoulder, which should be a safe enough spot, except his skin is warm, and smooth, and there’s a smattering of freckles that for some reason makes me want to make him breakfast then tackle him to the nearest rug.

I shake him slightly, but he only grunts and tucks his chin further into the crook of his arm.

“Grady.” I shake again, a bit harder. “Grady.”

It must finally penetrate because he lifts his head and glowers at me out of one eye, then the other. Like he can’t manage to open both at once.

Then he rolls onto his back, his joints creaking as he stretches.

His abs ripple as he does and for a second I don’t mourn the loss of looking at his back.

“Morning, fire woman.” His voice is rough and full of burrs. “Sleep okay?”

“Um, yeah, I did. Thank you for making that happen.”

His smile is as sleepy as his gaze, though he has both eyes open now. At least a little.

“It doesn’t look like you slept too well though. What are you doing on the couch?” Maybe he was drunk and didn’t make it any farther, but he’d managed to change into the cotton work-out shorts. Which, now that he’d rolled over, did nothing to hide anything. So now I know just how healthy of a boy Grady is.

I clear my throat and sit back, leaning against the edge of the coffee table.

Instead of answering me, he rolls over to face me, letting his feet drop to the floor. It doesn’t look any more comfortable. “Thought about breakfast yet?”

“No. I came out for some water and then I was thinking about going back to sleep.”

He nods, scraping his fingers through his hair. He stops midway and leans forward, tilts his head, then nods again.

“What?”

“Nothing. Lass makes sure we stay someplace with a spa on a regular basis so she can do the waxing, facial, mani/pedi thing. I’d wondered if you did too, but maybe not.” His toe nudges against my leg and I look down. Nope, no waxing done here.

I shift until my legs are closer. “I was going to shave them in the shower last night, but I was too tired.”

“You don’t have to shave anything you don’t want to, Evie. But if you want to hit the spa with Lass, go ahead. Drop our name, they may give a discount.”

I wasn’t interested in having any hair anywhere pulled out with hot wax, but I could use a haircut. Mental note: text Lass later.

The light catches the copper flecks in now fully open eyes as he looks at me, a funny cant to the corner of his mouth. It’s a great mouth. He can probably do all kinds of wonderful things with it.

I shift again. I should get up, get my water, and get out of his way, but he seems in no more of a hurry than I am. His gaze flicks away from my face every few seconds, but he doesn’t leer. These boxers and tank top give a fairly decent view, now that I’m thinking about it, even though they’re nowhere near as revealing as the lingerie he’s probably used to women wearing. If they’re wearing anything at all around him.

Behind the couch, the door to the other bedroom opens with a squeak and my breath stops as my eyes go wide. Two heavy footfalls before a male voice asks, “Dude, what the fuck are you doing on the couch?”