His eyes remain locked on me as though his words are only meant for my ears even though the small rock bar is gridlocked with bodies. His voice has drawn them in, each person eager to find the source of his alluring voice.
The crowd comes alive around me, twisting and moving faster with each perfect strike of drums. It’s as though we’re all sharing the same breath, as we sway to the rhythm making my heart pound faster against my ribs.
“You make me wanna do bad things, baby,” he crones in that effortlessly deep voice of his as the drum takes off into a solo, making the crowd go wild with excitement, but I’m just dying to hear more of his voice.
I couldn’t care less for the drummer or the man playing the bass, all I want is more of him—my mystery rocker god.
His head bobs slightly with the beat as the bass player edges forward, his fingers flying over his instrument so quickly they seem to blur. I can feel the singer’s dark eyes still locked on me, following the swirl of my hips as I rock back and forth to the song. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly graceful, even for a model, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m the one on stage—and I love it.
I’d dance for him forever just so that he never had to look away.
No one else seems to notice the way we can’t take our eyes off each other. It’s like we’re the only two people in this bar. I soak up his interest like a sponge, allowing the warmth of his hungry gaze to wash away the memory of my terrible day. While I’d been desperate to shake away the remnants of my wannabe photographer, when it comes to the rock god, I can’t get enough of his gaze. He can look all he wants.
Suddenly, he’s moving.
Light refracts off his swinging guitar and the muscles of his lean body are briefly illuminated by the overhead lights as he bends down on the edge of the stage in one fluid motion. The crowd gasps as he crouches, his hand extending toward me. I freeze in confusion, watching as the crowd parts like the Red Sea as the rocker beckons me.
Startled, I simply stare at his outstretched palm, my hands still in my hair, my hips still mid-sway.
“Come up here,” he says, his voice husky with something beyond the strain of singing all night. “Come dance with me.”
A need seeps through his voice, planting itself somewhere deep in my core. Now isn’t the time for doubt. All I’d wanted was to be closer to this man and now I finally have my chance.
Hastily, I let my palm fall against his. His fingers are coarse as they wrap around mine, drawing me toward him. His tattooed hands wrap around my small waist with a strength that leaves me trembling. Effortlessly, he lifts me onto the stage so that I’m standing at his side, his fingers gripping my hip in a way that makes me bite back a moan.
“Do you like the music?” he whispers into my ear, the drummer and bass players still reveling in their solos.
When I nod, he lifts my hand over my head to spin me around to the tune of the song. I twirl easily on the silver heel of my stiletto so that my back is facing him. He tucks my spine against his chiseled abs, his arm draping around my waist. He finds my hips again, daring fingers skimming the skin just below my shirt. I bend just slightly to the side, allowing him as much access to my flesh as he could want.
There’s just something irresistible about this guy. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted anything like I want him to touch me, to whisper in my ear, to hold me.
“You’re a good dancer,” he murmurs, the heat of his breath tickling the lobe of my ear. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you out there.”
When I try to respond, that same moan gurgles up in the back of my throat and I have to bite down hard on my lip, choosing to nod rather than risk speaking, though he probably wouldn’t even hear my lustrous sounds over the raging crowd.
I glance out over the people below the stage, just barely registering Stacy in her cardigan sipping from a neon blue martini at the bar. She winks when she realizes I’ve spotted her, lifting her glass playfully toward me and hiding a sly grin.
Then my attention is again drawn back to the man swaying behind me when his palm presses against my stomach so that my hips grind back against his. Our bodies seem to fit perfectly together, my eyes pressing shut as his hand slides over the smooth flesh of my hip, playing tauntingly with the hem of my skirt.
He knows just what he’s doing, I realize. He’s teasing me . . . and it’s working. My body feels so hot that I can hardly breathe and when I crack open my eyes, everything seems to glow a passionate red.
Just before I’m about to beg him to strip me despite all these people watching, he again lifts my hand and twirls me so that I dizzily crash against his chest once more. His hand is firm to keep me steady. My breath catches in my throat, chest rising and falling in a shallow pant of desire.
Up close, his eyes are even more mesmerizing, the dark irises freckled with silver. I gaze into them, wishing that I never had to stop.
That same magnetic pull from earlier ignites in my blood and I lean up onto my toes at the same time his face descends toward mine. Our mouths crash, my arms slipping around his neck to draw me closer to him. His guitar knocks against my side, but I don’t care. All that matters is him and me and this moment—a moment that’s over all too soon when the music begins to change to a new song.
Only then do we part, my lips left swollen and bruised, my lungs gasping for air. He grins down at me, the tip of his tongue tracing his upper lip as though he were savoring the taste of me.
I can feel the expectant stares of his band before he slowly moves to help me off the stage once more. Every inch I edge away from him is painful. Before I can take a full step away, his hand shoots out again to grab mine, pulling me toward him. His mouth brushes my ear, his words so soft I have to strain to hear. “After the show, meet me backstage,” he insists, not leaving room for an argument I never would’ve been able to give.
While I’m left stumbling and dazed, he lifts his guitar once more for their final song, leaving me wondering if I’d just dreamt up that entire interaction.
As terrible as this week had been, suddenly things are a whole lot better.
How could they not be after that kiss?
Chapter 7
Eric
“Dude, that was the best show we’ve ever played!” Alex exclaims, taking another swig from a flask that I suspect he’s gotten refilled at the bar.
We’ve all taken turns passing it around until my toes are tingling and my fingers are numb—just the way I like it.
“We totally killed it out there,” James adds. “Those people were going crazy. I bet we’re gonna have shows lined up for months after this.”
Still dazed from my encounter with the beautiful blonde, I give a distracted nod while trying to pretend to be interested in what my bandmates are saying. In reality, all I can think about is that kiss!
Though it’d been fleeting, it was like a sucker punch to the gut. Every inch of me is still yearning for her.
As I’d expected, she tasted as divine as she looked. Lyrics already begin swirling in my mind as I think of her. A shiver rolls up my spine, my lips dry and tongue thick with desire. I’ve never felt anything like this, not in all my time as a flirtatious Casanova.