Her brow wrinkled, and she glanced at her friend, but the friend had a goofy star struck expression on her face and wasn’t paying any attention to Her. I flipped my headset mic to the side and grinned at her, her discomfort making me steadier in some way. “Come on.”
She peered about her, fingers splayed on her chest. “Who? Me?” she mouthed.
I laughed. “Well, I’m not talking to those two assholes eying you for the past fifteen minutes. Come on.”
She beamed at me, her mouth sliding wider and she tilted her head. “Really?”
I frowned, and instead of answering her I wrapped my fingers around her forearm. She clutched my wrist as I plucked her from the crowd. Her boots scrambled up the stage wall, and I almost dropped her on her ass, but together we managed to get her on stage.
Uhh. Now what?
I threw a look over my shoulder. Jericho kept playing, but watched me with an amused smile. Rafe’s eyes were wide, and he shifted his gaze to Jericho, who simply shrugged. I was still holding The Girl’s hand.
Okay. That has to stop.
“What’s your name?”
She leaned closer. “What?”
“Your name. What’s your name?”
“Oh. Grace.” Even with her clumsy climb onto the stage, it suited her.
Again, a wave of energy…confidence?…hit me and I bent over her hand, not breaking eye contact, and kissed it. “Enchanté.”
Where the hell did that come from? That must be some damn strong whiskey Rafe gave me.
She looked at her friend and giggled.
“Everybody, meet Grace.” The crowd roared and some people waved at her. “Should we put her to the test? Make sure her momma named her correctly?”
Grace moaned, but her smile didn’t dim. “Oh, no.”
I walked us backward to get some room. The chorus played, so I sang as I moved then slid to the right, putting Grace at the end of our arms’ lengths. Smiling at her, and actually having fun for once, I raised my eyebrows. “Let’s see whacha got.”
Slowly, she lifted her opposite arm out to the side, bending her wrist elegantly.
I chuckled. Challenge accepted.
I gave her a slight tug and she spun smoothly in to me, until she was wrapped in my arms, her ass against my thigh. I grinned. “Holy shit!” Applause exploded around us.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling in the stage lights.
She’s enjoying this as much as I am.
The realization brought with it a surge of power, and further bolstered my confidence. I brought my left hand down to clasp her free hand near her hip and swayed with her as I crooned out the familiar lyrics of the song, I now remembered, was appropriately titled “Dance Into My Heart.” Maybe, subconsciously, that was why I pulled her on stage. It didn’t matter why I did it, it was simply—I just decided—a brilliant move.
She leaned into me, but it didn’t feel like a come-on. It felt…oddly natural. I smelled beer. One of those assholes had spilled on her. But above that I caught her fragrance, light and floral, no hint of seduction.
Interesting.
Despite that fact, it seduced all the same, and I instinctively gathered her nearer, swiveling my head toward her to breathe her in. It should be uncomfortable touching her so intimately in front of a crowd of thousands, but, magic was in the air or something, because I felt only pleasure, and arousal.
And I needed to tamp that down before I really embarrassed the both of us, so I again faced forward, but I couldn’t help but bring my cheek next to hers at the same time. I was grateful the lights hadn’t made me sweaty yet, although my temperature was definitely rising. She didn’t flinch, or turn away. In fact, I felt her sigh and, if I could trust my peripheral vision, her lashes drooped and her lids became heavy. She twisted slightly when I straightened and started the big dramatic finish, and tilted her head to look at me. I drew out the final line—“Until you dance again into my heart.”—while staring deeply into her eyes. She released my left hand and languidly brought her arm up, trailing the back of her fingers along the side of my face. I wasn’t sure if she moved closer, or I did, but we were a breath away from each other. She was watching my lips and I fought an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her. Although I could get away with a lot as a rock star, it was still always best to let the fan make the first move. The song ended, but we didn’t change positions.
