by Eden Summers
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
To my editor. This is the third piece we’ve worked on together and not once has your faith in me wavered. You’ve taught me so much and I hope you know how much I appreciate you..
To my crit partners, street team, family, and friends —
Thank you. For everything. I’m blessed to be surrounded and supported by such great people. I couldn’t have written Mitchell and Alana’s story without you.
And to my hubby. You may not be able to sing…or dance…but you will always be my rock star.
Alana Shelton staggered with the pulse of the crowd. Her hips smashed against the security barrier holding the fans back from the intimate hotel stage. The jolts of pain as her bones clashed with the metal railing kept her awake despite a long day of traveling. Her body ached like she was in her eighties instead of her late twenties and her weary muscles throbbed to her core. If it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through her veins—a mix of fear and excitement—she would’ve collapsed against her best friend long ago.
“This is going to be awesome,” Kate squealed from beside her, bouncing on her toes even though her feet were encased in gravity-defying high heels. With a voracious smile, her friend waggled her eyebrows and turned her attention back to the curtain hiding the stage.
Kate had won tickets to Reckless Beat’s first performance of their new album—an event people would pay big dollars to attend, if the tickets were actually on sale. The band members, and no doubt their PR manager, had decided to share the major event with a small crowd of their most dedicated fans...or the biggest crazed loons, whichever way you wanted to define them. And Alana was caught in the middle; her body compacted between Kate, a man with a horrendous mullet, and a woman with a set of lungs that rivaled Mariah Carey’s whistle-like soprano.
Alana wasn’t used to being around this many people. Hell, she wasn’t used to being around men at all, and the terror she thought she would experience with the close interaction hadn’t appeared. Yet.
The thousand or so fans stared at the curtain, transfixed with matching goofy grins. She couldn’t help smiling along with them. Not that the curtain held any charm. The room simply overflowed with contagious euphoria.
The two security guards, one at either end of the stage, were the only people with stern expressions. They stood tall, their arms crossed over their thick chests while they scanned the crowd. She couldn’t blame them. With the mix of hard rock and passionate love songs, the emotions in the room would swing from one extreme to another.
Reckless Beat was famous for intense rhythms and emotional lyrics. The smooth, deeply penetrating sound of the lead singer had even captured Alana’s heart on more than one occasion, and she’d only listened to them on the radio. Her first introduction to professional live music would leave a lasting impression.
In fact, the whole week would consist of cherry popping. Her first live concert. Her first plane flight. Her first big steps into the real world by herself. Quite a feat for a twenty-seven year old. There weren’t many women around her age with the limited life experience she had. Tonight, and the next few days, would change that. She just had to pray the cloying exhaustion would dissipate.
“Welcome, Reckless fans. Are you ready to rock?” The male announcer’s voice boomed from innumerable speakers around the room.
Screams and shouts combined into a loud drone, which reverberated in her head. The sound vibrated in her chest and gave her goose bumps. She fought the urge to cover her ears and laughed. Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed tight. They jumped up and down as their bodies pushed harder against the railing, the eager fans behind them vying for a better position.
“I can’t hear you,” he taunted.
The cacophony grew, the excitement making her veins buzz to life. Maybe she would make it through the performance without falling asleep after all. Lights flashed with searing brightness, illuminating the curtain so four silhouettes shone from behind.
“Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” the voice chuckled.
The curtain rose—mere feet from Alana’s hands—creeping up to reveal the members of Reckless Beat in all their tanned and muscled glory. The four of them stood close, almost within reach. The lead singer held the microphone stand in the center of the stage, with two guitarists standing to his left and one to his right. If she leaned against Mariah Carey beside her, she could see the drummer up the back, his talented fingers twirling those magic sticks in the air.
Alana had no clue what their names were. She only knew disjointed verses of a few of their top hits. But when the seductively sexy, lead guitarist kicked off with a delicate caress of the strings, her heart melted and adrenaline flooded her system. He eyed the crowd from under thick lashes. His lips tilted with a wicked grin as he held his cherry-red instrument with confidence.
The first song drowned under fan hysteria. Lyrics filtered through. A song of love, or loss, she couldn’t determine, and she didn’t mind. Her heartbeat echoed with the drums, her body thrummed with the bass guitar, and the lead singer’s voice traveled over her skin like warm honey.
As a teenager, she hadn’t been allowed to go to concerts. In fact, she couldn’t leave her mother’s property outside Monument, Colorado, without receiving a glare of disapproval. Over time, she’d learned to accept her isolated life and became content with what she had. A retreat for women recovering from abuse was her home. A quiet, and at times, very emotional place, her mother had opened when Alana was a child.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to let the music sink into her soul. The words cleared as one by one the fan’s decided to enjoy what they were here for.
“Kiss me one last time. Let me taste the love on your lips...”
