Taking the Lead(6)

How was I supposed to keep my libido in check when it was, literally, my job to be sex on wheels tonight?

Before I knew it they were taking us backstage to get ready to perform. I changed out of my tuxedo and into what was waiting for me.

Christina looked critically at the way the skintight faux leather clung to my legs, making me turn in a circle to inspect my ass. I crossed my arms. "If they're not tight enough the only alternative I can think of is to actually paint them on next time," I said.

"Great idea!" she chirped. "They can do that with liquid latex, you know? But it takes a long time to apply and to dry. Not practical for a show like this."

She never gets my jokes.

"Well? Do I pass muster?"

She tapped her lips with a manicured nail. "It's still missing something."

Mal came and looked over her shoulder. "What's he missing?"

"Something. I don't know."

"Don't worry about him, Chris. You know he always turns it on when the lights come up," Mal told her.

It was true. People often said I seemed like I took it to a whole different level on stage. Wilder, sexier, on top of the world. That's the real me, I wanted to tell them. That's who I've always been waiting to be. But it took work to remember sometimes that I wasn't the shy outcast I'd looked like when Mal and I had started writing songs together as kids.

"I know what the outfit needs," I said.

"What?" Christina insisted.

"Go check on Ford and Sam and I'll show you when you get back."

She grudgingly went to see if the others were ready while I closed my eyes and imagined heiress Ricki Hamilton was wearing no underwear under her designer gown. I slipped a hand under my waistband and heard Mal chuckle while I "adjusted" myself.

When Christina came back she looked me up and down. "Now you look good! On fire! What's diff-? Oh." She noticed the outline. "Good God, Axel, I didn't know you were circumcised!"

Yeah, that's how tight that costume was.

"Perfect!" she enthused. "You know the camera at the foot of the stage will be right there!"

Yes, I did. We'd already had a whole argument about how the producers didn't want me playing rhythm guitar like I usually did on this song when we played live. They wanted more "dynamism," more "mobility" from me. We'd even rehearsed it once with a headset mic, but with no mic and no guitar I felt like I didn't know what to do with my hands. So they gave me a cordless handheld mic. At least they weren't making me lip sync.

A tablet-wielding PA led us to our places. The band was on one part of the stage and I was on another, hidden from the audience by a set backdrop that would lift up while the daises we were on would glide forward. The stages were made of clear Lucite with tiny lights embedded inside. It was like standing on top of a giant cubic zirconia gem.



       
         
       
        

There's a moment before every performance where a bubble of nervousness expands in my throat, threatening to choke me. Like this time it's going to be too much. This time I'm going to fail. This time I'm going to fall. This time it's going to turn out that I really am just that nerdy, lonely outcast nobody liked and not the man who can set the whole world on fire with my voice and my moves.

But then the lights come up, the drums kick in, and that bubble bursts. And I explode like the firecracker that the band needs me to be.

This time was no different. I heard the hostess give the intro. "And now, performing their number one hit 'Kidnap My Heart,' here's The Rough!" The backdrop went up like it had in dress rehearsal, and I hit that opening note clear and true.

I stumbled a little, though, as the stage section I was on ground to a sudden stop far short of where it was supposed to go. Well. The directors had said they wanted me to have "mobility," right? Sometimes you have to improvise. I leaped off the dais and ran to the front of the stage, hitting and holding a high note with my free hand high in the air. The red light on the camera at my feet glowed and I hoped they got the crotch shot that Christina wanted. Nothing like making love to millions of Americans right through their televisions, right?

A hit song is usually three to four minutes long. Those could have been the longest four minutes of my life, given what I was planning. But they weren't. They went by in a blur. The backup dancers the producers had added to the number kept to the script: they were stuck partway back on the stalled stage section. That would only make my plan easier to implement. I ignored the choreography and worked the lip of the stage like this was Madison Square Garden and the seats were full of screaming teenagers, not politely nodding entertainment industry people. Actually, a lot of them looked like they were really getting into it.

