"Tracy! Tracy, over here!" A youngish man with a rogue grin, instant eager expression, darkish blonde hair hanging in his eyes, so that he had to continually brush it back, stuck out his hand for her. She pursed her lips, trying to decide whether to acknowledge him or not. He brought up his camera-- not even looking in the viewfinder and started snapping away. He had come at her from an angle, trapping her up against a table containing a life size platinum replica of her father's new release record, and the receiving line. She turned and gave him her not so celebrity trained smile.

"Marc Shepherd!" He leaned in for a hug. Her history with Marc went way back. He was a couple of years older than her, and had just been starting out in his chosen profession as a music journalist and photographer when Pepper's was heating up. She'd been thirteen and gullible and had let him take pictures of her exclusively whenever he asked, and he followed her around and asked all the time. Marc Shepherd had literally single-handedly photo documented her teens.

His hug was crushing, like him. His hand rode her backless gown far too familiarly, and she recalled the last time they'd been in the same room he'd definitely made a pass at her. She had far too much experience of him to not know he was a playboy rocker photographer and he would take advantage of her if he could. But he was a nice playboy.

Since the early days of Pepper's, he'd been a familiar face. She could do no less for him than call him good friend.

"Come to take more doggie pile pics?"

"God, if you'll let me! Let's doggie pile tonight after the gig! I'm in. I saw Jules and Bridge. Where are you guys staying? Let's party!" Those kind of pictures would catapult his career the way the original Pepper's doggie pile pictures had once made him one of the most sought after young music photo journalists in the industry. He kissed her cheek, with far too familiar a hand against her bare back, and she pulled away.

"You're a scoundrel." She said gently, but pushed him back. "We're staying behind closed doors at my dad's estate. Are you kidding?"

"What? No private invitation? No doggie piles?" In his own way, he never failed to mention the doggie piles, but Tracy had always known that it was his way of saying thank you. Without those photos, Marc Shepherd would still be shooting bands like Jaded, instead of ReedTone reunions and releases, and possible Pepper's reunions.

"Right. No doggie piles. Maybe someday. Not today." She patted his downcast cheek, knowing the drama didn't reach his seductive eyes, and returned to her father's side, as he shook hands with some of the music industry's finest.

It wasn't long before the night was rolling. Shawna had brought a nanny for Andrew and the girls and insisted that she take Danny with them to a room they'd secured just for the evening, with toys and a trampoline and swimming until the party was over. Even eighteen year old Tiffany decided to head out for that kind of party.

Jaded wasn't the only band to have been blessed with the opportunity to play the release party. Several young budding artists were in attendance: Rushing Galaxy, Constant Impact, The Allison Seivert Connection. But the room hushed and the dancing stopped mid-move on the dance floor when Ray, Trask and Duncan took the stage.

Appropriate words were said. Julian was brought up and asked to play guitar as they honored his dad, by playing a number of the ReedTones hits. It was poignant, and intense and profound. Tracy saw Marc Shepherd up there with the best of them, front and center capturing these unprecedented moments. It was as close as they'd ever come to a ReedTones reunion. There was a bittersweet atmosphere in the room, until Ray and Trask collaborated on their new song: Hands off My Liberty.

Tracy felt awash in nostalgia.

Ah-- Bridget's mom had been so into the ReedTones. She had all their albums, and let the girls play them all night when they had sleepovers. Tracy envisioned them in Bridget's room, the walls painted a fashionable light blue, with ReedTones posters on the walls, and Led Zeppelin, Billy Joel, Peter Frampton and Rod Stewart. Not a spare wall space to be had, even the ceiling sported a few. Her bedspread was bright, like patchwork quilts with fringe, straight out of the 60's. They'd learned to play guitar there, on the floor, with the younger siblings coming in and out all the time. They'd written their first songs, cute floral little ditties.

"So, what brings that tender, sweet smile to your face, Miss McCaffrey?" His voice startled her out of her reverie, and as her eyes fastened on the spirited face before her, she honestly thought she was hallucinating.

She blinked in complete disbelief, sure her eyes had betrayed her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited."

"You don't belong here! This is for musicians." She blurted rudely and then clapped a hand over her mouth in consternation. This man did bring out the worst in her.

He threw back his head and laughed, albeit quietly. His eyes darkened at her in amusement. "How do you know I'm not one?"

