BEN SAT DOWN ON the stool and picked up his guitar, ready to begin his next set. Even though the house was fully packed, the only person he saw in the audience was Harlan. He was a little shorter than Ben was but built like a linebacker, with broad muscular shoulders and thick thighs. He looked like he could snap a man in half, which sent a thrill of excitement skittering through Ben’s chest, but Harlan also had the kindest, greenest eyes Ben had ever seen. The second he’d seen the man he hadn’t been able to look away.

The set went by in a blur. Ben played a dozen covers and two of his originals, and the small dance floor was packed with writhing bodies. Usually he would lose himself in the symbiotic energy of the crowd and his music feeding each other, and he’d forget that he was adrift in the world beyond this moment. Tonight, though, everything else was secondary to the gruff, sexy cowboy he couldn’t wait to get his hands on, whose solid body he couldn’t wait another moment to strip bare and worship.

He wrapped up his last song, said his thank-yous and good nights to the audience, and then dashed to the small band room behind the stage where he put his guitar in its case and grabbed his jacket. Lust and anticipation coursed through his veins as he weaved through the crowd toward Harlan.

“I’m at the Santa Bella Inn,” Ben said when he stopped in front of Harlan. He didn’t need to say more. They both knew what tonight was about.

Harlan grinned, slow and sultry, and Ben fought the urge to step between Harlan’s legs, press their groins together, and take his mouth in a punishing kiss. But they were in public and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself at just a kiss. Instead of acting on his impulse, Ben nodded his head toward the door, raised an eyebrow he hoped conveyed that Harlan should follow, and started walking. He heard Harlan say something to Hannah, and then boot heels thudded behind him on the polished wood floor. His pulse raced.

He pushed the brewhouse doors open, and frigid air smacked into his face like a brick wall. “Jeez, its freezing,” he gasped. He slid the strap of his guitar case over his shoulder and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Is it always this cold here?”

“It is January,” Harlan said, as if that explained everything, and shrugged.

Ben shivered again, but this time the cause was the gruff timbre of Harlan’s voice.

“Where are you from?” Harlan asked as they started walking toward the motel.

“Nashville.”

“Doesn’t it get cold there in the winter?” Harlan’s breath burst into gossamer explosions on the brisk air as he spoke.

“Yes, but this is California.”

Okay, Ben could admit that sounded a little petulant, but he was more than ready for some sun and warmth.

Harlan chuckled, low and gravelly, and Ben felt it all the way to his toes. “California isn’t all sunshine and beaches. We’re sitting on the Sierra Nevada mountain range a little over five-thousand feet elevation. It gets cold. Even snows sometimes.”

“Should I worry?” Ben asked, hunching his shoulders. “I have to drive to Sacramento Sunday morning.”

“Nah,” Harlan said. “We rarely get much snow, and when we do, it doesn’t stick around long. You’ll be fine.”

They fell into an electric silence for the remainder of the short walk. Anticipation rose with each step, and when Ben opened the door and lowered his guitar to a chair in the corner of the small room, he felt strangely nervous. He’d come across many attractive men on the road with his band, a few he’d enjoyed the company of for a night, but Harlan was the first one to affect him so strongly from the get-go. He’d been immediately trapped by that brilliant green gaze and then acutely aware of him the rest of the night. Watching Harlan while Ben played his guitar, looking right at him while he sang, tracking his movements and expressions over the heads of fans wanting his attention . . . All night he’d only wanted Harlan, and now here he was.

He turned around, and Harlan was right there, all checked power and eyes blazing with desire, making the same longing detonate in Ben’s chest. The blood in his veins felt like it had been injected with Pop Rocks and his whole body vibrated with need. Without breaking eye contact, Ben struggled out of his jacket. Harlan smirked and shrugged off his own with enviable grace. Both jackets hit the floor, and Ben’s chest rose and fell rapidly with his accelerating breath. Harlan still appeared far too in control while Ben’s restraint was running through his fingers like fine sand.

Ben tossed his hat across the room and launched himself at Harlan, pushing the solid man back against the door, and claimed his mouth with a forceful kiss. Harlan’s hands came around Ben’s back—one moved to cup his head and the other down to cup a butt cheek. A rabble of butterflies took flight in his stomach, and his knees threatened to buckle.

