She pretended interest in her scarlet nails while Dakota Law, country music’s brightest star, took his own sweet time surveying the damage she’d done to his car. From the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw clench in irritation. His bad mood rather surprised her; only a junkyard owner would consider his clunker of a car a prize. A more prudent woman would have left a note on his windshield and fled. A more timid woman would now quail at the tightness in Dakota’s wide shoulders and the belligerence in his stance. Timid and prudent weren’t adjectives anyone would apply to rock music’s bad girl, however. Everything from her mane of wild black curls and pouty red lips to her flashy long legs was part of the carefully cultivated image of seductive rebelliousness calculated to help her compete successfully with the rude boys of rock and roll. Living up to that image of female aggressiveness, Chelsea had gone inside the store to track down the car’s owner.
