Sherry Robicheaux loves men. She loves love. And she loves an adventure. So when she meets a mysterious man while working backstage at a country music concert in Vegas, she’s all about what’s happened in Vegas staying there.
Country music superstar Tyler Blue just wants a weekend of anonymity…though there’s something about the spunky waitress with the streaks of purple hair that tempts him like no other. Until the next morning, when they both wake up with fuzzy memories…and rings on their fingers.
Convincing Sherry to maintain the ruse for his public image isn’t the hardest part—it’s reminding himself that their time spent playing husband and wife in her small town of Magnolia Springs can’t last. Tyler’s first love will always be music—and the road is no place for a sweet down-home girl
From opposite the long table of food, the brunette gave him a blatant once over as he came to a stop in front of her, twirling a strand of purple hair around her fingertip. When she reached his lucky belt buckle, her sinful lips twitched.
“If the words, ‘Come here often,’ leave your mouth, I swear I’ll laugh you straight back to roadie-ville.” Her words were harsh, but the smile that sprang free was playful, and Tyler found himself mesmerized by the familiar twang of her southern voice.
So much so that he’d almost missed what she said.
“Sorry, do you prefer techie?” Her cute nose wrinkled as she stuck her hands in her back jeans pocket. “I heard someone else say that earlier, but I swear that sounds like a computer nerd.” She looked him up and down again, this time her gaze lingering around his hips. Slightly south of the belt buckle. Hot damn. “I think roadie fits you better. Sounds sexier.”
Tyler scratched the side of his jaw. Was she messing with him? He’d heard a hell of a lot of come-ons since making it to Nashville and had been propositioned in every way possible. But this was a first. The woman stared back, smiling that damn seductive smile, and he realized she honestly had no clue who he was. For some reason, he was in no hurry to correct that just yet.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone anywhere without being recognized, much less his own concert. But since the room was swarming with crew, Tyler could understand the confusion…if she weren’t a hardcore fan, and clearly, this woman wasn’t. Tyler swiped a hand over his mouth, hiding a smile.
“Sugar, you can call me anything you like,” he drawled, laying it on thick even to his own ears. Her pretty lips parted, and he grinned. “And what can I call you?”
Her smile twisted into a smirk. “Who said you could call me at all?”
He laughed, shocked again, and for the first time in a long time, speechless.
She winked. “I’m Sherry.” When she said her name, she looked right into his eyes as if he should remember it, and he had no doubt that he would. The confidence pouring off her was sexy as hell. “And…you are?”
“Tyler,” he replied, glad she’d gone with just her first name so he could do the same. The rest of the world simply referred to Tyler as Blue, the front man for the band bearing his last name. Even so, he stood back and waited for a sign of recognition.
It never came.
When it became obvious she really had no clue who he was, nor would she guess any time soon, Tyler felt a knot of tension release between his shoulder blades.
“So, Sherry, you planning to watch tonight’s show?”
She pulled a face. “I’m not much for country, other than the line dances. All those songs about trucks and trains and whiskey and dogs, though that last one I can forgive.” Her smile softened and Tyler moved closer, wanting to be nearer the genuine warmth of it. “No offense to your boss or anything,” she added with a slight grimace. “I heard he’s pretty hot…even if he is the man-whore of country music.”
A shocked laugh burst from his lips. “Excuse me?”
She waved her comment away, as if she hadn’t just insulted him to his face—which, he guessed, she hadn’t really. At least not on purpose. “Just a theory I have. I’m sure he’s a perfectly adequate boss.”
Now, Tyler laughed for real. “Yeah, he’s…adequate.” Shaking his head, he propped his hip on the table. This was the most fun he’d had with a woman in months—and they both still had their clothes on.
Award-winning and Bestselling author Rachel Harris writes humorous love stories about sassy girls next door and the hot guys that make them swoon. Emotion, vibrant settings, and strong relationships are a staple in each of her books...and kissing. Lots of kissing.
An admitted Diet Mountain Dew addict and homeschool mom, she gets through each day by laughing at herself, hugging her kids, and watching way too much Food Network with her husband. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romance, and LOVES talking with readers.
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