Pure Iron (17 page)

“That’s my wife, not a groupie,” Mick said calmly.

The woman nodded and instructed her assistants to make note to provide Iron Falcon with one spouse pass for backstage access.

“Any more spouses?” she asked, her voice clipped. At their negative response, she rattled off some instructions to her assistants. “Better do your sound check now,” she advised.

Having checked them off on her list of things to do, she moved on to find the next group. Her assistants trailed behind.

Keeping to her chair, Sonia watched as the band took to the stage and went through a sound check with practiced efficiency. The two bands following them tested their instruments against the speakers and other electronics to make sure everything worked as it should. Then Barry Gilverie took the stage. The event organizers had saved the biggest name for the last act to ensure attendees stayed—and bought food and drinks from the concessionaires. The legendary guitarist let loose with a ripple of sound instantly familiar and evocative of his best work. From beyond the long, heavy curtains shielding the stage from the crowd rose an enthusiastic cry of excitement from myriad throats. With a nod, the musician unplugged his guitar and left the stage.

“Welcome, Monterrey!” shouted a woman’s voice over the loudspeakers.

The crowd erupted into exciting screaming and cheering.

The announcer greeted the attendees again, quickly reviewed the safety regulations, cautioned attendees that all video recording and photographing of participating acts was strictly prohibited, and introduced the first band. The members of Iron Falcon stepped aside to let the fresh-faced, eager band walk onto the stage as the curtains were opened.

“Give a great welcome to Play Hard!” the announcer shouted.

The crowd cheered and clapped and whistled. Being new and relatively unknown, Play Hard had a short set list of three songs. Sonia thought they played well, but were a bit rough and unpolished. They also played covers from other artists, rather than their own music.

The evening progressed. Band after band took to the stage, the set lists growing longer as the performers increased in fame and popularity.

“Hello, everyone!” Mick roared into the microphone when Iron Falcon was called onstage. The audience response was deafening. “Do you read the tabloids?” He waited a second, then shouted, “Well, you should! I want to introduce you all to a very special guest of Iron Falcon … my brand new bride! Give her some love, folks!”

Mick extended his hand to Sonia, who walked toward him on shaking knees. When she reached him, he took her hand, drew her close, and kissed her passionately. The crowd went wild, even those women who had greeted the announcement with gasps of surprise, horror, and disappointment.

Dazzled by both the kiss, the deafening cheers, and the hot lights shining in her eyes, Sonia gave a little wave of her hand to acknowledge the raucous greeting.

“You’re set, sweetheart. Go take a seat and be ready when the set ends, because I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he whispered into her ear. She gasped and walked with as much dignity as she could back to her folding chair. Before she had disappeared behind the side curtains, Iron Falcon had launched into their latest chart topper.

She jerked, startled with a warm hand landed on her bare shoulder. She recognized that heavy ring on the forefinger and gulped nervously when she looked up. But Barry Gilverie did not look down or meet her gaze. He simply stood there, hand on her shoulder, until Iron Falcon’s set had finished their set. While he stood there, his hand possessively resting on her shoulder, other musicians and roadies walked past. Some sent covetous looks their way, others expressed some confusion. But no one else approached. Then he gave her shoulder a light squeeze and walked away.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

The five men practically vibrated with energy as they walked off the stage. Three of them had torn off their shirts and their bare torsos gleamed with sweat. Only Angelo and Jack remained fully clothed and their shirts clung like paint to their sweaty bodies. None of the men paused in their stride to pick up any of the panties or bras that had been thrown onto the stage. Janitors quickly swept the discarded undergarments aside with large brooms.

Mick grabbed Sonia’s hand and towed her along as the band walked toward their bus. Sonia could not help but notice that, despite the efforts of security, a crowd of mostly women had gathered near the band’s tour bus. They shouted and pleaded for autographs. Kristof’s hand cupped the back of one blonde’s neck and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widened and she nodded eagerly. His upper lip curled in an expression reminiscent of Elvis Presley as he gripped her arm and hauled her to the other side of the bus. Jack cut a girl from the herd. Within a minute, had her back plastered against the bus’ metal side and her legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped into her. Davis and Angelo showed slightly more restraint, finding their girls for the night and taking them inside the bus.

Mick handed her up into the truck. She reached over the drag the seatbelt across her body and fasten it as he crossed to the driver’s side.

“I can’t wait,” he growled, his voice guttural and rough as he unfastened his jeans and shoved them down his hips. He unbuckled the seatbelt and dragged her across the bench seat over his lap. “Please say you’re ready,” he growled.

