Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 841(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 841(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
She wiped the sheen of perspiration from her cleavage with the heel of her hand. Holy hell, it was hot in here.
Screams piped from the women leaning over the gate at the front of the stage. They must have glimpsed The Burn’s reclusive singer. Heads bobbed and swerved as if trying to score the best view. When the squeals threatened to drown out the instruments, she knew they had seen him.
Accepting his guitar and strapping it over his body, Jay still hadn’t released her gaze. An odd smile quirked his lips. Then he stepped from the shadows and into the edge of the stage lights.
The crowd exploded in hopping bodies and piercing shrieks. His stage appearance excited Charlee as much as the fans, but what had prompted him to cross that barrier? Was he showing off for her? Doing it because she wanted him to? Perhaps his new freedom from triggers gave him the confidence? Her fingernails bit into the cabinet beneath her as she waited to see what he would do next.
The guys must have doubled or tripled the length of the instrumental intro because they were still playing, following Jay’s lead. The guitar solo waned, and Laz arched a brow at his vocalist.
Jay missed it, his eyes on her. Raising his two wet fingers, he pumped them in and out of his mouth. The crowd shrilled, seemingly unconcerned that his head was turned sideways, eyes focused offstage.
“Good Evening, Los Angeles.”
A stunned hush fell over the arena. Jay’s greeting made Rio jerk, missing a drumbeat. Laz and Wil slowed their strumming and straightened their stances.
The quiet erupted into the ragged screams of thousands. From videos of the band’s live performances, she knew he sometimes addressed the crowd, but never from a visible position on stage. What in the world had gotten in to him? Devil-may-care, she surged with pride.
Watching her over his shoulder, Jay ambled further upstage, sucking on his fingers. “Nothing flavors rock-n-roll like the sweetly pleasing taste of pussy. Ain’t that right, Los Angeles?” He flicked those fingers in a peace sign and pivoted his body toward her.
The house went wild, as did her emotions. Who was this guy and what had he done with the man who loathed mobs and attention? She wasn’t offended by his declaration about pussy. In fact, she hungered for the confident musician strutting toward her, tapping the body of the guitar, even as something about his behavior slithered under her skin and raised the hairs on her nape.
A woman in the front row yelled, “Try my pussy, Jay.”
Holding Charlee’s gaze, he lurched back toward the crowd until his body was once again bathed in spotlights. “I found my huntress.” His eyes seared into hers. “My Charlee. Let me be very clear.”
For the first time since the show began, he looked away from her and toward the audience. “No one fucks with my girl.” He squinted into the lights, sweeping a pointed finger over the endless landscape of faces. “No one.”
Huntress. Charlee. The titles of their biggest hit songs. Before she could ponder what the crowd must be thinking, his eyes swung to hers and he belted the first verse of the first song she’d ever heard by them. “Huntress of the room in my head. Fearless and knowing.” The fluctuation of his beautiful voice was as haunting as the muddy notes humming from his amp.
The roadie pointed at an X taped on the stage in front of the drum kit. Jay walked past the designated spot, whipping the power cord so that it dragged behind him unhindered. He didn’t see the roadie stomp a foot and point at the X again.
She covered her mouth to muffle a laugh. Must have been a new guy. Surely the seasoned ones were used to Jay’s rebellion.
For the remainder of the set, Jay’s stage presence remained in the shadows. His charisma radiated an energy that rooted inside her, transforming her. He sang his heart out, hitting octaves that vibrated her bones.
She latched onto the passion behind his words, let it weave through her soul. The aroma of his musk-laced sweat rode on her inhales, fueling her body and rendering her paralyzed. She couldn’t avert her eyes from his smoldering ones as he performed song after song written for her.
On the fringe of her periphery, Laz and Wil jumped around center stage, their heads nodding to the beat of their instruments, in sync with the verve heaving from the crowd. The fog of pungent smoke—which could only be produced from the greenery passing through the crowd—was thick enough to drown out the perfume-weighted estrogen fuming behind her.
When the last note of the encore buzzed from Jay’s amp and drifted through the house, he yanked out the power jack. Holding the guitar out to the side, he didn’t look at the roadie who grabbed it. His eyes were on her, and they were hungry.