by Roni Loren
She dropped her gaze to her heeled boots and assumed she must’ve stepped on the guy’s feet. “Sorry,” she yelled over the music, but the man had already turned to face the stage again. She gave herself a mental shake. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be working, not drooling over the subject of my assignment.
She had to get a grip or her story would end up reading like a teen idol magazine. Lead singer of Wanderlust, Lex Logan, is totally hot! He’s six foot two inches tall. His favorite color is black. Likes long walks in dark alleys. Prefers blondes who wear dental floss. Okay, so the last part probably wouldn’t make it into Tiger Beat, but still. She needed to pay attention to the music, the show, and how tight the performance was or wasn’t. That was what she was getting paid to do. Not to admire how firm Lex’s abs looked through that snug black T-shirt or how his inked arms flexed when he gripped the microphone.
The song ended and the band launched into the next track. Aubrey tried to hone in on the other band members, watching Lex only when she couldn’t avoid it. She shut her eyes often so that she could listen to the notes, the quality of the vocals, the crisp sound of the instruments. By the fourth song, she had returned to some sort of professional mode, taking mental notes at a rapid clip.
When the song finished, Lex sauntered to the edge of the stage to address the audience. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”
Screams answered him. He gave an easy laugh, clearly comfortable being the center of attention.
“I’m glad y’all are having a good time. We are, too. New Orleans definitely knows how to throw a party.” He put his hand against his brow to shield his eyes from the spotlights and squinted at the sea of people below him. “Turn up those house lights. I want to see these beautiful faces.”
Female voices reverberated off the walls as the lights above the crowd switched on. A redhead a few steps away from Aubrey lifted up her shirt as soon as Lex’s eyes traveled in her direction. Nice. What was this? Mardi Gras? Lex smiled and gave a little nod of acknowledgment to Boob Job Girl, but otherwise didn’t comment.
“You know, I’m feeling mighty thirsty, and I heard a rumor that New Orleans is home of the body shot,” Lex said, continuing to survey the audience with a sly smile. “So I’m thinking, that maybe I should try one tonight. What do you think?”
The shouting of the crowd increased.
“Now all I need is . . . a willing victim,” Lex continued. Bustier Girl began her bouncing routine again and waved her hands frantically trying to catch his eye. Lex paced across the stage, taking his time, holding his finger up and preparing to point to the chosen one.
Aubrey put her money on Miss Augmentation, but he passed that section up without a glance. As he neared Aubrey’s end of the stage, his eyes landed on her exuberant neighbor. The girl’s scream turned shrill. “Pick me! Me! Me!”
Lex lowered his hand ready to point and then shifted his gaze, locking eyes with Aubrey. Her breath caught. Oh, shit. Seconds seemed to tick by, but she couldn’t pull away from the stare. She managed to wag her head slowly back and forth. No. No. No.
He smiled, lowered his finger, and pointed directly at her. “You. The sexy brunette in the black T-shirt.”
Her stomach took a nosedive.
“Come on, I won’t bite,” Lex said, waving her forward. “Unless you ask nicely, that is.”
The girl next to Aubrey shot her a glare that could have curdled milk. The sea of fans parted as if Aubrey had suddenly morphed into royalty, and she forced her leaden feet to cross the few yards to the barricade. Her heart took up residence in her throat, threatening to jump out. This was a disaster. She silently cursed the bouncer from backstage. If she had met the band beforehand, she would’ve never ended up in this position. Building a professional relationship with the band after this was going to be next to impossible.
Hands patted her back and shoulders as the two bouncers flanking the stage helped her climb over the metal barrier. Lex squatted at the edge of the stage, all wicked grin and guyliner, and stuck his hand out. He cocked his head, beckoning her closer in a way that spoke without the words. Come on over, lamb, said the wolf. This will only take a minute.
