Page 35 of Hard Rock Tease

The lights in the room dimmed, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Five shadowy figures made their way on stage. My breath caught in my throat. My heartbeat pounded wildly in my chest. No matter how many times I'd seen them perform, my body always responded with that familiar kick of adrenaline. Even working closely with a member of the band hadn't diminished the effect.

Cymbals crashed and lights exploded, illuminating the stage as music blasted from the speakers. As my eyes adjusted to the blinding light, I had a brief moment to ponder that Noah hadn't even said a word of greeting or congratulations to the birthday girl before starting. Typical.

Then my vision cleared and I found myself staring up at Noah Fucking Hart, Rock Star God. His leather jacket hung open, revealing a tight t-shirt clinging to every peak and valley of his abs. The tattoos of his upper chest were visible above the shirt's collar. Messy dark hair fell over his forehead, highlighting his angular cheekbones. His dark eyes were heated. My inner muscles quivered.

As Noah sang, all sense flew from my mind. I was trapped, ensnared by the inhuman talent this man possessed. It wasn't only the way he sang, or the sound of his voice. It was the words themselves, like he was digging deep inside me, exposing my soul and flinging it outward for the world to see.

Noah's gaze roved over the crowd slowly, as if making eye contact with each and every person. As if he were singing to them and them alone. Although he played it cool in person, the limelight ignited a fervor inside him. He scanned the front. He laid eyes on me. He paused, eyes flashing with heat, narrowing with a dark desire. A full body flush ran through me, centering between my legs.

Concerts were always emotional for me, especially Darkest Days concerts, but I'd never experienced this before. I felt gutted, drained, and laid bare. The band was only three songs in and I was ready to weep.

Our eyes were locked, him on stage and me in the audience, as if we were the only two people in the room. In the world. His words washed over me, words of love and devotion, words of anger and despair. It was as if I was feeling every emotion humans were capable of, all at once.

His flicked his eyes away and I was let go from the spell. I found myself breathless, gasping for air. The club was stifling hot. Bodies pressed me from every side. I had to get out.

I elbowed my way through the crowd until I found myself free. I took a moment to gather myself and made my wobbly way up to the second floor, where there were fewer people and more seating. I slumped down in a plush armchair with a view of the stage.

I couldn't do this.

Watching that band perform, watching that man perform, reminded me of all the insecurities I'd had the first moment when I'd been offered this job.

Noah's songs made me feel something almost otherworldly. His talent was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. Watching him was as enlightening as it was enrapturing.

I knew in that instant I could never create something so brilliant as to match the talent of Noah Fucking Hart.

Chapter Twelve

Iwallowedin self-pity for so long I missed most of the performance. I caught the last song and a half of the encore. From my vantage point on the second floor, I could take in the whole picture. Now that I wasn't focused entirely on Noah, I was able to watch the other band members.

Twin guitarists Damon and Ian Drake were known by fans as the portmanteauDamian. Dressed in identical black jeans, faded AC/DC t-shirts, and soft brown hair tufted up in all directions, they were indistinguishable from each other.

The twins, akaDamian,ran around on stage like maniacs, with enough energy for a dozen children hopped up on candy. I couldn't tell which one was Damon and which one was Ian, but it didn't seem to matter. The two of them switched guitars in mid-song and began wailing on each other's fretboards. Even their positions as lead and rhythm were interchangeable.

Cameron held his bass low, hunching over it with a wicked grin as he played to the crowd. Long, bright red strands fell over his face, half covering his heavily kohl-rimmed eyes. The hair was tousled and unkempt. Not in the sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed way. More in the wildI will break your heart and you'll love me for itkind of way.

August's entire attention was on his drum kit, ice-blue eyes narrowed in concentration, arms moving at a near blur. The pounding force of his drumming must have been tiring, but he never slowed down, never showed a hint of exhaustion. August's performance was as effortless as it was flawless.

The encore came to an end and the band members left the stage. The audience dispersed with excitable chattering. The performance had been a hit.

I sat in the armchair for several long minutes, trying not to mope and failing miserably. I tried to resist, but the urge to take out the letter from my purse was too strong. I held it between my fingers, stroking the seam holding the envelope closed.

I knew eventually I'd have to open it and read the letter. Maybe one day when I was strong enough to hear the words I knew lay inside. But that wasn't today. I shoved it back in my purse and went back to moping.

I didn't know where the band members were going to end up partying. I'd hoped to escape before I ran into them. I didn't want to have the inevitable conversation here.

No such luck. The recognizably messy mop of Noah's dark hair ascended the staircase to the upper floor. I sunk down in my chair, but he saw me immediately. He headed over, scanning the area.

"You didn't bring your friends." Taking a seat on the sofa across from me, he reclined back and propped his feet on the closest table.

"Noah…" I started hesitantly.

"If you're gonna go all fangirl mode on me, save it. I don't need that shit."

"I don't know if I can do this."

He frowned and put his feet flat on the floor, leaning toward me. "Do what?"

"Write a song with you," I whispered.