Staged

by Olivia Cunning

  The current song ended, and the crowd cheered loudly, almost as if they were cheering for Roux’s fortunate change of circumstance.

  Steve grinned in the near darkness. “Is it wrong of me to hope that the mood is striking you at this very moment?”

  She shook her head and cupped his face between her palms, leaning in to kiss him. The taste of beer on his lips was too much for her, though, and she had to break away. “The mood will strike a lot more forcefully after you’ve showered and brushed your teeth. You reek of beer.”

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  When a golf cart pulled to a stop before them, Steve was vividly describing his crowd-surfing adventure. Roux doubted she’d enjoy it as much as he had. Having the hands of strangers all over her was not her idea of a good time. But she loved listening to him talk, and he was much more vocal when he’d been drinking.

  “Did someone order a limo?” Butch asked.

  Roux was surprised he’d come himself instead of sending some junior lackey to do Steve’s bidding.

  “Yeah,” Steve said, “but I guess this piece of junk will suffice.”

  “Watch it, smartass, or I’ll make sure there’s only room for Roux to sit and make you take laps behind us.”

  Steve stuck his tongue at him like a spoiled child and set Roux on her feet before standing and brushing off the seat of his pants.

  “Thanks for saving us, Butch,” Roux said, squeezing his shoulder as she climbed into the back of the cart.

  “The cape is part of my uniform,” he said, winking at her.

  Steve slid into the cart next to Roux. “And so is his clipboard of torturous hell.”

  “What clipboard? You pretty much had the whole evening to make an ass of yourself on your own,” Butch said. “Tomorrow is booked solid, however.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “So I won’t get to see much of you tomorrow?” She’d probably suffer severe withdrawal symptoms.

  “I don’t care if you hang out for our interviews, meet and greets, and whatever else management has in store for us, but it will be incredibly boring.”

  “Not if I get to stare at you.”

  Butch made a gagging noise, but he was grinning ear to ear as he directed the cart into a U-turn and drove back the way he’d come. In the distance, the main stage flashed and flickered.

  “Maybe we should stay for the rest of Sinners’ show,” Roux said. She hadn’t gotten to see much of it while stuck in that signing tent.

  “It’ll be over soon,” Steve said. “You’ll get to see them in London and Glasgow and wherever we go after that.”

  “Madrid,” Butch said.

  Wow. This was really her life, and nothing could take her happiness away.

  Twenty-Nine

  Steve tried to ignore the knocking on his hotel room door as he enjoyed his morning breakfast with the gorgeous woman sitting across from him. She was still slightly flushed from the hot shower they’d shared—or maybe the quickie that had necessitated the shower—and only a bastard from hell would ask him to leave her now.

  “I remember why we don’t allow women on the tour,” Butch complained loudly from the hallway. “If it isn’t you fucking up the schedule, it’s Logan.”

  Steve exchanged a grin with Roux, who reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “As much as I hate to say it, you really should go.”

  “I won’t be able to see you until late tonight.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll be able to see you. I plan on watching you from afar all day.”

  “Stalker.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her wrist several times, then forced himself to rise. He drew her to her feet and pulled her close, his hand slipping beneath her robe to squeeze her delightful ass. He kissed her until Butch’s knocking became a pounding that would likely injure his hand.

  “If you don’t come out in the next twenty seconds,” Butch said, “I’m coming in!”

  “He sounds desperate,” Roux said, patting Steve’s ass and giving him a little shove.

  “I love you,” he said, kissing her once more before forcing his feet toward the door.

  “I love you too.”

  When she released a dreamy sigh, he grinned. He needed to put a ring on her finger so she had something to stare at when he wasn’t around.

  The second he opened the door, Butch grabbed him by the ear.

  “Ow!”

  “Do you see this schedule?” Butch shoved a mint-green paper so close to Steve’s face that he couldn’t have read it if he tried.

  “If you had that woman in your life, you wouldn’t want to . . .” He pulled the clipboard away from his face so he could pretend to read the first item on their agenda. “Have tea with the queen? I didn’t know she was a fan.”

  “Not funny,” Butch said. “Get your ass downstairs before I lose track of Logan again. You’d better hope there’s no traffic.”

  “I love it when you boss me around,” Steve said, offering him an overtly sexual look, biting his lip suggestively.

  “Knock it off. I’m not in the mood.” But Butch’s mustache twitched as he tried not to smile.

  When Steve arrived in the lobby, the guys looked happy to see him, even Max, who normally bitched him out when he made them late.

  “We heard you made quite an ass of yourself over a woman on Sinners’ stage last night,” Max said, punching him in the shoulder.

  He shrugged but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well, I was pretty drunk.”

  “Was she mad?” Logan asked. “You were supposed to keep her identity a secret, weren’t you?”

  “I think she was relieved, actually.” Steve smiled, glad she wasn’t angry at him. Not even for drinking. He’d assumed she’d try to change him to make him fit her ideal man, but she accepted him as he was. Loved him despite his faults. He would try to be a better person for her because she deserved the best, and he was acutely aware of his faults.

