Rock Me Two Times (2 page)

He lifted a finger into the air. “Unless they give you permission.”

Once inside, she had more space and stepped away from the guy. He was burly enough to maintain his hold on her if he wanted to, but he only sent her a annoyed look before holding out his hand.

“I’ll need your cell phone before you go any farther. No backstage pictures,” the bodyguard continued.

“Oh…” That made sense. She started to dig it out of her purse.

“The whole purse,” he insisted.

She froze and studied the look on the guy’s face. He wasn’t kidding. She handed it over. “That’s a one-of-a-kind bag; don’t let it get punctured.”

He gave it to a man standing behind him and gestured her toward a security-screening machine, just like one she’d find in an airport.

Rule number two wasn’t changing.

* * *

“Mmm… The candy is arriving. Ginger candy too.” Ramsey pointed at the glass of a two-way mirror that allowed the members of the band to see beyond their private dressing room.

“Don’t make that sound this close to showtime, Ramsey,” Drake said. “I don’t have time to redo my makeup.”

“There’s no makeup on your cock,” Ramsey shot back.

Drake looked away from the mirror and flipped Ramsey the bird. “I actually like spending more than ten minutes with a girl before getting my load off.”

Ramsey let out a whistle. “Syon! Looks like your costume girlie is here. I think I’m going to go rip my pants so she can…fix me.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Syon shouted from across the dressing room. “We can buy off-the-rack if you won’t take the time to unbutton them before fucking.”

“You might be the Marquis on stage, dude, but back here, you’re just one of the boys,” Ramsey retorted.

“I still outrank you,” Syon barked back.

“We’re not sitting in Afghanistan anymore. The only way you outrank me is by bringing in more chicks,” Ramsey said.

Syon grinned in victory. “She’s here to see me.”

“Shit.” Ramsey threw his hands up in surrender. “She’s a ginger too. You know I love a natural redhead.”

Syon threw Ramsey a bone of hope. “After the show, dude.” There were a few sounds of agreement from the other members of the band. Syon leaned toward the mirror and checked his makeup. He still wasn’t quite comfortable wearing it, but he loved being on stage. Fucking loved it more than anything he’d ever done. So the makeup was like body armor. A necessity, a tool of the trade.

The doors opened and the Staples Center security escorted in a lone female. Syon turned his head and found himself grateful his hands were braced on a sturdy countertop.

He felt sucker punched.

Yeah, she was a ginger all right.

Light orange hair crowned her head, and she had delicate eyebrows of the same hue. She could’ve faked those, but the fine dusting of body hair on her arms confirmed that she was pure ginger. The teasing bit of leather she had covering her tits just made him want to lick her before he tore the thing off.

His cock hardened painfully; the damned thing was like granite.

Ramsey let out a whistle, and she sent him a harassed look. A flicker of flames in her blue eyes struck him as challenging.

There was nothing he liked better than a challenge. Especially one with such a great pair of tits.

Ramsey slid across the room with a gait Syon recognized all too well. Ramsey shot her a killer grin before opening his hand and offering it to her. She cast a quick glance down at the open palm in front of her before tucking her hand against the side of her body. She’d crossed her arms in front of her so Ramsey couldn’t kiss the back of her hand.

Spitfire.

Damned if that didn’t make his cock hurt. He was used to being hard during a show, but the thing was swollen so stiff, it ached.

“Only have eyes for the Marquis?” Ramsey turned and sent her packing with a quick gesture. “There he is, hoping you’ll save him from going on in his jockstrap.”

“Screw you, Ramsey,” Syon barked. What was normally a good-natured remark suddenly came across his lips as something entirely different. There was a flicker in Ramsey’s eyes as he noted it, but Syon realized that he didn’t give a crap.

He’d meant it. Completely.

* * *

Kate needed to get a grip on herself.

She drew in a stiff breath and regretted it.

The damned room smelled hot.

And it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Ramsey was a long-legged, lean-hipped animal with dark hair that flowed over his shoulders in unruly waves. It wasn’t feminine in the least—just sexy in a savage, no-holds-barred sort of way. To her right were a pair of wide-chested guys spotting each other on a weight-training bench.