Sonia felt the moisture gather along with heady excitement and she nodded.

“Good,” he grated and reached under her skirt to yank her panties down. With a minimum of fumbling she was open to him, straddling his lap. Sonia set her hands on his sweat-slick shoulders to balance herself as he lifted her up and lowered her onto his erection. He hissed as her heat enveloped him. Holding her hips in his strong grip, he drove upward, withdrew, and up again. He kept a fast, hard pace that had her grunting softly and him grunting loudly.

“Mick,” she called out, her voice thin with need.

“Cum on me, baby,” he grunted as his pubis slammed against her wet flesh and the distinct sounds of fornication filled the cab. He increased his pace, losing himself in the exquisite pleasure of her body. “Cum!”

And she did. With a long, drawn out groan, her body flooded his with a rush of clutching muscle and hot cream. He shouted as his released boiled up and over until he leaned his head back against the headrest and gulped air. Sonia leaned her forehead against his shoulder, her tongue darting out to taste him in tiny licks that made him shudder.

“It’s a good thing this truck has vinyl upholstery,” she murmured as she felt their combined fluids drip from her body.

Mick could not help but laugh weakly at her allusion to cleaning up their mess.

“Let’s go home, Mick.”

He brought head forward and kissed her hair. With a gentleness not shown minutes ago, he lifted her off his lap and settled her back into the passenger seat. He started the vehicle as she buckled herself in, then closed her eyes when he reached over to stroke her beneath her skirt. Her legs fell open to accommodate him.

She climaxed twice more before they reached the cottage. They’d taken but one step inside the cottage when Mick picked her up, plastered her against the door, and drove himself into her body. After fucking her against the door, they managed to move a few feet where he bent her over the back of the sofa. Then he took her against a wall and again in the shower. And finally they fell into bed.

Sonia was sure she’d never be able to wear that dress again.

Much later as she lay half asleep in Mick’s arms, she wondered how he would cope with the after-concert adrenaline if she weren’t on tour with him. The obvious answer did not offer any reassurance.

Maybe she should decline the incredible opportunity to work in Chef Kilrook’s kitchen and accompany Mick on tour.

Sonia’s brain stilled chewed on that thought when she finally woke late in the morning. Mick lay sprawled beside her, still sound asleep. She winced as she levered herself out of bed. Every muscle ached from the strenuous exertions of the night before. She walked slowly to the bathroom, every step causing twinges and drawing her attention to still swollen and ultra-sensitive tissues.

He’d been rough with her the previous day. She’d liked it, though, and wondered what that said about her. She continued to mull on that, too, as she luxuriated beneath the hot spray.

Mick snored softly as she dressed. After combing her wet hair and braiding it, she went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. She turned on the radio, found a station she liked, turned the volume down low, and listened absently as she worked. Mention of Iron Falcon caught her attention. She turned up the volume a little and focused on the deejay’s enthusiastic patter discussing the music festival. She smiled when interviews with festival attendees gushed excitedly over the unexpected addition of Iron Falcon to the previous evening’s program.

“And what did you think when lead guitarist Mick Hendriksen introduced his new wife?” the deejay asked the young woman whom he was interviewing.

“Talk about unexpected!” the woman squeaked, then laughed. “I mean, he’s so sexy and he’s got a huge reputation for being a ladies man. I just can’t believe he got married!”

Sonia’s smile disappeared.

“Well, I suppose that’s the question of the hour, folks,” the deejay said. “Will this totally surprise marriage last? Can Mick Hendriksen, lead guitarist of Iron Falcon, remain faithful to his bride?”

Warm arms slipped around her from behind and held her snugly against the hard-muscled body of her husband. “Yes, I can,” he reassured her, resting his cheek on her head. “And I will, baby, I will.”

She relaxed against him, choosing to believe in his assertion of fidelity despite the nasty little voice in her mind warning her not to be foolish and gullible.

“Are you always so … passionate … after a concert?” she asked tentatively.

“Oftentimes, yes,” he admitted, knowing where the conversation would lead. “But I can work off the energy in other ways.” He stretched an arm out, drawing her attention to the ropy muscles in his forearm, the bulging biceps and triceps. “On tour I spend a lot of time in the gym of whatever hotel where we happen to be staying. I don’t look like this because playing guitar requires that much physical exertion.”

“I could call Chef Kilrook and let him know that I can’t work for him, that I’ll be accompany you on the tour,” she offered, though her heart sank to reject such an incredible opportunity.

