Seduction by Song Read online

  Again, I found myself thinking that I could totally see the appeal—I really could. Maybe it still wasn’t for me, but I could truly enjoy the night.

  Unfortunately, someone didn’t seem to get the memo.

  The song changes into something slower, pulling me out of my thoughts. I fumble to pull my cell phone out of my purse when I notice the girls holding theirs up, using the glow of their screens as lights to wave back and forth to the smooth flow of the music. After I look around myself to make sure I haven’t missed the beat everyone else seems to have picked up, I turn back to the stage and find myself locking eyes with those deep-brown pools of mischief and confidence.

  Romeo Ortiz looks straight at me, almost like he’s getting ready to sing to me. Tension coils at the pit of my stomach—oh God, no. He couldn’t possibly be choosing me for that rumored ritual or whatever. This would just be thoroughly embarrassing for the both of us. After all, I didn’t even really know the words to his songs. I shake my head, trying to send the message of no, and even look to my side to try and suggest Maddie as a much better candidate instead.

  “For this next song, I—.” He has to stop, then, interrupted by the shrieking crowd that seems to know exactly what he’s going to say. He gives them all an impish grin and waves a hand, quieting them. “Well, I guess you all know the drill!”

  The crowd roars once more as his band mates loop the intro to the song, keeping the music going as Romeo speaks.

  “Then I won’t keep you waiting, ladies.” He stops again, but not because of the crowd this time. The crowd has, in fact, gone deathly silent except for a few bursts of murmurs shooting through the stadium like waves. Everyone holds their breath and I try to avert my gaze, looking anywhere but the stage, as I feel Romeo locking his eyes onto me again.

  The girls scream next to me and push me forward a bit, making it so that I have to look up. Just as I feared, Romeo was holding a hand out to me—Christ, couldn’t this guy take a hint?

  “It’s your lucky night. Come on up, sweetheart.”

  My face flushes red and he smirks as though he thinks I’m flustered, when in reality the heat in my cheeks was a combination of annoyance and impending embarrassment. I had planned on pushing Maddie forward and insisting that she take my place—the crowd would never know the difference, anyway—but his cocky little smirk feels almost like a challenge, making me want to prove that flustered is the last thing I am.

  Before I think twice, I allow myself to be led up on stage. A hot spotlight burns my skin as it follows me across the stage until the security guard leading me up stops me on my mark.

  I’d heard about this traditional before, of course, both in articles about the Rocks and from Maddie and the girls. At the end of each show, Romeo would perform a beautiful love song with a woman of his choosing on stage with him. He would serenade her with his dulcet tones, sometimes going down on one knee, and give her a night she will truly remember for the rest of her life. The girls all spoke of their dreams of being that girl, but I never imagined it would ever be me—never really wanted it to be me, either.

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Romeo speaks again.

  “What is your name, beautiful eyes?”

  I take a small step back away from the X on the floor, marked with two strips of electrical tape, when I realize Romeo is looming over me and standing much closer than I’d like for comfort. That smirk is still on his lips, like he’s expecting me to swoon. Ugh.

  Sure, he was an attractive guy—objectively speaking—but did he really think that was all it took to make any girl melt into him? Double ugh.

  I sigh when I realize he’s actually waiting for an answer, stalling the whole concert. Unwilling to be that person who disrupts a whole show, I let him hold a microphone out to me and answer him, “Erin.”

  A cheer goes out through the crowd as Romeo flashing me a smile as he brings the mic back to himself to begin singing. He takes another step towards me as he reaches the first chorus and has the gall to look amused when I take a step back, determined to keep my personal space completely personal.

  He seems just as determined to invade that space, though, and I nearly jump out of my skin in surprise when he brings a hand up, sliding the backs of his fingers down my cheek in an affectionate motion. Does he just touch anyone he wants?

  I hear the crowd roaring again, a dull sound in the backs of my ears, and I try to relax. I suppose it makes sense—I doubt that anyone could be so rude as to touch someone who clearly didn’t want to be touched. He probably chose me just because I happened to be sitting in the seat that was closest to the stage, and he was probably only behaving so inappropriately to please his fans—had to maintain that stage presence, after all.

  And while this didn’t really excuse that behavior, I wasn’t about to ruin the show now when it was almost over. Forcing myself to relax a bit more, I let him take my hand and link our fingers together as he sings. He squeezes my hand reassuringly as he goes into a chorus a second time. The crowd is loving it and, thinking of all this as an act, it’s a bit easier for me to return Romeo’s smile.

  Romeo pulls me back with him a few times to center us on stage again as his band goes into the instrumental solo of the song. I allow him to pull me towards him, his hold on me firm, but not painful. The performance must seem very touching and romantic from a distance, down there in the crowd, and I guess I couldn’t blame Romeo for wanting to give his fans the show they wanted to see. My previous bout of annoyance at him was probably just an overreaction, all my nerves exacerbated by the bright lights and loud noises surrounding me this entire night.

