I hate rockstars. All of them. But there’s one in particular…

Drax is cocky, brash and one pitchfork away from being the devil himself. But he’s also the sexiest jerkwad I’ve ever met. Worse than that, he seems to crave my curves just as much as I long for his rock-hard, tattoo-covered body.

What am I supposed to do, just ignore those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes? Or how all my bits and pieces tighten whenever he’s near? Or the way his voice gets all husky when he calls me Lola?

Yeah, right.

That’s how I ended up on a tour bus headed for Vegas as the band’s new manager. But it’s only temporary, much like what’s going on between Drax and me. I just wish he’d got the memo. Oh sure, he’s putting on a good show that this is more than a fling, but I know he’s just like every other bad boy, heavy metal musician.

Want to know the worst part? I don’t like heavy metal or bad boys.

Maybe I’ll lie to myself a little longer.