My brother would have to fuck up badly. And he never does. Well, almost never…unless there’s a gorgeous woman involved. Unlike me, he has a bad habit of allowing his dick to distract him. Always has. That’s how he started fooling around with Britta at the office once upon a time. Too bad he’s not having a torrid fuckfest with someone high maintenance now—at least not according to my spies. A good hourglass-shaped distraction in Griff’s bed would sure help my cause.

  As the waitress sets down our drinks, the lights dim. Everyone turns to the stage at one end of the cramped sports bar. Ah, the live entertainment. After the tragic act last week, I was hoping we would miss the show.

  But then I see her.

  Crooked smile. Pink hair. Winged black liner over laughing blue eyes. Vivid red lipstick. Tacky cheetah-print dress. Tiny waist. Sleek legs. Chunky black heels that have seen better days. I don’t think I would have looked at her twice normally, but she’s got two things going for her: an obvious zest for life and a great rack.

  Griff can’t resist either.

  I turn in my chair to watch as she grabs the microphone with deft confidence. She’s comfortable on stage.

  “Aloha, Lahaina. I’m Keeley Sunshine. I’m going to sing you some of my favorite songs, and since I’m a single girl in the middle of a long drought, they’ll probably all be about sex. You can buy me drinks after the set if you’d like to change that.” She winks.

  She’s got a certain charm. Griff values that, along with a sense of humor.

  “I’d be more than happy to end her drought,” Rob whispers in my ear as the small band nods at one another.

  Keeley Sunshine—clearly not her real name—closes her eyes as the primal beat of the music rises to a quirky old tune. It’s familiar. I know I’ve heard the song but I’m having trouble placing it, until the chorus. Then, while she sways her hips to the beat, she’s belting out that she doesn’t want anybody else. She just thinks about me and touches herself.

  Oh, yeah.

  Less than thirty seconds; that’s how long it takes me to have my first boner for her. And I’m a tough customer. At thirty-three, I’m not used to adjusting my dick or embarrassing myself around a girl. That stuff happened, like, fifteen years ago.

  As she deftly transitions to the second verse, I picture her naked, pretty tits pointing at the ceiling, legs in the air. In my head, she’s got a bare pussy, which I realize may not be accurate, but that’s how she looks in fantasy. Griff likes them smooth, too—about the only thing we agree on anymore.

  When Keeley assures everyone in the room she would get down on her knees and do anything for whomever she’s singing to, she’s not looking at anyone in particular.

  She ought to be looking at me.

  But she seems lost in the song, in her passion for the music. She’s got a surprisingly smooth voice with just a hint of rasp. Another check in her plus column.

  As the song winds toward the end, her oohs and aahs grow breathier and louder, higher-pitched. Shit, she’s having a choral orgasm center stage. And yeah, I squirm, fighting the urge to pry my hard dick off the teeth of my zipper. I can’t help it. I’m a guy, and Keeley Sunshine drips sex.

  The old Divinyls classic ends to hearty applause. I have to agree that this vixen is a musical savant compared to last week’s squeaky screen door on repeat. At a tap of Keeley’s toe—I notice her nail polish is black—the band begins the next tune.

  Old jazz, the kind you drink to, so easy it makes you smile. But they’ve modernized it with guitars and drums. Still, I know this tune well because my granddad loved it. Eddie Cantor’s 1929 classic “Makin’ Whoopee.” But she sings it like Rachel MacFarlane, smooth and vampy.

  I gotta admit, I’m mesmerized. I can’t stop watching her mouth. Her lips are bee-stung and would look great wrapped around a cock. Mine, for instance.

  When the jazz standard ends to even more enthusiastic applause, Keeley picks another decades-old tune. I suspect she’s got an old soul. It fits her slightly retro vibe.

  After a sexy, rhythmic intro, she drags in a deep breath, nearly kissing the mic, and uses her breathy voice to say that she put a spell on me because I’m hers. Right now, I can’t argue, especially when her words sparkle brighter than glitter.

  Listening to her, I get chills.