She shook off the foreboding feeling. This was only a silly stage stunt. She’d survive. And maybe it would give her an in to talk to the band later, proving that she was a good sport. She took a deep breath and reached out to him. The bouncers hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing, which was definitely not the case, and set her on the stage. Lex’s hand wrapped around hers as he pulled her to a stand. As soon as she was solidly on her feet, he turned them both toward the audience. The cheers bounced off her eardrums, echoing through every part of her like some sort of external heartbeat.
The lights blocked her view of the balcony, but she could see the first few rows of faces on the main floor smiling up at them. Her entire body trembled. The combination of stage fright, the energy of the audience, and Lex’s fingers curled around hers threatened to send her into full-scale hyperventilation.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Lex asked, holding the microphone out toward her.
She cleared her throat, trying to get her vocal cords to cooperate, and mumbled her name, but he heard “Bree” instead of Aubrey. She didn’t have the chance to correct him.
“Everybody, give Bree some love. She’s a brave woman to come up here on stage with us.” He turned to her and shoved the bangs of his shaggy hair to the side, his mouth tilted at the corner. “You ready?”
Seeing him up close sent her mind into some pre-verbal state. Those blue eyes of his seemed to cut through everything, the haze of smoke on the stage, the glare of the spotlights. It was a look that said, I see you, don’t try to hide. And the curl of his lips—a soft, sensual curve that seemed almost at odds with the strong and angular lines of his face. She had the completely insane urge to push up on her toes and press her mouth to his, just to see what that mouth felt like.
His eyebrow lifted, reminding her that he’d asked her a question.
God, what the hell was wrong with her? He probably thought she was shitfaced drunk or something. Her tongue had become some useless muscle taking up space between her teeth. She managed a nod. Lex gave a flash of a smile, secured his microphone in the stand, and then led her by her hand to the side of the stage where a row of large speaker stacks stood.
“All you need to do is lie across these and relax,” he whispered to her. “I’ll be gentle.”
She wet her lips and nodded again. Just do what he tells you and this will be over quickly. That’s what she kept telling herself. The quicker this was done, the less opportunity for her to make a complete ass of herself. She sat on the speakers and swung her legs onto them—a few inches of her five eight frame hanging off the end. She felt like she was at a magic show about to be sawed in half. She took a deep breath and laid back.
The blond lead guitarist took up the post by the microphone and called out, “Get this man some tequila!”
A female bartender from the club stepped onto the stage with a tray holding a shot glass, a saltshaker, and a slice of lime. She shimmied across the stage, inciting catcalls from the audience and then placed the items on a speaker near Aubrey’s feet.
“All right Lex, she’s all yours,” the guitarist announced.
Lex leaned over Aubrey, his eyes meeting hers with a here we go look. Then he eased the bottom of her shirt up to reveal her navel. She sucked in her stomach on instinct, wishing she hadn’t eaten that Lucky Dog on the way over. Hot fingers brushed against her skin, and everything went shivery inside her. Lord, have mercy. She swallowed hard, gritting her teeth to maintain her composure. She’d never done a body shot before, but she knew what would happen next. Panic seized her. What was she thinking? She couldn’t do this. She was working. This guy was her assignment. Having his tongue on her skin was so very not okay. Plus, she was on stage in front of a t
housand people. She needed to stop him.
Lex’s cobalt stare met hers. “Still okay with this?”
Now was her moment to back out. He was giving her the chance to say no. She told herself to say no.
“Definitely,” she whispered.
What?
Her voice had finally decided to return, and that’s what she’d said?
His mouth lifted into a slow smile, and blood rushed to her cheeks. He placed the wedge of lime, pulp side facing out, between her lips before her brain could reboot and give the correct answer. “All right, let’s do this.”
Her fingers curled, her nails imprinting in her palms as Lex bent over. Just seeing that dark head move downward to the lower part of her body had really, really inappropriate things surging through her. Every muscle in her body tensed and readied. His tongue, warm and wet, glided over the spot above her belly button. She closed her eyes, her nerve endings seeming to quake as a flood of heat burned a path through her, lighting up places long dim. He sprinkled salt across the damp patch on her stomach, and took another lazy lick. She almost bit through the lime rind to keep from making some embarrassing, desperate sound. The men in the crowd whooped in encouragement.
