“Come on,” Kate called, tugging Alana’s arm. “Hurry.”

A mass of people filled the space before them, most of them packed like sardines in the small area in front of the stage. She planted her feet, already saturated with social interaction from the hours of useless shopping. Apparently, revealing clothing wasn’t a stage of her liberation. Not yet. But then again, Kate exposed enough skin for both of them.

“You don’t want to stand back here?” Back where people weren’t rubbing against each other like a Discovery channel mating ritual.

“No way.” Kate tugged her wrist harder, demanding compliance, and led her through the claustrophobic restriction of tightly compacted bodies. She would bet the New York peak-hour subway had nothing on the personal space violations currently filling this room. It was chaotic and entirely out of her comfort zone.

In and out, in and out, they made their way through the human obstacles until they were close to their destination—front row of what she assumed would soon be a mosh pit.

She would’ve thought the trek to the barrier was impossible, and somehow Kate squeezed past everyone, leaving no hairy, sweaty man untouched. Her best friend was Moses, only instead of the sea, she had the power to part groupies with the flick of her hand.

“So this is it?” Alana yelled over the mass of conversation.

It would be easy to start wishing she was home, in the place where no one had ever made her feel like butt floss, but she wasn’t going to give up on her adventure. Not yet.

She staggered with the pulse of the crowd, her hips smashed against the security barrier holding the fans back from the intimate hotel stage. The jolts of pain as her bones clashed with the metal railing kept her awake despite the long day of traveling and unending hours walking back and forth through a shopping mall. Her body ached like she was in her eighties instead of her late twenties, and her weary muscles throbbed to her core. If it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she would’ve collapsed long ago.

“This is going to be awesome,” Kate squealed from beside her, bouncing on her toes even though her feet were encased in gravity-defying high heels. With a voracious smile, her friend waggled her eyebrows and turned her attention back to the curtain hiding the stage.

Kate kept repeating how lucky they were to have tickets to Reckless Beat’s first performance of their new album—an event people would apparently pay big dollars to attend, if the tickets were actually on sale. The band members, and no doubt their PR manager, had decided to share the major event with a small crowd of their most dedicated fans…or the biggest crazed loons, whichever way you wanted to define them. And Alana was caught in the middle, her body compacted between Kate, a man with a horrendous mullet, and a woman with a set of lungs that rivaled Mariah Carey’s whistle-like soprano.

The thousand or so fans stared at the curtain, transfixed with matching goofy grins. She couldn’t help smiling along with them. Not that the curtain held any charm. The room simply overflowed with contagious euphoria.

The two security guards, one at either end of the stage, were the only people with stern expressions. They stood tall, their arms crossed over their thick chests while they scanned the crowd. She couldn’t blame them. With the mix of hard rock and passionate love songs, the emotions in the room would swing from one extreme to another.

Reckless Beat was famous for intense rhythms and emotional lyrics. The smooth, deeply penetrating sound of the lead singer had even captured her own heart on more than one occasion, and she’d only listened to them on the radio.

“Welcome, Reckless fans. Are you ready to rock?” The male announcer’s voice boomed from innumerable speakers around the room.

Screams and shouts combined into a loud drone, which reverberated in her head. The sound vibrated in her chest, giving her goose bumps. She fought the urge to cover her ears and laughed uncontrollably while Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed tight. They jumped up and down as their bodies pushed harder against the railing, the eager fans behind them vying for a better position.

“I can’t hear you,” he taunted from his hiding position.

The cacophony grew, the excitement making her veins buzz to life. Maybe she would make it through the performance without falling asleep after all. Lights flashed with searing brightness, illuminating the curtain so four silhouettes shone from behind.

“Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” the voice said with a chuckle.

The curtain rose, mere feet from Alana’s hands, and crept higher to reveal the members of Reckless Beat in all their tanned and muscled glory. The four of them stood close, almost within reach. The lead singer held the microphone stand in the center of the stage, with two guitarists standing to his left and one to his right. If she leaned against Mariah Carey beside her, she could see the drummer in the back, his talented fingers twirling those magic sticks in the air.