Harlan pulled Ben toward him as insistently as Ben pushed into him, and it was only then that he realized the answering tremble in Harlan’s body. So maybe the stoic cowboy wasn’t as collected as he’d first appeared . . . Ben grinned against Harlan’s lips. He wanted more of that—more of the shaking loose of this cowboy’s reserve. He doubted Harlan had any idea about the challenge he’d thrown down, but Ben accepted it with everything he had in him regardless.

Ben rocked his groin into Harlan, their hard erections grinding together, separated only by thick denim that had to come off right now. Harlan growled into Ben’s mouth, more felt than heard as it reverberated straight down Ben’s throat to his throbbing cock. He whimpered without shame. He wanted Harlan something fierce, and he wanted Harlan to know what he was doing to Ben, too.

Harlan broke the ravaging kiss and set to attacking the button and zipper of Ben’s jeans like a dog on a bone. The zipper may have broken from the violent tug, but Ben couldn’t care less. He had another pair. Harlan reached inside Ben’s briefs, taking a firm hold of him, and Ben’s eyes rolled back. Harlan’s hand was like a branding iron, and the searing heat of his skin was pure bliss.

“Want this?” Harlan rasped.

“Yes.” Ben nipped at Harlan’s mouth frantically. “Please.”

Harlan withdrew his hand, and Ben let his dismay be known with a pout and a growl. Harlan raised a thick black eyebrow and pushed Ben back with one hand while ripping his shirt open with the other. Snap buttons—what an invention.

Grinning, Ben unbuttoned his own shirt and then pulled it over his head as he walked backward. He hit the bed and flopped onto it, looking up to feast his eyes on Harlan’s gloriously exposed chest. A dark mat of hair spread from pec to pec, narrowing down his abdomen and pointing to the treasure still hidden behind his white briefs, which were straining to contain his heavy erection.

“Top or bottom?” Harlan asked as he kicked off his boots, hooked his thumbs under the band of his briefs, and pushed them and his jeans down in one smooth motion.

“Whatever you want,” Ben panted, his gaze glued to Harlan’s uncut cock. It was as thick and powerful looking as the rest of him. Goose bumps raced over his skin at the thought of Harlan taking him, of being owned by him, of letting Harlan take control so Ben didn’t have to think about anything for a while. He could just lose himself in sensation and the kind of fantasy only a hookup could offer.

Harlan tugged Ben’s boots off, tossed them over his shoulder, and stripped the rest of Ben’s clothes from his body. Ben felt Harlan’s piercing gaze like a physical touch as his eyes traveled Ben’s length. When he met Ben’s eyes again, he said, “I want everything.”

“Then take it all,” Ben breathed, the words abrading his dry throat.

“You have condoms?”

Ben nodded with a quick jerk of his head. “Inside pocket of my backpack over there.”

Harlan retrieved the pack from the floor near the chair, made quick work of pulling a condom and pillow packet of lube from it, and then crawled onto the bed and hovered over Ben.

Harlan didn’t speak, but there was promise in his eyes as his hand roamed over Ben’s chest, tweaked his nipples, and then burned a path downward. The corners of Harlan’s mouth lifted in a sly grin as he wrapped his hand around Ben’s aching erection. Ben’s toes curled, and his heart pounded frantically against his rib cage.

Harlan leaned down and claimed Ben’s mouth in a demanding kiss as he began to work Ben open with sure and gentle fingers. He surrendered himself to Harlan, relaxed into hands that felt like fire on his skin but caressed him like silk. How the man could soothe and burn at the same time had to be some sort of magic, and Ben wanted more.

“I’m ready,” Ben begged. “Ready, ready, ready.”

“Easy there.” Harlan chuckled, running a hand down the side of Ben’s thigh. He lifted Ben’s legs over his shoulders, and Ben felt him right there, waiting, holding, teasing . . .

“How long do you want to feel me for?” Harlan’s voice sounded strained, and the knowledge of how much this was also affecting him had Ben smiling.

“As long as possible.”

