Mitch punched his pillow and changed his position for the eighty-fifth time. The temptation to kiss her not only made him restless, it made his cock hard. There’d never been a more inviting pair of lips. He could see them clearly in his mind, luscious and full, still glossy from the last swipe of her tongue. He’d done well to refrain. And holy fuck, if he didn’t get a ticket into heaven for doing it, he’d be pissed.

Every time he looked at her, he became entranced by her long brown hair, her mouth, her dimples. Then his gaze would focus on her eyes and he’d cringe. Blake was right. He needed to back off.

Alana wasn’t a hussy. He remembered the way she startled at his touch when they first met. She’d been wary, not slutty—coy, not cocky. He couldn’t ignore that. If he kissed her now and she did melt in his arms, he wouldn’t be sure where her consent came from—desire, exhaustion, or even delirium.

His unwelcomed change into a Boy Scout didn’t mean he’d stop wanting to sleep with her. He only needed to refrain from seducing her until she could see who she was sleeping with. Or at least get enough rest to ensure her best judgment.

“You’re not comfortable?” Her voice was soft and tired.

He pushed out a breath. “I’m comfortable enough.”

“You can’t sleep because you want to grope me and sniff my hair, right?” She snorted, and he wanted to smother himself.

He reached under the covers and poked her in the ribs. “You’re blind and in a predator’s bed. I’d stop tormenting the bear if I were you.”

She sniggered, and he smiled at the sound. Her beauty had him in awe. Not only the defining facial features that made her appear angelic, but her attitude, her innocence, the way she made him chuckle. She didn’t fawn over him or treat him like a god. And he liked it.

“You…don’t scare me.” She sounded confused.

“And that surprises you?”

She let out a long sigh, paused a moment, then gave a derisive scoff. “I’m different, Mitchell. I’m not used to…people. I’m not familiar with the real world.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?” He turned to face her, using the opportunity to move a little closer before leaning up on one elbow.

“I live on a retreat outside of Monument, Colorado. My upbringing was…different. I didn’t get the chance to travel into town often, and my interaction with people only came from those who stayed on the property, or the occasional delivery driver. So I thought I’d be more…nervous and uncomfortable in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers. And yeah, it surprises me that I’m not.”

Mitch couldn’t contemplate the solitude. He grew up in Brooklyn, New York, and when Reckless Beat hit the big time, he moved to Manhattan to be closer to the other band members and their studio. He wouldn’t know the first thing about nature or serenity or isolation. “Do you like it?”

Seconds passed.

“For most of my life it was all I knew. I was homeschooled, so there weren’t many children for me to play with. When I graduated, I did a photography course online, and the few times I left the property to go into Monument or Colorado Springs, I didn’t stay long.”

He felt the bed shift with her shrug. “But now I’m beginning to think that lifestyle won’t be enough for me.”

She fell silent, and his mind drifted from the beauty of nature to the beauty of her body. He bickered with his libido and tried to convince himself to roll over. At the moment, Alana lay right in front of him, her features shadowed, her hair aglow from the red digits from the alarm clock. He stared at her, his gaze roaming the sheet clinging to her breasts and thighs and back to her face. Her breathing changed, each exhale coming longer, each inhale deeper until there was no mistaking the sound of slumber.

Damn it.

He fell onto his back, waiting, wondering when his cock would take the hint and stop its salute to perfection. With a huff, he rolled over, gave his pillow a covert uppercut, and resigned himself to reciting chords, lyrics, or baseball scores until his mind and body numbed to the point of unconsciousness.

Mitch opened his eyes with a start, and he leaned up on an elbow to determine what woke him. Alana lay peaceful beside him, resting on her belly, hugging her pillow.

“Sorry.” Kate’s voice drew his attention. She had her head poked inside the door, her body out of view. “I need to wake Alana so I can go home and get ready for work.”

He placed a finger to his lips and slid from the bed. When he reached her, he jerked his head toward the lounge room. She frowned, turned on her toes, and walked ahead.