She had no clue what their names were. She only knew disjointed verses of a few of their top hits. But when the seductively sexy, lead guitarist kicked off with a delicate caress of the strings, her heart melted. He eyed the crowd from under thick lashes. His lips tilted with a wicked grin as he held his cherry-red instrument with confidence.

The first song drowned under fan hysteria. Lyrics filtered through. A song of love, or loss, she couldn’t determine, and she didn’t mind. Her heartbeat echoed with the drums, her body thrummed with the bass guitar, and the lead singer’s voice traveled over her skin like warm honey.

As a teenager, her mother hadn’t allowed her to go to concerts. She couldn’t even leave the property without receiving a lecture and a glare of disapproval. It hurt and, being a stubborn teenager, she rebelled as often as possible. Over time she learned to accept her isolation and grew to understand why it was necessary. She was now content with what she had. A retreat for women recovering from abuse was her home. A quiet, and at times, highly emotional environment, her mother had opened when Alana was a child.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to let the music sink into her soul. The words cleared as one by one the fans decided to enjoy what they were here for.

“Kiss me one last time. Let me taste the love on your lips…”

A shove from behind made her eyes open and she clutched the rail for support. If she came any closer to the railing, she’d be riding it. Ignoring the constant nudge at her back, she glanced up at the stage and found the lead guitarist peering down in her direction. His fingers slid over the strings, moving in intricate patterns, and yet his intense gaze never wavered from where she stood.

Her heart skipped a beat while he stared at her. Then reality slammed to the forefront. He had to be focused on someone else. Either Kate, with her beautiful, blonde hair and barely concealed breasts, or one of the numerous stunners gyrating against her. She was foolish to think his attention rested on her.

Who knew? Maybe he loved a good mullet and liked playing the back nine. It would be a damn shame, though. All the drool-worthy sensuality claimed by his own sex wouldn’t be fair. For a fleeting moment she beamed back, wishing those gorgeous hazel eyes devoured her, not someone else.

To keep from falling into a daydream involving his skilled fingers teasing her body, she turned to the lead singer. His forehead held lines of concentration, his hands delicately molding the microphone in the stand. She could see why he made females swoon. He was pleasure personified—blonde, spiky hair which curled at the ends, rough stubble women would kill to brush against their skin, and handsome features that defied the wicked voice belting from his mouth.

She heard every heartfelt word he sang, yet her mind lingered on the image of the guitarist. The memory of his seductive mouth teased her to take another look. After a few moments of wavering restraint, her gaze drifted back to him. His head was lowered, his concentration on the beautiful instrument in his hands. His jean-clad legs tapped to the beat and she had the sense he not only played the music, he lived it. Breathed it.

His hair rested against his shoulders in true rock star fashion, the dark brown shade gleaming in the bright lights. The material of his black shirt strained against his chest and pulled tight over his muscles. He had a bare hint of dark stubble covering his chin, and although he grasped his guitar with sculpted, masculine arms, his face held more of a boyish charm. A mix of soft features—kind lips, smooth skin, and gentle eyes.

Very, very, nice.

She didn’t protest when her nipples tingled with the first sign of arousal. Yes, she fell into the sexually deprived category. She wasn’t the first person getting on the giddy train for one of the band members, though. The women around her had departed the station long ago.

Her gaze skimmed up his lean waist, over the shirt with white, undecipherable writing, past the mouth that encouraged her to lick her own lips, and to the eyes now staring at her.

Time stopped. She froze in place, a blush heating her cheeks. She bit her lip to hold back the smile bursting to break free and failed miserably. Why not take pleasure in the sleep-deprived hallucination? She would never speak to him or get close enough to touch his hard body. She may as well release the fantasy reins and enjoy.

She swayed her hips, the smile never leaving her face, and danced for him. It wasn’t much in the way of moves, but she pretended the focus in his eyes was because of her, not the people surrounding her. That maybe they were sharing a moment, her first of many innocent flirtations this weekend.

Kate jabbed her in the ribs. “Mitch is staring at you!”

Alana shook her head in denial. Unless she had something unnatural sticking to her face, he had no reason to be interested in her. On the other hand, her lack of hysterics probably made it obvious she shouldn’t be here. The competition to win tickets had been for hardcore fans only. If Kate hadn’t offered her a ticket, Alana would be sitting at home, still clueless to what the band members even looked like.

