Saturday 3:47 p.m. United Airlines seat 3B, in route to Chicago

Sam felt like crying.  She'd been stuck on a plane, at the gate, for more than four hours now because of some mechanical problem nobody would really explain in detail.  They probably just didn't want to start a panic.  United's answer was to just let that free alcohol start flowing, which did absolutely nothing for Sam.  A glass of free wine wasn't going to make her day--their day--any better.  This was supposed to be the afternoon she and Russell had their much anticipated reunion.

He had to be wondering where the hell she was.  She was supposed to have met him two hours ago.  She hadn't even been able to call him because of course they boarded everyone first so they wouldn't lose their passengers to another airline, and once they were all stuck there like cattle, they were told they weren't allowed to use their cell phones.  Sam attempted to risk it anyway but she'd had her phone confiscated by a snarky flight attendant for her trouble.  Bitch.

And so she sat hour after hour.  Going nowhere.  She was anxious and frazzled, and much to the annoyance of her fellow passengers, she couldn't keep from tapping her foot in a subconscious attempt to bleed off some of her nervous energy.  The only thing that kept her from weeping with relief when the plane finally took off was the memory of that horrible picture the tabloids had taken of her with puffy eyes and a pink nose.  She had no desire to look like that when she finally found her way to him. 

Sam had dressed carefully in the comfortable low slung jeans he liked so much, paired with sexy black heeled sandals and a strappy black tank.  Russell had a thing for the naked skin of a woman's back.  Well, he had a thing for naked women.  Period.  But he especially liked the soft feminine curve of a woman's spine.  And Sam wanted to knock him dead.  Her only jewelry was the opal ring he'd given her, suspended from her neck by a delicate gold chain, and of course, her traveling ring, which she wore so often she usually forgot it was there.  A chic denim jacket finished the look, but it was much too stuffy in the plane to wear it that hot august afternoon, and it was tucked away with her purse and the magazine she'd brought-- that she'd already read three times through before they'd even left the gate. 

On the up shot, she'd been so excited to see him again that she'd hardly been able to eat a bite for the last few weeks.  She was more slender than she'd ever been in her life, and she was glad of it.  He might have appreciated her looks before, but she knew his taste ran toward slender and petite and she certainly looked the part now.  Sam looked great and she knew it.  And she was dying to see him.  To run her hands through his long sexy hair and feel his scruffy beard tickle her skin as they kissed.  When she closed her eyes, she could almost feel it.  Could this day crawl by any slower?

The flight seemed to take forever, though they made decent time once they actually got off the ground, but despite the fact Sam rushed through baggage claim and had hailed a cab in no time flat, she was likely going to miss the opening act and quite possibly the beginning of TOFOG's as well.  To add insult to injury, once in the cab, Sam had discovered the snidy attendant who'd taken her phone had left it on the entire time.  The battery was stone dead.  And to make matters worse, there was no time to stop and drop off her bag.  She'd miss most of the show if she swung by the hotel first, so Sam arrived at the Chicago House of Blues with the concert in full swing and carrying the bag she'd been unable to drop off, slung heavily over one shoulder.

They were going to think she was some kind of bomber or something, she just knew it.  It wasn't a large bag but she was aware nobody was going to let her carry that thing around all night, nor did she want to.  Once inside, she couldn't find any of Russell's people so she dug out the emergency hundred dollar bill she kept for-- well... emergencies, and bribed the ticket girl to stow her bag behind the counter before asking for directions to the VIP room.

Sam shivered as the noise of the place hit her.  God, she could feel his energy.  And he sounded cross, more like he was sparring with the crowd between songs rather than hamming it up as he usually did.  She was dying for a glimpse of him as she hurried along and then was stopped short by the security guy working the entrance to the VIP room.  He was attractive, probably in his mid twenties.  Sam thought he looked like a bit of a cocky jock asshole whose neck size was probably bigger than his IQ, but she was more focused on getting inside and finding someone who could at least get a message to Mark for her. 

Mr. Hot Jock security seemed to have another idea, however.  To his way of thinking, anyone who was anyone was already in, settled and enjoying the show.  The only people trying to get in now were the bimbos.  He liked bimbos.  Mostly because they would do damn near anything to get in.  The brunette who wanted in was a bit skinny for his tastes.  And she wasn't wearing a little hoochie dress.  He usually liked them sluttier... blonds with big titties.  In his experience, they usually gave the best head and complained the least... but he wasn't above slumming it.  The brunette was a looker, even if she was on the skinny side.  So he swaggered.  Leaned in close, crowding her, and told her sure he could get her in as long as she flashed her tits at him first.  He licked his lips and pressed in closer still, telling her he'd even let her stay for the after party if he liked what he saw.  And from the foul way he was undressing her with his eyes, it appeared he thought she was easy pickings. 

