Rock Into Me

Rock Into Me

Susan Arden

Sweet-N-Spicy Tales

Rock Into Me

Series: Rule Breakers, Hate-L
ve Stories Book 1

Copyright © Susan Arden

Published: June 2013

SWEET-N-SPICY TALES

The right of Susan Arden to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at http://www.susanarden.com or Twitter: @romancebysusan 

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/SusanTaylorAuthor

Blog:
http://susanarden.blogspot.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Doug Taylor, my best friend and husband, listening with an open heart. Nicole Barajas, thank you for your patience and letting me ask you question after question, tapping into for your musical knowledge.

To all the readers who stuck made this journey with me, thank you.

We did a Brit this time and my sincere thanks to Julia Gibbs (Twitter
@ProofreadJulia
)
for the first read and edit.

No writer can do without the necessary editing skills. Lucky for me, I met this lady, Barbara Gibbs(
[email protected]
). Thank you for being the last set of eyes and the amazing proofing of this story (along with the others).

To Jim, over at JimandZetta formatting—thank you.

Alana held the microphone out toward the audience, amplifying the applause already palpable in her body, ricocheting in her racing heartbeat. The dizzying result left her with a mad adrenaline rush. A blitzkrieg to her senses.

The back of her throat burned. She powered on through the final lyrics, refusing to care, with the storm of cheering and eardrum-piercing whistles tonight. Pushing the envelope, she’d hit and held notes somewhere near the stratosphere, sending her pulse into orbit, and leaving her feeling giddy.

The revolving lights swirled beams of fuchsia, yellow, and blue, casting a rainbow over the stage. Alana flashed a peace sign at the crowd and threw scads of kisses after finishing the band’s latest rock ballad. Wiping the droplets of sweat from her brow, she replaced the microphone on the stand while a fresh stream of perspiration dripped down between her breasts. The energy in the room buoyed her spirits, and even her pinched toes hurt less.

Plastering a vivacious—albeit well-practiced—smile on her face, she waved to the crowd. The audience continued to applaud, whistle, and hoot. She inhaled, trying to make out the hazy shadows in the glaring light, and smiled brighter at the persistent chanting.

Someone yelled out, “Orion rocks!” Her heartbeat soared higher. For years, no one had known of the band, and this summer things had started to happen. Fast. Bookings, promos, radio spots, and their songs were getting serious airtime.

The fans were going wild but, truthfully, she was clueless about who was out in the audience tonight. Her name was yelled. Repeatedly. This time, a man’s voice rose above the clamor. “Alana, baby, sing another song!”

A dozen stage lights overhead broiled her skin. Wearing a gold lamé dress and thigh-high crème calfskin boots, she fantasized about diving into the pool back at the hotel. She blew a kiss into the sharp glare, having learned that she should never hold up her hand to shield her eyes. If the audience found out she couldn’t see them, their response tended to stagnate.

Alana directed her gaze down into the only section of the audience where she could make direct eye contact. Crowded tables were only feet in front of the stage. If she wasn’t careful, this was also the section that could peer up her dress. It was a fine line she walked; getting too close to the edge tonight, she’d unwittingly showed more flesh than she’d intended.

The clapping and stamping had gotten livelier over the last few seconds, so loud it reverberated in her chest. A cloud lifted and her nervousness abated. She laughed wholeheartedly. Her smile grew more and more genuine with the thunderous reception unfolding before the band. Her wide grin worked the muscles in her cheeks. The infectious response from the audience was exhilarating, leaving her encased in a bubble, with a captivating social contact high. 

Alana scanned the front row of tables, waving to the smiling people who returned her stage affection. Her flitting gaze snagged on a pair of dark eyes. Her gaze swam over a chiseled, masculine face that made her breath catch. The man returned her stare. Their gazes didn’t casually connect—more like snapped and locked, detonating a jolt to her stomach. Talk about gorgeous. The guy seated in the first row was some version of
Gentlemen’s Quarterly
-handsome. Unlike the rest of the fans, he appeared less than enthralled to be seated in front of her. If anything, GQ looked like he was in agony.

