Caitlyn hadn’t noticed until Owen mentioned it, but coming through the wall was some sound between grunting and yowling. She’d had almost forgotten where she was, why she’d come here, and that Owen was just some pick-up at a sex club.

“Oh yeah, little pu**y cat,” their wall-mate hollered, “reach under there and scratch my balls.”

Caitlyn giggled.

“That’s it, pu**y cat.” The words penetrated the wall. “Now meow for me.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hear the woman’s meows, but the man’s sudden and startling barks sent her into hysterics. She laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and her belly ached.

“Okay, yeah,” Caitlyn said, forcing her body from the bed. “Let’s get out of here. Find some place for me to make you a sandwich.”

“I don’t really want you to make me a sandwich, Caitlyn.”

She grinned. “I know that. I can tell when you’re teasing.”

“And you were teasing me back?”

She nodded. Owen drew her into his arms and held her close. She smiled against his shoulder.

“Can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” she assured him.

“Well, here, no, but in a restaurant? I might embarrass you.”

“We could get room service in a hotel,” she said. “Then you can put your hands anywhere you like.”

“I sort of want everyone to see that you’re with me,” he said.

She crinkled her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because you’re a smokin’ hot babe and I get off on the ego trip.”

She stepped back, one step and then two. What? He’d taken his constant stream of compliments one step too far. No man said things like that unless… Caitlyn scowled and leveled him with her best glare of doom. “Okay, how much did Jenna pay you to make me feel like a million bucks?”

“Pay me?”

“You’re a male escort, aren’t you?” No wonder he was so good in bed. Women paid him to be good in bed. She slapped him in the chest with both hands, pretending not to notice his look of astonishment. “I should have realized it sooner. You’re really smooth, Owen Mitchell, if that’s even your real name.”

She expected him to either admit he was paid to entertain women or indignantly deny it. She never expected him to cover his initial astonishment, real or put-on, with a hearty laugh.

“Do you think I could actually make money doing this?” he asked, pausing to catch his breath. “You know, in case the rock star thing doesn’t work out for me.”

“What?” Caitlyn stared up at him with her mouth agape. “You’re not a rock star. You liar. Everything you’ve said to me has been a lie, hasn’t it?”

The teasing light died from his eyes. “Caitlyn, I’ll allow you to insinuate that I’m a male prostitute. I’m even okay with you struggling to believe I’m part of a famous rock band, but you don’t get to blatantly call me a liar. I’m not a liar. I never lie. I might tease and exaggerate a bit, but I don’t lie.”

She wasn’t sure if he was truly angry, but his body was tense and his expression had gone hard.

“You haven’t been lying to me?”

He shook his head, and she concluded he was the best con man on the planet, an award-winning actor (both distinct possibilities), or he was telling the truth. She felt a mix of relief and concern. Relieved that he was legitimately attracted to her and her friends didn’t have to pay a hot guy to sleep with her. Concerned that she liked that knowledge more than she should. She wasn’t even over Charles yet, was she? This was just a revenge f**k or something, wasn’t it?

“Wait,” she said, “So you’re really a rock star?” She giggled as soon as the words escaped her lips, because seriously, who claims such things and expects people to believe it without some proof? “A rock star?”

“Yep. We were the headlining band in the concert at the AT&T Center tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard and maybe he didn’t like being called a liar, but she was about to call him one again. “What instrument do you play?”

“What?” he said with a crooked grin. “You don’t think I’m lead singer material?”

He wasn’t lying? He really was a rock star? She took another look at him, unable to believe someone this attractive and apparently famous would want anything to do with her. He was definitely dynamic enough to be a lead singer. “Do you sing?”

“A little,” he said, “but mostly I play bass guitar.”

“What’s the name of your band?” She realized that he was sharing personal information. This was a good sign, wasn’t it? She had to keep him talking, because if he was her revenge f**k, she wanted to continue to seek her revenge for a lot longer.

A loud thumping on the wall broke the spell Owen had over Caitlyn. How did he do that, make her feel as if they were the only two people on earth?

“I’ll tell you all about it over a sandwich,” he said. “Do you have clothes in the outer dressing room?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think what’s left of that negligée legally counts as clothing.”

He cringed at the discarded pile of torn lace on the floor. “Sorry about that. I don’t usually get so worked up that I rip off a woman’s clothes.”

She smiled. “I liked it. It made me feel irresistible.”

“You are irresistible.”

She was starting to believe him. Starting to remember that she was sexy and desirable and beautiful, even if her husband hadn’t been smart enough to see it. “You’d make a fortune,” she said with a smile.

“Huh?”

“As a male escort. I’d definitely pay for this feeling.”

He snorted. “You don’t have to. But it’s good to know I have something to fall back on, you know, if I get myself kicked out of the band or something.”

He stepped away and retrieved his black dress shirt from the floor. He helped her shrug into it and slowly buttoned it from its hem—which hit her midthigh—to the very top button just under her chin.

“That should keep the hawks at bay,” he said and tapped her nose with his index finger.

“The hawks?”

“Men circling to make their kill now that I’ve chased away those man-hater vibes you were giving off.”