Chapter Twenty-One
Lacey stood in the eaves of the Pavilion, unable to breathe.
This was only partly due to nerves. The rest of it was because Anna’s idea of an outfit she could reasonably fit into did not precisely match Lacey’s own. Still—she was here, and she was going to do this.
The roadies had surprisingly come to her aid, like her own special version of leather-clad fairy godmothers—and the groupie who’d enjoyed mocking her so much was suddenly no longer part of the inner circle. Lacey had been outfitted with hair, sunglasses, theater-quality makeup, and more accessories than if she had been planning to go to the rock ’n’ roll ball. The wig itself had taken on its own life—first blonde, then brunette, then back to blonde—a long, flowy, runaway-princess blonde cascading into perfectly curled ringlets that fell down her back farther than her real hair could ever achieve.
The outfit had been voted on by the entire crew. Lacey had wanted the leather jeans, but she’d been shot down almost immediately. For RockerGrrl, as she was being dubbed, skin was in. So her miniskirt was short and her heels were tall, the fishnet hose had given way to gartered sheers with a line up the back that had been surgically glued in place by a woman who knew her way around her fetish gear. Topping the skirt she’d first had the option of a bustier, then a glittering tank top, then a sheer blouse—which had earned a resounding “no,” to Lacey’s desperate relief—and then, finally, one of the crew produced a years-old concert T-shirt, which Anna had ripped open with elegant precision, layering it over a leather half bustier that once again showed lots of skin.
“I think I’m going to catch pneumonia,” Lacey had complained, but as soon as she’d turned around in front of the hooting roadies, she’d earned enthusiastic applause and catcalls. They were having fun with this, and as the evening went on, she decided she wanted to as well. Even the camera crew were in on the act, as she’d presented a win-win to them. They could film the “behind-the-scenes rockumentary” of the creation of RockerGrrl. If it was a hit, they could sell the recording as bonus material. If it failed, they had even more humiliating video of Lacey making a fool out of herself, the kind of viewer-favorite footage that always drew a crowd. Really, they had nothing to lose.
Anna had helped online as well. Firing up the social-media machine once again, Anna had created a new Twitter thread for RockerGrrl, announcing that she’d heard that this megafan was announcing to all and sundry that she was going to visit Dante tonight during his last number, to show him what a real fan was like. After her network of collaborative tweeting posse picked up the thread, the story had taken on a life of its own, with fans suggesting everyone from celebutantes to other real-life rockers might be joining Dante onstage. As the stories raged, Lacey had started to get genuinely scared—at least until Brenda had called, outraged, demanding that they put a stop to any fans crashing the stage and stealing Dante’s thunder.
That’s when she’d realized she’d made it. Brenda didn’t breathe a word about the scrapbooks, didn’t gloat about ruining Lacey’s career, didn’t preen. She was completely distracted by this new threat/possibility, and that’s exactly the way Lacey wanted it.
She could do this. She would do this.
“You ready?” Anna was at her side, like a stage manager sent to even out a keyed-up ingénue. “Remember, it’s just like we talked it through. You only have to be out there for one song. You dance like we showed you, strut around the stage, and get as close as you can to Dante. If he plays nicely, you follow his lead. If he doesn’t, you flirt with the band. But Dante’s not going to be an asshole. He knows this is coming, and he’s going to make you look good.”
“You sure about that?” Lacey asked, and Anna snorted.
“Yeah, I’m sure. You may not be able to see it, but the way that guy looks at you? You can write your own ticket with him. It just depends on what you want.”
Lacey thought about that. She didn’t know what she wanted, truth to tell. And that made her more nervous than anything. Then the music started building, and Lacey felt her heart suddenly pound in time to the beat. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Anna, I can’t—”
“It’s go time!” Anna screamed over her. “Remember, just think about Dante, and you’ll be great!”
She shoved Lacey onto the stage, and the lights swept over her, suddenly blinding her.
