 
# Praise for Toni Kenyon

> I have a serious addiction for Rockers, and was so excited to find a new author/series.
> 
> Jennifer Pierson: The Power of Three Readers

> She has made her celebrities human, fallible, and extremely likeable - warts and all.
> 
> Book Chatter Cath

> Kenyon writes a sexy, fast paced, contemporary romance that'll have your heart racing...definitely an author to watch!
> 
> KiwiWriter

# Vegas Style

## Toni Kenyon

Published by:

Apeople Publishing

Copyright © 2018 by Toni Kenyon

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Vegas Style is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For Kevin - A great love

### Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Toni Kenyon

Style: A Style Strike Rockstar Romance

Chapter 1

# Introduction

**Author note: __** I live in New Zealand and I write in British English. Here in New Zealand we have **footpaths** not sidewalks and **taps** not faucets. We talk about the flavo **u** r of ice cream and the colo **u** r of the sky. I apologi **s** e in advance if you find any of our idiosyncrasies confusing and I hope you enjoy your visit to my homeland. Feel free to email me if there's something you need me to explain—I'll do my best and be happy to oblige.

* * *

**Brit rockers hit the US for the Get Rocked! In Vegas Festival.**

Sam MacAvoy's a British rocker who has charted consistently at number one all over Europe since following in his brother, Julian's footsteps. Now Sam's been invited to Vegas to debut at the _Get Rocked! In Vegas Festival_ and he's brought his red hot band, _Style Strike_ with him.

Ashley Jacobs can't stand musicians, or over-the-top egotistical men. Somehow she finds herself in amongst dozens of them when she agrees—against her better judgment—to take a three day summer job at the Festival.

Paul Gray, _Style Strike's_ bass player and the star of his own social media channel, has women falling at his feet. What he can't quite understand is why his charm isn't working on the attractive and curvaceous, Ashley. She's not interested in his social media stardom, nor does she care that he could have any woman he wants at the rock festival.

Or does she?

# Chapter 1

**A shley Jacobs**

I didn't like rockstars.

I still couldn't believe I'd let myself be talked into spending four days of my summer vacation standing at the back of a rock festival, checking the ID of incoming rockstars and their entourages as they commuted between the backstage pass area and the vehicle and trailer parking.

If it wasn't for my best friend, Madison Hewitt, who was singularly responsible for me finding myself in Las Vegas at the Get Rocked! Festival, I'd be happily ensconced in air-conditioned comfort making eyes at the croupier on the blackjack table or at least lounging poolside.

I coiled my long blonde hair atop my head and stuffed it under my hat for the second time that morning and stared at the dust that had begun to settle in a fine film across my canvas-covered feet. I kicked a stone across the Las Vegas speedway parking lot and watched as another small plume of dust floated into the still air. Not a breath of wind anywhere and not a single patch of white cloud to be seen in the clear blue sky.

Who built a speedway in the middle of the desert?

Never mind that. Who decided to hold a rock festival in the middle of a speedway in the middle of the desert?

I wondered whether we'd be able to convince the festival organisers to install a sprinkler on the fire hose so I could stand in a sheer mist of cooling water for the entire three days.

But then, I wasn't one for wet t-shirt exhibitionism, unlike my best friend who'd neatly gotten me into this hot and dusty mess.

"We've only been here two hours, and I think I'm going to expire already," I complained to Madison.

"You'll be fine," she said as she threw me a bottle of cold water. Granted, it wouldn't stay cold too long in this heat, but at least it would wash the dust out of my throat. "Just think about the amazing bands and rockstars you're going to meet over the weekend."

She had that faraway look in her eye again—the one I knew meant she was thinking about the last guy she'd chased all over the country. I couldn't even remember his name, and I was damn sure that he wouldn't remember hers either. But that didn't seem to deter Madi from her obsession with meeting every single rockstar who ever walked the planet.

"You know it's not healthy, this rockstar bucket list thing you've got going, don't you?" I said.

Madi looked out at me from under the bright blue floppy sunhat she wore to keep the Nevada sun off her pale skin. Red hair and white skin weren't the greatest combination for summer in the desert. If not for this damn rock festival, we'd be back home in Seattle out of these ridiculous scorching temperatures.

I wore a blue hat that matched Madi's, and we were both unmissable in our fluorescent yellow, long-sleeved t-shirts complete with the word **SECURITY** emblazoned across the front and back.

In case anyone was at all unsure of our status, we also had on the required lanyard and backstage pass that had been distributed to everyone who had access to this area.

Our only job for the three twelve-hour shifts we had over the weekend was to check that everyone who passed through the small gate wore a lanyard the same as our own.

Brain dead didn't even come close to describing the kind of work I'd gotten myself into. It was a far cry from the management degree that Madi and I had both completed and well below the level of employment we'd been participating in since we'd graduated.

But, we had agreed to a gap year—a chance to travel the country before we settled into permanent jobs. I'd never seen this on the horizon though. A chance encounter with a vocalist from some band three months ago had set Madi on a course that she couldn't be dissuaded from.

Despite my better judgment, I'd agreed to come to Vegas. I hadn't seen the city, and it was somewhere everyone should go once in their lifetime, right?

What I hadn't counted on was Madi becoming some kind of clueless groupie. It was almost instantaneous. If a guy walked into her line of vision wearing a grubby shirt, leather pants, ink across his body, or a couple of eyebrow rings, half her brain dissolved.

"I wonder who this is coming in now?" Madi asked, her voice breathless with excitement.

We'd watched the three tour trailers—no doubt carrying precious rockstar cargo—weaving their way in through the various gates. They were settling themselves in the bus and limo parking area. Some of the bands had opted to stay in the luxury hotels back on the Strip, but others, especially those bands that were playing on Friday and Saturday night were staying on site and then moving on to their next tour venue.

Madi assured me that by the time the weekend came to an end she'd have invites back to the exclusive parties at the various hotels in town. I didn't care. I was here for the extraordinary amount of money we were being paid to stand around and check these people in and out of the parking area. That was all.

I had no intention whatsoever of hooking up with anyone—especially not a bad-boy rockstar intent on carving another notch on his tour belt.

**P aul Gray**

I opened the door of the trailer and the heat of the Nevada desert slammed into me with the force of a truck. I thought I'd prepared myself for the deluge, but nothing could have been further from the truth. As I sucked in a lungful of the hot, dry air, my British body reacted by going into overdrive. I could feel the sweat trickling down between my shoulder blades before my entire body had escaped the air-conditioned cocoon of the vehicle.

"Whose ridiculous idea was it that we play a rock festival in the middle of summer in the middle of the desert?" I asked no one in particular.

"You'll get used to it," Dusty said with a hint of glee in her voice as she stepped from the adjacent trailer she and Sam MacAvoy shared while we were on the road. She adjusted her baseball cap and appeared to take pleasure in the dry, hot environment, stretching her lithe limbs like a cat that had just stepped out into the heat of a summer's day. "It's preferable to those disgusting cold and wet London days you boys seem to love."

"Holy fucking shit!" Sam, the star of our little show stepped out of the trailer behind Dusty and voiced the reaction my body had to the heat. "Shit. I thought New Zealand was hot, but this is something else."

"You pasty little Englishmen," Dusty teased as she pressed her lips to the cheek of the man she shared the limelight with. "You'll adjust in a couple of days."

"We don't have a fucking couple of days," Sam moaned. "We're on stage tomorrow night."

"And it will be cooler by then, I promise," Dusty said, and she strode off toward the next security gate with Sam and the rest of the band shuffling along in the dust behind her.

I'd never seen security like it, although I'd not been touring long with Sam MacAvoy, and I'd certainly never toured in America.

"It's a long way from busking in the tube stations of London, don't you think?" my best friend and bandmate Todd Murphy said as he gave me a sound slap on the shoulder.

I looked ahead and saw Julian MacAvoy, Sam's older brother and manager for this tour, making his way to the security gates.

The day Julian phoned and offered me and Murf a chance to be in Sam's band, I thought he was joking. I thought I was on some kind of a prank radio station call. I shuddered at the recollection, despite the heat coming from the environment I presently stood in. I didn't want to imagine how my life would be playing out now if I hadn't stayed on the line long enough to be convinced that it was the great Julian MacAvoy on the phone offering me the chance of a lifetime.

Long story short, here I was playing bass for one of the most famous exports to come out of Britain in the last decade. I'd be shitting myself except for the fact that I had my wingman with me. Murf was the best drummer I knew to come out of London for a long time. Julian had seen us working together and was convinced that we'd be perfect to keep the back line of Sam's band straight.

I wasn't going to argue and neither was Murf.

I fingered the lanyard around my neck upon which hung the required security clearance to get us backstage. We'd come to scope out the venue and do a sound check. Like most festivals, timing was tight. We were on at 8pm Friday night, and they opened the gates of the venue tomorrow morning.

The logistics of getting every band through a sound check prior to the gates opening tomorrow morning did my head in.

"Keep it moving, guys," Julian roared from the front of the small herd. I could see the bulk of his security guard, Otis, close by Julian's side. Aside from the security team that managed the location, Julian and Sam MacAvoy never travelled without their own security contingent, a mixed bag of ex-military and police protection officers. There was a huge measure of comfort in knowing that they were around and that they were constantly on the alert for any kind of nutter who might decide to try their luck with any one of us.

Still, I'd struggled ever since we'd gotten involved with Sam and Julian MacAvoy to rationalise Julian the organisational guru I saw in front of me with the tabloid stories I'd read over the years about his irresponsibility and outrageous behaviour.

Perhaps the word on the street was correct. Mags, his former manager and now partner, had managed to tame the beast and turn him into a responsible family man.

I took a second to pull my phone from my pocket. Meeting and greeting the girls on security would be of interest to my social media followers and fans.

Every day, sixty thousand-plus people tuned in to see what I was doing with my life.

It had started out as a bit of a joke. A daily video diary for me to keep myself accountable had morphed into an online community of people in and around Britain who wanted a piece of me for what seemed like every minute of every day.

I couldn't discount the possibility that my further rise to fame had something to do with Julian picking me up for Sam's band.

In any event, the fans were gagging for some insight into touring in the US, and I was happy to oblige. They'd been nagging me for days now, and I'd enjoyed teasing them with snippets here and there.

Julian stopped me just before I got to the security gate.

"You remember we talked about filming?" he said, tipping his head in the direction of my phone. "What the hell you do inside the privacy of your own tour bus is your concern, but bring any bad publicity my or my brother's way and you'll be back in London so fast your fucking head will spin."

Green eyes bored into mine. I had the sense of being a kid at school on the first day of term. He was terrifying as a manager. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for the poor sods performing on stage with him for all those years.

But, he was responsible for giving me and Murf the kind of break that no one else would have given us. Julian MacAvoy had a knack for seeing the best in the worst kind of people, and I guess I'd be grateful to him for that. No matter the fact that he was the equivalent of rock-n-roll royalty—even if next to no one knew him on this continent. He still had a musical lineage that I'd kill to own. If I kept my nose clean and did as I was told, I had a chance to find a way to the same kind of rock and roll stardom.

I nodded. "Fucking crystal. You got no worries. I'll cast us all in the best possible light. My sponsorship depends on it."

It was the truth. Every single item I wore, I endorsed. I was making triple the money off my endorsements than I was ever going to make as a bass player on this tour.

Really, if I was honest, I was here for Murf. He deserved a break, and I quite fancied trying a little bit of American pussy, so I wasn't averse to tagging along and keeping the back line of the band tight.

An awful lot depended upon whether the star of the show—who was making his way through security ahead of us—was going to be a hit stateside.

I was already a hit at home.

But America...

This was another untapped league.

I guess we'd have more of an idea about whether either of us was going to make it after this tour.

# Chapter 2

**A shley**

They were arriving in droves now—multiple bands that Madi assured me were here for sound check.

"Oh, my god," she breathed beside me, gripping my arm so tight I thought that her fingernails were going to break the skin. "I think that's Julian MacAvoy."

"Who?" I asked, idly scanning the line of similar-looking inked men who all seemed to be wearing the rockstar uniform of tight denim jeans and skin-tight white t-shirts despite the debilitating heat of the day. How she could tell the difference between one or another, I couldn't be sure. The only difference I could see was the length of the hair that these men sported. Some had longer hair than my own blonde locks, and mine brushed my shoulders on a good day.

Today wasn't a good day.

How they could stand to wear so much clothing or even have their hair down in this weather was beyond me. But then I guess most of them were stepping out of air-conditioned comfort.

I chugged at my water bottle. I'd given up taking ladylike sips. I think I was losing water at a rapid pace even standing in the shade of the security tent.

"Julian MacAvoy, rock god from the UK. His brother Sam's on Stage 1 tomorrow night. He's trying to break the market with a new band," she muttered. "It is him!" she squealed, continuing to hold my arm in a death grip. It struck me that she needed to hold on tight to me so she could stay grounded.

I couldn't get excited about any of this at all.

"How'd you know it's him?"

"Behind him," Madi pointed stabbing her finger in the air, "I can see Paul Gray. He's the new bass player. He's videoing the tour. I'm following him on social media. Oh, my god, if I could get on his channel."

I couldn't think of anything worse as I extracted my tortured forearm from Madi's grip. I could easily have broken one of my prize fingernails peeling her fingers from my arm. I checked the list we'd been given, and sure enough found Sam MacAvoy's name together with Julian and Paul Gray among others who were to be admitted with the group.

How the hell Madi kept all this information in her head when I'd never heard of half of these people, I'd never know. Maybe I just wasn't interested.

"Mr MacAvoy," Madi gushed as the group came to a halt in front of us.

"Call me Julian," he said with the most charming accent I thought I'd ever heard. It matched the smile that had erupted on his face. "I wasn't expecting to be recognised."