Ben should have been embarrassed at how needy he sounded, but he didn’t care. He meant it. He knew already that Harlan would be stubborn about leaving his memories anytime soon.

Harlan stared at him, his gaze penetrating. There were words behind his eyes, but they weren’t clear enough for Ben to read and Harlan kept them to himself. Then Harlan leaned into him, folded him in half, and pushed inside his body. The pleasure-burn stole Ben’s breath and launched him into a euphoric haze. And then Harlan’s mouth was on his again, hard and frantic and just as needy as Ben was. His tongue dueled with Harlan’s, sucking, swirling, probing in time with each of Harlan’s powerful thrusts.

The bed creaked a steady bass rhythm, the headboard a symbol crash against the wall. Ben was the strings and Harlan the fingers that strummed him, and together they made a song Ben would never forget. Rising higher, faster, harder, words became strange and foreign images in his mind. Nothing existed beyond each point of contact between their bodies and the intense rush to the highest note.

Ben ground his teeth together, growling deep in his throat, straining to ride out his orgasm as long as possible. But Harlan seemed to know just how to play his body, and there was no way Ben could hold out a second longer. He opened his mouth in a silent roar and crested the wave. Hot liquid shot over his abdomen, and Harlan rode him through the crash. Moments later, Harlan threw himself over the edge with Ben.

Sweat dripped onto Ben’s chest, and Harlan collapsed on him, his weight heavy but welcome like a security blanket. Ben squeezed his eyelids shut. Yeah, he’d had sex with a fair number of men, but nothing compared with Harlan . . . The man’s touch was magic.

“Dayum,” Harlan huffed into Ben’s neck.

“Yup,” was all Ben could muster. His body felt boneless and floaty.

After a few minutes, Harlan rolled off him and they lay side by side, breathing slowing as their bodies cooled. Ben turned and met Harlan’s gaze. Damn the cowboy was gorgeous.

“Rode hard and put away wet,” Ben teased, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yeehaw,” Harlan whispered and winked. He leaned over and kissed Ben again, this time languid, tender, and somehow more intimate than anything they’d done tonight. Then he got up and gathered his discarded clothing.

Ben watched Harlan redress, biting his tongue the whole time to keep from asking him to stay. No, from begging Harlan to stay.

“Thank you, Ben Marshall,” Harlan said.

It was most likely wishful thinking on Ben’s part, but he could have sworn there was regret in Harlan’s gruff voice.

“You too, Harlan . . . ?” Ben raised an eyebrow, but Harlan only tapped a finger against the brim of his hat and grinned before he opened the door and disappeared from Ben’s life.

Ben flopped back on the bed and sighed as an odd sense of loss flitted through him. Sex with Harlan had been amazing—unforgettable after a string of forgettables. He wouldn’t have complained if Harlan had spent the night so they could have had an encore or ten, but he knew the score. He’d never see the cowboy again, and that was the way it was always going to be.

Over the years, too many people had passed through his life for one-night-only bedroom performances back in Nashville. Maybe if he had followed in the footsteps of his forefathers and taken over the family business—a prestigious sport horse ranch—instead of rebelling and joining a rock band, he’d have found someone by now.

The band had been great for a while—until it wasn’t. They’d been falling apart for a long time and tensions between him and Mick, his drummer, had escalated to the point that it had started affecting their performances. Mick had considered himself the leader and had become more and more demanding and controlling in regard to the band’s sound, image, and direction. Ben and Mick had disagreed on almost everything and fought constantly. Venues hadn’t been happy. Fans hadn’t been happy. The rest of the band hadn’t been happy. And most of all, Ben hadn’t been happy.

He loved music, loved being able to make it and share it with people, but the route he’d taken to get to this point in his life wasn’t fulfilling him as he’d once imagined it would. There had to be something more after the music stopped and the lights when down, but that elusive “something” was always just beyond his reach. He missed being around the horses on his family’s ranch, but a life of sport-horse politics and one-upmanship wasn’t what he wanted, either.

So here he was, wandering the country in search of something more. Whatever his soul needed had to be out there somewhere, but in a couple of days, he would be on the road again. Another gig, another town closer to California’s coastal shores. Maybe that’s where he’d find his purpose in life.