Page 3 of Blind Attraction

Mitch leaned into the chocolate-haired beauty and inhaled her floral scent. He turned his face into hers, hiding himself from curious onlookers. So far, so good. Nobody had noticed the rock star standing amongst them.

It wasn’t uncommon for him or the other band members to invite groupies backstage after the show. Up until the last twelve or so months it had been the norm. Now, they’d grown tired of easy women. Unfortunately, their lifestyles didn’t allow for much else, and none of them were monks.

He preferred to get sex the old-fashion way, by flirtation and seduction. Though sometimes, like now, a scratch needed to be itched. Well, what he felt wasn’t really an itch, it was more like a compulsion, an unyielding desire to touch the delicate skin of the woman in front of him.

The stage crew usually had the job of approaching fans. Putting himself in close proximity to a hoard of screaming women wasn’t his brightest idea. He knew from experience that the first appendage they grabbed for wasnotyour arm, and they didn’t grasp lightly. Tonight, curiosity had the better of him.

The woman standing in front of him had stolen his attention from the first strum of his guitar. She stood out like a beacon, her wide eyes and shy smile causing him to lose focus. He could tell she wasn’t a show-your-assets-to-get-a-backstage-pass kind of girl. In fact, he didn’t think she was a hardcore fan at all. There’d been no screaming, no flashing, and no panties flying at the stage when he smiled at her. Instead of the typical seductive glances he’d grown accustomed to, she gave him a glimpse of her gorgeous dimples and broke eye contact. The angelic sight grabbed him by the balls and still hadn’t let go.

His excursion to the security barrier had been in an effort to assure himself she wasn’t the stunner the stage lights made her out to be. Then he’d be able to concentrate on the second half of the show.

Only problem? Each approaching step made her beauty more apparent.

She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a shitload of women. With clothes and without.

It wasn’t her gleaming green irises, her flawless skin, or the lush lips he already imagined kissing. Her beauty came from the emotion in her features, and the way she presented herself.

Her eyes were huge, like a virgin on her wedding night. He read her shock, her excitement, and even a little fear in the light depths. Her clothes were modest—faded jeans and a loose purple T-shirt, hiding what he fantasized would be a great figure. And black knee high boots. Non-slutty boots. Not like the needle thin stilettos the friendlier fans wore. These were sturdy, classy boots from a woman whose focus didn’t lay on getting a piece of rock star ass in bed.

He couldn’t even see her cleavage for Christ’s sake. After the years spent peering down at a crowd of half dressed women, their norks bouncing around for the entire world to behold, he’d thought he’d grown out of being a breast man. Nope. Apparently not.

He wanted a glimpse under this woman’s shirt. He wanted to run his hands up her stomach, cup her flesh in his palms, and tweak her nipples until they were hard and aching.

Fucking hell. His pants tightened just thinking about it.

“I...” The one letter escaped her lips on a breath.

He itched to move his mouth over hers, to determine if she tasted as sweet on the inside as she appeared on the outside.

She cleared her throat and tilted her head to gaze back into his eyes. “I’m not sure—”

Steve bumped into his shoulder and Mitch frowned. He realized trouble was brewing before a word was spoken and didn’t appreciate the physical contact.

“We better head back. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you at the moment.”

Mitch nodded at the bodyguard and placed his hand over the delicate feminine fingers resting on the railing. “I’ll send Steve to get you after the show. We can have a drink. Get to know one another.” He said the same line he told his crew to use when offering back stage passes. Only this time, it didn’t work. Instead of her staring back at him with excitement, her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

She shook her head and her throat convulsed with a deep swallow. “I don’t think—”

“Oh my god. Mitch, I love you!” Like a flock of seagulls, fans started to cram forward, pushing the beauty harder and harder against the railing.

Her face contorted in pain and no matter how much he ached to hear her name, he had to leave. Steve grabbed his shoulder and pushed him sideways. Green eyes didn’t glance his way as he retreated. Her focus remained on the railing, her arms tense, her muscles straining to push herself backward.

“Shit.” He continued to walk away in long strides and broke into a jog. The sooner he disappeared from fan view, the sooner she would be safe. With a wave to the crowd he moved around the corner of the stage and entered the private room where the rest of the band relaxed.

Before Steve followed, Mitch turned and blocked the entry. “Go check if she’s hurt.”

The bodyguard glowered. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“That’s great. Your psychic abilities leave me feeling reassured.” Mitch gave a far from friendly smile. “But you’re going back to check anyway.”

Steve’s top lip curled. Without a word, he pivoted on his heels and stormed away.

“Arrogant asshole.” Mitch slammed the door and spun around to a room full of people staring back at him. “What? We’ve gotta get rid of him. I’ve had enough.”

Their manager, Leah Gorman, picked up his black T-shirt off the sofa and threw it at him. “I know. I was just informing the guys about a complaint made against him from earlier tonight. A woman claims he manhandled her and she’s threatening to sue.”

He groaned while removing the spare crew shirt and placed his own back on.

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