Rush of Insanity Read online

  “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.