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slid off the bar stool with catlike agility and stood in front of him, an angry kitten ready to unsheathe her claws, and the temptation to thwart her was irresistible.
    “I don’t trust you to get yourself to bed at a reasonable time. Tomorrow, training starts at six a.m. Say farewell to your friends, it’s time to go.”
    “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she spat in a fierce whisper, her rebellious green eyes spewing sparks.
    “Then you’ll be in default of said agreement. I promise, I’ll take you and Orion to court, and I’ll win. These clauses are very specific, and the courts in Nashville are well-versed in relevant case law. I’ve already provided Tyler with the initial payment and he cashed the check. Family emergency,” he snorted, “I think not. I imagine he’s off on some hiatus tonight, having the time of his meager life.”
    “I don’t believe you,” she snapped.
    He removed the fully-executed contract from his pocket that Baxter had the agent sign, and handed it over to her. “Standard. Unbreakable once the check has been cashed.”
    She took the contract, reading downward, and then flipped to the next page. “Mother Mary,” she murmured.
    These types of bands were usually a dime a dozen. Not Alana St. James. She had moxie, and by the time he finished with her, she’d be a headlining act. The band was inconsequential. Whoever she decided to employ, they’d be the background. He studied her, fascinated by her spirit. The high-octane energy pouring from her invigorated him. The hairs over his body reacted as though an electric current was on the loose. Her intensity charmed audiences and dazzled fans. It wasn’t often he got this roiling sensation deep in his bones.
    Alana provoked something in him. Something he wanted to explore again and again while she screamed his name. It had been a long time since he became this aroused by talking with a woman. But this wasn’t exactly talking. Christ, it was more like sparring.  
    Biting her luscious bottom lip, she lifted her eyes to him and handed the contract back. “How long have you been trolling Orion? Here. Take it.”
    “Do you have any questions?” he asked. Judging from the look on her face, she had about a hundred questions, and a few choice comments that commenced with, ‘ Fuck you .’ A chuckle brewed in his chest, but he wisely withheld displaying unsportsmanlike conduct at having won this hand. “It’s either you come with me, or I put a collective injunction on your band’s ability to perform in this town.”
    “What would that do? You can’t just snap your fingers and shut us down.”
    “And who do you think the venues, radio stations, and record companies will listen to when it’s on the wire that you’ve defaulted on an executed contract? You, or Lansing Records?”
    Christy tugged on Alana’s slender arm. Alana was such a feisty kitten with her fresh mouth. He had no illusions, she was every bit a handful. He nodded in approval when the woman—what was her name? Christy—spoke . “Mr. Lansing, give us a girl-moment.”
    “You’ve two minutes. I trust you can make things clear.”
    “I’ll try. No promises.” Christy started to pull Alana across the floor, but not before his client gave him a look that was meant to fillet his manhood.
    He inhaled, observing that the bottle of champagne he’d sent over hadn’t been touched. He leaned against the bar, careful to refrain from openly staring at the perfect rear-end of his next client sauntering away.
    Bollocks. He picked up his glass and sipped the Scotch, relishing every second of her long-legged journey. Her lean thighs were a tease of flesh between that slip of shiny gold material and a pair of sexy boots.
    “Jon, for the love of everything holy.” He turned, catching sight of Carter, his neighbor from Music Row. The man headed a small production company with cash to burn. He shook his head, stifling the urge to tell Carter to back off as he’d