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Chapter One
Cara
Life is like a San Francisco street. It’s often a climb, mostly winding, and sometimes it pitches you forward and straight down.
Cara Blomquist was pretty sure she had street anxiety, if that was a thing. And when the streets dove, they took her stomach with them. It felt exactly like she was on a roller coaster after it dropped.
She and her friends were late, so it didn’t help that the driver was hotfooting it down roads that looked like they were heading straight into the center of the earth.
Cara tagged along with Tommy and Marissa Berry because she was heartbroken, having recently been ditched by her first real boyfriend. She bounced around the back of her friends’ clunker, praying they didn’t wreck on the mountainous streets. Or worse that she didn’t toss her cookies in the backseat.
Even though she didn’t feel like being there, she’d dressed for the occasion. Nice dress, thigh-high stockings and a pair of heels she wished she’d practiced walking in.
Careening down Filbert Street—the steepest street in San Francisco—proved Tom’s shortcut turned out to be the long way. The car caught air and landed with a thunk before it finally leveled out.
They were heading to an area of town called the Tenderloin, to the Great American Music Hall on O’Farrell Street to be a private audience to the best of the Bay Area musicians as they jammed.
Tommy and Marissa were musicians who had connections to the who’s who of the music scene. With their spiked black and bright red hair and grunge clothes, they looked the part.
Cara was just interested in getting out of the house. She needed the distraction of friends, nice clothes, and spending time away from San Jose.
Tommy swerved the car into an alley to the back side of a building, next to a dumpster where a dark brooding figure stood with his muscled arms folded across his powerful chest. He didn’t have the black hair with tips frozen in the air with colored wax. He looked “normal”, but he had the signature scowl that qualified him as a rock-and-roll musician.
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
Of all the sights in San Francisco that Cara caught from the backseat, this guy was by far the most interesting.
“Sorry man,” said Tommy. “Got turned around.”
Cara added, “Plus, Tommy is always late.”
At the sound of her voice, Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous leaned into the window and stared at her, like a predator sizing up its prey. His face was dark and haunting. Brooding eyes, a jaw carved from stone, a nose that would make the gods weep. He made her throat go dry. She feared him and wanted him at the same time. He stared at her while he talked to Tommy.
“I warmed up already,” said the guy. “No worries.”
She wondered if she should know who he was? He had a famous look that went with his I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, but she couldn’t be certain since she wasn’t really up on the music scene. Cara was just happy to tag along. She waited quietly before trying to get out of the back of the two-door car.
Her friends exited, heading to the popped trunk to haul cases from it to the door. It slammed shut. Marissa, Tommy and whoever he was headed towards the back of the building, leaving the car doors wide open and forgetting all about her.
Cara stuck her legs out one at a time wedging them between the doorframe and the flopped forward seat, hoping she didn’t snag or run her smoky grey stockings. She’d splurged on them for this event.
She clutched Marissa’s seat and the side of the door. She heaved forward and fell back. Forward and back. It was harder to exit than she expected.
She considered removing her heels which were a good four inches high, but no way was she going to risk the stockings. They were too sweet and too damn expensive.
If they had already forgotten about her and locked the door, she had high confidence she’d be able to charm a door man and the lacy thigh-high part might come in handy.
Because she was out in the alley by herself, she didn’t care if her obscenely short dress, rode up past her hips. The stockings were sheer and stopped mid-thigh and she had on a matching lace thong. No one around to see—although there was the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke which reminded her of Mr. Dark and Desirable.
She shimmied forward, and once able to put weight on her feet, she twisted around and backed out ass first, bracing herself so that she could stand.
“Criminy,” she cursed.
She locked the door, turned around and startled. There in front, having appeared out of nowhere, was the guy.
“Wow,” she said because he just stood there mutely.
He nodded. Both of them were studying one another. He had longish, side-swe
pt hair that cut across piercing blue eyes. In her ridiculous high-heeled shoes, they were practically the same height. That meant, that minus four inches, he was close to six feet tall. His muscles were obvious, tattoo-free arms bulged from the sleeves of his tattered black T-shirt. It was odd to her that a fit person would smoke. That a rocker wouldn’t have ink.
“Weren’t you the guy complaining about being late?” She pointed to the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there?” she asked defensively.
“Why?” he countered coolly, his dark eyes sweeping the length of her. “The better show is out here.”
He lit a cigarette. Ordinarily she didn’t like the habit. But the image of him cupping a cigarette to light it, with a backsplash of alley brick while the security light spilled on them, was undeniably sexy.
Someone else stepped out into the alley. He looked like a rock peacock dressed in black with a splash of blue. He strutted like one as he approached Cara.
“Well, what have we got here?” he practically sang as he checked her out. “Don’t you look adorable. Is she dessert?”
“Hey, Jay,” the handsome guy grumbled. “Lay off. She’s just here to see the show.”
“Aren’t they all?” asked the peacock. “Does that outfit come with knee socks or knee pads?”
“Jay…” warned the guy.
“Who are you with, sweet thing?” asked Jay.
“She’s here with Tommy and Marissa,” the guy said.
Jay snorted, “Does Tommy know he’s left his cupcake outside with the big bad wolf?”
Jay turned toward her. “You know who you’re smoking with, don’t you?”
“I’m not smoking,” Cara countered.
“Don’t blame you. It’s a filthy habit,” said Jay. “But sometimes those are the best kind.” He looked toward the guy. “This is David Hansen, Original David, not to be confused with that other drumming David of the Pacific Northwest.”
“You’re a drummer?” she asked.
She didn’t think it was a bad question, but Jay howled.
“She doesn’t even know who you are.” He laughed.
David clutched Jay’s neck. His hand struck with viper swiftness. The muscles in his arms flexed and rolled why Jay struggled for breath.