“I’ll look after her today,” he whispered, his voice groggy from sleep.

Kate glanced at him over her shoulder.

He held his hands up to halt her reply. “She can’t take care of herself, and I don’t have any plans. Just give her a call when you finish work, and we can go from there.”

She turned to him and narrowed her gaze. “She’s not a groupie. She won’t enjoy being treated like one.”

He raised his chin, annoyed at her assumption. More so in the fact she would’ve been right if they were discussing the treatment of any other woman in his past. “I know.”

Kate opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Look, I like Alana and don’t mind spending time with her while you’re at work.” He shrugged, acting blasé when he felt far from it. “She’s safe here with me.”

She gave a flirtatious smile. “I doubt it.”

Yeah. So did he. He wouldn’t admit it, though.

“Fine.” She opened her handbag, rummaged through the contents, and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. If there’s any problems, call me, and I’ll try and get someone to cover me at work.”

He reached for the girlie pink card, but she held tight. “Promise me you’ll treat her with respect.”

He yawned, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and pulled his tired gaze up to meet hers. “No problem.”

Kate scrutinized him, her brows deepening with each passing second until she released the card and turned with a sigh. “Make sure you text me later so I have your number.”

Yeah, that was at the top of his to-do list. He was practically jumping out of his skin at the opportunity to give a crazed fan his personal contact details.

He watched her leave, trying not to fall asleep in the middle of the entryway. After he locked the security latch behind her, he grabbed a glass of water, used the bathroom, and tiptoed into the bedroom. His angel still lay peacefully, her body now on its side, curled into the pillow. The scratches on her face had lost their bite, no longer standing out on her beautiful skin.

Making sure not to wake her, he climbed onto the bed. He stared at her, watching her eyelids flicker, her chest rise and fall. He’d promised to be respectful, and he had no intention of reneging. However, it wasn’t his fault if Kate’s definition varied from his.

With a kiss goodbye to his inner Boy Scout, he shuffled forward, breathing in her floral scent as he approached. He curved his body into hers, thigh to thigh, her back to his chest.

There was nothing disrespectful about spooning. They both had clothes on; there was no sexual interest. Well, fine. His hardening cock disagreed, but he had the big man under control. He just wanted to be close to her. To appreciate her delicate skin and the soft curves of her body. And her smell. That sweet and innocent scent did unthinkable things to his senses.

Once she woke, he would blame his proximity on his movements during sleep. Until then, he would nuzzle the back of her neck and hope to hell he received another opportunity to be this close to her. Respectfully, of course.

* * *

Alana gradually woke from a deep sleep, climbing layer upon layer of drowsiness until consciousness greeted her. A delicious warmth coaxed her back into slumber, but her pillow was hard as stone and made her jaw ache.

She blinked open her eyes to bright light and blurred vision. Panic stole her breath. She couldn’t see. Why couldn’t she see? She pushed from the hardness below her, blinking in quick succession to alleviate the dryness while her heartbeat thundered in her chest.

“Sweetheart, it’s OK.”

Large hands gripped her wrists.

“It’s Mitch.”

Her heart stuttered, and then slowed as the memories of yesterday began to clear.

Mitchell Davies.

Shattered glass.

Warm breath and sweetly whispered words.

She squinted at where her hands rested. Oh. No. She’d mauled his chest.

“Human pillow, at your service.”

She groaned and jerked away, wanting to dive under the covers to hide the heat warming her cheeks.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Strong arms encased her waist and pulled her into his embrace.

Another groan escaped as she rested her face on his hard pecs again. “I bet I’m making a lasting impression.”

His chest convulsed with laughter. “I didn’t mind the cuddling. I wasn’t a fan of the drool, though.”

A gasp burst from her lips and she sat up straight. “No way.” There would be a lot of comfort food in her near future if she’d drooled all over the chest of a celebrity.