“Don’t be stupid,” Alana yelled back, giving her friend a good-natured hip bump.

Kate leaned closer. “Seems like it to me.” She jerked her head in Mitchell’s direction and Alana followed Kate’s lead, her hungry gaze falling back on his face.

This time, she knew her dimples were making an appearance. Her throat dried, and she struggled to maintain eye contact. He was too damn desirable, his expression turning every inch of her skin to flames. Then one side of his lips lifted in the cutest grin she’d ever seen.

Before she burst into a fit of giggles, she distracted herself, looking at the drummer, the lead singer, and the stage lights. She needed to be careful or she’d leave in a daze without remembering any of the performance.

The last notes of the song sounded, and again the crowd burst into cheers. She laughed through the hysteria, dizzy, high on excitement.

“Thanks, guys. You rock!” The lead singer ended his appreciation in a yell. “Do you like the new album so far?”

Alana was deaf. Nothing but bells ringing in her ears.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

Glancing up at the stage, she found Mitchell staring at her again. She smiled and put her fingers to her ears. When he responded with a cringe of apology and a shrug, she almost squealed like the groupies beside her.

He was communicating with her. With her. She didn’t understand why or how. Everyone else was vying for his attention and all she could do was blush, yet his gaze still remained on her.

The lead singer cleared his throat. Once. Twice. “OK, OK. We get the picture.” He laughed, and the noise around her lessened. “We’re going to take a small break and be back in twenty to show off the rest of the album.”

Mitchell’s lips tilted into a delicious curve, one that made her insides burn. He pulled the guitar strap over his head. She resisted fanning her heated face as he turned to hand his guitar to one of the stage crew. Even his back view was flawless. Strong shoulders, a lean waist, and the tightest ass she’d ever seen.

He pivoted the top half of his body around and raked his gaze along the front row with an impassive stare. When he reached the place where she stood, he stopped. One side of his lips lifted and he winked in her direction, then turned to leave the stage.

She blinked…and blinked again. The world faded away while she relived the moment, trying to determine if she’d won the hot guy lottery. She didn’t even notice the curtain falling or that people had stopped dry humping her.

“Jesus Christ, Alana!” Kate grabbed her shoulder and gave her a shake. “Mitchell Davies winked at you!”

Alana swallowed. “I…I…”

What could she say? It sure seemed like he had. However, she had no experience with this sort of thing. Her intimate moments with men involved three isolated nights of fumbling, grinding, and stickiness she hoped to one day forget.

She still couldn’t grasp the hype over sex. She’d tried, and the third time wasn’t a charm. Since then, things had been drier than the Sahara. She’d even grown accustomed to her monkish lifestyle because the thrill of getting naked with another man wasn’t an enjoyable contemplation. It hadn’t even been worth the stress of sneaking away from the retreat.

“He totally winked at you,” Kate continued, bouncing on her toes. “Crap, I gotta pee. Can you mind our spot?”

Alana nodded and gripped the rail for support. Wow. A guy crush sure did make you giddy. Kate had tried to explain the thrill of flirtation to her in an email when they were teenagers, but Alana had only experienced the emotion vicariously through movies or books. Real life didn’t compare. She missed many things by being homeschooled.

Leaning against the railing, she bowed her head and took long, deep breaths to calm herself.

“Excuse me, miss.” Alana raised her gaze from the floor, expecting the male voice to be addressing another woman nearby.

Two men stood on the other side of the barrier facing her. One was a security guard who’d been standing at the front of the stage. The other was unfamiliar, dressed in jeans, a baseball cap, and a white T-shirt which read “Reckless Beat Crew.”

The guard didn’t pay her any attention. He gazed over the crowd, skimming back and forth. The other man leaned close, the tip of his cap coming within inches of her face. She kept one eye on the burly man with the sullen temperament while she leaned back from the guy who continued to creep closer to her.

“Meet me backstage later?”

The deep voice whispered along her skin, and her body hummed in appreciation. She turned her focus to the eyes shaded under the cap and stopped breathing.