But what made her feel dizzy was staring at her from a pair of caramel eyes. The lead singer of Toxsin had a head of dirty-blond hair that was spiked out and falling past his shoulders. His eyebrows were slashes that angled up. His shoulders were wide and cut with hard muscles that his thin T-shirt showed to perfection.

He looked like the Goblin King from
Labyrinth
.

Shit!

Professionalism.

She stepped forward. “Kate Napier.”

He moved with a fluidity that bordered on a prowl. Once he closed the distance between them, she had to tip her head back to keep her eyes locked on his face. The guy had to be at least six foot four. His eyes narrowed, his gaze cutting into hers. Something radiated from him—a sense of control that reached out and smacked her. For a moment, she was stunned, trying to decide if he really was affecting her this strongly or if she was oxygen deprived from the airlift.

“Napier… Scottish. That suits the ginger hair,” he said.

“You know the origin of my name?” Damn, she was saying stupid things now. Rule number two had obviously saved her from more than oversexed musicians. It had kept her from making an ass out of herself. His lips twitched as he read her expression far too easily.

“Am I disappointing you by having intelligence?” he drawled.

She tried to collect her scattered wits, but the way he watched her was just too unnerving. His gaze was piercing, and he had a commanding presence that was off the scale. She felt pinned by his caramel stare.

“
Surprised
would be my word choice.” But that was still slightly insulting. “Not to say I expected you to be a high school dropout. There aren’t many people who know the origin of my name off the cuff.”

Ramsey came up behind her. “The Marquis likes to read.” He scooted right up and draped an arm around her, letting his fingers splay out over her hip. “His heart is a deep ocean…”

Kate trailed her fingers up the bare center of his chest that his leather vest didn’t cover and clasped the bar piercing his nipple.

“Alright…alright…” He backed off with his hands up in surrender. “At least until after the show,” he added with a husky chuckle. “I like rough play.”

“In your dreams,” she replied.

There was a flash of anticipation in his eyes before he pressed his lips into a silent kiss. “You’re going to be fun.”

She snapped her head around to find Syon watching her from beneath hooded eyes. There was something ultrasensual about the way he was studying her. Something that sent a jolt of heat through her and left her mouth dry.

There was a rattle behind them as the doors opened wide, and more suit-clad men pushed a flatbed cart into the room. The distraction gave her a chance to get ahold of her racing heart. It was just a job. Tomorrow she’d wake up in her own bed, and the closest she would be able to get to Syon Braden would be a poster or a four-hundred-dollar concert ticket.

Ramsey and the Marquis, on the other hand, would likely wake up in a tangle of limbs belonging to some of the horde of fangirls who idolized Toxsin. Their music was supreme, and so was their reputation for torrid after-concert parties.

For a nanosecond she lingered on the idea of being naked with him.

“Perhaps you might explain the problem?” Kate said, trying to get grip on her professionalism.

Ha! You mean your hormones!

No, she had it under control. Really.

But her heart started racing the moment she locked eyes with the Marquis again. His gaze shifted, and his lips parted, showing her his teeth. Her breath caught.

“Over here.”

Kate turned and discovered that the back of the Marquis was just as devastating to her libido as his front. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to a lean waist, and the pair of jeans he was wearing gave her a perfect look at his ass.

Yummy.

“I’m out of pants,” he said.

Syon pointed to two long, rolling costume racks. Various pairs of leather pants were hung up. Kate moved closer, spotting problems instantly. She pulled one navy-blue pair out to look at the way the lower half of the leg was shredded.

“Don’t ride double with Taz. He’ll dump your ass,” Syon said.

“You were wasted,” the Asian guy on the weight bench yelled across the suite, “and fell off.”

She released the blue pants and pulled out another pair, which was covered in what looked like bleach splatters.

“Cleaning ladies don’t have a sense of humor.” Syon clicked his tongue. “She decided to help me clean up my act.”

Kate pulled out another pair and gapped at the missing fly. It was just cut clean away with jagged slices from a pair of scissors.