  I’m startled out of my thoughts once more when Romeo steps forward, suddenly, and leans in so close that we’re breathing the same air. He holds the microphone up between us, gesturing for me to sing along as the chorus comes around for a third time.

  Oh, God, I think, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Here comes the most embarrassing moment of both our lives.

  I didn’t know the lyrics, after all, and this would just look silly.

  Surprisingly, when Romeo begins to sing, a few of the words do come to me. Perhaps I remembered them from the radio, or from hearing the chorus just moments ago. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful that they do come—I mean, how ridiculous would it have looked to have a front row ticket holder not know the words to one of the band’s most famous songs?

  I still don’t remember all the words, but I manage to sing along with a few lines. I’m so distracted by trying to focus on staying on key with him that I barely even notice when he slides an arm around my waist, spinning me around in a slow dance across the stage.

  It’s been so long since I’ve performed in front of any sort of stage, but memories of starring in talent shows back in high school come back to me in that instant. I find myself moving with him without much trouble at all, my limbs somehow knowing just the right thing to do.

  We dance together, one of us moving forward as the other moves back and one of us moving back as the other moves forward. The crowd seems to love it and I couldn’t deny that it was pretty thrilling once I got used to the spotlight on me. Finally, as he croons the last of his lines, he wraps his arm around me again and pulls me in close.

  Without thinking, I plant my hands on his chest and push him back before he can put his mouth on mine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The only time I had heard such a large crowd go so eerily silent was in my freshman year of high school when, during my first performance with the gymnastics team, I slipped on a tricky dismount and sprained my ankle so badly that I thought it was broken. Now, in front of a crowd a thousand times that size, I rejected a kiss from a man literally every other woman in the world seemed to want.

  The silence could only be described as deafening.

  Romeo himself looked fairly confused, but also amused, as he releases me to let me take a step back. I do exactly that, very quickly, and drop my arms to my side. I try not to frown at him
because I’m well aware that our faces are probably plastered up all over those jumbo screens broadcasting the events on stage to the crowd in the back. Even if I wasn’t about to accept a kiss from a total stranger out of the blue just for the sake of going with the flow, I wasn’t looking to cause a scene—all I wanted was to get back to my seat and forget this ever happened.

  Of course, Romeo wouldn’t be content with such a solution. That smirk, an expression that seems to almost never fall off his face, returns to his lips as he turns back to his audience to announce, “Looks like we’ve got a feisty one here.”

  On cue, the entire crowd erupts into laughter. I roll my eyes at how thousands of people will react like well-trained dogs to the words of one man—don’t they know this is how mobs begin? Before Romeo can continue joking around, or execute any other plans he might have, I turn to leave the stage.

  “Aww,” I hear Romeo crooning behind me, still speaking into his microphone and blasting the sound of his voice over the noise of the audience’s mirth. “Leaving so soon, babe?”

  I refuse to dignify that with an answer. He seems to realize that he can’t hold up his concert—he’s not doing a stand-up show here, after all—and launches into his next song by the time I’ve returned to my seat.

  The girls all peer at me one after another, almost timidly as though they aren’t sure if I’m angry. I straighten my shoulders and offer them each my best smile. Ruining the night was the last thing I wanted. I was still determined to have a good time with my girls even if it was at the feet of a cocky rock star who didn’t know the meaning of personal space.

  “Is everything okay?” Maddie leans in to ask during a slightly more mellow part of the song where I could hear her without her having to scream. “What happened up there?”

  I stretch the corners of my mouth way up to force myself to keep smiling. I didn’t want to wreck all her dreams about this guy, even if they weren’t very healthy dreams at all, by telling her anything negative about him, but—how could I explain that catastrophe up there?

  “Oh, you know,” I start slowly, buying myself some time to think. “I just—I’ve never been big on PDA, you know? It was just so sudden!”

  Maddie cracks into a grin a second later, apparently satisfied and pleased by this answer. I relax a little, glad that the night still had some life and joy left in it for her.

  “Good!” she says during a break between two songs during which Romeo addresses the audience with some generic blah-blah message about loving this town. Maddie seems riveted by his words for a moment before she snaps herself out of it to turn to me again. “Good, because we got backstage passes! Ahh! How exciting is that?”

  “So—exciting!” I manage to say without gritting my teeth or cringing.

  Of course they got backstage passes. They’re all practically glowing with glee and I suppose I can’t deny them the chance to meet the band even if I didn’t think the band was all that. Maybe it would be a good opportunity to give Romeo a piece of my mind in private—I didn’t want to ruin a concert for thousands of people, but I sure as hell wanted to ask him how he came to the conclusion that he could do anything he wanted.

  And that was, of course, the only reason I would ever want to see him again.

  After the show, about a dozen fans are led backstage. We’re left there to wait for a solid fifteen minutes before the band appears, at which point the girls all instantly swarm forward in a surge of excitement. I linger behind the group, smiling and moving aside politely for a stagehand passing through (or trying to pass through, at least) with some heavy equipment.