"I've been a fan for years," Madi said. I couldn't believe a word of it. I'm sure she didn't even know he existed until we got this job.

I checked the security tags around everyone's neck, and Madi continued to make a fool of herself gushing over each and every one of the band members who filed past.

Last to come through was a sultry looking man with a shock of long dark hair that hung over his eyes. He'd been filming the entire proceedings and turned his phone camera on me. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Turn that off," I snapped. I didn't want my image plastered all over the internet. I had an idea of the kind of person who lived their life online for the world to see, and I didn't want to have anything to do with him or his silly channel.

"You don't want to be a star?" he asked in an accent that did things to my insides I didn't want to acknowledge.

I looked up from my clipboard into a piercing blue eye. The other remained covered by the shock of black hair that looked like a raven's wing fallen across the man's face.

I blinked a couple of times and tried to clear my head.

Something about the sound of this man's voice, the cocksure way he had of standing right in my personal space... It should have pissed me off, but instead I could feel myself leaning in toward his body.

"No," I said, answering his question and making a determined effort to take a step back.

He stepped forward and leaned in close. Close enough that I could see the outline of the colour of his tattoos on his chest through the dip in the V-neck of his shirt. Close enough that I could smell the heat of his body. Close enough that something inside of me reacted to the sight and the smell of him.

"But everyone wants to be a star in America, don't they?"

"Not this girl," I said, trying to look away. But there was something about the way he held his body, the way he was looking at me as if I was the only girl in the world.

He had a magnetic hold on me that I'd never experienced before, and it rattled me.

I didn't like it. It frightened me. I wanted him to go on through and leave me alone. But he stood there. Unmoving. Looking at me. Scrutinising my face.

I could feel the heat of a blush crawling up my body.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, straightening my spine and looking him square in that one big, blue eye.

He shook his head, and I caught a glimpse of the other blue eye before it hid again behind his hair.

"I like to capture beauty on my camera, that's all. What's your name, beautiful?"

It was a line.

He was a rockstar.

He fed lines like this to women all over the world.

Then why was my traitorous body reacting to his words?

That accent.

Still he held my gaze. I was powerless to look away.

"A-Ashley." Why was I stuttering my own name? Why was I telling him my name in the first place?

"You sure you don't want to be part of my film, Ashley?"

The sound of my name coming from his lips sounded... strange. Sexy. I was behaving like one of his groupies, going all ga-ga. I'd been spending too much time with Madi. Her rockstar fever seemed to be catching.

"I will."

Madi cut in to my thoughts and the conversation, breaking whatever spell this rock god had cast over me.

"Yeah, sure." Could that be disappointment I heard in his voice?

It didn't matter.

I reminded myself as I watched him peddle his patter to Madi and the camera that I didn't want to have anything to do with rockstars.

Right?

Then why, as I continued to watch him work his magic with Madi, could I feel a thread of jealousy beginning to work its way through my body?

**P aul**

We made our way through the stinking heat of the speedway to the stage.

Just our luck, we weren't playing on the main stage but a smaller stage to the right of the main stage. I don't know why I was disappointed, but for some strange reason I was.

"Thought we'd be on the main stage," I said to Sam. "You've filled enough stadiums in Europe, haven't you?"

I liked Sam. He was nowhere near as intimidating as his big brother, even if they could have been taken for twins.

Sam shrugged in the uncompromising way he had about him. "It's America. Apparently, things are different here."

"You've seen the bill, right?" Dusty pulled at the edge of her long blonde hair. Her American accent had seemed so out of place for such a long time while we'd been touring, and now, all of a sudden, it was the rest of the band who sounded out of place. "We're pretty fucking lucky to be playing here at all. They've given him top billing tomorrow night. I'd say that's an achievement for a nobody by these people's standards."

"You played with any of these guys?" I asked her.

"Nah," she shook her head. "It's a different scene here." She walked away—a sure sign that Dusty didn't want to discuss this anymore.

It intrigued me—what kind of a cloud she'd left the US under. She wouldn't talk about it no matter how hard I pressed the subject.

"You need to leave her alone," Murf said as he sidled up beside me. "She's fucking the boss. You know she's got the power to have us sacked."

"She's not fucking Julian, and he's running this tour," I said.

"She still has far more influence than you or I will ever have, so just fucking leave it alone, okay?" Murf gave me a soft punch in the shoulder.

I didn't ever want him to hit me hard. That's why he needed a drum set. Hitting things helped him deal with life.

I'd find out what happened one day, but not today.

We made our way towards the stage. _Silverblade_ were still doing their sound check, _Kyle Summers_ was up next, and then it was our turn.

Across the other side of the speedway, I caught snatches of sound coming from the main stage. Sound checks for festivals like this were run with military precision. If you weren't here ten minutes before your allotted sound-check time, you missed out. Julian had us here in plenty of time. We were the newcomers, and pissing the sound crew off wasn't the right way to start a tour of the States.

We could have had the roadies do the check for us, but Julian insisted that for the first show at least he wanted us here in the flesh for the check.

I didn't have a problem with that. I was as anal as the next musician. Besides, it gave me more fodder for my social media channel.

I flicked at my phone again and the image of sweet Ashley, the lovely on the gate, came up.

There was something about her. Maybe it was the way she'd told me to turn the camera off or the fact that she seemed totally unaffected by me.

I hadn't had to chase a woman for a long time.

They threw themselves at me—much like her friend, Red. I could have Red going down on me before the sun went down tonight if I wanted.

But I didn't want.

Well, not her anyway.

I played the segment again.

It was Ashley I wanted.

I listened to the sound of that beautiful voice. The strange way she sounded her vowels. I checked the creamy skin and the soft blonde of her hair hidden under that obscene blue hat she wore.

Over and over I ran the segment.

My cock twitched.

I wanted her, and she clearly didn't want me.

That made the game even more exciting, as far as I was concerned.

A nagging voice at the back of my head said that I should leave her alone. A girl like Ashley was trouble.

"Paul!" Murf shouted, "we're up."

I put my phone away and turned my mind to work. As I headed for my spot on the stage, I let everything else around me go.

This was why I'd come here—to work the back line and to make sure that the guy standing out the front of me shone.

I needed to forget about that girl on security, keep my head in the game, and make sure that I did the best damn job that I could.

Then why couldn't I get the image of her lips out of my mind?

# Chapter 3

**A shley**

"He liked you." Madi hadn't shut up about Paul Gray since he'd walked through the gate.

There had been a steady procession of rockers through our security point, but none had taken the time to even acknowledge our existence, unlike Sam MacAvoy's group.

"He filmed you," I said, beginning to tire of having to discuss him at all. I couldn't make up my mind whether that was because of the way he'd looked at me or because I was truly hot and tired by now. Besides, the more we talked about him, the more I found myself wondering what he'd look like without his clothes on, and I didn't want to acknowledge that to myself—never mind to Madi.

"He filmed me reluctantly," Madi said.

"Still, you'll get your two seconds of fame."

"Don't say it like that." Madi pulled her brows together. I knew that look. It was the scheming look she had about her when I ended up doing something that I didn't want to do. It was the look she had on her face when I agreed to come and do this stupid rock festival.

"You and Paul Gray, you're the key to getting us in."

I shook my head. "Don't be going there, girlfriend."

"He's going to come back through here."

"Not necessarily," I said. In fact, I was hoping that he might choose one of the other security points to exit the backstage area and leave me well alone.

"Nah," Madi shook her head. "I saw the way you were looking at each other."

"I wasn't looking at him!" I snapped.

Madi swung a finger back and forth in front of my face. "The woman doth protest too much."

"Don't give me that Shakespeare shit."

"He'll come back through this gate," Madi said with an assurance that I didn't like the sound of. "His trailer's just over there."

I'd forgotten about his trailer.

"That means they'll be staying here the night," she said in a thoughtful voice.

"They might go back to a hotel." Even I knew I was kidding myself. Why would anyone leave a secure site to head back to the chaos of the Strip during the summer break?

It had been chaos back there for the two days we'd been in town. I'd never seen anything like it—people walking down the street half naked because of the heat.

Vegas was a party town at the best of times. These guys were out here to tour, trying to break into a new market. Even I knew they were here to work, and they wouldn't be partying up large before their big night.

"Forget it, Madi." I wasn't about to semi-prostitute myself just so Madi could tick another rockstar off her bucket list.

"But he likes you," she whined.

"And where does that get you?"

"On site with the rest of the band," she grinned.

"Jesus, Madi! Why do you want to be some guy's groupie?"

"Oh, come on, Ash," she moaned. "It's summer. Live a little. We're young. We'll look back on these days when we're old and grey and sitting on our porch drinking iced tea, and we'll talk about what a great time we had."

I wasn't too sure about that.

I was also risk averse, and something about the way Paul Gray had looked at me made me want to run in the other direction.

"Well, hello again, Ashley." Almost on cue, standing in front of me again was the very man I desperately wanted to run away from. And he remembered my name. That thought shouldn't make my heart beat as fast as it was beating. I must have been standing out in the sun for too long.

"Hi," I said. I could feel the heat racing up my face. I didn't blush when a man spoke to me. What was it about him?

"Do you get a break?" he asked.

"Yes," Madi said unhelpfully before I had a chance to open my mouth. I glared at her around the side of the huge bulk of Paul's body.

He laughed, a long rolling sound that made something inside of my stomach pull into a tight coil.

"We're due a break in about fifteen minutes," Madi added, ignoring my death stare.

"Great," Paul said, catching my eye again. I couldn't stop looking at him. It was as if he were half vampire. He sucked me into his gaze, and I became powerless.

Powerlessness wasn't something I enjoyed.

"We're done for the afternoon, and some of the guys are heading back into town, but I thought I might have a nice cup of tea in the air-conditioned comfort of my van. Would you like to join me?"

"You have air-conditioning?" The thought of five minutes in air-conditioned comfort was far more tempting than anything else.

"Yes." He cocked the one eyebrow that hung outside of his hairline. "You might not find me tempting, but how about the air-con?"

I couldn't stifle my giggle. He was funny. He knew I didn't like him.

"I promise you I'll be nothing more than an English gentleman," he purred, "unless, of course, you'd like me to be something else?"

"A cup of tea with an English gentleman would be nice, thank you," I said.

Madi punched the air behind me, and I glared at her again.

Paul leaned in close and whispered, "You can bring your friend. It's okay. I promise I won't bite."

The scent of his body washed across me—musk and sandalwood and something I couldn't put my finger on.

Maybe it was pure carnal lust—the same pure carnal lust that danced between the two of us.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he said with a self-assured tone that still had me tempted to slap him.

Then he walked away without saying another word. Halfway back to his trailer, he turned and looked over his shoulder. When he saw that I was still watching him, I could have hit myself.

With a cocky tilt of his chin and a flick of his hair, he continued on his way.

"You like him," Madi said as she sidled up beside me.

"I don't want to like him," I sighed as I watched the sexy sway of his backside.

It was the truth.

I'd made a point of getting this far in my life without engaging in a single one-night stand, and I didn't want to start now.

**P aul**

"Hurry up if you're coming to the Strip, we're leaving in ten," Ryan said.

Ryan Griffin, or Griff as he'd become known to the rest of the band, was the keyboard genius that Murf and I shared the trailer with. We were the three musketeers and rarely went anywhere without each other while we were on tour.

"I'm staying here," I said, sitting down and allowing the cool of the air-conditioned chamber to take control of my internal thermometer.

"He's got his eye on the cute little blonde at the gate," Murf chipped in.

"Well don't fuck her in my bed," Griff said as he picked up his sunglasses off the table in the middle of the trailer.

"And you can stay out of mine as well," Murf added. "And don't put any porn up on your channel. Julian will go apeshit, and we'll all get fired."

"As if," I moaned. What the hell did they think I filmed? Not one of them bothered to watch my channel, even though I knew they were going to be stars.

I pulled my phone out while I was waiting to get some shots of the guys getting ready to head out for the Strip.

"Hey, Murf," I said as the camera began to roll, "What you doing this afternoon now we've done sound check?"

Murf pulled the finger and said, "Off to blow a few bucks on the pokies."

"What kind of pokies?" Griff asked thrusting his forefinger in and out of his clenched fist.

"Fuck off!" Murf yelled.

This was great. I had the whole little scene on tape and I'd post it later in the day. Tiny snippets of life on the road that my fans were looking forward to and not obnoxious enough that Julian would have a fit.

"I love you guys," I said as I put my phone away. The three of us embraced in a tight bear hug. It's the way it always had been on the road.

"Yeah, well. Take it easy with the locals while we're out, okay?" Murf said as the two of them descended the trailer steps and headed back out into the heat of the desert.

I had little intention of taking it easy with the attractive blonde local who would be visiting in the next fifteen minutes or so.

I was used to having women fall at my feet. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why anyone would take a job at a rock festival but not be looking to do the horizontal hustle with an attractive rockstar. Clearly, her red-headed friend was willing enough to jump into my bed. I wasn't slow at reading the signals. But there was something about the way Ashley looked out at me from under those long, blonde lashes.

I'd never been one to turn away from the chase, and I wasn't about to start now. If nothing else, it would be a challenge to see if I could talk _Ms Unaffected By My Charms_ into starring in a little segment on my channel. I needed the everyday girl angle, and I wasn't about to find anyone who looked more everyday than Ashley. From her plump arse that begged to be squeezed to her tits that I wanted to bury my face in, everything about her screamed average. But something about the way she held that curvaceous body made me believe that she'd be as hot as hell in the sack, and I was going to make sure that I sampled the pleasures of Vegas via the girl on the gate.

