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“Dream girl?” I feel like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. My thoughts are buzzing around my mind too fast for me to comprehend them.
Riley doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps back and starts singing. To me.
When he sways his hips to the beat of the song, I feel my insides melting and my ovaries exploding. I glance over his shoulder and concentrate all my attention on the blue flashing light across the stage, attempting to ignore the effect he’s having on my equilibrium. My little maneuver fails as I forget about the other thirty-thousand people here with us and concentrate on the hot lead singer.
He stares into my eyes and leans over to run his finger slowly up my thigh until it reaches the tight black leather hem of my dress. A shiver runs through me as goosebumps break out all over my body. Breathing exercises and distraction techniques are useless against Riley August’s impact on my heart and soul.
By the time the song comes to an end, I’m ready to self-combust. Sean begins to play a guitar solo as the lights dim. A stagehand comes over with a key in his hand and reaches for the handcuff on my wrist, but Riley stops him. “I’ll do it.” His growl echoes around us, and the other man takes a quick step back and throws up his hands.
“No problem, man,” the other man mutters with confusion swirling in his eyes, telling me this wasn’t planned.
Once I’m free of the restraints, I hop up and attempt to put some distance between me and the crazy hot Rockstar, but Riley isn’t having it. He reaches for my hand and laces his with mine before leading me to the outer edge of the stage.
Once we’re out of sight, I’m expecting a brush-off, but he shocks me. “What’s your name?”
“Why?” I automatically ask.
“Because I don’t want to spend the next fifty years calling you Dream Girl.” My mouth drops open as my brain shuts down. “And our kids will expect me to know your name.” Holy moly. I blink until I look like I have some freaky eye condition while trying to find words, but my blown mind just isn’t functioning. Riley places his hand under my chin and gently presses my mouth closed. “The concert is almost done.” He smiles down at me. “Why don’t you stay back here until it’s over so I can take you out?” There goes the rapid blinking again.
“Why?” Is that the only freaking word left in my vocabulary?
“Because I want to get to know you before I put a ring on your finger and knock you up.” The lead guitarist finishes his solo as Riley turns to a man standing off to the side. “Keep an eye on her.” I didn’t even realize there were other people near us.
“You got it.” The other man smirks and steps next to me. “Come with me.”
Riley turns back to the stage but whips around at the last minute. “What’s your name?”
On autopilot, I answer, “Candy Robinson.”
“Nice to meet you, Candy.” He winks at me, and I have to lock my knees to keep from melting into a pile of goo.
I lean around the man standing next to me and glance out to see Raven waving at me. When my friend mouths, “I told you,” I roll my eyes. While my cautious side warns me not to get excited, my inner teenager is urging me to jump in with both feet. Right now, the teenager is winning.
The rest of the concert passes in a blur as I watch Riley August woo the audience. I’m in so much trouble here. Protecting my heart from him isn’t going to be easy. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve already lost the fight.
I barely make it through the end of the concert. Every few seconds, I glance over to make sure my dream girl is still standing by Jaxon, our manager. With the roar of the crowd following us, we slip off stage before the house lights blink on.
Finding Jaxon and my girl waiting for me outside the dressing rooms, I ignore the other band members and head straight for Candy. “Hey, Dream Girl.” I hear gasps from all around us when I pull her curvy body into my arms. “Why don’t you come to my dressing room with me?” My cock throbs painfully behind the tight-ass leather, and I know I need to relieve some of the pressure soon. Before there’s permanent damage.
“Oh, no, she isn’t.” Raven fucking Sterling marches up and slides her arm around Candy’s. “She isn’t some groupie for you to play with.” I’m not too concerned about five-foot-nothing Raven, but her six-and-a-half-foot husband is another story. The fierce scowl on his face tells me he’s ready to rip my head off if I make one wrong move.