See, I had plotted a little surprise for the end of the song that not even my bandmates knew about.

As the climax of the song approached, I leaped off the stage into the aisle. I gestured for people around me to jump up and clap. Amazingly, they did. Of course they did-they're showbiz, they're Hollywood, they thought this was supposed to happen and they would go along with the show. I danced my way up the aisle, looking for that face, that bare shoulder  …

There she was.

The plan was, of course, to "kidnap" Sakura. I was supposed to grab her and carry her out of the auditorium. The publicity stunt would help her establish some celebrity for herself, and more notoriety for me; we'd be the talk of the town and we'd be able to skip out of the rest of the award ceremony before I gave myself an ulcer. I didn't want to be there to face the record company when we didn't win. 

But that isn't what I did. I didn't stick to the plan at all. I got my arm around the waist of Ricki Hamilton, danced her into the aisle, and then swept her off her feet and ran away with her.

Sakura was going to kill me. Later.





CHAPTER THREE


IF THIS CAR'S ROCKIN' (DON'T COME KNOCKIN')


RICKI

When Axel Hawke dove into the back of a limo with me and we sped off, I was light-headed from being unable to breathe. The moment he had picked me up I had started to laugh, and then partway up the aisle he'd switched to carrying me over his shoulder like a pirate making off with a wench. His shoulder dug into my stomach, which made me laugh harder but also made it even harder to breathe.

Maybe it wasn't the way he was carrying me that made me so breathless. My mind was awhirl-the tabloids! They were going to have a field day! But part of me didn't care. My fantasies of him carrying me away came roaring back, and the giddy feeling only intensified as I realized that any of the blame for this stunt was going to fall squarely on Axel Hawke, not me. I was merely the innocent bystander dragged along for the ride. Literally.

I realized I still had my arms around his neck while I fought to catch my breath. We were halfway lying down where we had landed in the spacious interior of the car. It was one of those ridiculous tourist limos, suitable for bachelorette parties and the like¸ the interior lights cycling through a series of colors and a miniature disco ball throwing sparkles of light everywhere. Given that he had just taken off without getting any directions, this limo driver had to have been hired by Axel in advance.

Where are we going? I wanted to ask, but I made the mistake of looking into those intense eyes of his. For a moment he looked as if he might say something.

Instead, we kissed. One moment we were staring into each other's eyes; the next moment our lips were sealed together.

And I'd thought I was breathless before. Axel Hawke could kiss. His mouth was sure and firm, never still. He coaxed mine open, and the more we kissed, the more I wanted to kiss. He varied the pressure, never letting me take the lead but not overwhelming me, either. His tongue teased and I felt the kiss all the way down under my gown.

This was everything I wanted, but nothing that I expected. This wasn't anything I could have imagined actually happening, and with every cell in my body focused on him, on where we touched, on the way he moved, there wasn't any brainpower left to think about anything else.

As the kiss went on, the tingle between my legs grew to a warm center of pleasure and then to an outright ache of need. When was the last time I'd actually wanted like this? When was the last time I had let myself want anything like this?

Then I was gasping for breath and trying to understand the words that were pouring hotly into my ear.

"Should I stop?"

No, no, don't you dare stop, I thought, but I couldn't let myself say that. "You  …  You should  …  but  … " I said weakly, regretfully.

"I'll stop when you say the word 'no,' then," he murmured. He sounded a little drunk. Intoxicated by lust? Probably his performance high. Dad used to call it the strongest drug known to man. Which was pretty funny coming from an alcoholic, but that was my father for you.

"Where are we going?" I asked, thinking I'd distract Axel.

"Sakura's," he answered, and began kissing me again.

And I was kissing him back. It was simply too good to stop. He flattened me under him, a hand on either side of my head, while his tongue did its wicked work, inflaming me. Lying like that, the hardness of him was excruciatingly close to that place where I ached. I wriggled under him, telling myself I was trying to wriggle away, but I was actually trying to move the hottest part of me against him in just the right way  …