Page 37 of Fame and Obsession

Shit. That’s not good.

I wrinkle my nose as he charges toward me. “Gage? What the—”

Bending down, he wraps his strong biceps around my hips, and without warning, I find myself being hauled into the air.

I slap his back in retaliation. “Put me down! Gage! Put me down right now!”

He laughs, his lips pressing against my inner thigh. “You wanted to see, baby doll. Feast your eyes!” Hoisting me over his head, he settles me onto his shoulders and secures the tops of my thighs with his forearms.

I finally take everything in with an unobstructed view. Squeezing his neck for stability, I laugh while focusing my attention on the stage.

Immediately, I seek out his sexual obsession.

The infamous Julian Bale.

It takes less than five seconds for our eyes to collide with ferocious electricity. I gasp in recognition, losing my grip on Gage’s neck as tumultuous green eyes lock onto me.

“Fuck. Me.” The words rumble from somewhere deep inside moments before I lose my balance and tumble to the floor.

Twelve

Phoebe

“You okay, Pheebs?” Gage stares at me as I lay in a crumpled heap by his feet.

No. Not in the least. Not only did I lose my balance. It seems I’ve also lost my mind.

I nod, accepting his offered hand as he pulls me off the floor.

He shouts above the music, not even trying to hide his smirk. “Of course you’re okay. You take concrete headers every day.”

The crowd sandwiches me against his chest, thankfully, with my back to the stage. “It’s nothing, Gage. I fell.”

He cocks his chin. “You look like you’re about to pass out or throw up. I’m not sure which.”

The raspy voice quiets as the song mercifully ends. Deafening cheers of adoring fans fills my ears while panic rises in my chest.

I have to get out.

After an initial attempt at finding an opening in the crowd proves futile, I prepare to chew my own arm off and beat people with it to force my way out.

“This next song is a little different from the norm for you guys. It’s brand new.” Approval roars through the crowd, provoking a soft chuckle into the microphone. “Calm down, it’s no Stairway, all right?” Laughter ripples through the audience. “It’s something I wrote after a chance meeting that rattled my cage a little.”

“Or a lot,” a familiar voice calls out beside him.

“Okay, whatever, Z—a lot.” Julian laughs. “Thanks, asshole.”

“Just keeping you honest, Jag,” Z says, and the crowd loses their minds.

“It’s called Tell Me You’ll Stay.”

I stiffen as music replaces the chatter around me. At the first few notes, an involuntary gasp catches in my throat.

It’s a rock ballad.

“Come out from the shadows, tell me you’ll stay. I won’t ask for more than only today. Give me your hand and whisper my name. Won’t let you go. I won’t be the same. You’ve got me in your claws tonight. I’m holding on tight. I can’t just watch you leave. It won’t be all right. And in your eyes, the storm rolls in with fear. Don’t hide. I’ve given all my pride. Tell me you’ll stay...”

Halfway through the song, I face the stage. He’s moved from the center and is standing as close to me as his dusted black boots will allow. Somehow, even in the sea of people, he finds me. He traps me. He commands me. His gaze relentless, and from the safety of our confinements, I’m powerless to deny him.

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