The clapping startled us, like an unexplained noise in the middle of the night. I actually jumped then raised my head. Blinking, I took in the cheers, whistles, and applause offered from the throng beyond the footlights then twisted to observe my band members’ reactions. Rafe was beating his hands together, Jericho’s fingers were in his mouth, coaxing out a shrill whistle, and even Dex the Detached was on his feet, banging his sticks together so hard they were liable to break. My brain was slow to come around.
All part of the show.
It didn’t matter I was more turned on than I ever had been in my entire life. I released her and took a step back.
“Let’s hear it for Grace.”
CHAPTER TWO
Grace
The applause broke the spell and he let go of me and stepped away. For a moment I was alarmed and confused.
What the hell am I doing up here?
Then, when I turned and a whole auditorium was in front of me, it filled me with panic.
What the hell am I doing up here!
Payton, the reason for my being at the concert in the first place, looked like she was going to explode when I finally spotted her. My friend was screaming and bouncing like springs were attached to her feet and she was pretending the floor was molten lava. I laughed, took a little bow, and started moving across the stage.
“Wait!” Despite the deafening roar rising from the floor, I heard him. I faced him, and he grabbed my hand again. “We’re not done with you yet.” He tugged on me with a grin. “Anyone can dance to a slow song. Let’s see what you can bring if we take the beat up a little.” He signaled to the band and they readied their instruments.
“I’m really not…” I glanced back at Payton. She fell off her heels again and the guys behind her helped to support her by the elbows.
Should I be concerned about that?
I frowned. Even though we were the same age, I couldn’t seem to abandon my mothering instincts towards Payton. She was the life of the party, but sometimes the life of the party had to be watched over so she didn’t get herself killed.
I looked at Zane. “I think I need to sit this one out.” I was speaking mostly to myself, as I was sure he couldn’t hear me above all the noise, but my shaking head did the talking for me.
He leaned away, taking my hand in both of his now. I read his lips. “Come on.” His smile was inviting. Tantalizing. Perfect white teeth and beautiful full lips that were all I could seem to focus on. Was I really turning down Zane Freaking Sanders?
My God he was even hotter in person. The last time I saw him on YouTube—which I admit I visited frequently at night after my brother went to bed—he appeared almost scrawny. But I could tell he was solid when I rocked against his chest. With any luck he’d do his usual thing and strip down to his amazing leather pants. His green eyes were even more smoldery in person—was that even a word?—and that hair. What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through those dark, thick locks, waving around in pompadourish style…man.
“Come on. Come on.”
Great. The mic was on now and I could actually hear the pleading in his sexy voice.
“I don’t think I should,” I murmured again, forgetting my voice wasn’t amplified by a mic.
He appealed to the audience. “What do you say, guys? Do we want to see more of Grace’s moves?”
They responded affirmatively. I looked at all the smiling faces. Some were nodding and appeared to say, “Go on.” A few of the girls seemed pissed. I imagined they would have loved to trade places with me. I swung my head back and the way he was staring at me with those laser beam eyes
of his melted my reluctance away. I let him pull me to center stage and the volume of the mob rose even higher.
“You play dirty,” I said when we were close again.
He wriggled his brows. “I know.”
But the song the band was playing happened to be my favorite song, “Night of Awakening.” It was a breakup song, but playfully and cleverly written, with a fun Latin flare I loved. It was that song I had to play at full volume in my car, singing until my throat was sore, but I was happy. It wasn’t one of the band’s bigger hits—much to my bewilderment—but I found it impossible to listen to it and be still. And on stage? On stage it was even better. Dex’s drums—of course I knew all their names—were beating in my bloodstream. Rafe’s bass and Jericho’s guitar battled, swirling around me like children playing tag. My adrenaline rose, taking control.
“I freaking love this song!” I couldn’t help but say.
He blinked. “You do?” Was the multiplatinum star surprised by a compliment? “Uhh…good.”
I jabbed a finger into his chest with a faux frown, although my smile threatened to split the corners of my mouth. “You’re lucky it’s good, because you made me dance to it.”