Lex straightened and knocked back the shot. Before she could blink or process what was about to happen, he was inches from her face. His eyes held a glint of dark promise, and they didn’t move from hers as his lips closed over the lime. His mouth grazed hers, sending electric need sparking over her skin and heat gathering between her thighs. She resisted the urge to grab his shaggy hair and pull him down for a real kiss. She gripped the sides of the speakers with all her strength instead. God help her. Two minutes on stage and she’d turned into one of those fan girls in the audience.
Lex rose, finished sucking the lime, and then put his hand out to help her to her feet. She yanked her shirt down with trembling hands and joined him in front of the cheering crowd, giving silent thanks that she hadn’t acted on her ridiculous impulse to kiss him. As they stood side by side, Lex tucked his arm behind her and slid his hand into her back pocket. She stiffened at the feel of his hand on her ass. While still looking at the audience, he moved his mouth next to her ear, his voice fraught with wicked intention. “That’s a pass. Why don’t you come backstage and visit me after the show?”
Her attention snapped toward him and he flashed a cocky grin—one that said he had already carved a notch on his mental bedpost in her honor. Oh, hell no. So now he thought her willingness to do the body shot meant she was ready to be the groupie of the night? Was that how things worked in his world? Of course it was. The thought instantly cooled her body’s hair-trigger reaction from a moment earlier. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her gaze back to the crowd. Well, Mr. Rock Star was in for a rude awakening. He may have managed to get her all hot and bothered during her momentary lapse of sanity.
But she wasn’t some Wanderslut.
Chapter 2
The blonde on Lex’s right placed her hand on his thigh and leaned into him. The pleather couch squeaked as she adjusted herself, allowing him an unencumbered view of her assets. “The show was amazing, Lex.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth into a wry smile. People had used the word “amazing” so many times around him over the last two years that it had lost all resonance. Very few things in life were truly amazing. His mom’s fried chicken? Definitely. Slash’s opening guitar riff on “Sweet Child O’ Mine”? Absolutely. The show tonight? Not so much. The band had sounded like four strangers trying to imitate Wanderlust songs, a cover band version of their former selves. Lex rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. They were falling apart, and he had no idea how to fix it.
“So what are you doing after you leave here?” asked the redhead on his right, her voice one note shy of purring.
Lex shrugged and lifted his head to look at her. She handed him a beer and he took a swig. “I don’t know. It’s been a long night already.”
“We could keep you company.” A hot pink fingernail scraped across his jeans, moving upward. Even the simple sound of that nail against denim was irritating his senses. “Both of us. Right, Candace?”
The blonde nodded.
He clamped his hand over the girl’s, stopping its progress. Both women were so close it was as if they were sucking up all the available air. He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. The groupies were nice to look at, Maxim cover-worthy bodies, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. Hell, he hadn’t been feeling it for months. His eyes darted around the dimly lit room. He’d hoped the body shot girl would come backstage to visit, but he hadn’t seen her. Why wouldn’t she use her pass? He’d never had a woman not take advantage of a backstage pass he’d personally delivered.
He turned his head to check on Jared, the drummer. The guy consumed brunettes like an alcoholic downed cheap vodka. Lex would kick his ass if he’d intercepted body shot girl before she could get to Lex’s side of the room. But she wasn’t with Jared, either. Instead, a girl with curly dark hair was sitting next to him, fondling one of his drumsticks in a not-so-subtle manner. Jared appeared to be completely enthralled. Unlike Lex, the guy never tired of the endless stream of groupies.
“What do you think, sweet thing?” Candace asked.
“Huh?”
Candace rolled her eyes. “About the three of us having some fun tonight?”