His laughter grew. “I’m joking…I’m joking. You should see the expression on your face.”

Alana whacked him, hard, and smiled when his mirth died with an “umph.” The next second, she was on her back, his body on top of her, his thighs straddling one of hers. His weight made her breath catch, not because he was too heavy, but because he was too delicious. Too damn inviting. Strong and powerful, yet gentle in the way he clasped her wrists above her head.

She wanted to grind into him, to get the slightest friction on the parts of her body that craved attention. The desire to see if a man could bring her pleasure made her ache.

“That wasn’t nice,” he growled, and her nipples tightened in response.

His face was a blur of color, a mix of light and dark, which confused her, so she closed her eyes and pictured him the way she remembered. His hazel eyes filled her mind, his shoulder length hair falling down to frame his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t tease the blind girl.”

Something soft grazed her skin, then something rough. His cheek? His stubble?

“How ’bout I make it up to you?” he whispered in her ear.

She opened her mouth, but excitement stole her reply. Unfortunately, her stomach had no problems with being vocal. It started out as a low grumbled and turned into the call of the wild.

“Holy shit. Did you swallow a lion?”

She let out a sob and turned her head away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and placed a kiss at the base of her neck. “No more teasing the gorgeous blind chick.”

Alana swallowed down the burst of pleasure threatening to explode inside her. He was seducing her. This thing between them wasn’t about love or emotion or commitment. It was about gratification and passion and lust. There could be no future with Mitchell, yet her heart had already started to attach itself to him, drawing strength from his every touch and seductive word.

“I’ll go order us some breakfast…or lunch. What would you prefer?”

She opened her eyes, not that it helped to answer her questions. “What time is it?”

He moved from her body, and she suppressed a whine of disappointment.

“Twelve twenty-five on the bedside clock.”

Damn! “Where’s Kate?” She sat up, brushed the hair from her face, and scooted to the side of the bed.

“There’s no point getting up. She left hours ago.” The mattress bounced, then stilled, and she followed his dark shadow around the room. “I’m going to take care of you until she finishes work. So lie down and rest. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She dropped back onto her pillow and listened to his departing footsteps. Lunchtime meant she still had hours until Kate finished work. Almost half a day to spend with the man beyond her dreams.

She stared at the ceiling and fought to hold back her smile. Even the plain white paint appeared fuzzy in her mangled vision, but at least the dry scratching had subsided. There was no pain, only a mild discomfort she’d be happy to ignore when in Mitchell’s company.

His deep voice whispered through the suite, and her belly filled with eager butterflies. He’d kissed her. And she couldn’t wait for him to do it again. On the lips this time. She wanted to drown in his arms, devour his mouth, and lose her breath to him.

Feeling the need to use the ladies’ room, she scooted from the bed and felt her way along the mattress. From there, she held out her arms until she reached the wall. She ran her hand along the smooth plaster and found the entry to the bathroom Mitchell had led her to last night.

Getting back to the bed wasn’t as easy. She hadn’t bothered to flick on the light when she entered the bathroom, knowing the hues clouding her vision would become more confusing. So she didn’t notice the counter before she rammed into it with her hip.

“Argh. Shit!” Pain radiated through her waist. She clutched her hip and sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

“Allie, are you all right?”

The sweet, familiar way he spoke her name made her smile through the discomfort. Not many people called her Allie, and she loved the way it sounded on his lips.

“Yeah. Peachy,” she chuckled. “I decided to give myself a hip reconstruction.” She ran her fingertips along the counter and stopped at the basin to wash her hands.

“Can I come in?”

She splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth out. “I’m—”

The door opened, the bright light causing her to blink.

“I’m fine, Mitchell.”

His shadow moved into the tiny room, and she turned her focus back to the cool water, trying not to hyperventilate. He stood behind her, the warmth of his body seeping into her backside. Strong hands landed on her thighs and trailed up to her hipbones.

“Does it still hurt?”