Mitchell Davies.

Her mouth opened to release a ragged sigh, and her brain refused to function beyond sending the instruction to stare. His face brightened with a smile and tiny laugh wrinkles appeared around his deep hazel eyes. On stage, under the bright lights, he was gorgeous. Up close he made her throat dry and her palms sweat. His smell even had her hooked, a mix of jasmine and sandalwood.

“Is that a yes?” He grinned.

* * *

Mitch leaned into the chocolate-haired beauty and inhaled her floral scent. He turned his face to hers, hiding himself from curious onlookers. So far, so good. Nobody had noticed the rock star standing amongst them.

It wasn’t uncommon for him or the other band members to invite groupies backstage after the show. Up until the last twelve or so months, it had been the norm. Now, they’d grown tired of easy women. Unfortunately, their lifestyles didn’t allow for much else, and none of them were monks.

He preferred to get sex the old-fashioned way, by flirtation and seduction. Though sometimes, like now, an itch needed to be scratched. Well, what he felt wasn’t really an itch, it was more like a compulsion, an unyielding desire to touch the delicate skin of the woman in front of him.

The stage crew usually had the job of approaching fans. Placing himself in close proximity to a horde of screaming women wasn’t his brightest idea. He knew from experience that the first appendage they grabbed for was not your arm, and they didn’t grasp lightly. Tonight, his curiosity was almost suffocating, having the better of him.

The woman standing before him had stolen his attention from the first strum of his guitar. She stood out like a beacon, her wide eyes and shy smile destroying his focus. He could tell she wasn’t a show-your-assets-to-get-a-backstage-pass kind of girl. In fact, he didn’t think she was a hardcore fan at all. There’d been no screaming, no flashing, and no panties flying at the stage when he smiled at her. Instead of the typical seductive glances he’d grown accustomed to, she gave him a glimpse of her gorgeous dimples and broke eye contact. The angelic sight grabbed him by the balls and still hadn’t let go.

His excursion to the security barrier had been in an effort to assure himself she wasn’t the stunner the stage lights made her out to be. Those eyes couldn’t be that bright, and her smile wouldn’t be as hypnotizing up close. Once he confirmed his suspicions, he’d be able to concentrate on the second half of the show.

Only problem? Each approaching step made her beauty more apparent.

She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a shitload of women. With clothes and without.

It wasn’t her gleaming green irises, her flawless skin, or the lush lips he already imagined kissing. Her beauty came from the emotion in her features, and the way she presented herself. The shyness set amongst a throng of extroversion.

Her eyes were huge, like a virgin on her wedding night. He read her shock, her excitement, and even a little fear in the light depths. Her clothes were modest—faded jeans and a loose purple T-shirt, hiding what he fantasized would be a great figure. And black knee high boots. Non-slutty boots. Not like the needle thin stilettos the friendlier fans wore. These were sturdy, classy boots from a woman whose focus didn’t lay on getting a piece of rock star ass in bed.

He couldn’t even see her cleavage, for Christ’s sake. After the years spent peering down at a crowd of half dressed women, their assets bouncing around for the entire world to behold, he’d thought he’d grown out of being a breast man. Nope. Apparently not.

He wanted a glimpse under this woman’s shirt. He wanted to run his hands up her stomach, cup her flesh in his palms, and tweak her nipples until they were hard and aching. He wanted to saturate her innocence and make her beg to be taken.

Fucking hell. His pants tightened just thinking about it.

“I…” The one letter escaped her lips on a breath.

He itched to move his mouth over hers, to determine if she tasted as sweet on the inside as she appeared on the outside.

She cleared her throat and tilted her head to gaze back into his eyes. “I’m not sure—”

Steve bumped into his shoulder, and Mitch frowned. He realized trouble was brewing before a word was spoken and didn’t appreciate the physical contact.

“We better head back. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you at the moment.”

Mitch nodded at the bodyguard and placed his hand over the delicate feminine fingers resting on the railing. “I’ll send Steve to get you after the show. We can have a drink. Get to know one another.” He said the same line he told his crew to use when offering backstage passes. Only this time, it didn’t work. Instead of her staring back at him with excitement, her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

She shook her head and her throat convulsed with a deep swallow. “I don’t think—”

“Oh my god. Mitch, I love you!” Like a flock of seagulls, fans started to cram forward, pushing the beauty harder and harder against the railing.

