Page 11 of OctoBEARfest

Possibly, though, right now when she was trying to make a professional connection wasnotthe time for those experiments. Which Bill clearly recognized, faster than she had.

Either that or he wasn't interested in her at all and had only been doing her a favor, but with the lingering warmth of his hands on her waist and the memory of the softness in his eyes, Gwen didn't think that was the case. She smiled at him, trying not to look twitterpated, then firmly told herself to get her head in the game and turned to the Harlequin's manager. "I'd love to play here," she told him. "The acoustics are great. But we're in a bit of a pickle over at the bar. Can I buy you a drink and explain?"

Piccolo chuckled. "It's my gin joint. Drinks are on me. Bill," he said pleasantly to that man. "Haven't seen your parents around in a while. They doing okay?"

"They moved to Arizona," Bill said with a smile. "They're driving up for the festival, though. Should be here in a few hours. I'll let them know you asked after them. Gwen, I'll let you?—"

"Don't be silly," Gwen interrupted. "It's your pickle we're in." She explained the mis-booking as they sat and Piccolo called for drinks, finishing with, "So we're looking for some quick and dirty ways to round up an audience for the pub this weekend, because I have many talents, but jazz music isn't one of them."

"When do you start there?" Piccolo's eyebrows drew down thoughtfully.

Gwen cast a glance at Bill, as if she didn't know the answer herself. "Tomorrow. It's a Friday and Saturday night gig."

"Got plans tonight? We don't usually have live music booked on Thursdays, but we do have an active chat group and if we put the word out I expect we could get a decent crowd tonight that would help spread the word for the weekend."

"If you don't mind just me and my guitar," Gwen said, making a face. "The band comes in tomorrow."

Piccolo flashed a grin that made him look twenty years younger. "Pretty sure Ripley up there knows every piece of music you've ever done, and there are some local drummers who won't put you to shame, if you want a backbeat. Now, I'm not talking about a paying gig, here," he added warningly.

Bill made a protesting sound. "Come on, Gwen Booker is a known commodity?—"

"No, it's fine," Gwen interrupted. "Normally, no way, I don't get paid in exposure, peopledieof exposure, but in this particular case, let's look at it like a local pick-up gig where I just happened to show up and ask if I could get up on stage with the house band. Which, let's face it, isn't all that far from true."

"You're completely independent, aren't you?" Piccolo asked. "No record label, no manager?"

Gwen hesitated. "Yeah. I had some bad industry experiences early on and I thought I was better off avoiding the system, honestly." She felt, more than saw, Bill puff up a little at her side, as if he'd protect her from anything, even her own past. She smiled at him, and he returned the expression, although he still had that protective aura.

Usually, Gwen thought, that would annoy her. But somehow it was kind of charming from Bill Torben. Maybe because he just seemed like such a decent guy. Impulsively, she said, "You'llcome to the gig tonight, right?" to him. "You know, so you have an idea of what you're getting into?"

Sheer alarm crossed his face. "Me? At a dance club? I don't fit in." He made a gesture at himself, like he was indicating his size, if nothing else. "And I can't dance."

Gwen absolutely couldn't help it. Sheknewher grin went sly, and she put on a deliberately sultry tone. "That's all right, big man. I like to be watched."

CHAPTER 8

Gwen Booker was going to be the death of him. Bill blushedagain. He hadn't blushed this much since he was a teenager and had a crush on a girl whose name he couldn't even remember right now. She'd been the center of his world, at the time, and he bet she was still a terrific human being, but she couldn't possibly hold a candle to Gwen. To hismate. Who said lascivious thingsright in front of other people.He made a little strangled sound and Gwen laughed, putting her hand over his.

Her hands were small, but not smooth. Calloused, especially the fingertips, with little dented ridges from guitar strings. A shiver ran through him at the thought of those slightly rough fingertips stroking over his body, and his blush turned even hotter. He tried to sound normal as he said, "Then I'll just watch."

If the way Mike Piccolo tried to hide a laugh was any indication, he'd sounded like a horny teenage boy instead.

Gwen, still with her wicked grin, touched the tip of her tongue to the middle of her upper lip, and Bill thanked God he was sitting down, because the way his jeans suddenly got very uncomfortable made it clear that anybody who happened to glance at his crotch would see his interest was, uh, aroused.Then, as if she hadn't just given him an incredible hard-on, Gwen turned a cheerful smile back to Mike. "So what time tonight? Would Ripley want to make up a set list? That way they can be sure to pick stuff they're comfortable with playing."

Mike glanced at his phone, tapping his fingers against it before saying, "Eight o'clock, for a ninety minute set? I'd like to say nine, because it picks up here around then for a couple hours, but an early gig might get people in sooner, and I don't know what the rest of your schedule is like."

"The rest of the crew gets in around two tomorrow. Early enough to set up and test the acoustics at the pub without disturbing many patrons." Gwen cast another glance at Bill like she was checking to see if that lined up with his expectations, and he nodded.

"People start showing up for the Oktoberfest weekend around two," he said. "More come in after five, obviously, but yeah, that'll be fine."

Gwen beamed at him, and a warm happy flush ran through him. Not a blush, this time. Just a feeling of contentment. His mate was smiling at him, and all was right with the world.

Except allwasn'tright with the world. He still had a festival weekend to pull off at a failing pub with the wrong entertainment, never mind trying to explain everything to his family. At least they'd stopped texting: his phone hadn't buzzed in a while.

Humans,his bear said, exasperated.You worry too much.

On one hand, he thought his bear was probably right. On the other, it wasn't the one trying to balance the books every month.

"So!" Gwen turned back to Mike. "Tell you what, I'll show up around seven-thirty, help set up, meet the crew, rub elbows a little, whatever you need. We'll hit the stage probably around eight-fifteen, just start to warm things up, and we'll call eight-thirty the start time, and play until ten. Hopefully that'll catchenough people to get some blood flowing and we'll draw a decent crowd to the pub over the weekend."

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