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“The kids love him.” She was looking around the bus, the leather seats, the bar, the big-screen TV. “Well, I should get back. I appreciate your using your celebrity to help us.”

“It’s a good cause.”

Sam tugged down the shirt and self-consciously crossed her arms, covering up the “Lukas Live.” With the way she made him feel, maybe it should say “Lukas Alive.”

“What was it like after you left here?” she asked, studying a few posters up on the walls from events his band had played.

He leaned against a tabletop and crossed his arms. Her gaze traveled up his arm, checking out his sleeve tattoo. He put the left arm over the right so she couldn’t see it too closely. “Lonely, especially at first. I took any gig I could find. Slept anywhere. I played backup for any band that would have me, any gig I could get. Made friends, connections. Worked my way up.”

“You always were a hard worker.”

He quirked up his mouth in an ironic smile. “That’s one thing I can thank my old man for. I promised myself from an early age to do whatever it took not to be like him.”

Suddenly she reached out and grasped his right arm, catching him by surprise. She examined the elaborate scrolls of artwork, the musical notes inked so intricately there. He let her flip his arm so she could see the underside and trace the pattern near his wrist. Her touch was butterfly-light, and invoked a wave of warmth that spread from his arm to someplace deep in his belly.

“Oh, Lukas,” she said. Her brilliant green eyes were full of pity.

“Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“You did it to cover up the scars.”

Her touch was too gentle to make him wince, but he did anyway. “I didn’t want to spend every day of my life reminded of how I got those cigarette burns, and I didn’t want anyone else to either. Problem solved.”

Lukas withdrew his arm from her touch and stepped across the narrow aisle. He stood very close, so close he could make out the vibrant green of her eyes, the soft sheen of her silky thick hair. Reflexively, she stepped back.

He advanced another step forward.

She was backed up against the banquette now, her arms holding on to the tabletop. He picked up a random curl. Twirled it slowly between his fingers. She simply stared at him.

“Like I said, don’t waste your time feeling sorry for me. You may think I’m nice but I’m not.” He dropped the curl and stared at her. “I’m a wolf. I’m not going to pretend I have nice intentions toward you. Assuming youarewearing the hot pink panties that match the bra, ifthat guywasn’t in the picture, I’d have them off you in the next heartbeat, and you’d be on that bed back there writhing and crying out my name. You’ve been warned.”

She gasped. He’d been audacious. Crazy bold. And entirely socially unacceptable. But he had no regrets.

He reached over and pulled a ball cap off a shelf above her and tugged it onto her head. “Don’t get sunburnt,” he said as he walked past her toward the door, lightly grazing her shoulder on purpose. The fact that he shouldn’t want her was irrelevant now. He did, and this time, he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in his way.