"Come on, baby.... you look gooood tonight.  I know what these boys like.  Hot babes at a party are always a good thing.  Just give me a peek and I'll let you in...."

Samantha had the insane urge to say to him, 'Do you have any idea who I am?'  But then she realised what that would have sounded like.  God.  What an asinine thought!  Sam shook her head, wondering at herself.  What an idiot.  Even if they did know who she was, the simple fact that she'd even imagined saying that had shaken her.  But not as much as Mr. Hot Jock's dirty little proposal.  Sam tried to peer over his shoulder to see if she could spot someone she knew but all she saw were men she didn't recognize, like little islands here and there between some incredibly attractive women.  She idly wondered how many of them had had to flash their tits at Mr. Hot Jock to get in there.  Mr. Hot Jerk was more like it.  

The whole thing was beyond insane.  Sam thought about trying to find another security person to talk to, but they probably dealt with this sort of thing at every concert.  No doubt girls trying to get to the stars had used every trick in the book.  And they'd have certainly come up with better excuses than she ever could.  Besides, how likely was it that any of them would believe her?  No, really, I DO know Russell!  She wondered how many times they'd heard that before.  Millions, probably.  Irritated, Sam whirled around and stomped back the way she came, her heels clicking on the hard floor as she went.  Screw VIP.  She could still get in to see the concert down on the floor.  She flashed her ticket and they let her in.

And there he was.  Larger.  Than.  Life.  

He was something else.  Captivating.  Charismatic.  Passionate.  Sarcastic.  Surly, too.  Snippy would be putting it mildly.  Her heart leapt at the sight of him.  She was dying to rush up and throw herself into his arms, but the screaming around her and the sea of estrogen told her she wasn't the only one with that idea.  It was going to be impossible to even get close, much less press through that crowd to the front where he might catch a glimpse of her.  Sam stood, motionless, just a still figure in a tide of writhing, swaying, hooting bodies.  It was almost impossible to take her eyes off him.  She ached to hold him so badly her hands were clenched into fists at her side and her heart was somewhere in her throat. 

He looked so good.  Hair flinging around.  Shoes.  Jeans.  A black casual button up shirt, open at the neck to reveal the white tank underneath.  His shirt was untucked and he'd pushed the sleeves up.  He was already a little sweaty.  Her mouth watered at the sudden memory of what it was like to kiss his skin.    

Blowing out a sigh, Sam considered just watching from afar and getting things sorted after the show was over, but then the screaming of someone next to her sparked an idea.  The woman was holding up a sign that said: "Take it off, Baby!!!" and was hooting and whistling and shouting into every lull for him to take off his clothes.... along with a few other choice comments; most notably: 'Take me, I'm yours!' and 'I wanna have your babies!'  Sam was disgusted.

Russell must have either seen the sign or heard her scream 'Take it ALLLLL off!' because he snapped out, "This is a band, not Chippendales, sweetheart."  It was more like a sneer than an endearment.  "Get the fuck out of here."  He took a savage drag off his cigarette and all but gave her the finger.  Sam imagined he'd probably only held off because he thought the woman would have seen it as an invitation.  He sneered and looked away.  

Damn it.  If only he'd have looked just a bit more to the left...  Sam watched with interest as the brassy woman lowered the sign and screamed something crude about his dick that was not worth repeating, all the while never taking her eyes off Russell's groin.  Sam flinched.  He was not a piece of meat.  Part of her wanted to tell the woman off, but it wasn't worth wasting the breath.  She dug through her purse.  Crap.  Only fifty-six dollars left.  She'd given her emergency money to the ticket girl to watch her bag.  Sam hoped it would be enough.

Turning to the crass woman, who looked eerily like Cathy Bates from Misery, Sam offered her the money for the brief use of her sign.  The woman hesitated, but looked at the money and handed over the sign with a shrug.  "I've been shouting all night.  Fuck, what a package!  Just look at it!  Oh my God!"  She licked her lips and lifted her chin, that glazed look coming back over her face as she stared at Russell stalking around on the stage, and without taking her eyes off him, muttered over,  "You can flash it at him but I doubt it'll do any good, hon."  

Sam thought, wanna bet?  But whipped open her purse instead and grabbed a tube of lipstick.  She felt a stick of shame for burning up forty five dollars of designer cosmetics on something she knew was a long shot at best-- but that didn't stop her from trying it anyway.  She turned the sign over and wrote just one word on the back.