Her face contorted in pain, and no matter how much he ached to hear her name, he had to leave. For her sake. Steve grabbed his shoulder and pushed him sideways. Green eyes didn’t glance his way as he retreated. Her focus remained on the railing, her arms tense, her muscles straining to push herself backward.

“Shit.” He continued to walk away in long strides and finally broke into a jog. The sooner he disappeared from fan view, the sooner she would be safe. With a wave to the crowd he moved around the corner of the stage and entered the private room where the rest of the band relaxed.

Before Steve followed, Mitch turned and blocked the entry. “Go check if she’s hurt.”

The bodyguard glowered. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“That’s great. Your psychic abilities leave me feeling reassured.” Mitch gave a far from friendly smile. “But you’re going back to check anyway.”

Steve’s top lip curled. Without a word, he pivoted on his heels and stormed away.

“Arrogant asshole.” Mitch slammed the door and spun around to a room full of people staring back at him. “What? We’ve gotta get rid of him. I’ve had enough.”

Their manager, Leah Gorman, picked up his black T-shirt off the sofa and threw it at him. “I know. I was just informing the guys about a complaint made against him from earlier tonight. A woman claims he manhandled her and she’s threatening to sue.”

He groaned and removed the spare crew shirt before yanking his own back on.

“I’ll speak to him after the performance,” Leah continued. “Don’t worry, he won’t work with you again.”

“He shouldn’t work with anyone ever again. The guy’s a tool,” Sean added from a chair in the corner while scratching his buzz cut with one of his drumsticks.

“So, was she still a hottie up close?” Mason raised a brow in his direction. “She seemed a little too cutesy from my position at the mic.”

Mitch shrugged and strolled to the coffee table for a bottle of water. “She’s all right.” He didn’t want them to know how perfect she appeared up close. All that would achieve was the entire band staring at her for the second half of the performance. “I might buy her a drink after the show, if she’s lucky.”

The four men laughed at him, and Leah smiled.

Fuck ’em. He could play the egotistical role just as well as Mason. Although, with the lead singer it wasn’t a role, more like a personality trait built into his DNA.

“You’re as transparent as Britney Spears’ underwear.” Ryan continued to chuckle.

Cracking the top to his bottle, Mitch glared at the rhythm guitarist. “She doesn’t wear underwear, dickhead.” He took a chug of his water and resigned himself to more humiliation.

“Exactly.” Mason and Sean replied in unison.

He continued to down his water while he gave them the bird.

“All right guys, five minutes. Let’s get this show on the road.” Leah strode into the middle of the room. “I’ll deal with the Steve issue. You just continue to hit this performance out of the ballpark. The fans love it.”

Thirty minutes later, he was back on stage, halfway through the second part of the performance. His body buzzed from the heightened state of awareness that always came with performing in front of a live crowd. Right here, right now was what he lived for, what he loved more than life—the euphoria from holding an audience in the palm of his hand.

Tonight was better than normal. They were up close and personal with their biggest fans. Something they didn’t get to experience with a packed stadium. He was mere feet from the people who made Reckless Beat into a worldwide sensation. Only he couldn’t drag his attention away from one face in particular. He was stuck with half his mind on the music and the other half on a fantasy involving the hotel spa and a lot less clothing.

He glanced back in her direction, like he had every two minutes, hoping to glimpse the faint hint of her dimples. Yep, there they were. He was determined to lick the deep grooves, to make her moan and call his name.

He envisioned the way her eyes would glitter when he broke down her defenses. The way her breath would hitch and her fingers would cling to him. He wouldn’t sleep again until he had her. He wouldn’t be able to relieve the weight bearing down on his ribs.

The chesty blonde standing beside her waved her arms in front of the beauty’s face, gaining his attention. He frowned while she pointed to his woman, nodded her head vigorously, and pointed to the exit.