He captured my hand in both of his, pressing it over his heart as he sang the first line. “I lived in the dark, safe but alone. ’Til you came along, warmed me down to the bone.” He sang conversationally, like he wrote the song for me. I shimmied, moving my body loosely but sensually, calling on my wicked Zumba skills to get me through the song. He seemed to like it, if the light in his eyes and spreading grin were any indication. Touching my hip, he stretched his opposite arm out. My fingertips naturally fell to his side, gliding over the smooth leather encompassing him, and I clasped his extended hand. He took a step forward and I took a step back, our shoulders rolling with the music. I watched his face and somehow knew, without looking, what he was going to do next.
Were it any other song, I would be scared shitless. I was the girl whose heart raced any time I sat at a table with strangers and we were told to go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. In my head I would keep repeating my name, afraid I’d freak out and draw a blank when it was my turn because the focus was on me. On a regular day, dancing was a struggle. Payton or Lexi, or both, would drag me out on the dance floor. Yeah. The dance floor. Surrounded by tables of people watching the participants shaking their stuff. Uncomfortable was not a strong enough word. Personal Hell was more like it. But I’d do it. Because I loved my goofy friends, who can both, of course, dance better than I can. I would move a little, or a lot, depending on how much I was drinking and how much I loved the song.
But stand in front of a crowd of twenty thousand plus? No way. Yet here I was. Zane Sanders must have some sort of magic and/or potent brainwashing skills.
The music faded with the first chorus and left only his voice. His wonderful, silky, sexy voice. His mouth caressed the words with such care I was carried away with the sound of them.
The tempo increased again and he released my hip to separate us and create room so he could watch me move.
“Are you a professional dancer?” he shouted.
“I guess I am tonight,” I responded with a grin, twirling and looking at him over my shoulder as I did.
If I thought much about it, I’d be halting and awkward. But, what the heck. It was my moment in the sun and I was going to relax and enjoy it, even if it killed me. My twelve dollar beer must be doing its job. My feet moved rapidly with the tempo and I tossed my hair, really getting into the song now, and singing along with him. He mimicked my movements effortlessly. I playfully put my fingers on his shoulder, dancing forward and making him step back to the rhythm. Applying pressure, I advanced again, backing him up a couple more feet. Then, with a grin, I spun and danced away. He came after me and grabbed my arm, twirling me under it in a commanding way. We continued left and right across the stage, like we acted out a little samba tug-of-war. I was amazed by the way our feet moved in synchronicity, like it was a well-practiced, choreographed dance and not two people who didn’t even know each other having a little fun.
I felt wild and free and…happy. I was usually so uptight, worried about finances, about my brother, about the tiny flower shop I owned. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, I left that all behind, stepped out onto a stage and into a stranger’s arms and I was loving it.
Zane
I was having a blast. I had no idea such a live wire lay under the surface when I lifted her from the crowd. The girl was amazing. Her footwork was phenomenal. And the way she shimmied those hips? God, help me. I’d have thought she had some Latino blood in her if it weren’t for her fair complexion and blonde hair. I was so distracted by her, I didn’t realize she moved me halfway across the stage. Assessing my position, I did a little hop to the side and landed on the curved ramp leading to Dex’s elevated drum stand. Undaunted, she continued her onslaught, a hand on the front of one shoulder, shaking her ass and continuing to force me to retreat.
“Are you a professional dancer?”
She shook her head then tilted it and grinned at me. “I guess I am tonight.”
