"What do you think?"

"Oooh," Papi squeals, clapping his hands frantically before realizing he's wasting a golden opportunity and wraps them around the bulging muscle.

I have to hand it to Drax, he's is a good sport. Not a lot of straight guys, especially hard-core metal-heads, would be comfortable with a gay man fondling their body, but Drax is grinning. Whatever. He may be a good sport but he's still a jerk.

"Luis, stop manhandling that poor boy," Dad says, handing Drax a bottle of water. "Drax, is it? That can't be your real name."

The rocker nods while downing the entire bottle in one tip of the head. I can't help but watch the way his Adam's apple bobs with each chug, the dark stubble peppering his neck rippling in a most inviting manner.

"Draymond Maxwell," he finally answers.

"Draymond, I'm Malcolm Raines, co-owner of Raines Records. You've already met my husband and business partner, Luis Gonzales-Raines. And of course you know our beautiful and talented daughter Lauren Raines."

Drax's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he turns to me. Once again, that icy hot gaze nearly stops me in my tracks. "You're not with Harry Stephens Productions?"

"No...I mean, yes...I mean..." Dammit! I'm all twisted up and mixed around, or something like that. Taking a deep breath, I try again.

"Harry sent me."

No need to mention that my cantankerous boss had no choice but to send me. His company normally has two concert promoters on staff, including Harry but most definitely not including me. They're the ones who usually handle stuff like this. I'm just an assistant, for criminy sakes.

But Michelle Ophus, Harry's other promoter, got headhunted by a big-name promoter and quit without notice last week. Drax was her client and Harry was busy with a big evangelical production running tonight, at the same time as Drax's concert but across the bay. So he sent me, and with such encouraging words, I might add.

"Fuck this up and you're fired," he said as I walked out of the office this morning. No pressure, right?

Jerkwad. But if I do well with this, that jerkwad might take me on as a full-time promoter, so I'm determined to make everything go perfectly.

Dad clears his throat and I realize I'm staring at Drax, who is wearing the most irritating, knowing grin. Oh God! My skin flushes and I scurry behind the curtain we set up to hide boxes of head shots and other junk necessary for a signing like this. Like a coat rack for the heavy leather jacket he tossed at me.

Thank goodness I was raised in this store, and know exactly what goes into a signing or I might have forgotten something. I hate forgetting things. I also breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Michelle was able to totally organize tonight's concert before quitting. All I have to do is get Drax to the venue. Easy, right?

I cut open a box of the head shots Drax will be signing and pull one out. I've never seen one quite like it. It's a black-and-white photo of his face, very tightly cropped. The edges are almost black, fading toward his amazing eyes, which are the only spot of color in the photo. The same icy blue that paralyzed me is staring back at me, and I'll be damned if I don't go all fluttery inside.

"Want me to sign that for you?" His voice is deep and rumbling, like a big truck rolling by outside...or an earthquake, which seem appropriate considering how shaken I am already. I spin around, startled, my hands accidentally crumpling the photo in a tight grip.

There's only a few feet of room back here but it seems to take him a year to walk the three steps required to reach me. He stops inches away. I can still smell the heady aroma of leather but now something more earthy is added. It's almost buttery but there's a kick of spice to it. It's all I can do to stop myself from closing my eyes and sucking in a deep breath of his scent.

"Here."

His voice is a hot whisper of air across my skin as he slips the photo from my frozen fingers. I don't dare look up at him. If I do, I'll drown in those eyes. But they're almost calling out to me. The temptation is irresistible.

My gaze travels up the cotton-covered ridges and valleys of his chest, over the taut sinew of his neck and hard edge of his jaw, where a muscle is spasming, until it meets his. He's looking at me like I'm his next meal, and so help me, I wish I was. Jerk or not, I'd let this man, this beast, devour me whole, right here behind that flimsy black curtain in the middle of my dads' store.

If only he'd ask...

"Lola-mami, da peoples es getting restless, querida. You should--"

Papi's high nasal voice breaks off as he pokes his head behind the curtain and sees...well, I have no idea what he sees, honestly. And I don't want to know. But his megawatt grin gives me a pretty good idea.

The spell is broken and I take a step back from Drax, almost tripping over a stray box of headshots. I clear my throat and smooth my already smooth dress. Drax watches my every move like a predator tracking his prey, but I force my gaze away from his. It's like a tractor beam or something. If I avoid looking directly into his eyes, maybe I'll survive this.

He snatches up a silver Sharpie and uses his thigh as a surface on which to smooth the photo enough to sign.

"Here," he says, giving me a panty-dampening smile.

I blindly take the signed photo he's holding out and wonder what just happened. I don't even know this guy, and I like him even less, yet he has some strange power over me. No man has ever affected me like this and I'm not sure I like it one tiny bit. I feel so out of control, and I hate being out of control.

I can feel my cheeks glowing as bright as Rudolph's nose and Papi's silly grin isn't helping matters any. Drax has turned to his jacket and is fumbling around in a pocket, so I drop his photo onto a chair and hurry out to the signing table with a big stack of photos and silver pens.

Clearly, I'm going to have to keep my distance from him. He has some kind of weird primal magnetism that leaves me as weak as a kitten. I have no desire to bring the kind of drama that follows a man like him into my life. And if Harry ever got wind that I was canoodling with a client, my fledgling career as a concert promoter would be over before it even begins.

Besides, why would a guy like Drax want a girl like me? Don't get me wrong, I'm cute as hell, especially today. But let's get real for a second. You never see 'curvy and cute' dangling off the arm of a 'hotter than Hades' rockstar. Doesn't happen. It'd be like trying to breed a fluffy little bunny with a man-eating tiger.

Nope, I'll just have to be satisfied with knowing that, for however brief a moment, Draymond 'Drax' Maxwell thought I was yummy.

The signing has flown by. The fifty fans who'd lined up early were joined by another couple hundred by the end of the two hours. I plopped countless piles of head shots on the signing table, always careful not to look into Drax's Photoshopped, two-dimensional eyes. Or his three-dimensional ones, either, for that matter.

It's well past when the signing should have been over but Drax is still cheerfully signing for the stragglers that keep popping in -- well, as cheerfully as a heavy metal singer can be between the hours of ten and noon. The shop is bustling as people browse Raines Records's eclectic selection, and Dad's old-fashioned cash register never stops ringing up sales. This will be a good day for my dads, and that makes it all worth while.

I have to say, I was really impressed watching Drax work the crowd. He was equal parts attentive and rude to every dreary demon-lover who approached the table, and they gobbled it up like candy.