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She grabbed the placket of buttons on her shirt and ripped them open, letting out a war cry of relief as the breeze from a ton of moving bodies finally caressed her sweat-soaked skin. She tugged the shirt down her arms and whipped it over her head like a flag before tossing it behind her, only barely aware of Ethan catching it.
Hell yes, she was getting naked, and she was going to enjoy every second.
Chapter Two
Security guys charged over from the side section. West Reynolds waved at them as he melted into the surge of people. Hands passed him along the middle section and over to the aisle. West knew if he ended up on the aisle, he’d be pulled down.
No way was he getting hemmed in by Grouchy and Bitchy—his personal pet names for the humorless head of security and his lackey. That jackass had already gave him a side eye during soundcheck.
Who the hell was that girl?
West went into crab-mode to get the crowd to turn him. He reached out and the chunk of hair he lost was worth it. A girl—no, she was a woman, thank fuck—whipped off her bright green shirt as she sang every lyric.
He swallowed down the groan at skin on display. It wasn’t an unusual thing at a show—hell, there were a dozen women right in the section who were wearing far less, but none of them quite so uninhibited. Beautiful women at shows tended to move around as little as possible so they could keep their hair and makeup intact.
This girl?
Not even close. Sweat gleamed on her neck and the valley of her truly awe-inspiring breasts. The guy next to her didn’t look at all pleased with her antics. Go on with your bad self, girl.
With one last grin down at the brunette in front of him, he was handed across the front of the stage. Too bad, he’d like to look at her for a little longer. Even if it was only to take bets if the pretty pink straps of her bra contraption held in those puppies.
He saluted her, then waved at the camera arm hovering over him as he let the crowd take him where they wanted. The scent of pot, sweat, and about nineteen different perfumes clawed at him as much as the fingers tearing at his skin.
Just another day in his crazy life.
A goddamn perfect crazy life.
Minus a few scratches maybe.
He put his arms out and laughed. Down three rows, over five, up two—he was a human Etch-A-Sketch.
He glanced up at the stage and sure enough, he was on the big screen. Molly had climbed onto the drum riser trying to bring attention back onto her.
No such luck.
He’d pay for that, of course.
But right then, he didn’t care. He was away from the hot lights of the stage and among the people. His very favorite place to be. Well, at least if there wasn’t a keyboard involved.
He slapped hands, lost a few too many chunks of hair, and laughed the whole way across the arena.
Shirts in every size known to man were pelted at him. Bras, no bras—his head whipped around at that one. The pretty Asian girl was pretty much just a pair of nipples, but tits were tits as far as he was concerned. He gave her a thumbs up, which scored a shriek.
As he made his way back to the front stage, he rolled over onto his stomach and made exaggerated swim strokes. The crowd went wild.
Fuck, was there anything more exhilarating?
His side of the stage came into sight. Maybe he’d see the hot chick with the dark hair and holy shit boobage again. Did she lose her bra?
Did her man drag her out of there?
No, wait—there she was.
No way he’d forget those tits anytime soon. Hot damn. They were still strapped in, but her arms were up and she was dancing to Mal’s pounding drum beat along with Michael and Elle’s dueling guitars.
He hoped his tongue hadn’t rolled out like Wile E. Coyote. Just wow. He could admit he enjoyed the bountiful breasts of a babe, but she was seriously stacked. The pink strappy thing was almost the same color as her pale skin. But there was a distinct difference—and he was pretty sure the rosy half dollar-sized nipples showing through the fragile lace were going to make him a little crazy.