Even as the lights onstage exploded into a flare of brilliant sparks, signaling the last song of what had to be one of their best sets ever, Dante wasn’t feeling it. He’d been off all night, jittery, on edge. He knew he needed to put on a show for Lacey, for the world—and he would. He was totally on board with that. But he also felt like he was on the edge of something he didn’t quite understand, and he didn’t like feeling out of his depth.
The boxes of scrapbooks still lurked in his rooms back at the hotel, and he couldn’t get his mind off of them—not even during the full first set of the show. So he’d stalked and scowled and screamed through the second half of the show, feeling his anger amp higher, not lower, feeling the edginess consume him, not knowing why.
He swept the backstage, noting the change in light. Something was weird with that; the focus was off. The crowd suddenly jolted in a roar of recognition, and Dante swung around, squinting to see. There, on the other side of the stage—was Lacey, finally.
Only—no, it wasn’t. Not the Lacey he knew anyway. This was yet another side of Lacey, and he was beginning to wonder where her variations ended.
A blonde dressed like something out of a high-class porn magazine was now strutting around onstage. The first thing he noticed was that her hair was insanely long and beautiful, falling in a great gold mane over her shoulders. He couldn’t see her face beneath her reflective glasses, but her mouth was full and a dark, dark red. His gaze shifted down as he felt his body respond, and he took in sheer black hose slinking up her long legs, her bright-red stilettos sparkling in the crazy lights. She turned then, undulating for the crowd, and he realized that above her skintight skirt, she wore—holy God, where had she gotten that? That T-shirt was old—like start of his Paradiso days old. It hung off her body showing full breasts all tied up in some sort of leather thing, and Dante no longer had to fake any reaction.
He grinned, and the crowd went wild.
As if on cue, Lacey turned and caught sight of him. She pulled her shirt away from her breasts and shimmied, the action serving not only to emphasize that yes, she was a fan from way back—but it also focused his attention on the perfectly high, round breasts the shirt wasn’t doing the world’s best job of concealing.
He was starting to become really fond of that T-shirt.
Lacey began strolling toward him, her smile wide, her hips swaying. He played the same game and sauntered partly her way as the band behind him laughed and jammed into an extended sexy riff, egging the action along.
When Lacey reached him, the verse was starting up again, and he sang into his headpiece, his eyes fastened on her cat-eye sunglasses, her beautiful smile. The lyrics were about never trusting a woman, and she held up her finger on cue, as if warning him away. She danced around him then, flirting and sexy, and he watched her with open appreciation as she shimmied and whirled. She was smoking hot, and her body reminded him of all the wonderful curves he’d only just started to get to know.
Chorus then, and the song was nearing the end. Lacey knew it, too, because she turned to blow him a kiss, then turned to exit the stage, picture perfect.
Only that’s not how he wanted the script to go.
Dante reached out and grabbed Lacey by her trailing arm, even as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. She turned back, and he had just the faintest realization of her surprise before he pulled her into his arms, dropping his mouth over hers, kissing her with a greedy energy as the crowd around him erupted in an amphitheater-shaking roar.
Beneath him the woman shivered uncontrollably, and he held her tight, realizing she was on the brink of falling. There was something
so right about Lacey in his arms this way, how she sighed, how she kissed. He ravished her mouth more thoroughly, and he heard the gasp even as his brain confirmed what his body had already realized. He was falling hard for Lacey Dawes, and she didn’t even know it.
“Lacey,” he sighed, wanting more—so much more than he’d asked for, yet more than she wanted to give? That he didn’t know. But he was determined to find out.
“Dante,” she sighed, happier than he’d ever heard her. She leaned into the kiss, her hand going up and around his head, clawing through his hair, even as her leg hooked around his body and pulled him tightly against her. Dante went rigid with something more than desire. The Lacey he’d known up to this moment wouldn’t act this way—nor would she palm his ass and bend her body into his in front of tens of thousands of fans, as if the two of them could have sex right through their clothes. Nevertheless, this Lacey just threw her head back and laughed triumphantly, but he pinned her leg still to him, the two of them caught in an unbreakable embrace. Lacey grinned at him and waved something in her other hand. He blinked, trying to focus.