He might not be proficient in sign language, but he assumed her actions meant he’d have a hot date later. Jerking his head in understanding, he concentrated on the lead up to his favorite solo. When Mason’s voice fell away, he stepped forward, positioning himself in front of his future conquest and played to her. For her.

His fingers slid over the strings, hitting each note with ease while Sean hammered the drums and Blake and Ryan backed him up with their guitars. When the last chord sounded, he stepped back and caught her gaze. Her face was alight with an angelic glow, and an impressed smile tilted her lips. His blood thickened knowing he’d caused that mesmerizing reaction.

By the time the final song started, his palms were sweating and he’d deliberately stopped looking in the woman’s direction. He wanted her. Bad. He blamed his monstrous surge in libido on the thrill of the hunt. He knew she wouldn’t be an easy catch.

Panties and bras lined the stage, and not one of them hers. She’d watched them sail past, her mouth agape as if Reckless Beat fans were sex crazed deviants. Maybe they were.

His woman was straight-laced all the way. The thought of seducing the look of innocence from her, nice and slow, made his cock stir to life. The vision of taking her hard and fast against the elevator wall made him bite the inside of his mouth to beat off the enthusiasm.

He’d never felt this way about a groupie before. The crowd before him always seemed easily obtainable, like picking an apple from a tree. They were there because they thought they loved the band members, or craved the thrill of screwing someone famous. He couldn’t imagine this woman acting the same. She may even turn him down.

A grin pulled at his lips. He was up for the chase.

When the final song ended in a flash of light, Mitch pulled the guitar strap over his head and strode straight toward his guitar tech. He handed his baby into the man’s capable hands and walked to the rest of the band members, now hidden behind the lowered curtain. They shoulder bumped and clapped each other on the back to mark the perfect performance.

“Are you guys clearing out right away?” Mitch raised his voice over the continued screams from the crowd and focused his attention on Mason, Sean, and Ryan, who would soon leave to stay with their families.

“Yeah, Leah said she’d have security on stand-by and the cars waiting.” Mason wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You ready to make a run for your room?”

Mitch glanced at Blake and raised a brow. Months ago, they all decided to remain in town for a few days after the show. They wanted to create hype over the album release, and what better place to start their promotional tour but Richmond, Virginia, the city where Reckless Beat originated?

“I’m ready to go.” Blake ran his fingers through his spiky black hair and winced. “I need a shower.”

“Let’s get going, then. I plan on eating a shit load of my momma’s cookin’ before I go to sleep.” Sean pushed out his non-existent belly and gave it a rub. “Nobody beat’s my momma’s cookin’.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ryan added. “I plan on groveling until my wife lets me sleep in the bed beside her.”

Sean snorted and tapped his drumsticks on Ryan’s ass. “Good luck, buddy. I think you’ll need it.”

“Fuck you.” Ryan slapped the sticks away. “Watch your back, Sean. If she ends up kicking me out, you might wake up with me lying beside you.”

Ryan’s relationship with his wife had deteriorated over the years. A marriage that was once filled with love and passion had died from the constant pressure of being in the public eye. Smiles and laughter had turned into snide comments and sexual starvation.

“With my dry run lately, I probably wouldn’t kick you out either,” Sean nudged Ryan’s shoulder and headed toward the steps leading to the private area backstage.

“Are you still meeting up with the hottie?” Mason asked with a bump to Mitch’s arm.

“Yeah. I asked Steve to get her after the show.”

“Steve?” Mason frowned. “Leah gave him the axe, remember?”

Fuck. Mitch totally forgot.

He turned back to the curtain hiding the crowd. There was no way he could go out there. He enjoyed his limbs intact and his skin unmarred by cougar claws.

“Get one of the crew to find her,” Mason offered. “Hey, Tim.”

The guitar tech lifted his gaze from one of the stage speakers and gave a jerk of his head in question.

“Can you do Mitch a favor?” Mason continued, as if Mitch needed his hand held.

“Sure.” Tim dusted off his hands and strode toward them. “What do you need?”

“There was a woman,” Mitch said in a rush, then cleared his throat to try to hide his eagerness. “In the front row. Big, light green eyes, long brown hair. Dressed in jeans and knee-high boots.”