I smiled wider. I liked her. Really liked her. She was fun, and unusually comfortable with me. Most of our fans were either awestruck babblers when around me, or super aggressive, like they were asserting their own importance. Few people treated me like an equal, or acted like she was at the moment, quietly challenging me. The spotlight followed us along the ramp, but eventually we’d run out of real estate, as Dex’s drums covered most of the top. But I was inspired with a solution. I leaped off the side of the ramp, onto the stage. Grace looked confused for an instant, maybe even hurt I abandoned her, but when I reached up for her, that wonderful smile of hers returned and she waited to see what I would do. Which is kind of what I was doing, too. This was all so spontaneous, I didn’t know where each second would lead. I took her hand, walked her to a lower point on the ramp, then wrapped my arms around her legs, lifting her from the metal walkway and allowing her to slowly slide down my body until her feet touched the ground. She had to kind of grab onto my shoulders for support at first, but as she was lowered, she automatically clasped my neck. I didn’t release her, if anything, my muscles tightened, daring her to try to escape. But she didn’t seem interested in escaping. Her gaze wandered over my face then landed on my eyes and stuck. She was playing with my hair, something almost all of the women I was with did. The difference being, it generally annoyed me when others did it, but the way she did it was freaking glorious, and I never wanted it to stop. Again I wondered what it would be like to kiss her, and actually bent my head in, but, damn it, I needed to sing the lyrics for some reason, although what that reason was, at the moment, escaped me.
When the last note ended, I had an idea that was either brilliant or disastrous, but I didn’t make it this far by not taking chances. I tapped my headpiece. “Stay here,” I told her, but I held onto her to guarantee she didn’t leave, and walked toward Jericho and Rafe. “Change in plans. We’re playing ‘Don’t Fade Away.’”
They looked at each other. “But Shayna’s not here,” Rafe pointed out.
Shayna accompanied me on this song, and her mournful vocals were really what made it work, so we usually only did it when she joined us on tour. I scrutinized Grace. “I know.” I’d heard her voice when she was close and I knew she could carry the part.
“What’s going on?” Grace asked hesitantly as I led her back out to center stage.
From behind me I heard Rafe ask, “So, what do we do?”
Jericho didn’t hesitate. “Play ‘Don’t Fade Away.’ He’ll sing it either way and we don’t want to look stupid, so we play it.”
Thatta boy. You know me well.
“Oh, no,” Grace said firmly, catching on to my intentions. “Dancing is one thing, but singing is an entirely different thing.”
I ignored her. “Rafe. Play the acoustic.”
“All right,” he said begrudgingly. I
owed them some apologies later for switching the set. But that was later. Usually I played the acoustic on this song, but I didn’t want the added pressure at the moment.
I signaled to a stagehand. “I need a floor mic.” They always had one ready in case my headset went out. The guy ran off.
“I-I don’t know the words.”
This hadn’t occur to me, but one peek at her face and I knew it wasn’t a problem. “You’re a bad liar, Grace.”
I took her shoulders and realized she was shaking. An unfamiliar emotion stirred within me. Guilt. Zane Sanders never felt bad about anything, never had time for regret. But it never occurred to me she might be truly frightened up here. I never was, and she didn’t appear to be either—before I decided she should sing with me. It was strange I even wanted her to do it, but a desire to share myself with her hit me, and singing together could be very intimate. “Grace, look at me.” I don’t know why I said it, because she already was staring at me, but she quit fidgeting and seemed to focus in on me more. I kept my voice low and steady. “You can do this. I heard you earlier. Look at me and I’ll get your through it.”
She gave her head a slight nod. I considered giving her a way out, but decided against it. Mostly because the music was starting.
“Okay. So we all know Grace can dance, right?” Loud applause followed. “Let’s see if she can…sing.” The laughter and cheers were about evenly matched.
Grace took a deep breath. “Oh, man.”
She was giving it a go. I began the first verse. Grace sort of appeared as if she might puke.
That would be a waste of a ten dollar beer, or whatever the hell she was drinking earlier.
She was still standing awkwardly to the side, as straight and rigid as a brick wall.
She’ll never be able to sing like that.
I took her hands as I sang into my head mic and they swooped in with a mic stand. I stepped behind and embraced her, laying my cheek against hers again. Her body relaxed little by little. Extending my arm in front of us, I acted like I was showing her something when I sang the line, “A world’s out there waiting for me. But I’m still here with you, down on my knees.” I made a fist with the last.
ROCKED BY GRACE (LOVE AND CHAOS SERIES Book 1) Page 2