She swallowed, unsure whether to laugh away her excitement or remain silent. “I said I’m fine.” Her voice came in gasps.

He massaged her hips, his touch seeping through the thin material of the silk boxers, causing an electrical current to shoot through her womb. Her head fell back to rest on his chest and she closed her eyes.

“So you want me to stop?” Fingers ran along the waistband of her boxers, teasing her with excruciating strokes.

She chuckled softly. “I didn’t say that.”

“Mmm,” he murmured into her neck, the vibrations making her breasts ache.

“You’re very thorough with your patient care.”

One hand slid from her hip, over her stomach and up to brush the side of her breast. A groan escaped her lips, and she clutched the counter for strength. The fingers of his other hand delved below her waistband, slowly searching, stroking.

He leaned his erection into her ass and nipped at her neck. “You wouldn’t be the first to compliment me on it.”

Alana stiffened and fought to control the jealousy tightening her lungs. He froze. After long seconds of thick silence, he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. That was tacky.” He pulled his hand from her boxers and sighed. “I can’t think around you.”

She reached her hand behind her neck and ran her fingers through the long strands of his hair. “No biggie. I was eighty-nine percent positive you weren’t a virgin.” She smiled, trying to break the discomfort. “At least I’m clued in now.”

He gave a derisive laugh. “Yeah, I’m definitely not a saint. Being slutty goes with the job, I suppose.”

Dropping her hand, she turned in his arms and peered up to the dark blur of his face. “Don’t say that.” She felt her way along the hard contours of muscle on his chest, until she cupped his cheeks. “Don’t be ashamed of who you are or what you choose to do in your spare time.”

His head shook slightly. “I haven’t been, or I wasn’t until…”

Her heart stilled, waiting for him to finish the sentence. She wanted to hear him say “you,” no matter how foolish it would sound after the short amount of time they had spent together.

“…recently.”

She released her breath slowly, disguising her disappointment. His hands gripped her hips and she moved closer into his body. She brushed his hair behind his ears, and the pressure of his forehead rested against hers. Her cheeks heated with the need to kiss him. She yearned for the press of his lips, for the swipe of his tongue. If only she could see.

She ran her fingers around to the back of his neck. “I want you to kiss me.”

Her chest pounded, the fury of each heartbeat echoing in her ears as she waited for his response. When nothing came, she closed her eyes and began to silently pray.

His hands lowered to her ass, lightly cupping. Time stood still as his head tilted down, and she swallowed hard in the seconds it took for his mouth to descend upon hers. The pressure was delicate, like silk against her lips. He kissed her once, twice, his force growing with each caress as he tilted her head back for better access.

She teased the hair at his nape with tender strokes and scraped her nails over his skin. She wanted more. Taste, touch, passion. She wanted to be consumed by him and driven to the brink of insanity with the ferocity of his worship.

Grinding her hips into his, she rubbed against his erection, arching her back at the hardness she longed to take in her hand. He growled into her mouth, gripping her ass with force, and crushed his body into hers. She gasped, all the air escaping her lungs.

He deepened the kiss, their tongues clashing as he lifted her off the ground and placed her on the counter. His weight pushed between her thighs, his erection nudging against the thin material covering her sex. She gyrated her hips and tugged at his hair, her body demanding more. He answered her silent pleas by thrusting into her again, letting the delicious friction of his cock rub against her clit.

Each sensation was new. The pleasurable sex, the passionate intimacy. There were no nerves, no apprehension. She craved more. She wanted to learn everything Mitchell could teach her, no matter how little time they would have together.

The ache in her core infiltrated her entire body, driving her to kiss him deeper, to grind back into his thrusts. His hand left her ass, traveling down the front of her boxers, past the waistband, into her panties. She whimpered at the brush of his fingers against her sensitive bundle of nerves and jolted when they delved deeper, penetrating her pussy.

She broke the kiss, panting for breath, and rocked herself against his digits. “Please, Mitchell. I want you inside me.”