“Baby, I can’t deny that I’ll be tempted,” he said honestly, wrapping his arm back around her. They both deserved candor. “There will be sexy woman all over the place, wherever we go, all of them ready and willing to crawl into bed with any band member. But they won’t be you and I won’t want them.”

He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I would love to have you with me on the tour, but I don’t want you to forfeit the incredible opportunity you have with Kilrook.”

She turned around in his embrace and tilted her face upward. Worry clouded her eyes. “Can we do this, Mick? Can we maintain a long distance marriage?”

He kissed her tenderly and said, “I can be strong knowing you’re waiting for me. Can you be strong for me?”

She nodded and buried her face in his bare chest. Mick pressed another kiss into her hair.

“This has been crazy fast, I know,” he murmured. “But I love you and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me.”

“Show me,” she said, her lips moving against the suddenly very sensitive skin over his breastbone. “Take me to bed and show me.”

Without another word, he led her into the bedroom and made slow, sweet, tender love to his wife. Somehow that was more fulfilling than the adrenaline fueled fucking the night before. The morning’s lovemaking was about commitment and affection, not about the pleasurable release of a surfeit of energy.

Two more weeks, Mick thought as they lay snuggled together. In just two more weeks, Sonia would start her new job and Mick would be playing at Caesar’s Palace. They’d have another three weeks to cement their relationship before he left for six months on a worldwide tour.

He closed his eyes for a minute. Touring was hard work. Living in buses and hotels got old really quickly, but it was part of the job. After all, sales of albums and single songs didn’t pay the bills; ticket sales did. That’s where the money was. Merchandise added a small share. Iron Falcon’s popularity was rising fast, but they hadn’t reached iconic status. One wouldn’t find Iron Falcon’s logo merchandise at Walmart or Target, except maybe their CDs.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him of its emptiness. He shifted and lightly kissed Sonia’s soft cheek, still flushed from multiple orgasms. God, she was so incredibly responsive to his touch. The very hint of a thought that she might respond just as readily to another man’s touch ignited flames of possessive fury deep in his gut and built the urge to plunge into her body to imprint his possession upon her.

His stomach rumbled again, determined not to be ignored in favor of his dick, which twitched and swelled with obvious intent. Gingerly so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, Mick got out of bed. He quickly took his second shower of the morning and then headed for the kitchen where he quickly fixed scrambled eggs and toast.

When his belly had been satisfied, he decided to take a walk along the beach. He put two steps out the door before realizing that Sonia would worry if he had not returned by the time she woke. He went back inside, found a piece of scrap paper, and jotted down a note: “Went for a walk on the beach. Be back soon. Love, Mick.”

A couple of minutes later, saltwater washed over his feet and splashed the rolled up cuffs of his jeans and the midday sun beat warmly down on his bare shoulders and back. The ocean breeze played with his hair, smelling fresh and invigorating as he breathed it in. He rolled his shoulders and enjoyed the leisurely stretch of muscle as he walked.

Surprisingly, this stretch of beach was sparsely populated. As he walked, only three joggers passed him, two of them raising a hand in a friendly wave. He walked past a handful of families, small children building sandcastles and young teens chasing each other as their parents and chaperones looked on, conversed among themselves, or read. None of them paid him any mind other than a cursory glance.

The anonymity felt good.

He rolled his shoulders again, the muscles feeling warm and loose beneath his sun-warmed skin. He rolled his head, closing his eyes against the sun overhead and enjoying the popping in his neck as the bones cracked. When he opened his eyes, he realized he’d acquired a companion.

“Hi,” she said with a charming smile.

“Hello,” he replied.

A small hand took hold of his.

“I’m Caitlin. Who are you?”

“I’m Mick.”

The girl blinked her big brown eyes at him, tilted her head, and pursed her lips as she considered his answer.

“My sister likes you. She thinks you’re pretty,” the girl blurted with the disconcerting honesty of the very young.

“I’m sure your sister is worried that you’re wandering around here by yourself,” he said gently and squatted down to look the child in the eye. “Where is your sister?”

“That way,” Caitlin said and pointed behind them with a chubby arm that was turning pink with sunburn.

“Why don’t you take me there so I can say hi?” he suggested, knowing that the child’s parents or babysitter was probably frantic.

Caitlin considered his request, then nodded in agreement. “Do you want a lemonade?” she asked as she skipped by his side. “Mommy makes good lemonade.”

“Sure,” he agreed and hoped that her mommy wouldn’t call the cops on him. “Show me the way, moppet.”

“My name is Caitlin, not moppet.”