The rest of the guys could have the skinny model types with their fake teeth and fake tans. I wanted someone down to earth and genuine, and I sensed that I'd found that in Ashley.

Even if we were only here for two nights before we moved on with the rest of the tour, I was sure I could make those two nights memorable and document the process to boot.

I grabbed a cold juice from the fridge, cracked the tab, and devoured it in almost one gulp. How the hell the locals could stand being outside in the hot, dry desert conditions was beyond me.

Give me the cold and wet of London any day over this inferno.

I made my way to my bunk at the back of the trailer. Two small rooms were partitioned off at the rear. We'd drawn straws and Griff had ended up sleeping in the living area. He wasn't entirely happy about that, but considering he was still nursing a broken heart, it was unlikely that he'd need any privacy on this tour anyway. Unless he decided to drown his sorrows in assorted pussy—but that wasn't Griff's style.

I tried to convince him that it was like riding a bike—the sooner he got back on the better he'd feel—but he didn't want my advice.

Reluctant to leave the air-conditioned comfort of the trailer, I pulled a baseball cap from the small cupboard where I'd stashed my gear. It wasn't much different from living out of a suitcase, but then at least I had occasion to unpack. Three months on the road in this trailer with the madness of Murf and Griff for company, and I might be glad to see my suitcase again before the end of the trip.

I should be grateful for having a little of my own space, somewhere to retreat. It was a space with which my fans were going to become increasingly familiar. If nothing else, I was grateful for the fact that I could control the temperature in here, and it was somewhere private I could bring delightful creatures like Ashley.

I put the hat on my head. I couldn't afford to let my pasty English skin get burned, and I'd been out in the sun enough already today.

Pushing the door open, I was slammed again by the draining heat of the desert. We'd only been on the ground for two days. How the hell was I going to cope with an American summer for the next three months?

# Chapter 4

**A shley**

"Here he comes!" Madi elbowed me in the side.

I'd already seen him. In fact, I'd been scouring the site for him ever since he'd walked out of my line of vision less than fifteen minutes ago, but I wasn't going to give Madi the satisfaction of telling her that.

I still couldn't work out what the hell I was doing consenting to going for a cup of tea with a rockstar in his trailer.

It was tantamount to consenting to fucking him.

The closer he came to us, the faster my heart beat.

I could feel my breath quickening in response to the prospect of his arrival. I tried to remind myself that I'd consented purely to get out of the heat of the day and into some air conditioning.

Even that excuse seemed lame to me.

Who was I kidding?

The terrifying truth was that I liked the look of him.

The moment he'd stood close enough to me for me to pick up his scent, I was in trouble.

"Hello, Ashley."

That single blue eye peered out at me from under a baseball cap.

That sing-song way he said my name washed over me.

Oh yes, I was in trouble. More trouble than I'd contemplated being in for years.

I didn't do this kind of thing.

Strong, reliable, conservative Ashley Jacobs did not take the hand of a rockstar she'd met not more than two hours ago and accompany him back to his trailer.

"You ready to join me for tea?"

As I took his offered hand and walked with him back to his trailer, I almost forgot that Madi walked alongside us.

All I could focus on was the sensations running through my body as we walked. It was as if small electrical currents were running from Paul's body through to my own.

I'd never experienced anything like it.

Maybe I had been standing out in the sun for too long.

"How long before you have to be back on duty?" Paul asked as he moved the hard tips of his fingers across the back of my hand.

I knew he was a guitar player. I couldn't help myself. While Paul was doing his sound check and when we had a few slow moments, I'd mysteriously found myself looking him up on the internet. As I watched video of him playing, I'd been overcome by the urge to feel his hands roaming over my body the way I'd seen his fingers roam across a guitar.

I realised that he had hundreds of thousands of followers on his social media account.

He was famous in Britain and half of Europe.

Now I couldn't decide whether I was feeling an intense attraction to him because of the way he'd interacted with me, or because—like Madi—I had become affected by the affliction of being a fangirl.

I didn't want to be a fangirl.

I didn't want to do something in the next forty-eight hours that could affect my future plans.

This man broadcast his life across the internet and didn't give a second thought to the repercussions of his actions. In fact, the more outrageous his actions were, the more attention he received.

I didn't want or like any kind of attention.

I'd spent the better part of my college years making sure that I blended in, got good grades, and had great prospects for the future.

I'd been summer clerking for one of the largest financial institutions in the country, and I was on the cusp of landing my dream job. One wrong move at this critical time and I could ruin it all.

These thoughts ran through my mind as Paul opened the door to his trailer and ushered me and Madi inside the cool interior.

Why the hell would a man like Paul want to bring a girl like me back to his trailer? I could understand his interest in my flamboyant and outgoing friend, but me?

I didn't do rockstars, and I didn't do men who spent hours and hours parading the antics of their lifestyle across the internet for all to see.

In fact, I hadn't done a man in years.

Maybe that was why my body remained on hyper-alert as the door closed behind the three of us.

"Nice," Madi said as she pulled off the oversize floppy hat that she'd been wearing and allowed the full length of her red hair to fall around her body.

She had a way of holding herself, an assurance that I knew I lacked. Hell, even I found her attractive. Everything about the way she'd been behaving said she was available.

No wonder men like Paul had the opportunity to showcase their life—and the women in it—all over the internet.

Now, back here in the cool of the well-appointed trailer, I felt even more out of place.

I was a fake, and I shouldn't be here.

"Look," I began, "I think this was a mistake." I made for the door.

"Hey, hey." Paul slipped between me and the door, barring my escape route. Madi sat down on the soft bench seat behind the table and looked daggers at me. "I promise you I'm not going to try anything."

"No filming," I said.

"Cross my heart." And he did. The act made me think about the tattoos that I now knew for certain were hiding beneath his shirt.

I'd seen them on the internet.

I hadn't wanted to look, but I'd been unable to tear my eyes away from the artwork across his chest. I wondered what the blood-red rose tattooed across his heart looked like in the flesh.

The thought of Paul taking his shirt off did strange things to me.

"Come and sit down," Madi said, using the same tone of voice she'd used to con me into agreeing to this ridiculous job in the first place. "Take the weight off your feet. We've been standing up for hours."

She had a point. I was tired, and I was grateful for the cool of the trailer.

"I'm over here," Paul said, his hands in the air in mock surrender, "preparing tea. I won't make a grab for you." He took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through his hair. Pinning me in my seat with both bright blue eyes, he said, "Well, not until you ask me nicely."

My body reacted in an instant.

I felt my nipples pebble against the thin material of my bra.

I was in more trouble than I cared to think about.

**P aul**

I prepared the tea.

"A hot drink in the middle of the desert. I never thought I'd be doing this, but I can assure you that you'll feel better afterwards," I said.

I knew what I'd feel better after, but Ashley looked as if she wanted to bolt for the door. Her reluctance simply ramped up my desire.

A phone rang.

The redhead pulled a phone out of her pocket and muttered something I couldn't quite make out because of her thick accent.

"Gotta go," she said, standing up abruptly.

"What?" Ashley's eyes went wide.

"You stay and enjoy your break. I'll see you back at the gate," the redhead said.

Ashley went to stand up with her friend. "No, I'll come with you."

I wasn't going to let her go. Not now I'd managed to get her back here. "What, and miss out on the tea I'm making for you?"

The kettle whistled and I turned off the gas.

"Look, no offence," Ashley started.

I cut her off. "I promise I will behave. You have my word, and an Englishman's word is his bond."

"Good, that's settled then," Red said, and she headed for the door.

That left me and a still wide-eyed Ashley in the trailer alone.

"How do I know you're not filming this and I won't be all over the internet by tomorrow morning?"

"How about I promise you that I won't film you? Does that make you feel better?"

With a tiny tilt of her head, she looked up at me from under those long lashes. Maybe she'd let me film her later. Just for my own personal enjoyment. It would be nice to have a record of her coming for me to carry around—my entire life didn't have to be broadcast for the world to see.

"Why do you film everything?"

Good. She wasn't going to make a run for it. I poured the hot water over the tea bag. "Milk or lemon?"

"Lemon, please."

I dug around in the fridge and found a lemon and cut it into quarters. All the time I could feel her watching me.

As I squeezed the lemon into the tea, I answered the question. "It's what I do. I upload shit about my life, people watch it, and advertisers pay me for advertising on my site."

"Seems odd."

I watched as she blew cold air across the top of the cup of steaming tea.

"Would you like some cold water in that?"

She smiled at me then. "Yes. Please. I usually drink my tea iced."

"We British can't help ourselves. It's hot or nothing."

I knew I didn't have much time, so I decided to cut to the chase.

"Why are you here? You don't seem to be into musicians like your friend."

Ashley took her hat off and a long shock of blonde hair fell to frame her face.

My cock reacted immediately. I sat down. No need to advertise the fact that she was making me horny as hell.

"You mean here in your trailer or here at the festival?"

I leaned back, "You're enjoying this as much as I am. Go on admit it."

The first genuine smile that I'd seen from this woman crossed her face.

Ashley took a sip of tea and made eye contact across the top of the cup. "I might be, so sue me."

"You think your friend really had to go?"

She shrugged. "There's no knowing with, Madi."

"She get you the job?"

"Yeah."

"You regretting it?"

Ashley took another sip of tea and eyed me again. "Not now."

A rush of blood hit my cock so hard, I was sure I could have lifted the table.

"I thought you didn't like musicians." Two could play this game.

"It's cameras I don't like."

"What if I take you in there," I pointed to the back of the bus with my chin, "and leave my camera out here?"

"How do I know that there's no hidden cameras in there?"

I leaned forward, having fun now. "You don't."

Ashley's pupils grew wide. I'd been around enough women to know when they were turned on. I wanted Ashley, and Ashley wanted me. The question was whether or not she'd give in to temptation.

"I'm only here tonight and tomorrow night, Ashley," I said. "I learned a long time ago that the only things in my life that I regret are the things that I didn't do when I had a chance."

I took a second—gave Ashley a chance to think about my words.

"I'm going up on that stage tomorrow night and thousands of women are going to want to be sitting right where you're sitting now."

I took a drink of my tea and watched as Ashley mirrored my action. The whole time, her eyes never left mine.

"Do you want to be sitting at the dinner table with your husband and your two point five children in ten years' time wondering what would have happened if you'd taken me up on my offer? Wondering whether you'd have enjoyed me? Wondering what it would have been like to have been fucked until you couldn't stand to be fucked anymore?"

Ashley drained her cup of tea and didn't say another word.

Without taking her eyes off me, she coiled that delightful blonde hair into a tight bun at the back of her neck. She picked up her floppy blue hat and put it back on her head.

"Thank you for the tea and the chat," she said as she stood up, "but I guess I'll just have to wonder for the rest of my life."

With that comment ringing in the air, she stepped out of the trailer and left me sitting alone with a throbbing, hard cock.

# Chapter 5

**A shley**

I was shaking.

With rage or desire, I couldn't be sure.

Whatever made him think that I'd sleep with such an arrogant, cocksure son-of-a-bitch I didn't know.

I'd had a narrow escape. To think that I'd even contemplated allowing myself to be seduced by that overbearing, presumptuous Englishman made me want to puke.

I stormed back to the gate fuelled by a combination of frustrated desire and self-loathing. Why the hell had I allowed Madi to talk me into being here?

I needed her to find someone else to take my place. I wanted to go back to the hotel and not come back to the Festival ever again.

In fact, if I never set foot in Vegas again my life would be complete. The entire city was out of control and based on outrageous excess—everything that I found myself attracted to in Paul Gray.

I closed my eyes again and took another deep breath. The dry, hot air scorched my lungs and I began to cough. How I longed to be back in Seattle. I missed the cool damp air on my face. I looked up into a cloudless sky and wondered where the water came from to keep this city moisturised.

I never thought I'd miss rain, but somehow, I found myself longing for the touch of the cool, damp hand of nature.

Maybe it was the heat that drove my infernal internal sex drive.

As I continued to stomp through the dry, dusty speedway, I wished that I'd never heard the name Paul Gray.

What irritated me more than anything else was the fact that I found the man so attractive. Even after his little spiel.

Even after the desire to slap him.

He was so infuriatingly sure of himself, so certain that I was going to lay down and open my legs for him.

The disturbing truth of the matter was that I would wonder what he was like for the rest of my life, and I didn't like that fact.

Sometimes I wished I could be a little more like Madi.

Why couldn't I let go and have a good time?

Why did I have to believe that good girls didn't fuck strangers they'd just met?

Would it be such a bad thing to take life by the throat for the first time and simply let go and enjoy myself? The terrifying reality was that Paul wanted me. I could turn around and go back to his trailer right this minute and that scared me more than staying away from him.

Why did I have to go and search him out on the internet?

Why couldn't I have let the attention he showed me wash over me? Brush it off like the annoying layer of dust that seemed to be clinging to my entire body.

I could feel the grime on my face.

How a man like Paul Gray—a man who had what seemed like the entire population of northern Europe clamouring to get into his jeans—could want anything to do with me still seemed like a mystery.

I spotted Madi standing in the shade of the small canvas shelter that kept the sun off us while we worked. She had a knowing smirk plastered across her face.

"Who was on the phone?"

She laughed.

I thought so. "You engineered a call to leave us alone."

"You can thank me later."

"I don't know about thanking you," I muttered. Slapping her and Paul Gray might be the order of the day from the way I felt at the moment.

"So, tell me all the juicy details."

"Nothing to tell," I said, wishing that someone, anyone would come along so I didn't have to have this conversation with Madi.

"So, you had a nice cup of tea and nothing else was said."