  Britta leans closer, lips near my ear. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

  I shoot her a quelling glance, but she’s right. Under normal circumstances, I’d wait for Keeley Sunshine’s set to end, buy her a strong drink, and sweet-talk my way into her panties for the night. But right now the needs of my business outweigh the needs of my dick.

  If Griff could see this woman, especially if I cleaned her up a bit, he’d be all over her. In fact, that’s a great idea. I need to figure out how to hook the two of them up—fast—so he stops thinking about the Stowe estate with all those beachfront views.

  Still, I can’t suggest that to Britta without upsetting her.

  “Blow me,” I murmur instead.

  Britta scoffs. “No, thanks. You’re an asshole.”

  “I am.” That’s something I’m proud of. Best way to get ahead in business.

  “It runs in the Reed family.”

  She’s right. My old man is an impeccable textbook example of a puckered anus, too. From him, I learned well. Vaguely, I wonder which pretty young thing he’s banging in his office while my mom buries her head in some all-talk/no-action ladies’ function, but they’ve moved to San Diego. It’s no longer my problem. I’m only irritated they took my younger sister but didn’t persuade Griff to shove off with them. He’s a total sphincter.

  Keeley hits and holds a growly high note that demands my attention. Her voice sneaks behind my fly and wraps around my cock. Her puffy lips are mobile and soft. Her dress exaggerates the womanly curve of her hips, which she swings as she roars out the last note.

  I might have thought I wouldn’t look at her twice, but that’s bullshit. I could definitely listen to her for hours. And I think I could do her all night long.

  As her final note trails off, the applause is even louder, like the audience has realized she’s pretty damn amazing.

  She blushes as she laughs off our reaction. Her smile quickly proves to be the most beautiful thing about her. White, blinding, real. She’s enjoying the crowd and yet seems almost surprised by their enthusiasm.

  With a swing of her long pink hair, her curls catch the light, then fall gracefully over her shoulders. She shrugs at her guitar player, an old man who looks impressed.

  “This will be our last song for the set. If you have requests, write them down and leave them in the jar.” She points to the clear vessel at her feet. “We’ll be back to play in thirty. If you have a dirty proposition, I’ll entertain them at the bar in five.” She says the words like she’s kidding.

  I, however, am serious. In fact, I’m really pondering this whole situation.

  Keeley starts her next song, a more recent pop tune. In a breathy, a cappella murmur she admits that she can’t keep her hands to herself no matter how hard she’s trying to.

  Personally, I’d rather she didn’t try at all.

  She taps her thigh in a rhythm only she can hear until the band joins during the crescendo to the chorus. Keeley bounces her way through the lyrics with a flirty smile. It’s both alluring and fun, a tease of a song.

  Though I rarely smile, I find myself grinning along.

  As she finishes, I glance around. There’s more than one hungry dog with a bone in this damn bar.

  I didn’t get ahead in business or life by being polite or waiting my turn. She hasn’t even wrapped her vocal cords around the last note, but I’m on my feet and charging across the room.

  I’m the first one to reach the corner of the bar closest to the stage. I prop my elbow on the slightly sticky wood to claim my territory, then glare back at the three other men who think they should end Keeley’s supposed sex drought. They are not watering her garden, and my snarl makes that clear.

  One sees my face, stops in his tracks, and immediately backs off. Smart man.

  Number Two looks like a smarmy car salesman. He rakes Keeley up and down with his gaze like she’s a slab of beef, but she’s flirting my way as she tucks her mic on its stand. Our eyes meet. I smile back.

  She may not be my usual type, but the attraction is real. Man, I’d love to hit that.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the approaching dirtbag finger his porn ’stache. To stake my claim, I reach out to help Keeley off the stage. She looks pleasantly surprised by my gesture as she wraps her fingers around mine.

  I can be a gentleman…when it suits me.

  Fuck, she’s warm and velvety, and her touch makes my cock jolt. Her second would-be one-night stand curses, then slinks back to his seat.