“Some girls get impatient—”

“I bet,” she cut him off. He shrugged and sent her a self-satisfied smirk. “But you let someone cut your custom-made performance wear?”

“Heat of the moment” was his reply.

Arrogant ass.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say it too. The part of her that knew how hard it was to make quality pants was itching to take him down a notch.

Professionalism.

She looked back at the rack. There were three pairs on the end of the rack that didn’t seem to be damaged.

“They don’t fit,” Syon informed her. “Giles forgot the special instructions.”

A note in his tone warned her against asking. But he also shut his mouth, just daring her to ask. It was a verbal game of cat and mouse.

“Giles doesn’t make mistakes that affect fit. Elaborate. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.” There. She hadn’t asked.

He straightened up and moved closer, looming over her and sending a trickle of sweat down her back. “There’s not enough room for a hard-on,” he drawled in a low, sensual tone. “At least, not a really hard one. Understandable really. Giles didn’t turn me on during my fitting. I had to improvise.” His gaze lowered to her cleavage.

Her nipples twisted into hard little nubs. He was an asshole, but he also oozed sex appeal. She felt like she was going into heat.

“I get hard every show,” he continued. “Music is a sexual experience for me.”

Oh boy, did she believe him.

Her attention dropped to his package, a split second before her face exploded in flames, and she jerked her head back around to the pants. The blood roared in her ears, but she thought she heard a soft sound of male approval behind her.

She’d looked at his…
Damn it!

Fangirls gained a smidgen of respect in her book. There was something about rock stars that just scrambled a girl’s wits.

He chuckled and reached out to stroke one scarlet cheek.

His touch sent her clit throbbing.

And her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

It was humiliating.

And exciting on a scale she’d never experienced. Not that she would be admitting it.

But his eyebrow rose. “Any chance you can help?”

“I think so.” Provided she could jump-start her brain.

She made her way over to where the polo-shirt-wearing crew was busy opening every single case she’d brought. She stopped after a few steps because her hips felt like they were swaying too much.

Sweat actually beaded on her forehead. The guy was sending her into a sexual frenzy for Christ’s sake.

Her vibrator was so getting a workout when she got home.

She bit her lower lip, realizing she needed more information.

“What side do you tuck on?”

He rolled his lips back, baring his teeth at her. “Left, because there is nothing right about me, Ginger.”

That was for damned sure!

Problem was, she really liked it.

* * *

He was making her nervous.

Ramsey was warming up behind him, and Syon really should have joined him, but Kate had his full attention.

She had a curvy body that fascinated him. The little edge of her top was flipping around like a fringe scarf on a belly dancer, teasing him all to hell. One moment he could see her cheeks, and the next, that fabric was sweeping across her tight ass. Did she wax or keep a nice little nest of ginger curls between her thighs?

He wanted to bury his face in them.

She was trying not to look at him, apparently attempting to ignore the charge between them. It was thick and heady. He closed his eyes and waited to see if the connection would dull without the sight of her.

It didn’t. He could still smell the scent of her skin, and it turned him on to see her working on the crotch of his pants. A clean scent of warm, female flesh with a hint of some sort of bodywash that was just subtle enough not to strike him as fake. He knew when a female was pushing herself into his space, saw it a hundred times a day. Kate was being herself, grooming to her own standards instead of trying to hook his attention. That confidence was sexy. Her determination to remain professional was a serious kick to his libido. It was hitting him out of left field too, because it wasn’t like he had a shortage of possible companions. No, it was a little bit more like fate reminding him that some girls were quality, and that beat quantity every time.

She had skilled little fingers too. Long and nimble, they worked on the waistband of his pants with a finesse that mesmerized him. She stroked her fingers across the surface of the leather like she loved it. Well, she had to. The pants she was wearing were perfection. They didn’t even have an inseam. She was a fucking goddess of leatherwork. And he could see why. She was so absorbed with her work, he didn’t seem to even register in her world as she threaded a machine and started it up. She even ran a loving hand over the thing before beginning to feed his pants under the head.