"Yes," I snapped, determined that I wasn't going to confide my feelings of inadequacy with Madi. She wouldn't understand. She'd never understood my lack of ability to let go. She certainly wouldn't understand my reluctance to let go with Paul—especially in view of her obsession with musicians in general.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you like." I pulled my phone from my pocket, desperate for some kind of distraction and for a way to end this conversation. I plugged my earbuds into my ears, a clear signal to Madi that this particular discussion was at an end. If I couldn't get away from her physically, at least I could retreat into the internet.

A sucker for punishment, or because I'd developed some kind of morbid fascination with Paul, I found myself opening my browser to the same place I'd left it before—Paul's media channel.

There, in full colour, was his life. On show. Like some kind of sick stalker, I couldn't turn off the images.

Clip after clip, monologue after monologue, I found myself falling deeper into the cyber-portrait of his life.

Paul on the road with Sam's band in England.

Paul at home with his dog.

Paul signing autographs for his adoring fans.

Paul opening parcels and parading the merchandise that had been sent to him from various clothing and skating manufacturers.

Except for the odd interruption of a few people coming through for the last of the sound checks, we were pretty much left alone.

By the time Madi managed to gain my attention enough to tell me that we could get a cab back to the hotel on the Strip, I was regretting more and more my haste in telling Paul that he could go and fuck himself. The truth of the matter now was that I would regret the decision I'd made in that trailer this afternoon.

It even crossed my mind to walk back there and knock on the door, but I'd seen a couple of guys milling around the area where the MacAvoy trailers were parked.

My pride prevented me from crawling back to him.

It dawned on me that I'd probably just blown the one and only chance I'd have in my life to do something reckless.

I never was very good at making decisions on the fly.

Now, I'd have the next three days standing here in the heat to regret that decision.

What I hated most was that Paul had been right.

As Madi and I climbed into the air-conditioned comfort of the cab, she looked at me again.

"Want to talk about it, yet?"

"No," I snapped. "I never want to talk about it ever again." I wanted to forget that I'd ever met Paul Gray.

**P aul**

The boys had given me nothing but grief since they arrived back in the trailer last night.

I'd sat here like a hermit in a swirling shrine of my own shit. I could have gotten in a cab and gone and found them on the Strip, but by the time Ashley turned me down, I wasn't in the mood for going anywhere.

I'd taken to my bunk and holed up there for the rest of the night—sulking.

I didn't want to admit it to anyone, but she'd dented my fragile ego.

Sleep had eluded me for a large part of the night. I could have blamed it on jetlag and trying to sleep in the wrong time zone, but the truth of the matter was that it had been a long time since anyone had said no to me.

I'd forgotten what it felt like.

Good looks and fame were great aphrodisiacs for most women, but not for Ashley it seemed. I knew there was something different about that woman, and that's why I still couldn't get her out of my mind.

The one saving grace I had was that we needed to go back through that gate at least once before we went back on the road.

Maybe I could talk her into coming back to the trailer tonight after the show.

We had tokens—tokens that the band gave out to people we wanted to join us after the show. It was something that Sam and Dusty had insisted on.

Sam didn't drink. We respected that, but it meant (as a band) we had to take care who we invited back to the inner circle after gigs.

I only wanted to hand out one token tonight.

"You missed a half decent night," Griff said through a mouthful of fruit and yogurt. He adjusted the thick rimmed black glasses that he wore to accentuate his trademark geek/bad boy image. I thought when I first met him that the glasses didn't sit well with the ring of red and black ink that circled his throat, but somehow, he managed to pull the look off.

"Didn't feel like it," I replied. I tried to keep my focus on the tiny slivers of film that I was cutting together on the app on my phone. I'd rather have been lying in the sack with Ashley instead of trying to glue together pieces of surreptitious footage of her that I'd taken without her knowledge.

"I guess now you know how I've been feeling the last few months," Griff said shovelling another mouthful of fruit into his mouth.

"No one does bereft after the loss of a lover like you do," Murf said to Griff. "You have it down to an art form."

Griff nodded his agreement and continued eating.

"I wasn't bereft, and we weren't lovers," I said trying to defend myself. I should have kept my mouth shut because in that instant Murf stole my phone.

"Fucking give that back." I leapt to my feet.

"You're looking pretty obsessed about her from where I'm standing," Murf said as he held my phone above his head and inspected the images. "Maybe we should post this little film for the rest of the world to see.

I lunged for him. If that film made the internet, any chance I had of getting Ashley back here and into my bed was doomed.

"Don't fucking do that!" I made another dive for Murf, and he danced out of my way, catapulting himself and my phone across the table to the other side of the bench seat.

I went to follow and was taken in a tackle by Griff. The two of us hit the floor with a resounding thud.

"Get the fuck off me," I yelled, struggling under the weight of Griff's body. "I swear to fucking God," I yelled at Murf as he concentrated on my phone, "if you post that I'll fucking kill you."

"Why?" Murf half stood, half crouched on the bench seat, lording over me with my phone. "I thought you liked your life spread across the internet."

I struggled again under the weight of Griff, but he had me pinned in the tiny space between the edge of the table and the other side of the trailer. I couldn't move.

"I promised her I wouldn't post anything."

"Ah," Murf said lowering the phone tantalisingly within reach. I made a grab for it, and he pulled it away again.

"Fuck you!" I yelled.

"Maybe your fans would like to see anyway."

"Jesus, Murf stop fucking with me and give me back my phone."

"Not until you tell us what went on," Griff said reaffirming his hold on my body.

"Nothing went on!" I yelled. I'd reached breaking point.

"Aw, fuck," Murf said as he put my phone down on the table. "You win," he said to Griff, and I watched in stupefied silence as Griff let me go and took a small wad of cash off Murf.

"You bastards." I picked up my phone and stormed out of the trailer, the sound of their laughter following me out into the heat of the desert.

I needed to be careful.

I flicked the images up into the cloud where they'd be safe and where I wouldn't have to worry about anyone else—either by accident or design—posting them to the net.

The fluorescent outlines of Ashley and Red came into view as I walked toward the gate. I had three tokens in my pocket. I was only planning to hand out one of them, but then I thought about Red. Maybe I'd have to part with at least two of them if I had any chance of getting Ashley back to the trailer tonight.

# Chapter 6

**A shley**

I didn't need Madi to tell me that Paul was walking toward me. Despite my disappointment with myself yesterday, I'd held onto the hope that he might simply turn up again.

I knew he had to walk through this gate, but I wasn't really expecting to see him again until just before the show, when he was due backstage.

I'd spent the night sitting in a pool of disappointment and self-loathing back at the hotel, while Madi went out to try and track down some more musicians.

The town was full of them, and she hadn't had to go far to find a mob who were happy to see her. She stood beside me now almost asleep on her feet. As it was, she'd probably had more sleep than me. I spent the night watching every single second of footage I could find on the internet about Paul Gray.

I knew he was walking toward me now. I'd have known that gait. The way he held his head. The shock of hair still falling over one eye.

Lust boiled inside of me in a concentrate so intense I thought I might pass out. I knew I was behaving like one of his fangirls, but after a night watching him on the internet, I had small insight into what they were all infatuated with.

The sentence he said to me yesterday had been going on high rotate inside of my head: _" I'm going up on that stage tomorrow night and thousands of women are going to want to be sitting right where you're sitting now."_

"Hi," he said, looking at me with that one big, hungry eye.

"Hi." I didn't know what else to say.

"I'd invite you back for tea, except my roommates have trashed the trailer." I even laughed at his stupid joke. "Look, about yesterday," he started.

I stopped him. "Let's forget about yesterday."

"Agreed." He nodded his head. "I wanted to give you this." He reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a poker chip.

I tilted my hat back so I could look up at him. "You want to take me gambling?"

Now he laughed. "No, it's a token. So you can come and find me after our set. Show it to our big security guy, Otis. He'll make sure that you find me."

"Oh," I said.

"You can come right backstage, watch from the wings, if you want."

"Right."

Then I thought about Madi. "Can I bring a friend?" I pointed at Madi.

"Yeah, sure," he said and passed me another token. "Just make sure that you bring her okay? The invitation isn't transferrable."

I nodded. "Sure."

"What time are you on?" I knew the time, but I didn't want him to go yet.

"Eight."

"We'll come through about five, have something light to eat backstage, and then I'll see you later."

"Yes, I'd like that."

Then he surprised me. He leaned forward, put his fingers under my chin, and lifted the brim of my hat. My entire body trembled at the touch.

"I'll see you tonight," he breathed as his lips brushed first one cheek and then the other.

My entire body erupted in heat and pleasure. My senses still danced as he turned and walked away from me. Paul left me holding my breath and the two plastic tokens.

"What was that about?" Madi's question forced me to rip my eyes from the path he walked back to his trailer.

"He wants me to come backstage tonight."

"And?" I could hear the impatience in Madi's voice.

"I don't know."

"Shit, Ash." I was enjoying teasing Madi.

"I'm going to go," I said. "You've convinced me that I need to live a little."

She nearly choked the air from me, she had me in such a tight hug.

"He's invited you back too." It was worth putting my own moral code on hold just to see the look on Madi's face.

"Freaking jackpot!" she yelled, "You can have your money—I've got me some musician action tonight."

"Well," I said, "I guess we are in Vegas."

"And what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," she said giving me a wink.

I had no idea what might happen tonight, but I did know that if I didn't take up Paul's offer to go backstage I would regret it for the rest of my life.

I was young.

I had plenty of time to be responsible.

Tonight, I was going to have a good time, and I wasn't going to regret a single second of it.

I hoped.

I don't know how she managed it, but somehow Madi arranged for us both to be relieved from our shift in time to get back to the hotel in Vegas, change our clothes, and get back out to the Festival—all in all the fastest two hours of my life!

I didn't have a chance to change my mind, and now here I was, standing on the edge of a writhing mass of bodies.

"I'm not going in there," I said outright to Madi.

"You want to be up front where he can see you, don't you?"

I shook my head.

"No way I'm going in there in the middle of that mass of humanity so some stranger can press themselves up against me." I stood firm even though Madi had a hand on my arm and continued to pull me toward the front of the stage. "We'll get a better view of the show from back there." I pointed to a small clearing.

"He won't see you from back there."

"I don't want him to see me," I whined. I knew I sounded like a petulant child. I still couldn't believe that Madi had talked me into this. She'd picked out a halter-neck dress that I thought was far too low in the front and hugged my body far too tight.

She'd spent an inordinate amount of time helping me put on my makeup, and I just didn't quite feel like myself tonight.

"I don't understand you sometimes," Madi huffed as she let go of my arm and allowed me to lead us both to a relatively people free area—if there was such a thing in front of a stage at a rock festival.

"You know I don't want to go down there." I took another look at the writhing bodies at the front from our new vantage point, and it struck me that the area in front of the stage was filled mainly with women. I guess they were all there for the same reason that Madi wanted to go down there—to catch the eye of one of the men.

I shuddered. I don't know why it hadn't hit me before, but the realisation that there was a huge market of women down there all looking for some way to connect with the stars they were watching made me kind of sad. I'd never aspired to be famous. I didn't understand the mindset of anyone who needed the kind of adoration that I saw coming from the crowd.

Maybe I didn't understand music at all.

Then it dawned on me, I'd already caught the eye of one of the men up on the stage, and as I watched Paul and the rest of the band work the crowd, a strange feeling came over me—one that I hadn't anticipated.

"Look what he's doing now," Madi hissed.

I didn't need to look. I hadn't been able to take my eyes off Paul since we'd arrived. There was something about the way he moved his body in time with the music, the hypnotic way his hands ran up and down the neck of his guitar. I saw passion and dedication and—as much as I didn't like to admit it—what I saw turned me on.

Now, he'd pulled his camera from somewhere and was making a huge show of filming himself in front of a mob of screaming women.

My stomach churned.

"That should be you he's filming," Madi said.

When a bra and panties set arrived on the stage next to him and he made a big deal of filming it and reading the attached note, I knew exactly the reason my stomach churned, and it wasn't because I'd not eaten properly tonight.

Jealous feelings coursed through my body, flooding it with a heat that had nothing to do with the weather.

I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself, but watching the band, listening to the ebb and flow of the music, and now watching Paul interact with the women down at the front—who were clearly throwing themselves at him—did something to me.

I decided to take action.

"Maybe we should go backstage," I said to Madi.

"You think?" she said in a sarcastic tone that told me in no uncertain terms that was what she'd wanted to do all along.

I fingered the thin tokens that I'd been given by Paul and realised that these were the most precious items I had in my handbag.

"You got your backstage pass?" I asked Madi.

"You're joking, right? You think I'd leave that back at the hotel?"

Anything was possible given the gargantuan effort it had taken for Madi to get me back here. Strangely, mine, together with the tokens Paul had given me, was the first thing I'd put in my bag to bring back with me. Some subliminal part of my brain was making plans that the rest of me had yet to catch up with.

"Come on, then," I said, failing to keep the irritation out of my voice. I grabbed Madi by the arm, making her squeak in surprise, and literally dragged her back toward the backstage area. "We need to find their big security guy," I said as I pulled Madi along behind me and we weaved our way through the packed and sweating crowd.

I'd made up my mind.

If Paul was going to be getting hold of anyone's underwear tonight, it was going to be mine.

# Chapter 7

**S am MacAvoy**

Here we were, backstage at what had been billed as the biggest party the Las Vegas desert could handle—the Get Rocked! Festival.

Me and Dusty decided to take a sneak peek at some of the bands who were on before us. I was pleased about that. It would be good for Dusty. I knew her reservations about being in the middle of the US scene. It was about time she faced some of her personal demons. God knows, I had to face mine every time we walked backstage.

I'd never been sure whether it was the right place to launch me onto the American market, but Julian and the record company were adamant.

