Rise (Rock God 1)

“I don’t want you smoking.” He looks down at me and my heart flutters. His brown eyes are almost black in this light. His hair is wild, and all I want is for this moment to never end. If I could stop time, I would.

Wait, did he just tell me I can’t smoke?

“Granger? You need a coat, man. You’ll freeze your balls off.”

“I’m not afraid of the cold.” He smirks, but they’re right—Rhys is only wearing a faded black thermal.

“You need a coat. What are you do—” I say to his back since we’re on the go. He bangs the doors open. A mob moves in, almost as if they’re attacking us. It’s the only way I can describe this madness. They’re like a pack of hungry wolves, stalking him. Screaming at how much they love him, and can they have his autograph. People are taking pictures with their phones while I cover my face with my hand.

Usually, Rhys will talk to his fans. Not today. He maneuvers us forward, not engaging. His hand tightens on mine and I cling to him with both hands, giving up on hiding my face. Clearly my boots were not made for the ice.

“This is just fucking insanity,” I yell at his back. My only answer is his hand squeezing mine as he leads us to a large, black SUV.

The celebrity chasers are screaming at us, so I bury my face in his shoulder. When he opens the passenger door, I jump in. Thankfully the SUV is covered in frost, so as soon as he shuts the door, no one can see inside.

Jesus Christ, they’re ten times worse with Rhys than they are with Nuke. He gets bombarded.

I can’t believe this, but I might actually feel bad for him. Which is ridiculous because this is what he wanted. This is what he’s worked so hard for, dreamed of, but at what cost? Because what I’m seeing is a man who has everything, and yet he’s drowning.

This is why my brother decided to leave the band. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t to be a rock star.

Inside the SUV it’s like a freezer. In all the madness, I barely registered how bitter cold it is outside. Rhys looks over at me, both of us slightly panting, allowing me to see our breaths.

“You okay?” His brown eyes sweep my face.

The craziness ceases, and it’s just us. Suddenly I’m not cold anymore. Beneath his stare, I’m on fire.

“Yes.” It comes out raspy.

His eyes dip to my mouth.

Oh God, this is it. This is when he kisses me. I can feel it, thick, powerful.

Rhys Granger wants me.

I lean slightly forward, forgetting that people are chanting his name. Not even caring that they’re scraping the snow and frost off the front of the window.

Kiss me.

I close my eyes. His body heat caresses me as I wait.

Kiss me.

“Gia,” his voice rumbles, forcing my eyes open.

What the hell? I’m almost too confused to understand that maybe I was reading him wrong. I stare at him.

“Put your seatbelt on.” He turns on the engine. The defroster blasts on, causing me to jump. The warm air blisters my already-sensitive cheeks, which burn from humiliation. What is wrong with me?

He places a hand on my seat’s headrest to look out the rear window, his eyes locking with mine for a second as my heart leaps to my throat. Then he looks back, and I turn to watch the sea of strangers chant their love for him.

God, I’m no better than the groupies. To be honest, I am a groupie. I’m following a man around believing that he’s the one. With some difficulty, I try to buckle myself in, but my poor fingers are numb.

Warm hands push mine away. As if I’m an annoying child, he quickly buckles me in, then spits out, “Did Cynthia not get you gloves?”

Cynthia? Who’s Cynthia? My brain is crazy right now. God, Cynthia is the band’s stylist. I’m losing it. Wait, is he insinuating he was the one who got me the Sherpa coat?

Rhys glances at me, frowning. “Gia? Do you have gloves?”

“Did you have Cynthia buy me this coat?”

He ignores my question, lays on the horn, and puts it in drive. “Let me know if I’m going to hit anyone.”

I put my numb hands under my legs hoping that he turned on the heated seats. My ass is starting to warm up, so I guess he did. People wave and surprisingly do move out of the way at last. Maybe they’ve figured out he’s actually leaving.

“Holy shit.” I stare in shock. “Oh. My. God.”

A woman and her friend are jumping up and down. One pointing frantically at the friend who’s topless with Rock and God tattooed, one on each breast.

“What?” He smirks at me. “You wouldn’t tattoo my name on your tits?”