He didn’t respond, only planted his lips back on hers and stole the air from her lungs. Her sex pulled at him, tugging his fingers deeper until the pleasure became too much.

She pushed at his chest. “Stop. I want you inside me.”

She’d never wanted anything this much. Not even freedom. Mitchell coaxed pleasure from her effortlessly when other men had failed completely.

“Not this time,” he whispered and brushed his mouth against hers.

She wanted to break away, to plea for him to fill her. He wouldn’t allow it, his lips demanding more from their kiss. His fingers stroked in and out, his thumb flicking her nub at every insertion. Her breasts screamed for friction. Her core convulsed with the first signs of orgasm. She whimpered, so close, on the edge and about to soar.

A faraway knock sounded, and she jerked back, bracing one hand on the counter and the other on his chest.

“Shh.” He soothed, his fingers continuing their torment. “It’s only room service. They can wait.” He leaned into her, his cheek brushing hers, his lips at her ear. “I’m not answering the door until you come.”

She moaned, believing his declaration. She closed her eyes, blocking out the smudged picture and concentrated on the memory of his cheeky grin peering down at her from the stage. He had the best facial features, boyish yet charming, devilish yet seductive.

His lips pressed against the side of her neck, and she tilted her head to allow him better access. He nipped her, the bite of pain adding to the pleasure beating between her thighs. She had to press her lips together to hold back a scream.

The pace of his fingers increased, his strokes coming harder, his thumb now a constant rub against her clit. Her abdomen filled with heat, her orgasm forming and growing until it took over.

She gasped. Her core convulsed in time with his rhythm, and she rocked her hips against his hand. She ignored the world, bowed her head into his shoulder, and let ecstasy conquer. Gradually the euphoria died down, leaving her in a panting, heaving mess on the counter.

The knock sounded again, for the second time or the tenth, she had no clue.

“I better get the door.” His fingers withdrew, along with his warmth. A rush of tap water sounded followed by a kiss on her cheek. Two seconds later she was alone with only her rampant heartbeat and wild thoughts to keep her company.

She was rooted to the spot, her eyes blinking at nothingness while her brain struggled to process her emotions. Over the years, she’d contemplated her sexuality, never really knowing if she was heterosexual, homosexual, or merely non-sexual. She’d always found men attractive, had fantasized and lusted over them in magazines and on the television. There just hadn’t been a physical spark when it came to sex.

Nobody had been able to touch her and bring pleasure.

Until now… Now she couldn’t wipe the relief from her expression. Mitchell had touched her with skill and confidence. She acknowledged his expertise would’ve come from an overly healthy amount of experience. He knew how to stroke, how to kiss, how to caress…and she didn’t care where his expertise came from.

She wasn’t broken, and that was all that mattered.

A tear fell down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a relieved breath. Years of brainwashing from her mother hadn’t crippled her. She’d begun to worry the trauma from being surrounded by abused women had sunk in. She’d never held the hatred or deeply scarring fear for men like her mother clung to, but still, Alana thought the aversion might have settled into her subconscious.

Her interaction with the opposite sex was limited, her experiences tainted. Yet she’d grown into a woman who learned not to be frightened of things because of other people’s nightmares. She still held apprehension and a healthy dose of wary caution, but her stomach filled with butterflies knowing her upbringing hadn’t scarred her ability to be with a man.

She was growing increasingly attached to Mitchell as the minutes passed. He showered her with attention, fought to protect her, went out of his way to take care of her. And now, he’d given her the one gift no other man had been able to.

Heat consumed her eyes and her nose tingled. She sniffed and shook her head. She wasn’t going to cry a river of tears over her first outsourced orgasm. Nope. That was ridiculous.

She lifted her chin and breathed deep. She’d been raised covered in a blanket of fear, and each day away from home showed how much she needed to break free and live her own life. Releasing the breath, she scooted from the counter, righted her clothing, and took her first step into a new life that was bright and shiny…even if she couldn’t see it.