He sighed. The offer was tempting—at least on some level. A few mindless hours with two women, two women whose only mission was to please him in the most lascivious ways, could probably help him forget the nightmare of a show. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl he’d pulled onstage—the way she’d trembled when he’d tasted her skin, the heat in her pale green eyes as they’d brushed lips. He’d barely been able to keep his dick from standing at attention right there on stage. That was what he was in the mood for. Someone with raw reactions, not the over-exaggerated fawning of well-practiced groupies. He scooted forward on the couch and away from their pawing. “Excuse me, ladies. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea tonight. I need to chat with my manager and then get some shut-eye.”
They pouted in unison. “Let us know if you change your mind, baby,” one said as he walked off.
Lex tossed his beer in the trash and prowled the catering table. Finger sandwiches, bags of chips, and drinks sat next to a fishbowl of condoms. He grabbed a bottle of water and surveyed the room one last time. No body shot girl. Just the same generic companionship of the last dozen cities. Groundhog Day. He snuck off to the dressing room for some space.
The plum-colored walls and the smell of stale cigarette smoke did nothing to alleviate his claustrophobia, but at least the room was quiet. He sank onto the plush sofa and propped his feet on the arm of it. His gaze traced the water stains on the ceiling. What the hell am I going to do now?
Tonight was the last of the club shows, and now the deadline for the second album loomed like some black hole ready to crush him for good. Their packed tour schedule wouldn’t fly as an excuse anymore. He’d been trying to write and rework the final songs for months now. Nothing had clicked. The tracks for the first album had poured out of him, as if he would burst if he didn’t get the words on paper fast enough. Easy. Quick. Effortless. The band loved them. The fans ate them up. Even the goddamned critics deemed the singles worthy of positive reviews.
Now everyone was expecting a sophomore album that didn’t just equal the first but blew it out of the goddamned water. They were all waiting for him to perform another miracle—a record that would push them into the stratosphere of arena-size shows. Lex Logan, their own personal Jesus. And the more time that went by without new songs, the more restless everyone became. The record label was making threats, he and the other band members argued nonstop, and his manager was drinking liquid antacid like it was Gatorade.
“Lex.” He heard Pete’s voice followed
by knocking.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Go away. I’m busy.”
As usual, his manager didn’t listen. The door swung open.
“Lex, I need to talk to you for a minute,” Pete said, looking harried. He pulled a rubber band from his pocket and wrangled his unruly salt and pepper hair into ponytail. “What are you doing in here anyway?”
“Avoiding women who are only after me for my superior screwing skills.”
Pete snorted. “Yeah, right.”
Lex sat up and rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I needed a break. I’m over this whole scene tonight. All I want to do is grab a burger and go to the hotel.”
“Look, you can do that in a little while. The reporter from the NOLA Vibe is here to talk to you.”
“Nick’s here?” Lex smiled. “Awesome. I totally forgot we were doing that thing with him.” Nick Jackson was a high school buddy. Lex hadn’t seen him in more than a year, but he had promised to give Nick a story when Wanderlust came to New Orleans. “He’ll be up for a burger.”
Pete glanced at the closed door and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, Nick isn’t here.”
“What do you mean?” He didn’t like Pete’s tone. He had used that same tone to tell Lex he had one month—four lousy weeks—to finish the songs for the second album.
“Nick’s in the hospital.”
Lex shot to his feet, dwarfing Pete. “Holy shit, is he okay?”
Pete put his hands up, shrinking back. “He’s fine. Exploded appendix, I think, but okay. It’s just that, they’ve sent a replacement reporter.”
“Thank God he’s all right.” Lex raked his hands through his hair and then registered the second part of Pete’s statement. “Hold on, I don’t need a replacement reporter. The only reason I agreed to the exclusive was because Nick’s my friend. If he’s out, I’m out. You know I don’t have time to do a weeklong deal with some magazine, especially with all this crap going on.”
