Rock Into Me by Susan Arden

Chapter One
    Alana held the microphone out toward the audience, amplifying the applause already palpable in her body, ricocheting in her racing heartbeat. The dizzying result left her with a mad adrenaline rush. A blitzkrieg to her senses.
    The back of her throat burned. She powered on through the final lyrics, refusing to care, with the storm of cheering and eardrum-piercing whistles tonight. Pushing the envelope, she’d hit and held notes somewhere near the stratosphere, sending her pulse into orbit, and leaving her feeling giddy.
    The revolving lights swirled beams of fuchsia, yellow, and blue, casting a rainbow over the stage. Alana flashed a peace sign at the crowd and threw scads of kisses after finishing the band’s latest rock ballad. Wiping the droplets of sweat from her brow, she replaced the microphone on the stand while a fresh stream of perspiration dripped down between her breasts. The energy in the room buoyed her spirits, and even her pinched toes hurt less.
    Plastering a vivacious—albeit well-practiced—smile on her face, she waved to the crowd. The audience continued to applaud, whistle, and hoot. She inhaled, trying to make out the hazy shadows in the glaring light, and smiled brighter at the persistent chanting.
    Someone yelled out, “Orion rocks!” Her heartbeat soared higher. For years, no one had known of the band, and this summer things had started to happen. Fast. Bookings, promos, radio spots, and their songs were getting serious airtime.
    The fans were going wild but, truthfully, she was clueless about who was out in the audience tonight. Her name was yelled. Repeatedly. This time, a man’s voice rose above the clamor. “Alana, baby, sing another song!”
    A dozen stage lights overhead broiled her skin. Wearing a gold lamé dress and thigh-high crème calfskin boots, she fantasized about diving into the pool back at the hotel. She blew a kiss into the sharp glare, having learned that she should never hold up her hand to shield her eyes. If the audience found out she couldn’t see them, their response tended to stagnate.
    Alana directed her gaze down into the only section of the audience where she could make direct eye contact. Crowded tables were only feet in front of the stage. If she wasn’t careful, this was also the section that could peer up her dress. It was a fine line she walked; getting too close to the edge tonight, she’d unwittingly showed more flesh than she’d intended.
    The clapping and stamping had gotten livelier over the last few seconds, so loud it reverberated in her chest. A cloud lifted and her nervousness abated. She laughed wholeheartedly. Her smile grew more and more genuine with the thunderous reception unfolding before the band. Her wide grin worked the muscles in her cheeks. The infectious response from the audience was exhilarating, leaving her encased in a bubble, with a captivating social contact high. 
    Alana scanned the front row of tables, waving to the smiling people who returned her stage affection. Her flitting gaze snagged on a pair of dark eyes. Her gaze swam over a chiseled, masculine face that made her breath catch. The man returned her stare. Their gazes didn’t casually connect—more like snapped and locked, detonating a jolt to her stomach. Talk about gorgeous. The guy seated in the first row was some version of Gentlemen’s Quarterly -handsome. Unlike the rest of the fans, he appeared less than enthralled to be seated in front of her. If anything, GQ looked like he was in agony.
    Her smile faltered. The man cocked an eyebrow and solemnly shook his head. He had to be responding to the person next to him. But why did he continue staring up at her? And in such a punitive manner, as though she was doing something offensive…to him?
    Alana glanced away from him, hoping to shake the disconcerting effect. The image of his expression seared her memory, harshly lingered, and threatened to deflate her mood. Definitely, he was raining on her party.