I thought about the much smaller festival in Europe I'd played last summer. It was nothing close to the magnitude of this extraordinary event.

The band and I might be playing on the smaller stage, but it still didn't calm my rocketing nerves. The small stage here was still twice the size of some of those I'd played in Europe.

Every time I came up against something outside my comfort zone, the chilling reminder of alcohol and drugs came like a siren call, tempting me.

I could see the dealers hanging around the edges of the backstage hospitality tents, no doubt admitted by other bands who had their own issues. Some of the guys in my own band could use and drink recreationally. Unfortunately, I wasn't one of those guys. I never had been, and part of my problem was coming to terms with that fact.

I'd pursued drink and drugs to the gates of insanity and back. Now, I stood at the gates of hell and gave the Devil the middle finger.

All I had to do was remember my last drink—that terrible night in London, and the shame I felt the next morning. I didn't ever want to go there again.

But I'd fallen off the wagon so many times.

Dusty squeezed my hand, obviously as aware as I was of the silent threats surrounding us. "Okay?" she asked in a way she had of making me feel as if everything would be fine as long as she walked by my side.

"Yeah." I nodded. We both knew I wasn't as okay as I would have liked, but it was the best I could do for now.

A sense of intimidation and overwhelm was at the core of my insecurity. There were so many great bands on the festival's roster. From the research I'd done, the lineup covered everything from hard rock to old school punk and modern goth rock to death metal.

I was a fan of all kinds of music, and if we weren't on such a gruelling tour schedule, I'd have happily sat in the middle of the crowd—where I was still a relatively unknown figure—and simply enjoyed the festival and the atmosphere. As it was, I had to satisfy myself with watching a couple of bands from the wings.

"Sam. Sam MacAvoy. What brings you out this Friday afternoon?"

I turned to see a reporter from Access Entertainment shoving a microphone my way. I hated this shit, but I'd been schooled by my brother, Julian. Just grin, answer the questions, and do my best to remain civil.

"Catching up with the great bands," I said, remembering to smile.

Dusty took the opportunity to let go of my hand and slip away.

The bitch.

Damn her for leaving me alone in the hands of the lone female reporter and her cameraman. It was bad enough having to keep an eye out for Paul, constantly trying to get footage for his social media channel, without having to deal with the actual media backstage.

"It's a somewhat flying visit to Vegas for you, isn't that right?" the reporter asked, flashing me a sexy smile. I wondered whose bed she'd end up in tonight and if that was her modus operandi.

"Yeah." I thought about the punishing three months we had ahead of us on the road. "We've got five nights straight after this gig, and then I think we get a couple of days off before we start again."

"Almost a nine-to-five job then?"

"Nine pm to five am, yeah something like that."

She laughed at my joke, and I took the chance to cast my eyes about looking for Dusty. Maybe that would let this girl know that I wanted to wind up the interview.

No such luck.

"Well, _Motor Dogs_ is on stage two right now, and _Dream Crush_ is just about to take stage one. Any preferences?" the reporter asked, not giving me a chance to get away.

"I've not seen a lot of these bands live," I said, trying to avoid her comparison questions. I could just imagine meeting a member of either of those bands later on and having to justify promoting one against the other. "And it's not a competition. There's plenty of fans to go around. Everyone's here for the same reason, to enjoy the heat and the bands and have a great time."

I stared off into space and spotted Dusty. She was talking to a couple of the guys from _Jagged Ivory_. Even though I hadn't been formally introduced, I recognised Noah and Benji.

"One last question, Sam. You're as big a star as your brother in Europe, but not a lot of people have heard of him stateside. Do you think that's going to make it difficult for you to break in here?"

It was a slightly different slant on the _you're as big a star as your brother, how does that make you feel?_ question I got all the time from the European reporters.

I had to think for a moment. "Julian never wanted to break into this market. I've had somewhat of a charmed run, and now I guess it's time for me to make my mark. You could say I'm in uncharted territory."

The reporter licked her lips, leaving me with the impression that if I asked her back to my trailer tonight, she wouldn't be saying no. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to us, Sam, and good luck for tonight's show and the rest of the tour!"

I shook her hand and then turned my attention back to the direction of Dusty. She stood not more than ten feet from me, and she was deep in animated conversation with Noah Ivory.

I wondered for a moment whether I should go over and introduce myself. I'd been a fan of their music for a while, but then I watched as Dusty's face coloured beet red.

There were a few more words said, and then Dusty threw her arms around the neck of the guitar great.

The big man laughed and then gave her a hug back.

My immediate thought was that something had happened in the past between the two of them, but that didn't make any sense. They were both lead guitarists; there's little chance they'd have been in bands together.

I didn't want to be paranoid and start asking questions. What happened in Dusty's past was her business. I knew she'd left America under some kind of a cloud, but this didn't look like any cloud to me. These three seemed to be quite at ease with each other.

I continued to watch from a distance as they chatted and smiled and took selfies together.

They said their goodbyes, and I watched Dusty begin to look for me.

"Hey," she said when she spotted me through the backstage crowd. "You'll never guess who I just met."

"Hmm, let me think," I said, closing my eyes and holding my fingers against my temples as if I was channelling some kind of ancient rock god. "Noah Ivory," I said, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice.

She slapped me on the shoulder. "You were spying on me?"

"Serves you right for leaving me at the mercy of that reporter."

"She only had eyes for you. I could tell she didn't even know who the hell I was." Dusty snorted. "Did you tell her that your bed was taken tonight?"

Dusty loved to tease me about my newfound rockstar status.

"Noah Ivory certainly seemed to know you," I said.

"Oh, my god," Dusty gushed. "He said he and Cory Dutton were at a club about five years ago in LA when I was playing with _Filth_. And he said I was killing it!"

I didn't need Dusty's excitement to tell me that was high praise coming from one of the greats in the guitar world.

She continued on, her eyes bright with elation. "Noah reckons they both knew then that if I ever found the right band we'd blow up."

Dusty threw her arms around me. "Do you know what that means, Sam? Noah Ivory thinks we're going to make the big time. Here in the US. He's been a fan of mine ever since he saw me five fucking years ago!"

"Julian knew you were good, that's why he gave you the job," I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

I still didn't know whether or not I was up to this being a rockstar thing.

Some days it was fantastic, and other days I just wanted to pull the blankets over my head and forget about the world.

I'd always known I had people like Dusty and Paul and Murf and Griff and the rest of the band depending on me. But to hear it like that... to know that the dreams of so many other musicians—musicians who were more dedicated to their craft than me—depended on me getting up on stage every night... That terrified me.

That could drive me to a drink and a drug in a second if I thought about it.

Best not think about it.

"I want to see the end of _Motor Dogs'_ set, and then we can catch some of _Dream Crush_ ," I said, trying to bring myself back to the moment, to a place where I felt safe.

I was genuinely pleased for Dusty. But the thought of carrying the band, making it big... I couldn't think about those things.

"You might even be able to introduce me to your second biggest fan," I said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Mr Noah Ivory."

Dusty punched me in the arm. I probably deserved it.

**P aul**

We were halfway through the first set, and Sam was smashing it.

The crowd might not know the music in the same way that the European crowds knew the music, but that didn't stop them from having a good time.

Hell, the crowd loved us. I'd made a big scene filming women throwing their underwear up on stage. I decided this must have been how the Beatles felt when they cracked America.

Despite his nervousness, Sam was performing like the pro his brother Julian had schooled him to be. I'd known he was even more nervous than he'd been in England before we got up on stage. Our ritual prayer circle prior to the show had been intense.

Dusty had been more overbearing than usual—or maybe I wasn't my cool and together self. Apparently, Noah Ivory had told her that he was a fan. Like, no one was ever in any doubt as to Dusty's talent—except maybe Dusty herself—but still, crowing about a guitar great thinking you were wonderful didn't sit well with me.

Maybe I was jealous.

There was something about this business. It was filled with people who had huge egos and such low self-esteem.

Maybe I was one of them.

Maybe that was why I needed to play my life out on the internet for everyone to see. I tried not to think about my own internal motivation and let the music wash over me—the steadying beat of Murf on the drums just behind me, Dusty's solid rhythm coming from the other side of the stage, Griff's deft hands on the keyboards, and Sam's crystalline lyrics sitting atop it all.

The personal mix I had in the fold back plugged into my ears was always heavy on the bottom end, but I liked extra drums and bass in my mix. The only downside to in-ear fold back was my inability to hear the roar of the crowd. Like Sam, I occasionally pulled one of the small speakers out of my ear just so I could hear the fans yelling for more.

They were loving us, despite Sam's initial misgivings backstage earlier tonight.

I scanned the line of people who were watching us from the wings. Julian stood there with a wide grin on his face, flanked by the ever-present Otis. Seeing the older MacAvoy brother clearly enjoying the set meant a lot. It meant we were doing well.

As I continued to scan the large backstage crowd, I could see _Kyle Summers_ who'd rocked the festival crowd before us and a couple of the _Medieval Steel_ guys who were the final act on tonight. Like the rest of the bands, they were quite at home hanging in the wings. But I still couldn't see Ashley or her red-headed friend.

Maybe they weren't coming.

The knot in my stomach told me I cared way too much about whether or not the blonde-haired security girl would turn up.

I'd been so sure of myself this afternoon when she smiled at me as we passed through with the rest of the band. I was certain that there had been a promise of wonderful things to come in that smile.

Now, I wasn't so sure, and I didn't like that feeling one little bit.

Normally, I'd be scanning the crowd in front of the stage, making eye contact with one of the chicks who hung over the front of the security fence, continuing to flirt with the chick I'd filmed earlier while Sam spoke to the audience. I'd be taking more shots, zooming in on a few girls, letting them know that they'd caught my eye.

Then I'd send one of our own security team out afterward to give the chosen girl the last token sitting in my pocket. But tonight, I didn't want to do that.

Tonight, I couldn't be bothered.

I resolved there and then—after the chick threw her panties up on stage—that if Ashley didn't show by the end of the set, I'd go back to the trailer and get an early night. I wanted an early night, all right—we were hitting the road first thing in the morning—but I wanted the luscious, Ashley tucked in my bunk with me.

Murf counted us in on the next song. From here on out, I needed to concentrate. The second half of the show had a couple of songs that caused me problems, and I didn't want to fuck things up because of a lapse in concentration.

I hit the first note and surrendered myself to the music.

No matter what else happened in my life, music had always been and would always be my mistress.

# Chapter 8

**D usty Tate**

I held Sam's hand and took a bow.

The crowd roared again.

I leaned in close to the man who was going to take us both to the top, "They love us!" I whispered the words in his ear that I'd always known to be our truth.

Our success would be all over the internet before we even made it back on stage for our encore. It was clear that the crowd was already demanding more.

_Sam MacAvoy & Style Strike_ were going to fill theatres and eventually stadiums all across America. Noah Ivory was right—I'd found my band in _Style Strike_ , and we were headed for world domination. We'd conquered Britain and Europe, and America now sat in the palm of our hand waiting for us to take each and every state by storm.

"You fucking smashed it!" Julian threw his arms around his younger brother and lifted him from the floor. Then he addressed the rest of the band. "You were phenomenal out there."

"You think so?" Sam asked as he poured a bottle of cold water over his head and then shook himself, spraying droplets of water around the wings.

I laughed out loud and watched as the rest of the band followed his lead in an attempt to cool their hot, sweaty bodies.

"Think so," Julian boomed. "Listen to the fucking crowd yelling your name."

Sure enough, the chant of, "Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam!" filled the night air.

"Get me back to some decent air-con," Griff moaned, "If the rest of the country's this fecking hot, I'm going to expire before we get home."

"Try wearing a jacket out there," Paul added as he peeled off his outer layer. I could see the outline of the dark ink on his skin through the pale, sweat-soaked shirt he wore.

It was one of the only times I could truly say I was pleased to be a woman on stage. I wore a pair of tiny hot pants and a bikini top. Sam had done a double take at the outfit before I went on stage, but I could tell by the look in his eye now that he'd enjoy taking what little clothing I wore off me later when we got back to the trailer.

"Encore." The stage director called it, and we went back on to play _Hiding in Public_. I knew that very few of the crowd would know the words to the song that made Sam famous in Europe, but I was certain by the end of the tour they'd be singing his number-one song all over the States.

We left the stage after our encore to the sound of the crowd still screaming for more. It remained the sweetest sound in the world, as far as I was concerned.

Julian called us all to one side of the stage.

"Word is that a few of the bands are having a get together back at the hotel and we're invited."

Sam groaned.

"It's okay," Julian said, more to his brother than anyone else. "I've explained that we're hitting the road early in the morning, so that's given us an out." He cast his eyes across the rest of the band. "But if any of you decide you're going to go, just remember that we're on the road by 8am, and I don't want to have to send security in to pull you out of there. We've got a gig tomorrow night, and I don't want anyone on this tour who isn't giving it one hundred percent on stage."

There was a muttering among the group.

"I'm gonna hang here for a while," Paul said, "maybe grab a couple of beers from the tent, watch a bit of the next band, and then head back to the trailer."

He seemed to be scanning the crowd, looking for someone. It was then I caught sight of the two girls who'd been on the parking lot gate, and I nudged him in the ribs, pointing them out.

"Looking for those two?"

I was grateful not to be sharing a trailer with the rest of the band. Most of the boys would have a constant rotation of women through the bunks while we were on the road.

I took Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Come on, let's get my guitar and then head back to the trailer." Then I thought better of it. "Unless there's anywhere else you want to go?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. All I want is a nice cup of tea and to crawl into bed with you." Sam turned to his brother. "We're heading back once Dusty's picked up her guitar."

"Won't be far behind you, mate," Julian said. "You did good out there tonight. It's a stellar start to what's going to be an amazing tour."