  “Why are you all standing around grinning like a bunch of idiots?” Butch smacked Steve on the back with his clipboard. “Get in the car.”

  “Is Sam joining us?” Max asked. Usually he’d want Sam to be in attendance, but from the I-just-swallowed-bleach expression on his face, Steve could tell he’d rather not have to put up with their soon-to-be-fired manager.

  “No. I think he’s sleeping off his jet lag,” Butch said.

  Even more good news to brighten Steve’s day. He could get used to this. The band still hadn’t told Butch that they were getting rid of Sam after the tour; Butch didn’t need the stress of trying to keep that gem of a secret under wraps for the next three months. Besides, where would he get his beloved schedules without Sam’s publicity machine to back the band?

  They didn’t have to travel far for their radio station interviews. All the local stations, and a few not so local ones, were broadcasting live from the Download festival grounds. They were on TV a few times as well, then made their way to a lunch with fans who had paid a shit-ton of money for the opportunity. Steve remembered a time when they would do this sort of thing for free, and when Sam was out of their lives, he vowed they’d go back to their old ways of letting people win these special interactions in raffles rather than having them fork over a pile of cash. While waiting for everyone to be seated so they could make their entrance, he mentioned his concerns to Dare. He didn’t get the response he’d been expecting.

  “Some of the people who won those raffles would sell their prize for way more than these people paid. Then they’d be the ones profiting, not us, who are footing the bill.”

  Max must have been eavesdropping, because he leaned in to say, “And scalpers buy up these packages and sell them for a substantial profit as well.”

  “I’d rather raffle winners profit than scalpers,” Logan said.

  “I don’t think anyone should profit,” Steve said. “These are our guests. You don’t charge guests.”

  “These are the kinds of things we’ll have to figure out when
we go it on our own,” Max said.

  “Do we have time to make all these decisions?” Dare asked.

  That was the reason Sam had been hired in the first place; they hadn’t wanted to make all those decisions. They’d wanted an expert to do that for them, and the label had insisted that they’d scored a coup by bringing in Sam Baily. But now that they’d been in this game for over a decade, they had developed opinions. What was surprising to Steve was that those opinions were more in line with each other’s than he expected them to be.

  Halfway through their VIP lunch, he got a text from Roux. He excused himself from the table so he could read it with relative privacy.

  Hope you’re having a great day. Every guy in the band Scurvy Gums got food poisoning, so we’re filling in their slot at seven. I won’t be able to see you backstage before your show, but I will watch you perform tonight. Can’t wait to see you after.

  He was sure she realized what a big deal it was to be asked to fill in for another band, so he didn’t comment on that. Wish I had time to come see you perform again tonight. You know I’m your biggest fan. We have tomorrow off. I’m not letting you out of my sight for a single second.

  Now he was the stalker.

  London. Can’t wait. Love you.

  A fan was standing uncomfortably close and staring at him with camera in hand wanting a picture, so he sent Roux a quick thumbs-up and tucked his phone back into his pocket. He spent his entire afternoon interacting with fans—one of his favorite pastimes—so the time flew by. Zach showed up in the backstage area and kept the party going, but by the time Steve had to change clothes to get ready for their set, he was really missing Roux. He hadn’t even heard from her about how their second show had gone. Had Sam kept them busy all day the way he had Exodus End? It seemed likely, and since Baroquen wasn’t well-known, he was sure it took a lot of work to get events lined up for them. Exodus End had to turn people down now, but it hadn’t always been that way.

  Dressed and waiting in the wings with drumsticks twirling and excitement coursing through his veins, he jumped when a woman pressed up against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was about to politely tell her to get lost when she whispered in his ear, “I got here as fast as I could. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you.”

  He covered Roux’s hands with his and pressed them more firmly into his belly. “It’s not possible for anyone to forget about me.”

  She laughed and pressed her elbows into his sides, making him jump again. “Ego check, Aimes.”

  “Checked and fully functional.”

  He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed that she was in full costume. She was sexy as sin in her corset and petticoats. Her face was flawless in her heavy makeup with every freckle concealed, and the wig flattered her beauty, the vivid red strands within the black drawing out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. Her black lipstick made her complexion glow like porcelain, but still, he preferred her natural look. Not that he’d kick this rock star sex kitten out of his bed.

  “How’d your show go?”

  “Perfect. And fans remembered us. They still have our band name on their forearms. I bet they can’t wait to have proper showers and wash it off.” She laughed.

  “Is that lipstick kissproof?” he asked, cupping her face.

  “No.” She rubbed it off on the back of her hand, leaving a wide black smudge. “I think you’re safe now.”

  He didn’t much care if he went on stage with black lips—he couldn’t not kiss her. And he didn’t particularly relish all the camera flashes going off around them as he claimed her lips. He wasn’t ashamed. He just wished people would have a little respect for their privacy.

  Someone called places, and he released her, wishing he had a few more minutes to let her know how much he’d missed her today.

  “Love you,” he whispered into her ear, and she surprised him by shouting in front of everyone.

  “I’m completely in love with you, Steve! Do you hear me, Steve Aimes? I love you!”