Her smile faltered. The man cocked an eyebrow and solemnly shook his head. He had to be responding to the person next to him. But why did he continue staring up at her? And in such a punitive manner, as though she was doing something offensive…to him?

Alana glanced away from him, hoping to shake the disconcerting effect. The image of his expression seared her memory, harshly lingered, and threatened to deflate her mood. Definitely, he was raining on her party. Scanning the other tables, she refused to allow the occupant of a single seat to suck the effervescence from the place. Not when the applause continued, ramping up and becoming deafening. No way could they begin their next song, featuring a new a cappella intro with her and Christy singing a duet.

Shaken, Alana motioned to Hank, mouthing
on ten
. The crowd had totally eaten up
Animal Lust
, their last song. He nodded, and hand-signaled to Carl and Christy to wait ten seconds before he’d tap the count for the next song.

She walked over to Billy, the lead on guitar. “We’ll give them ten seconds.”

Billy nodded and went to his amp, pumping the pedal to make some minor feedback adjustments.

This was the time to work the crowd. She stole a furtive glance at GQ and, wouldn’t you know it, he was still staring back, only now his arms were crossed over his chest. She gripped the microphone, refusing to be undone by one guy. Gorgeous or not.

“Are you good and hot now?” Alana purred into the microphone. She let loose the low sultry laugh she was known for and said, “’Cause I know I am.” This was the intro to their next song,
Good and Hot
. Glancing back, she stuck her tongue out at Christy.

Christy mouthed, “Work it!”

Alana nodded and began clapping her hands over her head, sidling up to Christy, who stroked a few chords playing backup guitar. She slipped her arm around her best friend, hugging her for a second. The crowd whistled wildly.

Hank tapped his drumsticks, “One, two…one, two, three.”

She and Christy proceeded to slowly hum, rocking their bodies to the winding guitar strings steadily strummed on Billy’s black
Schecter
. The rhythmic beat on the drum grew louder. Orion ramped up the energy with a fast-flying shredding of notes until Billy struck the defining power-chord of the song. They exchanged nods, Alana sucked in a deep breath, and they belted out the first line. Their voices wove together, melding in harmony, and goose bumps spread over Alana’s body.

Christy’s dark hair framed her face, making her light blue eyes sparkle, and the scent of spearmint washed over Alana. This was their dream. Their moment. And they sang together, blending their voices, using the lyrics while shaping and reshaping musical notes. Tonight they sang louder than normal to settle the crowd.

 But hey, they had a rocking crowd, and this was what playing live was all about. Whipping up the energy, then harnessing it, and maintaining the audience’s response. As the lead vocalist it was Alana’s job to stage the songs, her job to sense when it was time to give the audience some headroom, and her job to know when things might be getting out of control.

She faced Christy and held the mic between them. Christy smiled back at her, her guitar hanging off her petite body from a glittery pink strap, and they met each other note for note. They’d worked on the harmonies for years, ever since high school, so that their voices melded together to create a warm, rich rock tone.

Alana told herself,
don’t do it
. Too late. She let her gaze slide on over to GQ, and his pinched brows screamed louder than the stage speakers. He sat with his head cocked and his ballbuster expression lit from the stage lighting.

To show him how
unaffected
she was by GQ’s demeanor, she inhaled and tensed her body, preparing to forcefully sing next and final a capella lyric, signaling the band to begin to play.

“Go get ‘em!” Christy yelled.

Alana squeezed her friend and took a step backward, then they danced away from each other.

She reluctantly wound her way toward the front of the stage, dismayed to be standing only feet away from the only disgruntled person in the place.

Playing in the City Basement had been a fluke. A last-minute cancellation by a band, and the owner had to fill the vacancy. Thank goodness, she and Christy had stopped by the place, trying to book a spot in the lineup for the next week. Orion, their band for the last three years, was booked around Nashville for a two-week battle of the bands; they still wanted a chance to shine in
Music City
and so continued to search out venues. She and Christy had canvassed the clubs off Demonbreun, patrolling on foot in the summer sun with huge hangovers. Each night so far, they’d performed and then bar-hopped or attended an after-party. Last night they’d gone to an after-after-party, getting back to the hotel well after sunrise.