“I-I hope you have fun on stage tonight,” I whisper when he falls silent.
A smile curves his gorgeous lips. “Do you want to come?” he asks gravely, playing in my tangled hair. “I’ll have a car pick you up for six. You can be my backstage guest.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing, the words almost too good to ring true. As I cough, I pat my chest, taking a moment to catch my breath. “Really?”
“Really.”
Another bout of silence descends as we stare at each other. His hand roams along the indenture of my waist and my nipples harden. His touch is whispery. It feels as if he’s laid my nerve endings bare and is caressing them with all the sensation streaking through me. His hand hovers against my feminine mound. I want him there. Instead, he pulls back.
Disappointment removes all the pleasure of his touch. He thumbs my lips. “I have to go, but I’ll see you later.”
I don’t attempt to halt him. I just watch in awe as he goes to my dressing room window and climbs out.
Chapter Four
Sloane
I’ve lost my fucking mind. Why the fuck I invited Georgiana McCall to be my special guest at my concert, I’ll never fucking know. She’s just so fucking magnetic…so fucking everything I shouldn’t be thinking of.
I’ll do whatever I have to do to forget how her eyes call to me. I look into their amethyst depths and all I think of is protecting her. Yet, my dick is lurking and I don’t know if I can protect her from it. I pace in my dressing room, wondering when she’s arriving. If she’s done any drugs.
She’s young, and she’s vulnerable, and she’s careening to her premature death. I want to help her, but I have no clue how to do it. Maybe, I can take her on tour with me, administer discipline. Hire tutors for her…Right, Sloane. Just hire a fucking nanny while you’re at it.
Fuck.
These continued thoughts compel me to keep the sex date I have with her mother, father, and whoever. As long as it isn’t my fucking aunt.
A legion of women…Cassandra…groupies…whoever…are the antidote I need to Georgie.
I throw open the door. Girls are already backstage and they call my name the moment I’m spotted. They bounce and jump and vie for my attention. Adam, my bassist, circulates. He keeps shit simple with his black jeans and white T-shirt. On and off, I see his blond head lift, but groupies swarm around him and swallow him up. A bigger man whore than me, he fucking loves it. I’m betting his cock will fall the fuck off sooner rather than later. No man on earth can fuck as much as he does and not lose his shit. He’s going to fuck it right off.
Hasn’t happened yet, but it will. Once upon a time, I would’ve brought the guys in on a bet.
The door across from me opens and Maitland, the drummer, strolls out. Motherfucker has a metabolism out of this world. It’s fucking freezing backstage and all he’s wearing is a pair of jeans and boots. That’s his preferred dress and his stage costume wherever in the world we happen to be. More girls scream and rush him. He gives them a shrewd look, then points to one.
Pres, one of the bodyguards, shoulders his way through the women and takes the one Maitland chose, leading her to him. The moment she’s within his grasp, he bends and kisses her, backing her into his dressing room and slamming the door shut.
Quint, the keyboardist, is MIA at the moment. He hasn’t made his appearance yet. He can be such a grumpy motherfucker, I’m glad he’s staying in his fucking dressing room.
Fingers glide over my stomach and I remember I’m shirtless. Lips touch my skin and I shudder, my body responding but my head not in it. I wonder if I want a quick dick suck before I go on stage.
No. A fucking blow job isn’t what I need.
Frustrated, I yank away from their grasps, ignoring the sting of nails raking my skin to hold me back. I don’t care and break away, escaping to my dressing room. After shrugging into a leather vest, I wait, concerned by Georgie’s absence.
The next few minutes slug by while the area is cleared and my time arrives to get on stage.
I look around backstage one last time, wondering why Georgie decided against attending the concert. I feel what I haven’t in a long time.
Disappointment, the last thing I should feel because of my self-confessed number one fan’s absence. It should be fucking elation. My band’s fractured. We hardly speak to one another outside of the studio or a concert.
And…Georgie is jailbait.
AND…
I’ve fucked her mother.
I don’t know which reason is worse to keep my distance from Georgie. Logic and morals tell me it’s her age.
Morals and I aren’t well-acquainted. We really don’t have a good fucking relationship. Morals are for dickheads who want to fit in and who gives a fuck about the world’s opinions.
This time, though, I fucking need to find scruples. If I don’t stay away from Georgiana McCall, I’m headed for disaster. My career will go up in fucking flames. She’s a fucking minor, not even reaching Barely Legal status.