  “Well, look at that,” a voice now familiar to my ears says rather suddenly. I roll my eyes as I turn to face Romeo, who’s looking somehow like even more of a rock star with a thick leather jacket sitting across his shoulders. “So the ice princess has a smile in her after all. Welcome to my humble abode, Erin.”

  “Redefine humble,” I say, unable to keep my annoyance in check once I’ve made sure that we’re mostly alone. A few girls are eyeing us like they’re trying to figure out the best way to edge themselves into the conversation, while too timid to actually do so, while the others are distracted getting autographs from the other two guys in the band.

  Romeo only laughs, though, apparently finding me more and more amusing. “Not impressed, I gather.”

  I take a look around myself. The lights are dimmed, if not completely turned off, to establish a dark mood through lighting—theoretically cool, but they must know that this is a working hazard for the stagehands scuttling around packing equipment and whatnot. The couches scattered throughout the area were all somewhat ratty as though they were trying to give off some sort of poverty is chic message. Suffice to say, I was not impressed.

  I was especially not impressed by Romeo’s newest addition to his attire. The leather jacket he now wore was a tight, tailored fit over his shoulders, showing off his broad frame and the muscles he obviously knew he had. It even sported a fur-lined collar, accentuating his neck and strong jawline. I wouldn’t usually assume the worst—faux leather and faux fur was pretty popular these days, after all—but Romeo was close enough that I could catch the scent of real leather on him.

  Sure, I wasn’t the most active of animal rights activists out there—I wasn’t even a vegetarian—but I’ve never worn furs in my life and I wouldn’t ever think of advocating it.

  “Impressed?” I ask, feigning confusion. “By what? The animal carcass around your neck?”

  Romeo laughs, shamelessly, and runs his fingers through the fur of his collar. “Ah, you have quite an eye for luxury, don’t you. Want to touch it?”

  Before I can tell him I’d sooner gag, he reaches out and takes my hand, bringing it up to his shoulder. I’m so shocked at his gall that I don’t even move away for a second. He smirks when he sees that I’m not pulling away and moves to guide my fingers through the fur, the soft sensation of those fine hairs against my skin startling me into action.

  I yank my hand back and cross my arms firmly over my chest to keep him from grabbing me again.

  “Oh, come now, Erin,” he says, his voice dropping a note into that low, seductive tone again—the exact same tone he takes on stage. “It’s not real fur.”

  I open my mouth to call him a liar, but clench my jaw shut and shake my head instead. “That’s none of my concern. Don’t you have fans to entertain?”

  “I’m entertaining one right now.”

  “You most certainly are not,” I tell him. “Where on earth could you possibly have gotten the idea that I was a fan?”

  He hums, low and thoughtful, as he brings a hand up to brush the backs of his fingers against my cheek. I shiver, but refuse to pull back from the obvious challenge.

  “You did turn up at my show,” he says. “In the front row, no less.”

  “I was with friends,” I say, tilting my head at the girls in the background. April was flirting away with Dante, having somehow gotten herself right into his lap, and Juliet and Maddie were being showered with merchandise along with the other girls.

  “You did come backstage,” he continues.

  “I’m still with friends.”

  He laughs, finally looking behind himself at the other girls. He must smile, or something, because a collective sigh and swoon comes from that area before he turns back to me. “You can’t take your eyes off of me. Are you saying you’re not charmed, Erin?”

  I am so not charmed. Even if his smooth baritone voice rolls out my name more beautifully than anyone’s ever said it before, I am not charmed. He’s just the same old fame and fortune (and totally fake) story with a shiny paint of coat slapped over him.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I doubt that,” he says. “You seem plenty eloquent. I wager you’ve got loads to say to me.”

  And for the first time that night, he’s absolutely right. I would love to tell him that he’s dead wrong if he thinks he can coast through life on his looks and fame. I would
love to tell him that he should stick to chasing tail that actually wants to be chased. I would love to call him something totally nasty, but in the end, I’m the bigger person here.

  “Nope, nothing to say,” I tell him confidently. “Though if you wanted to apologize—.”

  He laughs and reaches out to me again, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. I blink, surprised at the gesture. It’s still a complete breach of my personal space, of course, but the gesture is somehow careful, even intimate—like he doesn’t actually want to startle or offend me.

  “I’m sorry, Erin,” he says. “I’m sorry for making all your dreams come true. I’m sorry you’re playing hard to get—oh, don’t get me wrong. I will enjoy this chase, but I could have shown you the time of your life tonight. You know what? Scratch that—I’m not sorry you’re playing hard to get. It’ll make the conquest all the sweeter when you finally succumb to me.”

  I feel my eyes growing wider and my cheeks growing hotter, the promise of sex lingering so thickly in the air between us that it was practically palpable. His hand is still settled against my cheek, fingers curled against my skin, and I knock it away when I realize that he must be feeling how warm my cheeks are growing.

  “You’ll conquer me, huh?” I ask as I shake off the lascivious suggestion and regain my composure. “You can try, buddy, but you’ll be wasting your time.”