  That leaves me to fend off Number Three. He looks like a WWE reject—hulking and hit in the face too many times. If she prefers brawn over brains, I’ll have to find another D-cup distraction for Griff.

  That would truly suck. My gut tells me that Keeley, with a little sprucing up, will be perfect for the job.

  “Get lost,” I mutter to the steroid junkie.

  “You gonna make me?” he challenges, all but baring his teeth.

  “No,” Keeley murmurs, her voice husky and assured. “I’m going to tell you I’ve found someone else I’d like to get to know and ask you nicely to leave us in peace.”

  “Baby, if you want to end your drought”—he cups his junk—“I’ve got nine inches of what you need.”

  She raises an auburn brow at him. “First, no means no, and if you haven’t learned that, I don’t want anything to do with you. Second, it sounds like you’ve measured your penis. That kind of guy usually exaggerates, so reality is probably more like five inches. Maybe five and a quarter if I’m being generous. Either way—”

  “That’s not fucking true. My cock is massive.” He sidles closer. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

  She brushes his hands away and grips the hell out of his balls. His eyes bug out, but she keeps talking with an almost pleasant smile. “I have no interest in seeing it when you’re too rude to know that you shouldn’t interrupt someone, much less how to bow out gracefully. Also, I’m a grown-ass woman. Don’t call me baby.”

  “Okay,” Hulk squeaks.

  I manage not to laugh aloud—barely. He’s a foot taller and outweighs her by a hundred pounds, but she’s got his full attention.

  “Now turn your ass around and find your seat.”

  She pries her fingers off his nuts but leaves them hovering right there in case he decides to get another case of the stalker-creepies. But Hulk Moron finally rubs two brain cells together and backs away, cupping his junk. He’s either too cautious or too sore to turn his back on her. When he reaches his table, his buddies are all ribbing him as they rise and laugh their way out the door.

  “I’m not sure whether I should be afraid or impressed,” I flirt her way. “If you treat all new guys to that patented ball-busting maneuver, your drought isn’t really the surprise I imagined when you first mentioned it.”

  Keeley shakes her head, grinning wide. “I know his type. I grew up in a rough neighborhood with macho guys like him. They only understand a few things. Potentially being a eunuch is one of them.” She thrusts out her hand. “Keeley.”

  “Maxon.” I shake her hand, more as an excuse to touch her again. There’s still an electric arc between us. A jolt. My blood turns hot. This girl has something. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. Crown and Coke.” She rubs her hands together nervously.

  Nice that I get to her. I shouldn’t be the only one trying to keep my cool intact.

  As I watch her, I spot a tattoo of a musical note on the inside of her wrist. Small and pretty. Feminine but interesting. Does she have more ink? It’s not something I usually like on a woman—mostly because I’m not into anything permanent—but this seems to fit Keeley.

  “Is that okay?” she asks.

  Damn it, my thoughts have been drifting. “Absolutely. I was mentally exploring the ways I might suggest we end your ‘drought.’ Want to hear my ideas?”

  “Not before booze and my next set. After that, if you’re still here and interesting…then I just might.”

  I like the way she banters. And meets my gaze. So many women do that shy, coy thing. I’m not into feeling as if I intimidate lovers. Rivals? Oh, yeah. All day. That shit’s fantastic. Not so much with bedmates. But Keeley meets my stare head on—no flinching—still wearing that hint of a smile that’s getting to me.

  “I’ll be here. I’ll make sure you still think I’m interesting. And I won’t call you baby.” I turn and motion to the bartender, who starts pouring Keeley’s Crown and Coke, along with my dirty Grey Goose martini.

  “So you’re a smart man, then?”

  “I try to be.”

  “You dress well,” she observes as she rakes me up and down.

  “You dress like a woman who doesn’t mind attention.” My stare caresses every one of her curves.

  No discounting or discarding the truth. I want her.

  It’s pretty fucking inconvenient when I need her to distract my brother more…but I’m flexible. Maybe there’s a way for everyone in this picture to be happy—except Griff.