A shove from behind made her eyes open and she clutched the rail for support. If she came any closer to the railing, she’d be riding it. Ignoring the constant nudge at her back, she glanced up at the stage and found the lead guitarist peering down in her direction. His fingers slid over the strings, moving in intricate patterns, and yet his intense gaze never wavered from where she stood.
Her heart skipped a beat while he stared at her. Then reality slammed to the forefront. He had to be focused on someone else. Either Kate, with her beautiful, blonde hair and barely concealed breasts, or one of the numerous stunners gyrating against her. She was foolish to think his attention rested on her.
Who knew, maybe he loved a good mullet and liked playing the back nine. It would be a damn shame though. All the drool-worthy sensuality claimed by his own sex wouldn’t be fair. For a fleeting moment she beamed back, wishing those gorgeous hazel eyes devoured her, not someone else.
To keep from falling into a daydream involving his skilled fingers teasing her body, she turned to the lead singer. His forehead held lines of concentration, his hands delicately molding the microphone in the stand. She could see why he made females swoon. He was pleasure personified—blonde, spiky hair which curled at the ends, rough stubble women would kill to brush against their skin, and handsome features that defied the wicked voice belting from his mouth.
She heard every heartfelt word he sung, yet her mind l
ingered on the image of the guitarist. The memory of his seductive mouth teased her to take another look. After a few moments of wavering restraint, her gaze drifted back to him. His head was lowered, his concentration on the beautiful instrument in his hands. His jean clad legs tapped to the beat and she had the sense he not only played the music, he lived it. Breathed it.
His hair rested against his shoulders in true rock star fashion, the dark brown shade gleaming in the bright lights. The material of his black shirt strained against his chest and pulled tight over his muscles. He had a bare hint of black stubble covering his chin, and although he grasped his guitar with sculpted, masculine arms, his face held more of a boyish charm. A mix of soft features—kind lips, smooth skin and gentle eyes.
Very, very, nice.
She didn’t protest when her nipples tingled with the first sign of arousal. Yes, she fell into the sexually deprived category. She wasn’t the first person getting on the giddy train for one of the band members though. The women around her had departed the station long ago.
Her gaze skimmed up his lean waist, over the shirt with white, undecipherable writing, past the mouth that encouraged her to lick her own lips, and to the eyes now staring at her.
Time stopped. She froze in place, a blush heating her cheeks. She bit her lip to hold back the smile bursting to break free and failed miserably. Why not take pleasure in the sleep-deprived hallucination? She would never speak to him or get close enough to touch his hard body. She may as well release the fantasy reigns and enjoy.
Kate jabbed her in the ribs. “Mitch is staring at you!”
Alana shook her head in denial. Unless she had something unnatural sticking to her face, he had no reason to be interested in her. On the other hand, her lack of hysterics probably made it obvious she shouldn’t be here. The competition to win tickets had been for hardcore fans only. If Kate hadn’t offered her a ticket, Alana would be sitting at home, still clueless to what the band members even looked like.
“Don’t be stupid,” Alana yelled back, giving her friend a good-natured hip bump.
Kate leaned closer. “Seems like it to me.” She jerked her head in Mitchell’s direction and Alana followed Kate’s lead, her hungry gaze falling back on his face.
This time, she knew her dimples were making an appearance. Her throat dried, and she struggled to maintain eye contact. He was too damn desirable, his expression turning every inch of her skin to flames. Then one side of his lips lifted in the cutest grin she’d ever seen.
Before she burst into a fit of giggles, she distracted herself, looking at the drummer, the lead singer, and the stage lights. She needed to be careful or she’d leave without remembering any of the performance.
The last notes of the song sounded, and again the crowd burst into sound. She laughed through the hysteria, dizzy, high on excitement.
“Thanks, guys. You rock!” The lead singer ended his appreciation in a yell. “Do you like the new album so far?”
Alana was deaf. Nothing but bells ringing in her ears.
“I guess that’s a yes.”
Glancing up at the stage, she found Mitchell staring at her again. She smiled and put her fingers to her ears. He replied with a cringe of apology and shrugged.
The lead singer cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “OK, OK. We get the picture.” He laughed and the noise around her lessened. “We’re going to take a small break and be back in twenty to show off the rest of the album.”
Mitchell’s lips tilted into a delicious curve, one that made her insides burn. He pulled the guitar strap over his head. She resisted fanning her heated face as he turned to hand his guitar to one of the stage crew. Even his back view was flawless. Strong shoulders, a lean waist, and the tightest ass she’d ever seen.
He pivoted the top half of his body around and raked his gaze along the front row with an impassive stare. When he reached the place where she stood, he stopped. One side of his lips lifted and he winked in her direction, then turned to leave the stage.
She blinked...and blinked again. The world faded away while she relived the moment, trying to determine if she’d won the hot guy lottery. She didn’t even notice the curtain falling or that people had stopped dry humping her.
“Jesus Christ, Alana!” Kate grabbed her shoulder and gave her a shake. “Mitchell Davies winked at you!”
Alana swallowed. “I...I...”
