Jamison didn’t know if that was what had kept Ryder away from her all these years, but she knew it had worked on a bunch of other guys. And since she’d spent most of high school hanging at her brother’s gigs, it had meant her social life had been particularly dismal.

Not that that had changed much, even when the guys weren’t around, but still. It was a valid theory and she was sticking to it.

“Jared’s a good guy,” Simon added with a clumsy pat to her shoulder.

“He is,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t happen to know which dressing room belongs to Shaken Dirty, do you?”

“I think they’re on the other side of the stage.” He gestured vaguely to the left. “Past the entrance to the sound booth.”

They weren’t quite the explicit directions she’d been hoping for, but they would have to do. Especially since he was already closing the door, his attention very obviously somewhere else.

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, Jamison pulled up Jared’s number and headed off in the direction she thought Simon had gestured. She’d hoped to surprise her brother by coming tonight instead of tomorrow, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. Backstage pass or not, she couldn’t just wander around all night knocking on doors and hoping she ran into him.

Stopping for a second at the end of the hallway, she fired off a quick text, then waited impatiently—and in vain—for an answer. Shaken Dirty had been off-stage for fifteen minutes now. Surely Jared should be back in possession of his phone by now. Unless he was in the shower. Or having mad phone sex with his fiancée, something she didn’t want to think about but that was completely believable.

The thought made her a little sick, not because of Jared, obviously, but because that girl’s words kept replaying in her head. Ryder, kinky. Ryder, all mine. Was he even now tying up some barely legal teenybopper and having his dark and wicked way with her? Ugh.

She texted Jared again, more emphatically this time. The last thing she needed was to walk into the middle of that.

She waited a few more minutes, watching as dozens of girls streamed past her, all in groups of two or three. Most of them wore enough makeup to single-handedly supply a MAC store and so few clothes it was a wonder they hadn’t developed hypothermia waiting for their turn to come in. Others were fresh-faced and thrilled to be there and reminded her so much of her high school and college selves that it was painful to look at them. Some days it felt like she’d spent half her life waiting for Ryder to notice her.

Seconds later, Darkness began to play onstage, and Jamison finally decided to hell with it. She crossed the bustling backstage area, doing her best to stay out of the way of the working roadies. A couple of times she’d started to ask for directions, but everyone had looked so busy that she hadn’t wanted to bother them. Plus, the music was so loud back here that they probably wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway—especially since they all wore earplugs.

She was just wishing she’d thought to bring her own set when she stumbled upon a long, winding hallway much like the one she’d entered from. Figuring this was the area Simon had been gesturing to, she headed about halfway down and then knocked on the door that mirrored his. Nothing happened, but she didn’t know if that was because the dressing room was empty or because of the level of sound pouring off the stage.

She pounded again, and this time Darkness wrapped up their opening song at the same time her knuckles were rapping on the wood. They began to banter with the crowd, giving the eardrum-splitting music a rest for a few moments. Thank God.

Seconds later, the door flew open and Max Casey, lead singer for Oblivious, stood there, a grin on his way-too-handsome face. He was shirtless and barefoot, with the top button of his jeans unfastened and a look on his face that screamed trouble.

Jamison knew it was stupid, juvenile, but for long seconds, she couldn’t find her voice. This was Max Casey, singer of one of her favorite bands ever, and he was staring at her like he wanted to go a round right here in the middle of the hallway. She wasn’t tempted in the slightest, but still, all that angst and intensity was nearly palpable. What was it with lead singers anyway? It was like they shot out pheromones that turned every woman within smelling distance into a blithering idiot.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping backward and gesturing her inside.

“No, thanks,” she answered, proud of the fact that she’d managed to untie the knots in her tongue and actually speak in something that resembled English. She wasn’t interested, but she was female, and she’d be lying if she said he hadn’t had an impact on her. “I’m looking for Shaken Dirty.”

“What do you want with them? I promise, we’re a lot more fun.” A chorus of laughter sounded behind him, seeming to underscore his point.

“I’m sure you are, but Jared—”

“Forget Jared. I’m better in bed—and out of it, too.”

What the hell? She tried to picture Ryder or Jared saying something so douchey but couldn’t manage it. Maybe she was more naïve than she thought.

Or maybe Max Casey was just a really big sleaze. Disgust replacing some of her involuntary excitement at meeting him, Jamison took a couple of steps backward. “If you could just point me in the right direction…”

A flicker of anger crossed his face but was gone so quickly that she decided she had imagined it. Especially when he said, “I can do better than that. If you really want to see Jared, I’ll take you there. Things can get pretty confusing back here.”

That was an understatement. Still she hesitated as, behind him, two girls called his name in pouty voices. “I don’t want to take you away from who you were doing.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Talk about a Freudian slip. “What! I meant what you were doing.”

But Max just laughed and pulled the door closed behind him. “They’ll keep.” He stepped closer, put a hand on the small of her back as he guided her farther down the hallway.

Jamison stiffened at the proprietary touch, and the bitter scent of scotch that clung to him. But when she tried to move away, he wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her into his side.

“Seriously,” she told him as alarm bells went off in her head. “Jared’s my brother. If you’ll just point me towards his dressing room—”

“Lighten up. I told you I’d take you there and I will.” The hand around her waist grew tighter and that’s when she went from being slightly alarmed to seriously starting to freak out.

Still, she couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from Max freakin’ Casey. Especially not when a bunch of people were only about thirty feet away. At the same time, though, she was a big proponent of better safe than sorry.

“Really. I’ve got it.” She moved away, this time shoving at his restraining hand until he was forced to let her go. Then she pulled out her phone. “Jared just texted me,” she lied. “I know where I’m going now.”

“You don’t need to run off so quickly. Stay and talk to me for a few minutes.”

“Jared’s expecting me.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t like she planned to hang around and argue with Max. Not after getting her first good glimpse of his eyes. He was high on a lot more than scotch—and it didn’t look like a particularly nice high, at that.“Thanks for the help,” she told him, starting down the hallway at a fast clip. She’d only gone a few steps when he grabbed her from behind.

Pushed her face-first up against the wall.

Covered her body with his own.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling once again like she was trapped in an alternate reality.

“You’re going the wrong way.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back of her neck.

She hunched up her shoulders, tried to squirm away. But he was a lot stronger than he looked and it only took a few moments for her to realize she wasn’t going anywhere if he didn’t want her to.

“Come on, Max, let go!” She tried to cajole her freedom out of him, but the pounding rhythms had once again begun to roll off stage and she was reduced to shouting at him.

He just laughed, then put his mouth next to her ear and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get to Jared soon enough. I just want a taste, to see if you’re as nice and sweet as they all say you are.”

“Let me go!” she screamed, struggling in earnest now that it had begun to sink in that Max didn’t plan to take no for an answer. He was too high or too conceited to understand that she really didn’t want him. That she wasn’t playing hard to get.

Or maybe he just didn’t care. She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered now was getting out of there before she got the full Max Casey treatment. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he was attractive.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded as he pressed even closer. “I’m Max Casey. Nobody says no to me.” He sounded so baffled that she might have felt sorry for him if she wasn’t desperately terrified that he was going to rape her right there in the hallway, thirty feet away from dozens of people who couldn’t hear her cries for help.

“No!” she shouted. “No! No! No!” She brought her foot up, tried to catch his shin with her spiked heel—the stupid things should be good for something—but he only moved closer, so that his body was flush against hers and she had no wiggle room. She nearly gagged when she felt him pressed against her.

“Stop it, Max!” she said, jerking from side to side as hard as she could. But he was holding her so tightly she couldn’t get much traction. “Stop it!” she begged. “Please, please, stop!”