She was shaking her head slowly, blowing out her breath. "You're not. I'd know if---."

"Seriously? You didn't even take five minutes to get to know me."

Tracy remembered in full detail the five minutes she had spent with Richard Mann and blushed. There was something winning about him even though she'd slapped him for rudeness not that long ago.

"Let's not remedy that, okay?" She stared hard at Julian and Bridget on the dance floor, looking for all the world like lovers.

He chuckled, pulling up a chair. "Come on, let's just start over, shall we? You want to dance?"

Her brows rose in obvious distaste and he grinned again, laying an arm along the back of her seat, stroking her bare skin as if he couldn't help it. Tracy moved herself out of his reach without too much trouble.

"Richard, I don't want to dance with you, I don't want to hang out with you, and I definitely don't want to get to know you better."

He leaned in even closer. "What? Because of a few odd remarks in a really awkward situation? Because you slapped me for being presumptuous? You're not being very accommodating."

"It's not my job to be accommodating." She snapped, declining a tray of champagne with a flick of her fingers. Richard carefully lifted a fluted glass and sipped appreciatively before setting the glass on the lace tablecloth.

"You have a caustic tongue, girl. What did you think of our proposal? You've had some time to think about it."

"You're not a musician." She blurted again, her annoyance ignoring his further comments.

"I've played in concert with Skip Jennings. I've sat in on recordings with my good friend Jason Goodwin, and I'm up for just about anything, but you're right, I'm primarily an actor, and I am getting ready to produce my first project with your buddy Austin McQueen." His eyes were tight on hers, not allowing her to avoid them. Tracy blew out her breath awkwardly.

His smile caught her gaze. She wanted to look away but he moved his head to stay in her line of sight. She tried to turn, but he maintained eye contact with that funny talent he had for doing it.

"How has the week been? You took the kid home with you to college? How are you going to manage it all? You called your engagement off?" His voice was low, as if they knew each other, very familiar, like friends.

"We're not friends, Mr. Mann."

He slapped his palm to his forehead. "I'm doing my damndest to change that status, Miss McCaffrey. Give me a break here!"

"The week?" She bit her lip. "Has been hard. I have finals. I have Danny. It's nearly impossible. I haven't slept. I don't know how I'm going to manage. But I am, make no mistake, I will manage, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it." She patted his leg resting so close to hers, now, deliberately pressing into her knee. The song ended and another one started.

He nodded slowly, taking her in, his eyes carrying that sincere compassion he elicited. "And the engagement? Where is the prick?"

She snorted at his callous word choice. "Probation won't allow him to leave the state right now."

"Ah." Richard sat back in commiserate recognition. Then he leaned forward and took her hand. "Tracy McCaffrey, dance with me." He pulled her up so she had no choice but to accept, as he gently, but firmly urged her onto the dance floor.

His hands twirled her expertly, and she knew he had had plenty of training, perhaps even childhood training. He was that good. This wasn't any high school dance, this was a very accomplished handsome man escorting her through real steps, and she had no choice but to follow. He guided, she matched him. His hand on her back burned-- but also focused the burning she'd been feeling building in her head and neck and channeled it. As weird as that sounded, it was as if her headache responded to his touch.

He guided her around the floor, smiled at photographers, her father, her friends, his friends. His arm stayed carefully against her upper back, supporting her hand on his shoulder. As far as she was concerned the chandelier was sparkling diamonds just for her and for the first time in her life, it wasn't a dance to promote an image. It wasn't some sleazy drugged out drummer. Casey wasn't standing there nodding approval behind her back somewhere having arranged for her to be seen with one of his cronies.

He pressed her a little closer, his chest brushing hers. His fingers grazed the strands of hair that were straggling around her face from her artful style. The dangly earrings she'd added glittered against his tuxedo lapels. He swirled her like Cinderella in a Disney cartoon. Tracy reveled for the first time in her life, looking back over her shoulder she let her head fall back as he twirled her.

Somehow she realized others had stepped to the sides making room for her to swirl, like a little girl whose dress belled as she circled. She lost herself--loving that he made her. It had been so long-- so damn long since she'd felt free! His hand was strong, firm, his legs steadied her and took the decision making out of her thoughts. It was light and--bewildering, and lovely.

*******