It was a pen, he realized at length. A thick black marker.
He signed her shirt and the crowd bellowed again. Inwardly he groaned for just a second. The security detail on the remaining shows of this tour was going to be a nightmare. But then he threw the pen down and bent to Lacey again, claiming her lips with his.
“Dante!” Lacey’s voice was low, desperate, and husky. “I’ve got to get offstage!”
“Lacey.” His tone was commanding, and she looked back at him, trapped by his voice. He leaned forward.
“Tonight, I want you waiting for me in the bus,” he said, and he could tell by how she stiffened that she knew he was stating the terms of her payment. “And I want you to be naked and ready for me. You think you can do that?”
“Dante—”
“I mean it. Naked. Nod if you understand.”
Lacey’s cheeks flamed, but she nodded quickly, then managed to wriggle out of his grasp, give a little half shimmy and stroll away, leaving him standing there with a grin on his face, lips bruised from the contact, and his body ready to rock in an entirely different way. The crowd roared, the music shifted, and he turned his attention back to the business at hand.
For now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Move it—I’ve got to change!” Lacey started running the moment she hit the door to the backstage area, and bright lights swept over, exposing her farce to harsh fluorescence. “Are there any reporters back here yet?”
“Not a one! Just our own cameras!” Anna fell in line with her, somehow managing to yank Lacey’s shirt off while they were hustling through the corridor. She threw it to a groupie, who hooted with pleasure.
“eBay, here I come!” the girl trilled, and Lacey halted, then swung her head around to Anna, who’d crashed into her and was now unpinning her wig.
“She’s selling that shirt on eBay?” Lacey asked. “I thought it was a relic of one of his earliest shows!”
“You’re the relic,” Anna grinned. “They’d sell every scrap of clothing on your body after tonight’s performance. You were outstanding!”
“Do you think we pulled it off?”
“I think you pulled it off. Big difference. Get in here.”
Anna hustled Lacey into an equipment closet barely big enough for them to turn around. She peeled off Lacey’s heels, skirt, hosiery, and every scrap of leather, then stuffed the whole mess into a backpack. “Your dress is there. Hang your head over while you get into it. I’ll fix your hair. Then we’ll walk you out with your folders and forms and your serious little face and no one outside of the crew will know a thing happened.”
“How did I look?” Lacey tried to shift, but Anna pushed her head back down and ran a brush through her hair like she was intent on pulling half of it out.
“You looked great. YouTube is going to eat that entire show up, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“Yeah?” Lacey brought her head back up and smoothed down her dress. It was a sundress, but one that made her look about ten years old—black with white polka dots, with a thin red belt wrapped round it. She stepped into the low-heeled sling backs that Anna had remembered to bring as well. The woman was worth her weight in gold. No wonder her consulting career was taking off.
“Yeah. And, you look perfect once again. You’re welcome. Here.” Anna handed her a carton of makeup wipes. “Your mouth is doomed—but let’s get the rest of that sludge off your face, and I’ll redo your lips. You’re going to have pouting pink on your lips for the rest of the week, but we’ll cover the harlot red if it kills me.”
“You’re amazing.” Lacey scrubbed at her face with a dozen of the bunched-up towelettes, then winced as Anna got to work on her abused mouth. All the while, she heard Dante’s words in her head, telling her to be waiting and ready for him. Naked.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kill the flush, girl,” Anna said. “You don’t want to look like you just did something dangerous. You have to look cool, calm, and collected.”
“Got it.” Lacey grinned, though she felt anything but.
Less than a minute later, a knock sounded on the door. “That’s your cue,” Anna said. “I’ll stash the rest of this, but you go out there like the busy little bee you are. The reporters are going to be looking for Dante’s number one fan, bet on it. Remember what we planned—everyone is set up for it. You’re pissed. RockerGrrl ran out of the corridor and you sent security after her, but the bitch got away. You’re mainly mad because of the lost camera time, since you want the distraction more than anyone. Got it?”