He gave her his trademarked, charming smile. Like every other female, she melted beneath its potency. “You look like a moppet to me,” he teased lightly. “A cute one.”

The little girl pouted. “Everyone says I’m cute, ‘cept Lisa. She says I’m annoying.”

“I am sure you are never annoying,” he replied patiently. “Now, where are we going?”

“My legs are tired. Can I ride on your shoulders?”

He looked back down at her and noticed that her chubby little legs were pink with sunburn as well. Too bad he wasn’t wearing a shirt, or he’d use that to cover her. Still squatting in front of her, he suggested an alternative, “How about we race?”

“But my legs are tired,” she objected, thrusting her bottom lip out in a big pout.

“How am I going to follow you back to your mommy if I don’t lead me?” he asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. Damn, he thought, of all the times to forget his cell phone, this one took the cake.

“Pick me up,” the girl merely insisted.

Bowing to the inevitable, because he desperately wanted to avoid a temper tantrum, he picked up the little girl and set her on his shoulders. Her soft, plump thighs cradled the back of his neck and her fat, little feet locked at his throat. He felt her lean forward, her chubby body pressing against the back of his head. A plump little hand shot out from beside his temple and pointed.

“That way, Mick,” she said peremptorily.

“All right, moppet,” he said and rose to his full height and began walking as directed. Caitlin grabbed fistfuls of his hair and jerked on it, giggling and shouting, “Run, horsey! Run!”

Mick stubbornly walked.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked, but the girl actually did point him to a small beach cottage similar to the one he rented before she slumped over for an impromptu snooze. He gently drew her off his shoulders and carried her in his arms. He strode up the front porch steps and knocked on the front door.

“Hello?” he called out. He knocked again. “Hello, is anyone there?”

A woman who looked to be in her middle thirties appeared. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. Those eyes widened with alarm at his appearance, then latched onto the little girl he carried.

“Caitlin!” the woman howled and lunged for her daughter.

Mick took a quick step backward even as the child was snatched from his arms.

“I found her wandering about a mile or so up-beach,” he explained as the woman tearfully remonstrated with the sleepy child. “She’s sunburned. You might want to treat that.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Caitlin’s mother repeated tearfully.

“Sara!” the woman shouted, bringing a thud of feet that skittered to a stop. The feet belonged to a shapely high school girl who squealed with excitement the second she recognized their visitor. Caitlin’s mother said sternly, “You are lucky that this nice man found your sister and brought her here unharmed.” She looked at Mick and swallowed any reservations she might have had about admitting a large, muscled, tattooed stranger into her home. “Please, come in. The least I can do is get you some lemonade to drink. You must be thirsty.”

“Mom, you can’t offer him lemonade,” the teenager protested in embarrassment. “That’s Mick Hendriksen! With Iron Falcon!” She squealed again and bounded on her tip-toes. “Is the rest of the band here with you? Dad keeps some bourbon on hand. Do you want that instead of lemonade?”

“Sara!” the woman admonished in horror. “Call your father at once to let him know that Caitlin’s been returned to us.”

She looked up at Mick, who hovered uncertainly near the door. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. She’s at that age, at least I keep telling myself that it’s only a phase she’s going through.” She stepped back to invite him inside. “Please, do come in. Something cool to drink would be the least I can do.”

He stepped inside the air conditioned cottage, hearing Sara squeal excitedly in the background. “A glass of water would be fine, thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” the woman said. “If you’ll wait just a moment while I settle Caitlin in her bed?”

He nodded and stayed put while the woman walked away with her sleeping child. He looked around him, noting the plethora of electronic entertainment devices. It wasn’t hard to guess that Sara had been occupied with the gadgets instead of babysitting her little sister, who likely had gotten bored and simply wandered off. He shuddered to think of what could have happened to the child.

The woman returned, walked straight to the kitchen, and poured him a glass of water from the spigot. She handed it to him and he took a few large swallows, enjoying the glide of the cold liquid down his throat.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad Caitlin’s all right. I should be going.”

“No, you can’t go! I need an autograph!” Sara shouted.

“Sara! Mind your manners,” her mother chided.

“But, Mom, you don’t understand. This is Mick Hendriksen of Iron Falcon. I have a poster of his band on my bedroom wall. He’s so sexy.”

“Really, I should leave,” he murmured and stepped backward and set the half-emptied glass of water down.

“That doesn’t excuse your rudeness,” her mother hissed. She turned to look at the young man and blinked as though suddenly realizing that her home had been invaded by something very handsome and virile and shirtless.