  He laughed and saluted her with his drumstick before hurrying out on stage and settling onto the stool behind his drum kit. For the first night since the tour started, because they were using the same stage as every opening act, his kit didn’t rise out of the stage. But he didn’t need the grand entrance to feel like he was on top of the world. That wonderful woman waiting for him in the wings was all he needed to elevate his game.

  He let the rhythm consume him, scarcely aware of the rest of the band and their typical theatrics. They followed the beat, not the other way around, and could always count on him to deliver the tempo with precision, enthusiasm, and every piece of his soul. His muscles strained with each downbeat, his breath heaved, and sweat began to flow down his neck, back and chest. Soon it was dripping off his elbows and made his hair so wet, it stuck to his face and throat. The only time he paused during the set was to chug water between songs before diving into the next rhythm. Each drum progression was unique and familiar and fun. Steve lived for this shit. He didn’t care about the cameras being on him, what Max was saying to the crowd, or that there even was a crowd. When he was playing, his ego took a back seat to his need to produce a perfect cadence.

  For the next hour, music was his only love, his life, his entire reason for existing. He broke a stick during “Bite,”—not unusual since he hit the snare with uncompromising force the entire chorus—but it wasn’t his usual tech, who handed him a fresh stick. It was Roux. When she smiled at him, he stumbled over the beat. That had never happened to him before. Not in the studio. Not during a jam session. And certainly not during a live show.

  He found his rhythm easily again, muscle memory guiding him through the rest of the song as thoughts spun chaotically through his head. He didn’t want to tell Roux she was a distraction during the show—even though she obviously was. He liked that she was there, was watching him closely enough to hand him a stick when he needed one, but if her presence resulted in his making mistakes, he’d have to ask her to keep her distance. Would she understand or be hurt? He chugged down another liter of water, wiped his face on a towel, and while Max was yammering on about who the hell knew what, he beckoned Roux over with a crooked finger.

  She kept low as she creeped up behind his drum kit. He removed one of his earplugs so he could hear.

  “Sorry I messed you up,” she whispered. “I won’t bother you again.”

  “You didn’t bother me. I was just surprised. But maybe my tech should hand me new sticks.”

  She nodded and blotted his lower back with a towel. “And I can be your towel girl?”

  He chuckled. “You have to stay out of sight, love. You’re a total distraction.”

  She nodded, and he was glad there were none of the hurt feelings in her gaze that he’d expected. “But after the show?”

  “You can water me, towel me, and stick me as much as you please.”

  She grinned. “I’d kiss you, but I can see you need to concentrate.” She nodded in the direction beyond the front of his drum kit where the entire band and a good portion of the UK were all staring at him, waiting for him to begin the next song.

  Roux scrambled out of sight. He shoved his earplug back into place, pounding out the intro to “Rebel in You” before Max could tease him about failing at his job. After three encores and a lengthy set of bows, Steve dashed off the stage, only one thing on his mind now that the show was over. He found his one thing surrounded by her sisters, all fangirling over Reagan.

  “Oh my God, that cello piece is superb,” Iona said. “I wonder if Cecelia would consider joining our band and adding in some cello.”

  Steve had no idea who Cecelia was—another sister, perhaps. He couldn’t keep them all straight. He also couldn’t keep his head on straight when Roux was near. He stepped up beside her and slipped his arm around her lower back. She started and then graced him with a beautiful smile before turning against his chest and pull
ing his head down for a lengthy kiss.

  When she pulled away, she used her fingertips to trace paths through the sweat still wetting his throat. “Raven is going to kill me for getting Aimes sweat all over my costume.”

  “There’s only one solution,” he said, nibbling on her ear as he inhaled her scent. Performing always made him hornier than a triceratops. “Take it off.”

  “We have an after-party to attend. Mandatory. Your band invited us, if you were wondering.”

  And by his band, he was sure she meant Sam.

  Typically the only thing he loved more than performing was celebrating at a wild party, consuming whatever mind-altering substance was readily available, and finding some interesting female to assuage his lust. But tonight he would much rather sneak away and celebrate in private with Roux. She was the only interesting female he cared to fuck, and he liked to keep his wits about himself when she was near. She made him think, made him laugh, made him feel more alive than any drug he’d tried—and he’d tried them all. He should probably consider marrying the woman. He smiled at the thought. Now there was an idea he never thought he’d sport again after the way Bianca had destroyed the beauty of love for him. And then Roux had happened. Not only had she rebuilt his desire to love and be loved, but had advanced those needs until he knew he couldn’t live without them—without her—in his life.

  “How long do we have to stay?” he asked. “I want you bare from head to toe. I haven’t seen you out of your costume since this morning.”

  “Are you complaining about how hot I look in this corset?” She tried to give him a stern look, but her mouth twisted into a smile.

  “I know for a fact that you look even hotter out of it.” He kissed her nose. “And I miss your freckles when you’re wearing all this makeup.”

  “And I suppose you prefer pink lips over black.”

  His thoughts immediately turned south. “I’m sure the lips I’m thinking of tasting are always pink, but yeah, I prefer your mouth pink too.”

  She leaned close and whispered into his ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to see what my black mouth looks like circling your cock?”