What could she say? It sure seemed like he had, however, she had no experience with this sort of thing. Her intimate moments with men involved three isolated nights of fumbling, grinding, and stickiness she hoped to one day forget.
She still couldn’t grasp the hype over sex. She’d tried, and the third time wasn’t a charm. Since then, things had been drier than the Sahara. She’d even grown accustomed to her monkish lifestyle.
“He totally winked at you,” Kate continued, bouncing on her toes. “Crap, I gotta pee. Can you mind our spot?”
Alana nodded and gripped the rail for support. Wow. A guy crush did make you giddy. Kate had tried to explain the thrill of flirtation to her in an email when they were teenagers, but Alana had only experienced the emotion vicariously through movies or books. Real life didn’t compare. She missed many things by being homeschooled.
Leaning against the railing, she bowed her head and took long, deep breaths to calm herself.
“Excuse me, miss.” Alana raised her gaze from the floor, expecting the male voice to be addressing another woman nearby.
Two men stood on the other side of the barrier facing her. One was a security guard who’d been standing at the front of the stage. The other was unfamiliar, dressed in jeans, a baseball cap and a white T-shirt which read “Reckless Beat Crew.”
The guard didn’t pay her any attention. He gazed over the crowd, skimming back and forth. The other man leaned close, the tip of his cap coming within inches of her face. She kept one eye on the burly man with the sullen temperament while she leaned back from the guy who continued to creep closer to her.
“Meet me backstage later?”
The deep voice whispered along her skin and her body hummed in appreciation. She turned her focus to the eyes shaded under the cap.
Mitchell Davies.
Her mouth opened to release a ragged breath and her brain refused to function beyond sending the instruction to stare. His face brightened with a smile and tiny laugh wrinkles appeared around his deep hazel eyes. On stage, under the bright lights, he was gorgeous. Up close he made her throat dry and her palms sweat. His smell even had her hooked, a mix of jasmine and sandalwood.
“Is that a yes?” He grinned.
* * *
Mitch leaned into the chocolate-haired beauty and inhaled her floral scent. He turned his face into hers, hiding himself from curious onlookers. So far, so good. Nobody had noticed the rock star standing amongst them.
It wasn’t uncommon for him or the other band members to invite groupies backstage after the show. Up until the last twelve or so months it had been the norm. Now, they’d grown tired of easy women. Unfortunately, their lifestyles didn’t allow for much else, and none of them were monks.
He preferred to get sex the old-fashion way, by flirtation and seduction. Though sometimes, like now, a scratch needed to be itched. Well, what he felt wasn’t really an itch, it was more like a compulsion, an unyielding desire to touch the delicate skin of the woman in front of him.
The stage crew usually had the job of approaching fans. Putting himself in close proximity to a hoard of screaming women wasn’t his brightest idea. He knew from experience that the first appendage they grabbed for was not your arm, and they didn’t grasp lightly. Tonight, curiosity had the better of him.
The woman standing in front of him had stolen his attention from the first strum of his guitar. She stood out like a beacon, her wide eyes and shy smile causing him to lose focus. He could tell she wasn’t a show-your-assets-to-get-a-backstage-pass kind of girl. In fact, he didn’t think she was a hardcore fan at all. There’d b
een no screaming, no flashing, and no panties flying at the stage when he smiled at her. Instead of the typical seductive glances he’d grown accustomed to, she gave him a glimpse of her gorgeous dimples and broke eye contact. The angelic sight grabbed him by the balls and still hadn’t let go.
His excursion to the security barrier had been in an effort to assure himself she wasn’t the stunner the stage lights made her out to be. Then he’d be able to concentrate on the second half of the show.
Only problem? Each approaching step made her beauty more apparent.
She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a shitload of women. With clothes and without.
It wasn’t her gleaming green irises, her flawless skin, or the lush lips he already imagined kissing. Her beauty came from the emotion in her features, and the way she presented herself.
Her eyes were huge, like a virgin on her wedding night. He read her shock, her excitement, and even a little fear in the light depths. Her clothes were modest—faded jeans and a loose purple T-shirt, hiding what he fantasized would be a great figure. And black knee high boots. Non-slutty boots. Not like the needle thin stilettos the friendlier fans wore. These were sturdy, classy boots from a woman whose focus didn’t lay on getting a piece of rock star ass in bed.
He couldn’t even see her cleavage for Christ’s sake. After the years spent peering down at a crowd of half dressed women, their norks bouncing around for the entire world to behold, he’d thought he’d grown out of being a breast man. Nope. Apparently not.
He wanted a glimpse under this woman’s shirt. He wanted to run his hands up her stomach, cup her flesh in his palms, and tweak her nipples until they were hard and aching.
Fucking hell. His pants tightened just thinking about it.
“I...” The one letter escaped her lips on a breath.
He itched to move his mouth over hers, to determine if she tasted as sweet on the inside as she appeared on the outside.
She cleared her throat and tilted her head to gaze back into his eyes. “I’m not sure—”