"You sure you wouldn't prefer to be back home with Mags?" Sam asked. We both knew how much Julian had given up to be here.

"I wouldn't have missed your US debut for the world," Julian said. I could see the glow of pride on the older man's face. "Mags will meet us in New York as planned, so don't you worry about keeping me away from my family. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be here."

I knew that to be the truth. There was nothing in the world anyone could make Julian MacAvoy do if he didn't want to do it.

"Otis will make sure you get back to your trailer," Julian said.

The big guy rarely left Julian's side.

"And you?" I asked, concerned that there would be no one around to keep an eye out for Julian's safety.

"Unlike my brother," Julian said with a wink, "I'm a nobody in America. I think I'll be okay."

Our guitar technician handed me my guitar, and Sam and I turned to head for our trailer. I could have gone and had a beer with the rest of the band, but Paul seemed intent on hooking up with a couple of girls, and I knew Murf and Griff wouldn't last more than a few more minutes back here in the Las Vegas heat. Besides, I knew Sam didn't mind sitting around when I drank, but it didn't seem the thing to do the first night of the tour. He didn't drink, and I respected him for that. In fact, I didn't want to see Sam drink ever again.

"You did a great job out there tonight," I said to the star of the show.

"You weren't so bad yourself," he replied as he pulled me into his arms and closed his lips over mine.

**A shley**

I stood on the edge of the stage and watched Paul and the rest of the band take another bow after their encore. The sound of the crowd screaming for more was overwhelming. I had a sudden attack of nerves, wondering whether I should be here at all.

Halfway through the end of the act, and as I'd been instructed to do so by Paul, I'd shown my tag to the burly security man who'd been with the lead singer, Sam MacAvoy, and the rest of the band. Madi and I had been directed to a spot on the side of the stage where we could watch the band without getting in the way of anyone else.

There was something magical in what these people did while they were up on stage. I couldn't help but get caught up in the spell they cast over the crowd. I guess that's what had happened to Madi—why I found myself hiding in the shadows backstage. I'd gotten caught up in the hype, and now some strange, powerful force had sucked me in. I watched Paul—the way he moved, the way his hands caressed the guitar. A fluttering dance of lust began to crawl across my body. I closed my eyes, imagining those hands playing their way across my bare skin.

I began to wonder what that shock of hair that fell across his face would feel like falling across my breasts, whether the ink that I'd spied on his chest ran all the way around his ribs to his back.

I gasped and my eyes flew open. I'd shocked myself.

The overwhelming desire I'd felt for the man standing in front of me had taken me by surprise.

I'd watched with increasing anticipation as he'd walked offstage the first time with the rest of his band.

I'd seen him looking around, and I knew he was trying to find me. I took a step back deeper into the shadows and pulled Madi with me. I wasn't ready for him to see me.

Not yet.

There was still something about the cocksure way he'd been with me yesterday that unsettled me. I wanted him to worry. Maybe I even wanted him to think that I might not turn up.

I had a strange sense of power hiding there in the wings of the stage. I wasn't a nervous person. I took pride in being in control of things around me, but from where I'd stood, watching Paul on stage, I knew I was way out of my comfort zone.

But there had been something seductive and exciting about being out of my comfort zone.

By the time the band had finished playing their encore, I'd stepped back into the light so Paul could find me.

I'd reconciled my fear around being here. I wanted a chance to get to know the over-confident bass player.

When I saw the lead guitarist point toward me and Madi, I was full of courage. I'd also had a glass of beer that the crew backstage had passed to me while we were watching the band, which probably helped.

When my eye caught Paul's across the large expanse of space between us, I couldn't help but smile. I never thought I'd say it, but I genuinely wanted to be here.

As he walked toward me and Madi, I began to tremble.

"Oh, my God, he's coming over, and he's bringing a couple of the guys from the band with him," Madi whispered. She could barely contain herself. "We've gotta be the luckiest girls backstage right this minute." I could feel the excitement rolling off Madi—or was that simply her reflection of the tension in my own body?

"Hi," Paul said as he slipped his arm around my waist like it was something he'd been doing for years. "I'm glad you both decided to come backstage."

The electrical pull of his hot body meant I could do nothing more than lean into him. Without thinking, I slipped my hand around the hard bulk of his muscular body and was surprised to find myself relax against him.

"You guys were great," I said, almost ashamed that I sounded like a regular groupie, but I meant what I said. Despite my misgivings, I'd enjoyed the show, and seeing Paul play had opened my eyes to music in a way that I'd not expected them to be opened.

"Thanks," Paul said, never having taken his eyes from me since the moment he'd spotted me. "This is Todd, our drummer, and Ryan, our man on the keys."

Both men were near carbon copies of Paul, their damp, dark hair falling around their handsome faces and the tell-tale ink of rockstars creeping out from around the edges of their shirts. Ryan wore large, black-rimmed glasses that gave him the air of a geek rockstar, a look that I didn't expect anyone to be able to pull off, but somehow Ryan managed to make it look hot and dirty.

Madi couldn't keep her eyes away from him. In fact, she looked like she might begin to drool any moment.

"I'm Ashley," I said, Madi somehow having been struck dumb by the vision of Ryan standing in front of her in a damp shirt. "And this is my friend, Madi."

"It's great to meet you both," Todd said, shaking both of our hands.

"Are we going to get that drink before I expire?" Ryan muttered, clearly irritated that we'd interrupted his path to the refreshments tent.

"You guys go ahead. We'll catch up," Paul said.

Todd held out his arm in a gentlemanly fashion and Madi took it. I could tell she liked the look of Ryan, but I guess she'd didn't care who she went for a drink with at this stage of the evening. The two of them set off after Ryan, who was making haste to the backstage bar.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, nah. It's complicated." Paul scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, and for the first time the dark strands stayed away from his previously hidden eye. It was somewhat unnerving to be looking at two perfect blue eyes. "He broke up with his girlfriend just before we left for the tour. He's not in a great space right now."

"Oh." I couldn't imagine how anybody could sustain a relationship while they were on the road traveling around, especially with people like Madi throwing themselves at them night after night.

Paul pulled me against the length of his body again, and this time something inside of me exploded. I guess Madi wasn't the only one throwing herself at a guy on the road.

"But I don't want to talk about Ryan's problems," Paul said as he twirled a piece of my hair through his fingers. The intimate gesture set my body trembling all over again. "I'm glad you decided to come see me tonight. I was hoping for something more memorable to take away with me from Sin City than the overbearing heat."

"Me too." If I hadn't heard the brazen words come out of my own mouth, I wouldn't have believed I said them.

I decided for the second time tonight that it must be the beer doing the talking.

# Chapter 9

**P aul**

By the time we made it to the bar—a tent backstage that was serving beer and pretty much anything else a musician could want including hot women and drugs—Ashley's friend Red was deep in conversation with Murf. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about Red. It was obvious she was looking to hook up with someone and Murf seemed to have taken a liking to her. Griff always had women falling all over him, and he was already surrounded by a small pack. I knew none of them stood a chance with him tonight. Aside from his broken heart, I could see from here that he was already high as hell. The best thing I could do would be to extract him from the throng in due course and escort him back to the trailer with me and Ashley.

He was so stoned—having partaken in whatever drug of choice he was doing in an attempt to numb the pain of his breakup—that he'd go out for the night as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He worried me.

The way he was behaving, he was going to need watching on tour. I didn't want Julian on his case. I might not have the same kind of close friendship with him as I had with Murf, but I still felt a responsibility for him. While we were on the road, we kept an eye out for each other. I liked to think that the guys would have my back if anything went wrong.

Tonight, I couldn't see that happening, especially with the lovely Ashley by my side.

I ordered us both a beer, and we headed for the same table as Murf and Red. On the way, Griff caught my attention.

"I'm not hanging around here. It's too fucking hot," he said. "I'm going back to the trailer."

"No worries, pal." I slapped him on the back. He'd be much better off lying in his bunk in a stoned heap than getting into trouble backstage, or worse, tagging along with some of the guys to the Strip.

"Is he going to be okay?" Ashley asked, concern etched on her beautiful face.

"I think he'll live," I reassured her, "but broken hearts can take a while to heal." We both watched as another small mob of women cornered him. He wasn't going to make it back to the trailer under his own steam.

"You're speaking from experience?"

Ashley's question made me laugh.

It was the first time I'd laughed tonight. The stress of the first show was over, and now I could take a minute to relax. I wasn't going to relax the way Griff was relaxing, and I certainly wasn't heading back to the Strip to drink myself senseless at the hotel that that other bands had hired. No. I liked Ashley, and I was going to relax with her. I'd liked her from the moment that I'd set eyes on her when we walked through the security gate. Tonight, I liked her even more.

She stood in front of me, her pale blonde hair framing the fair skin of her face. She'd abandoned the fluorescent security t-shirt in favour of an off-white halter-neck dress. It was framed on one side by a large red and black poppy.

The dress hugged her curves in all the right places and drew my eyes to her ample breasts. I was as horny as hell after the show, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on Ashley's luscious body. But I knew I had to play it cool. I'd tried cutting to business with Ashley already, and all I'd managed to do was piss her off. I wasn't used to having to wait for anything—especially sex.

Women threw themselves at me, and I wasn't averse to making sure that my sexual appetite and needs were met.

But there was something about Ashley that made me feel as if I was on a first date—for real. I didn't go on first dates anymore. I had a perpetual string of first time fucks and one-night stands.

I wasn't sure that I wanted Ashley to fall into the same category as most of the women that I met on the road, but I couldn't see any way around that for the moment.

"I try not to get my heart broken too often," I said as I leaned in close. The fresh scent of citrus washed over me and reminded me that I must stink after two sets on stage in the desert heat.

"Finish up your beer," I ordered. "I reek, and I need a shower. You coming back with me to the trailer?" I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was coming back with me, but then Ashley hesitated, just for a moment.

"What about Madi?"

I leaned in again and whispered, "The more the merrier. She seems to be getting on well with Murf."

"Murf?"

"Murphy. Todd, our drummer." I flicked my head in the direction of Red and the drummer who were both in deep conversation about god-only-knew-what.

"Oh, right. Of course. I get it now," Ashley said her face turning beet red. I didn't know whether she got the reference to Murf's name, or my inference that a foursome might be in the cards.

As much as a foursome appealed to me, I still liked the idea of having Ashley all to myself. Murf could be greedy with the ladies, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to share tonight.

"I'll go and see what they're up to," Ashley said before she drained the last of the beer and deposited the empty glass on the table.

I watched as Ashley's shapely arse swung from side-to-side. No, I was damn certain I didn't want to be sharing that with Murf.

He looked up and arched his eyebrows in a question as Ashley and her friend engaged in an animated discussion. I gave him a quick thumbs down, telling him that I didn't want them along tonight, and a quick flick of his head told me he understood exactly the meaning of my gesture.

Ashley and Red had a pause in conversation and they both looked back at me. I smiled a wicked smile that I knew could easily have put the 'sin' in Sin City.

Another blush began to crawl up Ashley's beautiful face.

Murf engaged both the girls in conversation, and shortly afterward Ashley and Red hugged each other. I watched as Ashley began to walk back toward me.

I could scarcely wait to take her back to the trailer, but first we had to collect Griff. I couldn't have our erstwhile keyboard player left to the pushers and prostitutes.

"They're going back to town," Ashley said when she arrived back at our end of the long table.

"Yeah, there's a party on back at the hotel where the other bands are staying."

"Madi will enjoy that."

"And you?" I asked.

"I'm not a party girl like Madi."

I slid my arm around Ashley's waist and pulled her soft body to mine. "What about a party for two?" I whispered, our lips almost touching. We were so close I could smell the beer on her breath.

Her body folded into mine, and I knew she wanted exactly what I wanted. All resistance had vanished.

"I like that idea," she breathed, holding my gaze as she slipped her hands up around my neck, her long red fingernails grazing my skin.

It was the most natural thing to dip my face and touch her lips with my own.

A tiny moan escaped her mouth when I pulled away.

"Later," I said, making a promise that the rest of my body desperately wanted to keep right this minute. If I stood here and really kissed her, I'd have a boner for all to see backstage. I wasn't a shy man, but I didn't want to scare Ashley off. "We need to collect, Griff—uh, Ryan," I said, correcting myself.

"I get the idea," she replied. "You all have nicknames."

"Not all of us," I said with a wink. "But Griff's off his face, and I can't leave him here. I don't want him going into town with Murf. He won't be fit to play tomorrow night."

"And Murf will?" Ashley asked, confusion showing on her face.

"Murf's not going to drink and drug all night with your friend along for company," I said, and I didn't need to spell out anything else for Ashley.

She knew why she was here backstage with me.

I knew why she was here, and we both knew why Red was here.

All we had to do was collect Griff and get back to the trailer, and everyone would get what they wanted tonight.

**A shley**

It didn't take Paul long to find his friend. He was holed up between a couple of women who stared him down as if he were the worst kind of scum when Paul tried to extract Griff from between the two of them. They looked like blonde bookends, all tan, teeth, and hair.

Paul didn't seem intimidated by them, but they were enough for me to take a couple of steps backward. They looked like the kind of girls that my mother had warned me about when I was a teenager.

Easy was the word that she'd used.

"He doesn't want to come with you," one of the girls whined.

"We've got a gig tomorrow night, girls. We all need an early night," I heard Paul say in his strange, but becoming more familiar, British accent.

These were the kind of girls I thought Paul should be taking back to the trailer with him—not someone like me. They'd made it clear in no uncertain terms, the way they pawed at his body as they spoke to him—rubbing themselves up against him like long, blonde cats—that they were more than happy to partake in whatever kind of 'fun' might be in the offing this evening.