Tim stared at him with a blank expression.

“She was next to a blonde with big tits,” Mason added.

“Ahh.” Tim nodded. “I remember the tits.”

Mitch frowned. “Yeah, OK. Well can you go find the chick with the tits and bring her and her friend up to my suite?”

Tim smirked and gave a salute. “My pleasure.” Without another word, he moved toward the curtain and disappeared behind it.

“Great.” He was relying whole-heartedly on a guy who craved the second-hand attention he received from the Reckless Beat fans. Mitch fully expected Tim to saunter straight into the foyer and start posing for photos instead of finding the woman. Hell, it wouldn’t be a first if he was caught selling clothing with fake Reckless signatures, either.

“I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that one.” Blake patted him on the shoulder. “He’s a bit of a loose cannon.”

Mitch’s throat constricted a little. He had a snowball’s chance in hell.

Making a conscious effort not to slump his shoulders, he followed Mason and Blake into the backstage room. They were greeted by a smiling Leah and a swarm of security guards all packed into the small space.

“Great job, guys.” She moved forward and gave them each a kiss on the cheek as they passed. “Eww. You all need a shower.”

“I’m pretty sure you do that after every performance.” Blake chuckled and pulled her in for a bear hug.

Mitch watched the display of affection in a daze and tapped his foot. They still had to go through the drill of getting away from the fans with all their bits intact. He just wanted to be somewhere else…anywhere else, with his wide-eyed hottie beside him.

“Oh, gross, Blake!” Leah pushed at his chest.

Blake lifted her tiny frame off the ground and twirled her in a circle before placing her on her feet. When his hands dropped, she stepped back and shook her head in mock disgust.

“Let’s get you boys home.” She straightened her suit and glanced around the room. “OK, Ryan, Mason, and Sean, you’ll be escorted to the cars waiting at the back of the building. Just be warned there are people everywhere. The function may have only held a thousand fans, but I think every other person in Richmond is outside waiting to get a glimpse of you. So be prepared for bedlam.”

Her attention turned to Mitch, then Blake. “I have four men waiting to take you upstairs and anywhere else you need, until morning. There will also be additional hotel security around if you need them.”

When they were led from the room, he scanned the hall, trying to spy a familiar face in the mass of people banked around the exit of the function room.

“You see her?” Blake asked, stopping beside him in the middle of the lobby.

Mitch cringed. He felt like an obsessive fan waiting for one special glimpse. She was only a woman. A wide-eyed, flawless woman, but a woman nonetheless. He needed to get a grip. “Nah. Maybe she’s at the bar.”

He played it cool even though his throat tightened. The blonde and her friend were nowhere in sight. All he could do was hope Tim found her.

Turning on his heel, they made their way to the shared suite upstairs. Mitch hightailed it to the shower to scrub the sweat from his body. He didn’t give himself a chance to descend from the adrenaline high. Once his heart rate settled, the half-hard part of his anatomy would perk up and want to play. And he had no intention of performing alone tonight.

His shower lasted minutes. Enough time to wash and get out. He yanked on his boxers, pulled up cream cargo pants, and buttoned up a navy blue collared shirt. As he walked from the bathroom, he towel dried his hair, secretly hoping Tim might be in the suite with the woman.

He needed to find out her damn name.

“I gather from your disappointed expression, I’m not the only person you expected to see sitting here?” Blake asked from the sofa, his laptop resting on his thighs. The bass guitarist didn’t go anywhere without it.

“Yeah. I thought Tim might’ve brought her up here. Maybe he couldn’t find her. Or she wasn’t interested.” He shrugged through the disappointment.

“Well, I guess it’s me and you tonight, buddy.” Blake lifted the laptop from his thighs and stood. “Let me get some decent clothes on, and I’ll go downstairs with you. No harm in checking.” He closed the device and placed it on the coffee table. “Unless we get molested by an over-enthusiastic bunch of groupies.”

Mitch gave a halfhearted snort. The thought of mindless sex with a giddy fangirl turned his stomach. His mind was already set on a particular conquest. He just didn’t want Blake to know how eager he was. “Sounds like a good fallback plan to me.”