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It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get over my break-up by having a one-night stand with a rock ‘n’ roll hottie and move on with my life. Going on tour as official photographer to the world’s number one band was not part of the plan.
Have you ever dreamed of being plucked out of the crowd by one of the hottest rock stars in the world?
I didn’t even know who Ozstryker were when my reckless sister Beth dragged me along to their concert. I went solely to keep her out of trouble, not for me to get tangled up with the famous guitarist renowned for his magnificent shirtless torso and talented fast hands.
I had no intention of becoming a groupie, let alone anything else. But when Jax Ozstryker invited me on a date, I decided it was time for a little fun. Not that the night ended how I had planned – or how he planned, for that matter – I got a job and he didn’t get laid.
Now I’m on tour with the biggest band in the world with my crazy, unpredictable sister for company and a beautiful dangerous attraction for my new boss. I never dreamed life could be so crazy. Or complicated.
But this is life on the road – where nothing makes sense and everything is possible.
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The noise was like an icepick to my ear drum.
When I looked to my right, the girl next to me was fangirling so hard I thought she might spontaneously combust. Tears sprung from her eyes. She jumped up and down like she was on an out-of-control pogo stick. She screamed again and I felt it all the way through to my bones like finger nails down a blackboard.
When I turned to my left, I saw my crazy sister was doing the same thing. Screaming. Jumping up and down. Just like fangirl next to me. Just like the other 17,000 fans packed into the stadium to see Ozstryker—the biggest band in the world—and my sister’s absolute favorite band in the entire world!
Somehow we were up the front. Well not quite. We were one row back from the front. I’m not sure how that happened. I was just there for the ride and had no idea who Ozstryker even were. When Beth, my totally unreliable and impulsive sister had begged me to come with her to see them, I had no idea we would be so up close and personal.
The crowd around me surged and screamed as the lead singer, an even prettier version of Robert Plant, belted out an obviously favorite number. The girls around me were vocal in their appreciation of the over-the-top singer, specifically what they would do to him if they were given the chance.
Not since Robert Plant had anyone made the tamborine look so cool.
When I watched him in his way-too-tight jeans and lion’s mane of blonde curls, I couldn’t help but feel dirty.
But while the blond singer was beautiful and intriguing to watch, it was the guitarist who caught my eye. His sharp jaw softened by a hint of stubble. Dimpled chin. Eyes bright and heavily lashed. Dark hair messy, like he’d been fucking some lucky woman in bed all afternoon.
I had no idea God even made men that hot.
Or that a pair of denim jeans could fit the human body so perfectly.
It was a physical impossibility to not stare at him. He was mesmerizing. The way he moved. The way he smiled that wait til I get hold of you smile and dragged his teeth over his bottom lip.
Goddamn. Who the hell was this guy?
Thanks to my sister’s fierce determination, we were right in front of him and even though he spent a lot of time moving about on stage, he usually ended up right back in front of us.
In one crazy, too-hard-to-believe moment, he looked over and our eyes met and he smiled. It was a big smile. Huge. And it made my stomach do crazy shit like dance and spin like an out-of-control tumbleweed. He didn’t look away. His eyes, all squinted and beautiful, were aimed right at me and I felt that gaze all the way from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Then he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip again and holy hell!
Beth, caught up in the frenzy of the first few rows, looked over the other heads at me and grinned. She shook her head and started to laugh, then turned her attention back to the stage.
I looked back to him and damn, he was still looking right at me. I smiled and looked away, unnerved but thrilled. I may not have known who they were, but hot guitarist guy was getting up close and personal with every sexual urge I’d ever had.
The crowd roared at his solo. They screamed and cheered, egging him on like they couldn’t get enough. The band played solidly for two hours and in the crowd we all worked up a sweat, especially the first few rows where it was hot and sticky.
My top was strapless and it tightly hugged my ample boobs. Which was good, because I was sure I was going to lose it a few times when the crowd went crazy around me.
Towards the final quarter of the show it was time for another guitar solo and the stadium disappeared in a cloak of darkness. From the blackness came the melodic chords from a guitar. Echoing and haunting. Other worldly. Like some kind of intergalactic transmission. It sent goosebumps across every inch of my body and held me rooted to the spot.
When the lights found him, he was majestic, standing there, his guitar low at his hips, his fingers dancing across the strings. His jaw was sharpened by the shadows despite the hint of stubble, and the dimple in his chin was pronounced. And when the crowd started to chant the letters, “J. A. X … J. A. X …” he acknowledged them with a shy grin and a thumbs up.
Oh God. He has dimples.
I couldn’t move if my life depended on it. It was too intoxicating to look away.