Rush of Insanity

by Eden Summers

  He still hadn’t been able to classify Alana into the star-struck category yet. He couldn’t determine if her timid nature came from being excited to meet him or something else entirely. He was hoping for the latter. Hoping so hard it made his stomach churn.

  “Alana, this is Blake, the bass guitarist for Reckless Beat.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Alana offered her hand and Blake gave it a firm shake.

  “You too, Alana. I’d kiss your knuckles like my boy Mitch did, but I think he might castrate me in my sleep.”

  Blake winked at him, and Mitch glared in return. Smart-ass mother trucker had been watching him while signing autographs with his pack of fangirls.

  Alana lowered those gleaming eyes with a smile, and he caught sight of her dimples. Damn, she was cute. He stepped closer, ran his hand along her shoulders, and pulled her into his side. She stiffened, her back snapping ramrod straight, poised on the brink of doing a runner. His heart stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched her again. He peered down at her and hoped for the best. “Time for a drink?”

  She gave a jerky nod and kept her gaze lowered.

  “I’m going to head upstairs.” Blake gave them a wave.

  Mitch bit his lip to keep from laughing at Kate. The poor woman’s face changed from cartoonish elation to utter grief. He suppressed a laugh and turned to his best friend, covertly tilting his head toward the grieving woman, hoping he would get the hint.

  “Ahh.” Blake stared back at him with a frown, and then glanced toward the third wheel. “Umm.” He raised his palms in question. “You wanna come upstairs and…” He shrugged at Kate with a confounded expression.

  Blake didn’t drink. So apart from getting naked or watching television, there wouldn’t be much else for them to do. Although Mitch was certain she wouldn’t protest if asked to take her clothes off.

  Alana sucked in a breath, and he tried not to grip her tighter in comfort.

  “Yes.” Blake’s new friend nodded with enthusiasm. “Will you be all right, Al?”

  Mitch’s heart stopped for the seconds it took her to give a soft nod. “I won’t bite,” he whispered in her ear.

  His words didn’t have the effect he’d hoped for. Instead of receiving a smile or catching another glimpse of her dimples, she swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod.

  He didn’t understand her, couldn’t put her puzzle pieces together to make the picture fit.

  They stood in the middle of the foyer, two bodyguards hovering feet away, while Blake and Kate strolled to the elevator. When they pressed the button and the doors opened, Alana sighed and glanced up at him with a wavering smile. “I’m going to need that drink.”

  He chuckled and continued to stare at her. Loose strands of warm brown hair cupped her face, and her deep pink lips demanded to be kissed. Rather than fulfilling his body’s need to taste her, he dropped his arm from her shoulder, grabbed her hand, and led her toward the hotel bar.

  “Davies, you asshole!” a voice yelled from behind them.

  Mitch turned. Steve stalked toward them, his chest heaving. The two bodyguards cut off his approach, forcibly pushing at his shoulders to get him to back off.

  “You got me fired, you arrogant prick.”

  Alana gasped. The defenseless sound punched his protective nature to the forefront, and he stepped forward to block her from view.

  “Go home, Steve.” He didn’t trust the glazed look in the man’s eyes.

  “Fuck you.” Steve spat on the floor and gave him the double bird.

  Mitch shook his head in disgust and turned his back, cupping Alana’s shoulder to encourage her inside the bar.

  Before they stepped through the entryway, a shout from the guards made him tense. “Mitch!”

  On instinct, he shielded Alana’s back and propelled them forward. A large glass vase flew past the side of his head, into the wall in front of them, hitting with a loud thwack. He jerked back as pieces of glass peppered his face, leaving tiny bites of pain. His grip on Alana loosened, and she dropped to the floor. She whimpered, the soft sound dissolving his shock and sharpening his focus.

  “Alana, are you hurt?” He glanced down at her crumpled on her knees, her hair, shoulders, and back now covered with glistening shards of the shattered vase.

  His lungs tightened with each passing second that she didn’t respond. He dropped down behind her and winced at the stab of glass through his cargo pants. Hovering over her, he covered her body and glanced over his shoulder. His bodyguards were dragging Steve to the floor, their knees in his back.

  When the threat to their safety vanished, he moved in front of her, the broken glass crunching under his feet. He stared at the shaking hands covering her eyes, and his chest started to throb. The visible skin around her cheeks held tiny scratches with bright red blood. “Alana?”

  Still no response.

  He placed a hand on her forearm, and she jerked at the touch. Damn, what the hell should he do?

  “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.” He picked pieces of glass from her hair and wiped them from her shoulders. Relief flooded him when she didn’t continue to flinch. He needed to keep himself busy, otherwise the fractures in his panic would deepen, and he’d cause a bigger scene.

  Her breathing came in ragged pants. She pulled her hands an inch away from her face and lifted her gaze to look straight through him with rapidly blinking eyes. He supported her shoulders and tried to blow away the glitter of glass particles from her cheeks. The brush of his breath pulled another cry of pain from her throat, and she covered her hands over her face again.

  “Christ.” He was useless, with no concept of what to do. “Alana, please, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.” He’d tried to protect her and failed.

  “My eyes.” Her voice broke.

  “Is she all right?” Mitch glanced at one of the male hotel staff who knelt beside them.

  She let out a sob. “I can’t see.”

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