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Chapter One
The atmosphere in the auditorium was electric. Kelly Burton reveled in it, she was more than ready to rock some more. High on adrenaline-fueled energy, the crowd vibrated as one. It had been an outstanding concert, the last of a long European tour, and they still had more music to come.
Kelly squeezed her friend Helen's arm. "Ready for the final encore?"
Helen nodded. "I hope he does Squandered. It's my favorite."
Before Kelly had a chance to answer, the stage lights dipped, swung skyward, and then beamed back onto the stage, delivering a sequence of red and purple pools of light that synchronized to the beat of the drums. A cheer went up from the crowd as Clayton Warren—rock god of the moment—walked back on stage. He lifted his hands, acknowledging the cheers and the sound of feet thumping on the floor. He was a London man and this was a homecoming gig.
"Oh, give me strength, he's taken off his shirt," Helen shouted over the noise, grabbing a quick photo on her phone. "Jojo is going to be so sorry she missed this."
Kelly nodded and chuckled, pushing her damp hair back from her forehead, jostling with the crowd who pressed up against them. The audience roared when Clayton picked up his guitar, showing their appreciation for the sexy man on stage. The crowd was mixed, from serious rock fans to lusting women of all ages. Squealing teens and mature housewives stood side-by –side, ogling him. Kelly couldn't help admiring him too, even though she'd only come to the concert because her friend Jojo was having her leg pinned back together after a skiing accident. Jojo and Helen, her housemates, were the hardcore fans. It didn't stop Kelly enjoying the music and appreciating a fine male body when she saw it, though. And it was fine.
Lean but muscled, his torso glistened with sweat, his long, damp hair flashing out as he moved. He stroked one hand down the neck of his guitar in the most deliberately suggestive way, which drew another cheer from the audience. He grinned, white teeth gleaming. Clayton Warren was a true performer.
The backing guitarist and bass player took their places. The drummer led them into the intro of the track, then Clayton let it rip. Running forward on the stage he dropped to his knees in the spotlight, his body arched back as he delivered the distinctive riff of Squandered, his top-selling single, still on the rock charts after four solid months.
The crowd surged in unison, arms waving, bodies moving to the rhythm of the song. Kelly moved with them, her energy level soaring. The song was a real rock anthem, and although she was enjoying it, her mind was also operating on a different plane. After a few moments, she leaned over to Helen and spoke into her ear.
"I'm going to go backstage." She pointed over to a curtained passageway on the side of the stage, where a couple of security men stood watching the gig. "Going to try to get an autograph for Jojo." She'd been turning the idea over in her mind during the second half of the concert and had decided to act on her plan.
Helen shook her head but grinned. "You're crazy. You'll never get past security."
"You know me. Never say, never." The two of them worked together running a health and fitness club, where Kelly was known as "the woman on a mission." "I'll meet you out front afterwards. Keep your phone switched on in case we can't find each other."
Helen nodded.
Kelly gave her two thumbs-up, and then ducked into the crowd. It was tightly packed and she had to squeeze and wheedle her way through it. More than ever she was glad of her skimpy halter-neck top. The auditorium was steaming and it was a genuine workout just being there.
Once she reached the area where the crowd thinned out at the side of the venue, and people were resting up against the walls, she headed down towards the curtained entrance to the backstage area. She paused a few feet away, watching the stage with one eye and the security men with the other. There were two uniformed officials who looked like they worked for the venue, and with them, a third man. He was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket.
The third man was built, at least as impressive as the two security guards, if not more so. Because Kelly worked in a gym she noticed these things. A fit man always inspired her interest. His dark blond hair made her want to run her fingers through it. It was thick and hung below his ears. One of the security guards said something to him and he laughed, moving briefly into the light. He had a great smile and for a moment she almost forgot her mission, but not quite. Jojo was sitting at home injured, moping into a glass of wine and playing her Clayton Warren CDs. The least Kelly could do was try to bring her a souvenir.
She sidled along the wall, watching the curtain moving on the currents of air passing through the auditorium. When one of the security men turned to look in her direction, she leaned against the wall and clapped along to the music. When he glanced away, she darted to the near end of the curtain. Lifting it, she disappeared behind it.
Her heart raced as she got her bearings. She'd made it backstage. At the end of a narrow corridor, a staircase led down. The dressing rooms had to be under the stage. There was nowhere else to go so this had to be the way. Elation hit her as she descended the stairs. She started mentally humming the theme to Mission Impossible.
Glancing in both directions, she saw what looked like dressing rooms lined up to her right and darted that way, reading the numbers on the doors as she passed. Clayton would be designated Room One, surely? At the other end of the corridor, she saw another sta
ircase. That had to be the way to the stage. Behind her, she heard voices.
"Did you see someone make it through?" a voice shouted.
Had one of the security men spotted her after all?
She really oughtn't to be down here, but an urge to live dangerously had her firmly in its grip. She hurried on, gratified to see the numbers descending as she passed the doors. The door to Room Two was ajar, voices and laughter emerging from inside. She slowed down and walked past, glancing in with a nonchalant smile. Two or three members of the opening band were in there, busy with the press and beer.