What he offered them was a couple of photographs and a promise that he'd put the footage he filmed on his channel. That seemed to do the trick.

The one thing that I didn't want him to do, the one thing that was non-negotiable for me, was the one thing that these girls wanted.

I was way out of my league here. I wanted to run... get away. Forget that I was even thinking of going back to a rockstar's trailer to fuck him.

_Get over yourself,_ I scolded that part of my brain under my breath that wanted to ruin tonight.

_Live a little._

I knew from the way Madi had been behaving and from watching the crowd out the front of the stage that women threw themselves at rockstars, but seeing it, right up close like this, was another matter.

The part of me that wondered what the hell I was doing back here had gone into fight or flight mode.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Paul said as he returned to my side with Griff. It was just pure damn luck for him that I didn't have anyone to escape from here with except for him.

_Maybe they arranged it that way,_ a tiny voice said.

I told it to shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Paul slipped his arm around my waist and I stiffened.

He stopped and turned around to look at me. "Are you okay, Ashley?"

The way my name sounded as it rolled out of his mouth did something to me.

I nodded. "Yes," I said as I slipped my arm around his waist and willed all the tension to leave me.

There was something about the assured way he moved or the heat coming from his body, or maybe it was simply the bulk of his body by my side. It made me think about the words he'd said to me right at the outset—the first time I'd run. I didn't want to run away and regret never taking the gift of this moment with him.

The fear of looking back in regret propelled me toward the future—whatever that future may hold.

# Chapter 10

**P aul**

We made it back to our trailer without further incident. I wasn't used to fighting off willing women. If I didn't have Ashley on my arm, I'd have brought those two girls who were with Griff back to the trailer. He'd have passed out, and I'd have had my wicked way with the two of them.

For some reason, tonight that scenario didn't appeal.

"You need to hit the hay, pal," I said to Griff, sending him on his way.

He agreed, and, unsure of his footing, he made his way to the tiny bathroom the three of us shared while we were on the road.

"I need a shower," I said to Ashley, "but let me get you a drink."

I pulled the door open to the small fridge. It never housed any food, but it was full of cans of beer and mixed spirits.

"I can offer you a gin or bourbon?"

"Gin?" Ashley raised her eyebrows.

"We're Brits, okay?"

"What are you having?"

"Gin," I replied, taking note of the fact that Ashley didn't seem to be able to take her eyes off me.

"I'll have the same," she said, and I watched her eyes travel to the ink that spanned my back as I bent over to pull the cans from the fridge.

We cracked the tabs as Griff stood looking at us.

"What's up, bro?" I asked him as he continued to look from one of us to the other.

"You're sitting where I'm sleeping."

He wasn't too stoned to remember that he was sleeping out here.

"Take Murf's bunk 'til he gets back," I said, and we watched in silence as Griff slithered down the wall of the trailer to Murf's bunk room at the back.

"Are you sure he's okay?" Ashley asked, taking a sip of the scented, fizzy liquid. The sharp tang made her screw up her face.

My laughter filled the small space. "Are you sure that drink's okay?" She nodded her affirmation and threw me the sexiest smile I'd seen since I'd hit Vegas. "He'll pass out as soon as he's horizontal, but I'll go check if it makes you feel better."

I didn't want to be disturbed. Ordinarily, I wouldn't give a shit, but there was something about Ashley that made me want to keep her all to myself.

* * *

**A shley**

I watched as Paul followed in Griff's footsteps down the small hallway to the back of the trailer. He was only gone a few moments, but in that short time, I managed to drain half the can. I figured it was the heat or my nervousness, but I couldn't be sure.

When Paul returned, he dropped a towel on the table in front of me.

"He's out cold already," he said with a note of triumph in his voice.

Then, without a second word, Paul kicked off his shoes and pulled down his pants, stepping out of both his trousers and his underwear as if it were the most natural thing to do.

I tried not to choke on my drink.

He never took his eyes off me as he unbuttoned his shirt. My own began the downward journey from his eyes, across the blood-red rose tattooed on his chest and down further to his belly button and the line of hair that heralded the beginning of the dark trail to his cock.

It hung there, large and full of the promise of pleasure, between the sculpted muscles of his thighs.

Instinctively, my tongue went to my lips.

"Won't be a minute," Paul said, with an intense look of arousal on his face as his words dragged my eyes back to his face. "I'd invite you to join me, but there's only room for one in there."

"Take your time," I said, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd just stripped naked in front of me and didn't seem to care.

What I knew was that the exhibitionism had turned me on way more than I'd ever been turned on before. I could feel the wetness seeping out of me as I sat on the bench seat opposite the door to the bathroom.

I'd barely had time to come to grips with what was happening in front of me before Paul was back, a towel wound around his waist and droplets of water running down the side of his face from his damp hair.

He must have been gone a while, because I'd managed to drink the entire contents of the can in front of me.

"Ready?" he asked as he held his hand out to me.

I nodded. I was too afraid to say anything.

I took his hand, and he led me through the small corridor to the back of the trailer. We passed into a tiny room that housed not much more than a single bunk.

The click of the door as it shut behind us made me jump.

Paul closed the impossibly small space between us and pinned me to the door with the bulk of his body.

The gin had given me courage. I pulled the towel from his waist and felt the heat of his entire body as he slammed it against mine.

Large hands cupped my face, and his lips were on mine in a moment. I heard a moan. Whether it was me or Paul, I couldn't be sure.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you from the second I first saw you," Paul breathed through kisses.

His tongue found mine and worked its way insistently into my mouth. I clawed at his body, raked my long nails across his back, and he groaned.

"I want you naked," he said as he ground his rock-hard cock against my body.

Hands found their way up under my skirt. I felt my soaking panties slip down my legs. My breath began to come in light pants.

Paul's pupils had gone wide. His fingers found my wet heat and he began to stroke me.

The sensation ramped up my already intense longing.

I pulled his swollen lips to mine and plundered his mouth with my tongue.

"Jesus, I want to be inside of you," he panted, and I felt the soft tip of his cock against my pussy lips.

"Condom," I moaned.

"Fuck!" Paul stepped away from me as much as he could in the small space.

He stood there, panting, eyes blazing, with a raging thick cock calling my name. He dug around in a toiletry bag by the side of the bunk and pulled out a tiny silver foil packet. He handed it to me and stood back.

I'd never put a condom on a man before.

"You want me to do it?"

"You want it, baby, you put it on," he said in a voice that ran across my body like molten lava.

I ripped the packet open and did my best to roll the slippery piece of rubber on his hard cock.

Paul slipped the halter-neck of my dress over my head and pulled my dress off my body, unwrapping me like some kind of precious gift.

Hands cupped my breasts, taking the weight of them, and then he dipped his head, sucking each nipple hard.

A renewed flood of heat and desire coursed through me. Paul pinched my nipples, and a bolt of electricity shot through my body.

I wanted to beg him to fuck me.

He lifted my leg and slid his cock into me in one swift movement, slamming me hard up against the door.

All coherent thought left me.

I was aware of nothing more than the heat and bulk of Paul's body, his cock smashing into me, the sound of our moans... the overwhelming sensation of him.

Nothing but him.

I lost myself in the pleasure and wonder of the rockstar.

**P aul**

I didn't want to come.

Not yet.

I had so much planned, but being inside of Ashley was more than I could handle.

I thought about the set tomorrow night.

I wondered whether my bass had made it safely to the truck, whether it would arrive in time for the next gig.

I tried counting backward.

I needed to slow this thing down.

"You're beautiful," I said between thrusts and gasps, floundering for a way to halt the runaway train feeling inside of me. I'd fucked a lot of women, but none did to me what Ashley was doing to me right this very moment.

I slipped my cock out of her, and she groaned, her eyes flying open with a pleading look. Ashley grabbed at my shoulders in an attempt to... what? Somehow physically force me back inside of her?

"Let me catch my breath, baby," I soothed as I picked her up and carried her the short distance across the cramped room to my not-quite-double bunk.

I flipped Ashley over onto her hands and knees and spread her soft white thighs, exposing the slick wet folds my cock had been buried inside.

My fingers found Ashley's clit and my tongue lapped at her juices. I was determined that she was going to come before me if I had to keep her here like this all night.

It didn't take more than a moment or two before I was rewarded with the pleasure of her shuddering climax.

"That's it, baby," I said, not letting up on her clit for a moment.

More shuddering.

"Please," Ashley moaned.

"Please what?"

"Please. I want you back inside of me."

I didn't need asking again.

I slammed back inside of Ashley, determined to fuck her until she begged me to stop.

But it was still too good, and I still didn't want to come.

I flipped over on my back and pulled Ashley up on top of me. She braced herself against my chest, one hand either side of the rose tattoo. She couldn't keep her eyes off the ink on my body, and I couldn't keep my hands off her arse and tits.

Her nipples sat high like little stones on top of her smooth flesh, begging me to pinch them.

Every time I squeezed, her body shuddered around my cock in response. I had a little more control from down here, but not a lot.

I pulled Ashley's body down hard against mine, found her lips, and buried my tongue in her mouth. I couldn't hold on any longer.

I dug my hands into her hips and thrust up.

Hard.

"Oh, god, Paul," Ashley moaned around my tongue.

Her body shivered in one last rolling orgasm, and I surrendered to my own need and desire—the pleasure of total release rushing through me.

**A shley**

We must have dozed. I'm not sure for how long, but I woke and had no idea of the time. I realised that the sound of someone else in the trailer had woken me.

I could hear voices.

All male.

I thought about shaking Paul awake. In the half-light from the security lights in the trailer parking area, I could make out the patterns of the various tattoos on Paul's chest. I traced my finger along the edges of the rose in the centre of his chest. I wondered whether it hurt when the needles punched the ink into his skin—right there over his heart.

He stirred, opening the one eye that I'd become so accustomed to seeing.

A slow smile spread across his face, and he pulled my mouth down to his.

I couldn't help myself. My body responded to the invitation of his mouth, and before I knew what was happening, he'd found another condom and slipped back inside of me.

He took me gently this time, flipping me onto my back, and leaning above me on his elbows. Butterfly kisses fell across my face as he eased his cock slowly in and out.

Neither of us said a word.

When my body tightened in another powerful orgasm, Paul's wasn't far behind.

We lay together in silence, holding onto another moment that I knew I'd never forget.

# Epilogue

**A shley**

I'd gotten back to our hotel room at 5am.

Madi was nowhere to be seen.

Paul had walked me to the edge of the festival grounds with one of their security guards in tow, and the two of them had made sure that I got into a pre-paid taxi. I couldn't imagine living my life with someone following me around the way that those rockstars lived their lives.

The idea appalled me.

I turned the card that Paul had given me over in my hand. It was a business card with the band's name inscribed on the front and all their details.

On the back, he'd written his personal email and contact details.

The cynic in me wondered how many women he'd handed a card like this in the early hours of the morning.

He'd insisted that I email him.

I'd agreed.

But now that I was back at the hotel, I wasn't sure that I would.

I'd do my shifts at the Festival for the next two days, but I wouldn't be going to any more parties, and I certainly wouldn't be looking to hook up with another rockstar.

Once was enough for me.

Paul had given me what he said he would give me.

A night that I'd never forget.

I had no regrets.

* * *

<<<<>>>>

**T oni Kenyon** writes about difficult, sexy rockstars and dominant, alpha billionaires—it's a tough job, but somebody has to do it! Her sexy men choose to travel the world but they always return home to the sub-tropical South Pacific.

Don't forget to sign up for Toni's book club! Receive exclusive material and advance notice of discount book prices. Click here!

You'll also find Toni:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/toni.kenyon.author

Twitter: @Toni_Kenyon

Read more about Julian & Mags (Private Love Rockstar Romance) at Toni's website here

# About the Author

Hello from Auckland, New Zealand.

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy life to read my story. I do hope that you enjoyed Paul and Ashley's meet up in Vegas. Please make sure that you read the conclusion of their story in, Style. I'm sure that you'll enjoy walking with Paul and Ashley as they work their way through their turbulent romance and on to their own happy ever after. There's a sample chapter of Style at the end of this book.

I love writing about rockstars. Many of you will know that I come from a musical family and that my husband is *cough* a bass player—no he's nothing like Paul!

I am also the daughter of a bass player, so you could say that I have a soft spot for men who play guitars with four (or sometimes five) strings.

I love meeting my readers (old and new) so do make sure that you drop me an email and say hello. I always reply to my readers.

For anyone who doesn't know where New Zealand is, we're sitting below Australia at the bottom of the world. It's a fantastic place to live and I'm so blessed to call this peaceful piece of paradise home.

Hope to catch up with you soon.

Until then, take care.

Love Toni x

PS If you'd like your very own backstage pass, don't forget to come and visit with us on Facebook at the private Red Couch group. You'll find us all hanging out here

_For more information about Toni Kenyon:_

www.tonikenyon.com

toni@tonikenyon.com

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# Also by Toni Kenyon

**PRIVATE LOVE IN A PUBLIC PLACE**

Mags O'Brien lives on the alcohol-soaked, drug-enhanced concert circuit, managing out-of-control rocker Julian MacAvoy. She helps him spread his musical gospel to his adoring followers, despite the fast-spinning turnstile on his bedroom door, and the broken hearts he leaves in his wake.

Mags believes she's immune to Julian's magnetic personality but when controversy hits the tour, she finds herself in danger of falling at his feet, slave to his appetites and her own desire and need.

Julian refuses to be tamed, but the pressure of the ravenous crowds clamps tighter and tighter around him. His chaotic world starts to crumble when he realises his motivation to continue touring comes from an unobtainable woman. Can he force her to make the agonising choice between himself and her estranged husband?

An erotic and candid look at life on the road.

