. with you.”
Lotus
“WE SHOULD’VE COME early.” Sophia blew out a frustrated breath.
“Couldn’t come earlier,” I said, trying like her to see around the wall of people in front of us. “I was busy.”
“I know you were. You got some action from your man, some kinky public action, and then you got a house.”
She shook her head at me in disbelief, the end of her ponytail swishing between her bare shoulders. She blended in, wearing a crochet bikini top with denim cutoff shorts for the concert. Most of the women around us were dressed similarly. The guys mostly wore board shorts.
“You think this is close enough for Storm to find me?” I bit down on my lip, glancing around.
We were standing in the middle of a lawn as big as a football stadium. It was packed tight, as crowded as at the end of the Super Bowl, when all the players and everyone in the stands stream onto the field.
Sophia pursed her lips. “It’s as close as we can get.”
I nodded my agreement.
Since we’d arrived, we’d side shimmied and cajoled our way from the back of the large crowd to the middle, but as any experienced concert-goer knows, the fans closest to the stage are the most territorial about their position. Especially when the top two bands are about to perform. I couldn’t blame them. They’d earned their spots, coming early and standing in front of the stage for hours.
“We’ll make the best of it,” I said determinedly. Straining my eyes, I scanned the stage and the area around it, hoping to catch a glimpse of Storm.
“Not so bad where we are, right?” She hooked her arm with mine.
“Like old times.” I leaned into her and smiled.
“Only better,” she said, searching my gaze. “Never seen you look happier. However . . .” Her eyes twinkled as she paused dramatically. “I think the best is yet to come.”
“What do you know?” I asked suspiciously.
“Something great, but nothing I’m going to give away. You stole his thunder when he had a big speech planned to declare his undying devotion to you.”
My eyes narrowed further. “How do you know about that?”
“Storm and I had a little chat.” She waggled her brows.
“About?”
“A bestie-to-bestie heart-to-heart. Expectations were clarified.” Her lips twitched. “Basically, I told him he’d better treat you right or I’d kick his ass.”
“I’m sure he was terrified.” I shook my head at her. “You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t need protecting from Storm, and I can take care of myself.”
“You can,” she said. “But you don’t have to anymore. Our discussion was illuminating. Storm is crazy about you. Makes a girl hopeful that maybe dreams can come true.”
“There he is.” I spotted Storm and the rest of the guys in the band. Exiting a trailer, they walked together single file toward the stage. Big guys wearing black shirts with security in white block letters escorted them.
My heart rate sped up, but everything else seemed to slow. The crowd faded out of focus while my view of the band sharpened.
Saber was first in line, holding the neck of his Martin, his stride confident. The sleeves of his black T-shirt were rolled up, revealing his biceps. His faded jeans accentuated his long legs. His brown hair was perfectly tousled, no doubt by the stylist. His profile was stern, his gaze focused straight ahead.
Storm was next. Noticeably taller than his brother, he eclipsed him and all other men in my eyes. It wasn’t merely his height, his muscular build, or even all his colorful tattoos. It was just him.
His leather jacket nowhere in sight, Storm wore only his black guitar strap, his gleaming ebony SG, and his dark jeans belted low on his narrow hips. All the rest of him—his sculpted physique and inked skin—was gloriously displayed. But what made him the moon blocking out the sun was the sheer magnitude of his presence. Storm was a category-five force to be reckoned with, whatever name he used.
Shield followed in Storm’s significant wake. With tousled hair, a black shirt, and jeans, he was a mirror image of Saber. Only he wore a casual expression and spun his drumsticks in one hand.
My brother wore his favorite faded Dirt Dogs T-shirt with his jeans. He had Ash’s lime-green Fender on a strap. I didn’t think Ash was ever going to get that vintage bass guitar back. Cork was last in the OB Hardy line, but so not least. Grinning, he was a sunbeam to rival the moon. Even as