Page 2 of Saving the Rockstar

I was just rounding another blind corner, my chest heaving with gasps, when I slammed into what felt like a brick wall.

A brick wall with arms. Arms that shot out to grab me by the biceps as I bounced off that unforgiving slab of muscle, nearly faceplanting onto the floor.

"Whoa there," a deep, startled voice said above my head. "Where's the fire, kid?"

I snapped my head up, an apology already forming on my lips, only for the words to die in my throat as I caught sight of the man currently keeping me vertical.

He was, in a word, gorgeous.

Towering and broad shouldered, with a jawline that could cut glass, he looked like he'd been carved from some classical sculptor's lustiest fever dream. But it was his eyes that really sucked the air from my lungs - like sunlight through a forest canopy.

Those impossible eyes were currently assessing me with a mix of irritation and concern.

"You can't be back here," he said slowly. "This area is for authorized personnel only."

His grip on my arms tightened, and I registered the crisp lines of his all-black suit, the earpiece snaking beneath the collar of his shirt. He had to be part of the security team, someSecret Service wannabehopped up on his own inflated sense of importance.

Under any other circumstances, I would have rolled my eyes and casually flexed out of his hold, sauntering off to find a less controlling corner to have a panic attack in peace. But I couldn't seem to make my tongue cooperate.

I probably looked like some wide-eyed, sweat-soaked damsel in distress. But something in my expression seemed to break through his cold exterior.

"Hey," he said, more gently now. "You alright?"

I just stared up at him in panic, a wheeze escaping my throat. I didn't have the words to explain the whirlwind ripping through my skull, the crippling certainty that I was about to shake apart in front of this handsome stranger.

But I didn't have to say anything. Because the next thing I knew, he was herding me down the hallway with firm strides, those huge hands shifting from my arms to my shoulder blades like he could ward off an anxiety attack through touch alone.

"Alright, let's get you somewhere quiet," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "My name is Jared, by the way. Now take some nice, deep breaths. You're going to be just fine."

And to my shock, I almost believed him. There was something about that steady presence at my back, the warm solidity of his touch, that made me feel grounded.

He steered me into a small, dimly lit room, the muffled thump of the music barely audible through the heavy double doors. With careful, deliberate movements, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it around my shaking shoulders, the residual body heat seeping into my skin like a balm.

As he settled the fabric around me, his fingertips brushed the bare skin at the nape of my neck, and even through the haze of panic, I felt something like an electric shock run down myspine at the contact. It was like a bolt of pure, molten heat, short-circuiting the noise in my head.

My breathing slowed, my heart steadying as I blinked up at him. He was so close I could feel his warm breath on my forehead, could see the faint beginnings of stubble shadowing the hard angles of his jaw.

Oh god, what the fuck was I doing? Panting and shaking in some stranger's arms like a distressed damsel, practically gagging for the barest scrap of comfort like the pathetic charity case I was.

A sick tide of shame rose in me, for letting myself be vulnerable before a complete stranger. I felt my face flush with heat as I abruptly wrenched myself out of Jared's gentle hold.

"Get off me," I snarled, nearly choking on the sudden, ugly flare of anger in my throat. "Who the fuck do you think you are, manhandling me like that?"

Jared blinked, his brows knitting together in confusion at my sudden about-face. He took a careful step back, hands raised in supplication.

"Easy," he said slowly, like he was trying to soothe a rabid dog. "I wasn't trying to manhandle anyone. You looked like you were about to pass out, I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," I spat, shrugging off his jacket like it burned me.

Jared's face hardened, his jaw clenching as he visibly struggled to rein in his temper. "Listen, kid-"

"I'm not a kid!"

"Fine, listen man," he ground out, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. "I don't know what your damage is, but I was justdoing my job. You were in a restricted area, clearly in distress. Protocol dictates-"

I barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and grating. "Oh, protocol dictates, does it?"

Jared's lips thinned, his gaze turning stern. I could practically see him mentally reclassifying me, slotting me into thecrazy diva rock starbox with all the other tantruming toddlers in tight pants he'd had the misfortune of meeting.

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