* * *

Download your copy Private Love in a Public Place

Praise for PRIVATE LOVE IN A PUBLIC PLACE

_I'm a huge fan of Rock &Roll love stories.This one rates right up there with Olivia Cunning's "Sinners" & "Sole Regret" and "FitzWilliam Darcy". I can't wait for the 2nd book to come out in April! This story has it all... Heartbreak, Steamy but Very Real love and really tough choices. At one point, I cried like a baby and in the next, I was yelling at my KindleFire. LoL..._

_Bottom line- Totally worth adding this book to your collection!_

_Sexy and gritty, raw and engaging, "Private Love in a Public Place" takes you on a personal behind-the-scenes tour of a rock star's life on the road from the perspective of his manager, a woman who loves the artist as much as she loves the man himself.... This is a fresh, steamy and surprising love story guaranteed to entertain!_

_Mags is open and real, a woman I could relate too in a job many of us would see as glamorous (manager to a rock star or babysitter perhaps) but which she made very real, faults and all. Jules is that mix of arrogant tosser and little boy lost, who you can't help but fall in love with. A rock star who shows us he's human._

# Style: A Style Strike Rockstar Romance

**What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—unless it follows you home.**

All Ashley Jacobs wants to do is forget about the Get Rocked! In Vegas Festival and get on with her life. Unfortunately, the one night she spent in the arms of British band, Style Strike's bad boy bass player, Paul Gray makes that simple wish impossible. She's brought home more than memories. What should have been a fun fling before she settled into her orderly life has gone awry. To her horror, Ashley's entire life is turned upside down when she discovers that she's pregnant. She's literally about to be left holding the baby.

Paul Gray's never forgotten that night in Vegas with the woman who wanted nothing to do with a rock star. Style Strike's US tour has gone from strength to strength and his social media star is on the rise. Paul finds himself surrounded by everything he's worked so hard to achieve. His life is awash with women, fame and fortune—but all he can think about is the sensual woman who walked away from him that night in Vegas.

Knowing the tour's about to hit her hometown, Ashley makes the sensible decision to contact Paul. He needs to be told about the baby, doesn't he?

# Chapter 1

**P aul**

I can't believe it's been over two months since we played Get Rocked! In Vegas. For that entire time I haven't been able to get the gorgeous Ashley Jacobs out of my head.

"Hey mate," Murf yelled from the other end of the van, "get in here. I've only got one cock and there are two girls begging for you."

We'd played another show. I had little recollection of what freaking town we were parked up in. The entourage of vans sat in the car park of the latest stadium.

The nights were all beginning to blur into each other. Pretty much like the women that were moving through the van.

Each evening another dedicated crowd of fans for Sam and Style Strike.

The girls couldn't have Sam, so the rest of the band were a happy substitute. Most of them were happy with the bass player and the drummer.

Not that I didn't have a little of my own fame going on.

Murf and I might hold down the back line in the band, but we were firmly on the front foot as far as the celebrity stakes were concerned. My social media escapades and Sam's success in the States had rocketed us all into the stratosphere.

I can't decide whether I want to take Murf up on his invitation, or whether or not I'd like to sit the action out tonight.

I thought I saw her in the crowd.

Ashley.

The woman who has haunted my thoughts since the night we spent together in Vegas.

I can't get her out of my mind—no matter how hard I try.

Everywhere I look in the crowd I see her.

I know she won't be there because she doesn't do rock concerts.

But she did do me.

That one night in Vegas.

A night I can't get out of my mind.

An attractive, scantily clad brunette who's a little on the skinny side saunters down the van towards me.

Murf's sent out reinforcements.

She has a bottle of the best champagne in her hand and she's drinking directly from it. She stops in front of me. I can smell the scent of her skin from here, a mixture of sweet coconut oil and something else.

Lust? Desire? Excitement maybe.

She puts her mouth around the neck of the bottle suggestively and looks at me. Big doe eyes full of promise.

Despite my own misgivings and my own thoughts, my treacherous cock twitches.

"Are you coming to join us, or are you going to sit out here all night being a sour puss?" She slides into the seat next to me, presses the champagne bottle to my mouth. I tip it up and drain a large portion of the contents. The bubbles make my nose twitch.

If I can't have the girl that keeps haunting my thoughts, then I can't see any reason why I shouldn't have what's on offer in front of me. It's been like this every night on tour—a smorgasbord of attentive and willing women.

I'm a slut. I have no self-control.

"You were great on stage tonight," she purrs as she slips her hand under my shirt. Her nails rake my abs and I feel my cock fill.

I allow the sensations of lust to take control—shutting down my rational thoughts, pushing memories to the back of my mind. I do what I've always done so well, focus on the moment and fuck everything else.

I slip my hand around the globe of her full breast. I can't remember the girl's name, but I feel her nipple harden in my palm.

She tilts her head back, offering me her throat. Opening herself to me.

It's all too easy.

But I've given up trying to fight it.

She takes my hand and leads me to the rear of the van where I find Murf and another girl lying naked on the bed.

"I'm glad you took the time to join us," Murf grinned as he allowed the other girl to roll a condom down his erect cock. "Girls, he's wearing too much."

Suddenly there's a bottle of champagne thrust at me and four hands are on my body.

I'm being peeled out of my shirt.

My jeans are tugged down and I feel the brunette's hand on my rock hard cock.

She makes good her promise and her lips closely follow.

I close my eyes and pour as much of the champagne down my throat as I can, lost in the decadence of another night on the road.

I feel as if I've been run over by a truck. Instead, I'm inside of a moving one.

Our driver, Lionel must already be at the helm. I have no idea how long we've been on the road, but I know we're on our way to another show.

I look around the devastation of the small room.

There's another name, number and email address scrawled on a scrap of paper at the side of the bed. I pick it up and throw it in the rubbish where sit the remains of a number of used condoms. Bottles litter the room. I don't know how much Murf drank last night, but I'm a cheap drunk. It doesn't take much to push me over the edge and for the night to turn into a blur of colour and sensation.

I pick my phone up off the floor to see if I've taken video of anything that might be of some use to me. It helps me put the night back together again when I see it the next morning in pictures.

I still have fans and I still have an obligation to ensure that they see something that's reasonable.

I also have a no posting while drunk or drugged policy. It's too much to risk being thrown off the tour by Sam's brother, Julian. He may not be with us every night, but he keeps a close eye on what's happening. One wrong move and me and Murf will be consigned back to busking in the Tubes in London.

There's a couple of reasons I'm not going to let that happen.

Trying to look at the screen to see what I've filmed combined with the motion of the moving truck bring on a wave of nausea.

I shrug on the jeans from last night and make my way out into the main part of the van—stopping on the way to have a piss in the cubicle toilet.

I find Murf and Griff sitting at the table drinking coffee and looking chipper.

"Look at the state of you," Murf chuckled, "you've got no staying power."

"Put some fucking clothes on man, or take a shower," Griff said, staring at my bare chest, "you got lipstick competing with your ink."

"I nearly puked my guts up pissing," I replied. "I'm not standing in there and trying to shower. You can get fucked."

Griff looked as if he could step on stage any moment. Murf, on the other hand, looked as rough as I felt.

"Give me some of that coffee," I demanded.

"I don't know how you slept through the noise he was making last night," Murf said to Griff.

"Fuck up," I didn't want to be reminded about last night, or the night before, or the night before that.

I dug around in the small fridge and found a lone bottle of water rolling from side to side. We'd completely cleared it of alcoholic beverages.

"We got anything to eat?" Seeing the empty fridge reminded me of how much I must have drunk last night. Once I start, I don't want to stop and at the moment, I only start because I don't want to think about Ashley.

"Lionel's going to pull in down the road at some truck stop," Griff said taking another swig of his coffee. "Getting some greasy bacon into you will bring you right."

"He was on form with the ladies last night," Murf said. I took another gulp of cold water and wished he'd shut up. If I said anything I'd just make things worse. I needed to ride out the ribbing and try not to do this again.

But then I'd been making that promise to myself every night for weeks now.

The mind was willing, but the body remained weak.

**A shley**

The last couple of months had passed in a blur of excitement.

Finding an apartment to live in with Madi. Moving in. Securing my internship with the finance company. I didn't know where the time had gone.

But I'd known for the last couple of days that something was amiss.

I thought I had the flu. Or that I'd done too much and life had eventually caught up with me.

Then I remembered.

That night in Vegas.

With Paul.

I sat here now in my apartment staring at the cardboard box on the table.

This couldn't be happening.

For the third morning in a row, I'd been nauseous. When I thought back, I realised that I'd missed a period. I didn't even want to think about the consequences of that. About what could be happening to my body. My body behaved like a well-oiled machine. But this month—the wheels may have been sticking—I'd seen no sign of my period.

I swallowed hard.

I couldn't believe I could be so unlucky when I thought I'd been so careful.

One night with a stranger.

I sat staring at the pregnancy test kit. It lay beside my cup of green tea and a bowl of half-eaten fruit and cereal. I had the urge to push the damn test kit off the table. I'd eaten next to nothing this morning and I'd called in sick for the second day running. Work were not going to be happy if I kept this up. If I stayed away for another day, then I would need a doctor's note.

"Well there's no use sitting around here worrying about it," I said to no-one in particular, the sound of my own voice reverberating off the stark walls of our partially furnished apartment.

I picked up the box and headed for the bathroom.

I peed on the stick and then put the plastic strip on the cistern behind me and thought about going to wash my hands. When I picked that stick up again I stared at two blue lines in the tiny little window.

Heart racing, my breath coming in short bursts, I scoured the instructions again. Was it one or two strips that confirmed pregnancy?

There lay the answer in front of me. Two strips of blue.

I pushed the stick back inside the box with the instructions, washed my hands and then walked back out into our tiny lounge and kitchenette in a daze.

What the hell was I going to do now?

Rage boiled inside of me, threatening to explode. This was Madi's fault. If she hadn't talked me into going to that ridiculous rock festival I wouldn't have met Paul and I wouldn't have thrown caution to the wind. I wasn't someone who took risks. And yet I'd been dumb enough to take a risk with him that night and look where it had gotten me.

We used a condom for fuck's sake. How the hell could I be pregnant? How did that damn rubber fail?

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I went to my room and pulled open the top drawer of my cabinet. The drawer where I kept the little things. The memory garden of my life. The small book of photographs that my mom made me of my childhood. My first school report card. A picture of me with mom and dad on my graduation day. The framed certificate I held in that photograph sat on top of the cabinet in front of me now, waiting to be hung in my office. Currently I sat in a cubicle with a bunch of other interns—but I knew it wouldn't be long before I had my own office.

I did not need this.

Pregnant!

Fuck!

In amongst the assorted birthday cards and the scraps of my first twenty-odd years of life was the card that Paul had given me that night in Vegas.

For some reason I hadn't thrown it out. I'd kept it. A memory of the evening. Now I had more than just the card to remember the night--a baby. I couldn't get my head around the notion.

I sat down on my bed and reached for my laptop. With a shaking hand, I opened the top and then opened my email.

I hadn't emailed him in the months since I'd seen him.

He probably had thousands of girls emailing him.

I typed his private address and then stared at the box that prompted me to tell him what this email was about.

What should I type? _Hi, I'm pregnant_ , or perhaps, _You're going to be a father_. I had no idea what I was going to put there, so I skipped it. I could revisit it later.

How to start the email proper?

_Hello._

_Hi._

_Dear Paul_ seemed too formal.

_How's it going_ seemed inadequate in view of the circumstances I found myself in.

With trembling fingers I typed, _How's the tour going?_

I didn't even need to ask that question. I'd tried to stay away, but despite myself, I couldn't stop watching his channel. I knew exactly how the tour was going. But I didn't want him to know that I was stalking him online.

_My internship's going well_ , I typed. I wanted to write, _but now it's all been fucked up because I'm pregnant_ , but somehow my fingers wouldn't co-operate. And besides, I didn't think that made a great third line for an email.

A little voice in my head said, _But you're going to have to tell him, eventually_.

I told that little voice to shut the fuck up. It didn't have an opinion when I was letting Paul undress me.

_Where are you now?_ Seemed a sensible question. I continued typing, _I'm back in Seattle and I'm enjoying the moderate temperatures, nothing like the heat of Vegas!_

Now I'm talking about the weather.

Fuck!

It wasn't a lot. But at least I'd made contact.

_Hear from you soon. Ashley x_.

I spent a full ten minutes deciding whether I should put that single kiss after my name. The fact I was carrying his baby probably qualified me to put a kiss there, but I couldn't be sure.

I went to press send but the stupid programme reminded me that I hadn't given the email a title. I went back and typed, _Hello_ and as an afterthought I put a smile beside the word.

With a trembling finger I pressed the send button and then I closed the lid of the laptop.

How the hell was I going to get through the next few days feeling like shit?

My brain wouldn't come to terms with the fact that I needed to start looking up how to deal with morning sickness. Maybe I could turn my head to that thought later this afternoon.

For now, nausea raged through me like a rampant beast and I wanted to pretend that the last half an hour hadn't happened.

I curled up in the foetal position on my bed and closed my eyes.

Maybe if I lay here and didn't think about what was happening in my life—it wouldn't happen.

Denial I think they called that.

If denial kept me safe for the next couple of hours, then it would have to do.

But my head wouldn't stop.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Paul.

He'd not only infiltrated my body, but he'd infiltrated my mind as well.

I rolled over on my back, pulled my laptop back open and clicked on his channel.

The screen came to life and the room was filled with the sound of his gorgeous English accent.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind said, _Maybe you wanted to get pregnant._

My stomach rolled at the thought and I rushed to the bathroom to vomit.

Denial didn't seem to be an option.

* * *

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