When she got to the room marked One, she paused and put her ear to the door. All quiet. It could be the place, or it could be the manager's office for all she knew. Footsteps echoed down the stairway behind her. Turning the handle, she stepped inside, trying to gauge whether it was Clayton's dressing room. A rail of clothes stood in one corner. On the other side a dressing table was strewn with make-up equipment, glasses, and a half-empty bottle of champagne. The room smelled of expensive male cologne.
Above her, the ceiling thumped with bass-driven rock. The encore was in its final throes. A second shout echoed down the corridor outside. Definitely security, but now that she was in here there was no going back—besides, she hadn't come this far to miss her opportunity. Darting into the dark corner behind the clothes rail, she decided to hide until the security man was gone.
The door opened. Peeking between the clothes on the rail, she saw that it was the attractive bloke in the leather jacket. He was scanned the room. He had to be a roadie, he knew his way around back here. Once again, she couldn't help admiring him. He was striking in looks as well as physique.
His glance zoomed back to where she stood. Pressing back into the darkness, she shut her eyes and held her breath. A moment later, she heard voices and footsteps echoing away. When she opened her eyes and exhaled, she saw that the door was still ajar. The music upstairs had stopped. Noise was gathering in the corridor outside. Her chance to get Clayton's autograph and put a smile on Jojo's face was on its way. When the door was pushed wide open and Clayton himself entered, her mood was triumphant.
He paced across the room towards her hiding place, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked, obviously wired from his performance. His hair was pushed back over his head, damp and clinging to his skull, his leather pants molded to his warm body. She could see the sweat glistening on his naked torso. She bit her lip, smiling to herself — if Jojo could see him now she'd have an orgasm on the spot. He looked hot, although personally Kelly preferred men with more meat on their bones.
So far so good. She was in the right place to get an autograph, but she hadn't envisaged being behind a clothes rail at this point. She was about to cough and emerge from the hiding place when people spilled into the room behind Clayton, a couple of the musicians and others, men and women. Oh, joy. She hadn't figured there would be so many extras in the entourage. This could make getting Jojo's autograph complicated, unless, of course, she could just merge in amongst them.
One bloke seemed to be taking charge, pushing the small crowd back out into the corridor. "Listen up, everyone," he shouted. "Clayton needs a little time to shower and change before we party." A cheer went up when a party was mentioned. "Head upstairs to the hospitality suite and follow the corridor behind the stage. Give him ten minutes and he'll be right there."
The man was tall, but lean like Clayton, his limber body perfectly outlined in faded jeans and a khaki-colored t-shirt. When he'd convinced all the hangers-on to get out, he shut the door and looked back over at Clayton. Clayton was still facing Kelly's way but he was smiling, as if he knew what was going on behind him. "Nice job, Jay," he commented.
The other man walked over and stood close behind him. "That's what I'm here for."
Clayton's grin grew. "Is it?"
Kelly's eyebrows lifted, realization hitting her. She was now stuck in a very personal moment. As if to prove the point, the man named Jay put one possessive arm around Clayton's bare chest, locking in behind him, his mouth descending to Clayton's shoulder.
Kelly watched in amazement as the man bared his teeth and bit into Clayton's shoulder. Clayton wasn't complaining though. In fact, when the other bloke's hand moved down to his belt, he shut his eyes and groaned aloud. The sound was definitely one of pleasure, sexual. Clayton Warren is gay? Clayton's hand locked over Jay's, forcing it lower, into the zipper area. He definitely wasn't fighting the other bloke off.
She tried not to look but couldn't help herself. The image of the two men locked together like that was so hot. She was riveted. Her pulse was pounding, her body humid. Her hair clung to her cheek, making her long to swipe it away.
Jay's hand moved to the button, then the zipper.
Oh my god. Kelly pressed back into the shadows. She was a mere three feet away from them, and they were so into each other they had no clue.
The sound of the zipper lowering was loud—hellish loud—and slow, each tooth snapping free. Then Clayton's cock was out and being expertly handled by the other man. He smoothed his hand over it, drawing back the foreskin in even, practiced strokes.
Clayton's head dropped back, his body arched. His hips jutted forward and his mouth open, his teeth bared.
What a sight.
His cock was fully erect, a drop of semen gathering on its tip as Jay worked the shaft. He must have already been hard, in expectation of this after-show treat.
Arousal soared through her, arousal and disbelief. How the hell had she got herself into this? She swore silently, ruing her urge to go autograph-hunting. She'd now got herself stuck in a live man-on-man sex show and was privy to one of the best-kept secrets in the rock world. Despite all the press coverage featuring him and numerous attractive women, pinup boy Clayton Warren had a male lover. And right now she had an eyeful of their intimate behavior.
"Oh yeah, I need this," Clayton grunted. His cock was rigid, the head dark with blood, stretched to its limits, fit to burst.
She pressed back against the wall. How do I get out of here? There was a knock at the door and it opened. Hope leapt inside her.