Lacey grinned. “Got it.”
Another knock sounded, more urgent this time, and she was out the door.
Dante stalked through the crowd of chipper roadies, his entire body jacked and ready. The rest of the band had begun jawing before he’d even gotten offstage, alternating between congratulating him on a job well done with Lacey, and asking him in half-serious voices if it even was Lacey. The getup had been real enough to fool half of them, easily.
It’d been real enough to fool Dante, too.
“Where is she?” he asked, as Harry blocked his path.
“Chill out, Dante. Cameras are fucking everywhere, and you want to play the role of intrigued star, not horny boyfriend. You got me?” Harry watched his face, then hurried on. “Right. Well, she’s already prepped the reporters. Said the woman ran through here like she had the hounds of hell on her ass. Sprinted right out the door, and—”
Dante checked his stride. “She said what?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded emphatically. “You should have seen her. Got out her statement right before her phone blew up like it was the end of the world. Jury’s still out on whether she’s a genius or she’s lost her job for giving a fan access like that to you, but either way, it was one hell of a show.”
“But—” He saw Lacey coming around the corner now, and the sight of her really make him skid to a stop.
She was perfectly composed in every way, except for her face, which was her usual combination of stressed and flushed. Her hair was neatly brushed, her little dress thing looked like something out of the 1950s, and she had that damnable collection of file folders pressed over her chest like she was going into battle. And she was talking on her phone.
“No, Brenda, it was not planned,” he could hear her say clearly. “Yes, it was a fan. Yes, I know. Yes, I know that, too. No, we can’t find her. Yes, I know that’s ridiculous. It’s a little bit of a madhouse—shit. Cameras. I’ve got to go.”
Dante frowned and looked around. There were no cameras at this end of the hallway, but Lacey whirled around and immediately began accosting the security guys who came trotting back through the doors, their faces grim. “How could you have lost her?” she seethed. “You know I have cameras set up to finish the show. They’re going to want to put a clip of whoever the hell she was on the Jumbotron and you’ve given me nothing!”
Dante blinked, then looked back toward the stage. Lacey was right. There was the demand for the encore—Harry was already at his side. But—
“God, I’m sorry,” Lacey’s voice brought him back, already apologizing to the hapless security detail. “It’s not your fault, I saw her, too—let’s try the bathrooms. She may be hiding—” She strode off in a knot of them, never having looked at him once, and Harry was still there.
“Let it go, Dante—she’s done her part, now you’ve got your job to do.” The manager grinned as Dante swung around, feeling like he was meeting himself coming and going.
He went back out on the stage, the band kicked in, the lights came up, and the show went on. The fans demanded an encore of the impromptu fangirl, only RockerGrrl never did show up again. Because she was back to being the Lacey everyone knew.
The usual onslaught of fans and cameras—both sanctioned and unsanctioned—followed them out of the venue and onto the buses. They were heading to Atlanta next, he thought. Then Daytona after that. He couldn’t shower until the bus was moving, so he went into autopilot—get everything on, get everything going. Get the hell out of town.
Because the moment they cleared the city limits, Lacey was all his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As Dante finished his shower, Lacey could barely keep herself sitting in her captain’s chair, curled up in a tight ball under her comforter. He’d taken one look at her when he’d finally made it to the bus, taking in the blanket and her bare neckline, and his grin had practically turned her bones to water. He’d held up one finger, then disappeared into the back of the bus. Apparently, they weren’t going to involve the shower this time … which was a pity. She rather liked that shower.
Lacey’s body hummed in reaction to that memory, and she turned her attention back to the computer on the table next to her. It looked like the night had been a success on another level, already. The texts from Anna were even more confirmation that everyone in the world had at least added the sexy rocker fangirl to their list of things to talk about. She maybe hadn’t eclipsed the scrapbook fiasco entirely, but at least she had it contained. Three different brands of insanity on one show made any one item that much easier to overlook.
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