“I know, right?” Alex says in agreement, pausing to shoot a grin at me that barely penetrates the haze of my lust. “Even with you almost bailing at the end there. What was up with that? A pretty girl caught your eye, Easy E?”
The nickname irritates me, but I put on a forced smile anyway. If I argue with them, they’re just going to lay it on even thicker. “Would you expect anything else?” I smirk, playing my part.
To be honest, I’m counting the seconds until I can push them out of the dressing room so I can meet my gorgeous mystery girl. My entire body feels off, like I left part of it behind with her when I had to let her back off the stage. I hadn't wanted to. In fact, I could’ve played the rest of the show with her in my arms, but I know it would’ve pissed off my band.
My muse had stood there for just a moment longer to watch me start the last song, her eyes churning like blue fire over high cheekbones, before she vanished into the crowd. I blinked and she was gone. Hopefully my mysterious angel hadn't fluttered off to some distant cloud. If she doesn’t come to my room tonight, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover.
Being this hung up on a girl isn’t my style, but then again, she isn’t just any girl. I don’t know anything about her but I can already tell that I’ve got it bad. Whoever she is, she might be the one for me.
I’d give up just about anything to touch her one more time, to feel her sigh as my fingers brush over her skin.
The dressing rooms here aren’t much, just small, closet-sized spaces that Logan’s bar lets the bands use for the night. One perk of playing the venue, I suppose.
I technically have to share it with the boys, but I’m counting on them wanting to go to the bar and schmooze with some potential fans after the show.
“I bet that girl is gonna post all about this online,” Alex adds, a devilish glint in his eye. “Maybe someone took a video and it’ll go viral or something.”
“A video of me dancing with a girl isn’t gonna go viral,” I mutter irritably, glancing at my watch and wishing they would leave.
“Wanna go celebrate?” James asks, prodding me. “Logan said he’s gonna hook us up at the bar. I guess sharing some tequila with you softened him up.”
“Yeah, I’ll meet ya there,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to come up with a realistic reason to hang back. I’m the hardest partier out of the three of us, and that’s saying something. “I, uh, just need a minute here first. You know, to decompress and make some notes about the show.”
“Seriously?” Alex asks suspiciously. “This is the best show we’ve ever played, man! It’s time to celebrate.”
My lips part then press shut again like a goldfish stuck on dry land as I rack my brain trying to come up with a decent excuse. While I’m floundering, my bandmates exchange a look before James bursts into laughter.
He shakes his head. “You dog. You asked her to come to the dressing room, didn't you?”
Alex laughs. “That’s our Easy E!” he crows. “Can you imagine how much fun we’re gonna have once we get our big break and start touring? Every night is gonna be like this. We’ll have more women than we can handle.”
James whoops and claps me on the back. “Yeah, but still never as many as Easy E, here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answer tersely. “Now get out of here.”
The two guys bumble out of the dressing room, laughing and passing the flask back and forth on their way to the bar. The second the door swings shut, I burst into action. The first order of business is to put the expensive tequila Donovan gifted me in an ice bucket after taking a healthy sized swig or three—just enough so that the buzz I’ve started to sweat out while playing is reignited.
Alcohol simmers in my veins, my eyes darting constantly toward the door.
Will my angel really come?
Just as I’m tossing a few pillows onto the couch, a light tapping resounds against the wooden door. I suck in a breath, counting to three before rushing over so it doesn’t seem like I’m waiting on bated breath for her to arrive. Before answering, I smooth my hands through my dark hair and tug at my shirt, wishing I’d taken ten seconds to freshen up. But this sexy woman isn’t going to wait around. With any luck she likes the look of a man who’s just spent three hours rocking his soul out on stage.
When she knocks one more time, a faint hesitation to the sound, I quickly pull the door open. It’s her!
The woman standing before me is painfully gorgeous. Even though I already knew how beautiful she was, seeing her here in the bar’s back hallway instead of under the heat of the spotlights takes her beauty to a whole new level.
It literally makes my eyes ache to gaze at her. It’s the same feeling that I got when I was eight and Donovan dared me to stare up into the sun. I’d thought then that the dark swirly spots would never fade, but they had, only to be revived once more by the dazzling beauty before me.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. My whole plan to play the smooth rockstar disappears in the wake of her arrival. I was going to sweep her inside with a passionate kiss, pour us some drinks, then serenade her before stripping her slowly, making sure my lips paid homage to every curve of her perfect figure. But now, standing before her, my mind feels as though it’s frozen.
“Hi,” she says softly, her voice smooth and delicate.
She even sounds like an angel!
Her eyes gleam, making my throat tighten.
“Hi,” I answer, uncaring that our first exchange isn’t the smoothest.
Had this been any other woman I would’ve been desperately attempting to come up with some silver-tongued line, but with my beautiful angel, there’s no need. There’s something effortlessly natural about the way we speak, like we both know our attraction is beyond words.
It’s refreshing and tantalizing all at once.
She glides into the room, with the most graceful steps I’ve ever seen, her eyes skimming the small space before locking back on me. Her full, pouty lips press together into a light smile, making lust bloom in my soul. She’s taking gorgeous to dangerous levels.
“Want some?” I ask, flicking a hand toward the tequila bottle on ice.
“Yes,” she answers, though I can tell it isn’t the booze she wants . . . it’s me.
I pull her toward me and she melts against my chest, my arms locking around her, my lips desperately seeking hers. In an instant I’m lifting her off her feet so her ankles can twine around me. Her fingers knot in my hair, her teeth grazing my lower lip as pure, carnal desire rushes through my veins.
The kiss deepening, I stumble forward, our bodies collapsing on the sofa. In a desperate haze, my belt is undone and her skirt is bunched up over her hips. Then, with just a sliver of boiling air separating our bodies, time seems to slow to a halt.
“I want you,” she breathes against my lips, her hands still twisted in my hair.
The simple sentence is enough to almost undo me right there.
Chapter 8
Morgan
“Let me help you . . .” he whispers huskily in my ear as I fumble with my skirt, my hands shaking with ecstasy.
His eyes are half closed, his voice drowsy with fatigue, though I’m sure I must look equally dazed. The flush of amazing sex still warms my skin, tinting it crimson.