  “I figured if I was finally going to go on stage, I should wear something eye-catching. Good to know I succeeded.” The bartender sets our drinks in front of us, and she takes a swig.

  Damn, that mouth. Those plush, red lips.

  “What do you mean, finally? You’ve never performed in public?”

  “Not really.” She smiles and shrugs, her expression saying she may have jumped off the deep end for the hell of it. “I’ve done a lot of karaoke, which I love. People have said I have a good voice. So I thought…why not try it for real? If people boo me off the stage, then I’ll know all my friends are full of it. And then I’ll plot revenge, of course.”

  “Of course,” I rush to agree. “But there’s no way you would be booed. You’re pretty incredible.”

  “My one practice with the band a few hours ago paid off. Yeah!” She giggles.

  I can’t help but laugh in kind as I stare at her, cold drink in hand. I can usually figure out the perfect way to proposition a woman. I’m good with charm. But Keeley is different, I think. She’s not going to fall for the usual you’re-pretty/your-eyes-sparkle BS. But she’s easy to talk to, and if my goal was merely to pick her up, I’m sure I could think of something that would persuade her to get naked and horizontal.

  Instead, I’m wondering…would it be really awful if I slept with her before I introduced her to my brother? That sounds skeevy, I know. But I’m totally able to separate business from pleasure. Besides, if we have a one-night stand, we’ll inevitably part ways in the morning. What’s the harm in seeing if we can scratch each other’s backs in a different way after the sheets cool?

  Actually, the worry nagging at the back of my brain is that she seems so genuine, asking her to deceive and derail my brother will be counter to her nature and earn me one of those unpleasant ball strangulations that might alter my ability to father kids. Hopefully, once I spend some time with her and understand her a bit better, I’ll find the words to tell her what I want without totally pissing her off.

  “You’re really great,” I compliment her. “Seriously.”

  “Thanks. Can you sing?”

  “Not a note,” I assure her.

  “Wow, you didn’t hesitate an instant before you answered.”

  “I know my shortcomings. I mean, I don’t have many,” I assure with a wink. “But that one is too obvious to overlook.”

  “So you’re tone deaf but otherwise perfect. And obviously humble, too.” She raises an auburn brow at me.

  “No. In my business, being humble doesn’t pay.”

  The little furrow between her sparkly, purple-shadowed eyes snags my gaze. “You’re a doctor?”

  “Real estate agent. Number one on Maui.”

  “So if I scraped some money together and wanted to buy a condo, you’re the guy I should call?”

  “I could help you find the right agent. I deal exclusively in luxury properties. Normally, I don’t touch a place under four million. Time is money, and unless you treat the first as if it’s in short supply, the second will be, too.”

  She gives me an assessing gaze as she sips more of her drink. “Interesting philosophy. I never thought about it like that.”

  “So what do you do? If you’re not making a living from your voice—and I think you can—what’s your occupation?”

  “I don’t really have one, per se. I have a couple of odd jobs. I waitress a couple days a week at one of the swanky hotels in Wailea. I spend about ten hours a week doing admin work for a psychotherapist down the street. On weekends, I teach some group exercise classes to seniors and help a zip-line crew with big groups.” She shrugs. “Whatever helps me pay tuition and makes ends meet. Right now, I don’t take anything too seriously.”

  Not taking something seriously is foreign to me. I’ve always attacked life. Business, workouts, even trivia games. I’ve been programed to require winning and given the disposition to do whatever necessary to make it happen. Though I don’t understand Keeley’s attitude, I don’t think I’d change it. She’s made me smile a lot in the last five minutes, probably more than I have all week. That’s her laid-back charm.

  Griff will love it, too. I try not to think about that just now.

  “You’re still in college?”

  “Yep. At twenty-five, I sometimes feel like the grandma of the classroom, but I prefer doing school in the mornings after yoga, when I’m fresh. Night school is for bitter workaholics.”

  I smile. “You mean like me?”

  She cringes. “You went to night school? Sorry…”

  I shrug. “No offense taken.”

  “You’re driven, aren’t you? You probably finished your degree in four years.”