The woman beside her gave her a really weird look.  Sam hoped she wasn't one of the crazies who'd had read and committed to heart every article that had ever been written about him.  Offering up a silent prayer, Sam chucked the empty tube of lipstick in her bag, held up the sign and hoped for the best.

Russell sang on.  Sam's heart fell even as the women around her screamed more wildly.  'What's Her Name' was always a crowd favorite.  And Russell knew it; knew they liked to imagine he was wondering what their names were.  Of course, he knew how to work an audience.  How to give them a fantastic performance (even when he was sharp and pissy) and he knew how to make it special.  How to connect with the crowd.  Making eye contact.  Giving them the fantasy without selling himself or any of the others along the way.

The song ended.  The audience cheered.  The band bobbed energetically.  Russell scanned the crowd.... His eyes passed over her sign and then came darting back.  He'd seen her!  Their eyes met.  A spark seemed to jump from her to him and he made an earsplitting whoop of unabashed exuberance.

"WHOOOOEEEE!!!"  A huge grin split his face as he pushed his hair back.  He had one hand on the microphone; the other had a cigarette in it and was moving animatedly as he bounced around.  Watching him, it was like someone had just plugged him in.  He turned on a dime from surly and irascible to cocky and loquacious.  Electric.  And sexy as hell.  His grin widened.  "S'it fucking hot in here?" he teased impishly.  "You hot?"  He looked around at the band and then addressed the crowd at large, gripping his groin suggestively.  "I'm fucking hot!"  Understatement.  His fingers plucked at the front of his shirt, pulling it in and out away from his body, giving them little peeks at the white tank underneath.

The crowd screamed.  Russell grinned; he knew exactly what he was doing.  Dean saluted him with his beer. Russell laughed.  "Yeah, mate.  Exactly what I was thinking."  He turned stalked to the side of the stage and looked at the crowd.  "That's just what I need.  Something to wet the ol' whistle.  Beer'd go down smooth, don't ya think?"  He giggled and then leaned over to someone in the shadows, presumably to ask for a beer.  But he kept the hand with the cigarette in it over the microphone as he did so.  Then he stopped and looked back up playfully as if he'd suddenly remembered they were all standing there watching him.  "Don't go 'way now."

Sam laughed at his teasing-- but she got the message.  Don't move.  Someone will be along to collect you directly. 

A few moments later he was stalking back toward the stage, beer in hand.  "Ahh!  That's the stuff.  'Scuse me..."  He took a long drink.  Sam watched his throat swallow convulsively, following the bob of his Adam's apple under his stubbly skin, and remembered the sandpaper drag of it under her tongue.  She shivered.  He gazed back out over the crowd and the gleam in his eye seemed to suggest he knew exactly what she was thinking.  She was sure of it when he casually rubbed at his throat and then brushed his fingers over his mouth.  Sam felt like fainting.  He was right.  It was hot in here.  And getting hotter every damn second.

Russell looked over at Dean and grinned, jerking his head toward the crowd.  "Have a look at that lot, will ya?  All those signs..."  He turned and addressed the audience.  "Hold 'em up good and high, now.... Billy Dean's eyesight ain't what it used to be."  Dean chimed in with a 'fuck you, mate' but Russell just grinned as he started reading the signs out loud and commenting on them. 

There was a huge one that read, "We love you, Dean!"  Sam just continued to hold hers up too, knowing whoever he'd just sent to collect her would never find her without it.  In the mean time, Russell was hamming it up for all he was worth, elbowing the other Grunts and waggling his eyebrows.  "Now, I know the bunch of motley bastards behind me will agree when I say that we've a great looking crowd tonight.  There are some gorgeous ladies out there!"  And then he grinned wickedly.  "Which is, as you might guess, a subject very near and dear to my heart."  Raucous cat calls rang out loudly at that little gem.  "Now you all probably know I've been chasing after love for years...."  He took a deep drag and his eyes sparkled shamelessly.  "But I dunno, lads-- maybe she's out there tonight...  I'm feeling lucky!"  The crowd went wild and Russell shook his head.  "Fuck me!  What was I thinking, saying that?"

"Pathetic, man... just pathetic..."  Then the other Grunts joined in and it was a free for all-- all of them ribbing each other mercilessly.  A few moments later, Mark appeared at her shoulder and Sam and Mark melted quietly away into the crowd as Russell hummed something that sounded suspiciously like the tune to 'Almond Joy has nuts... Mounds don't.' and then the band launched into 'You Treat Me Like Chocolate'.       

Sam was laughing.  Mark was just shaking his head.  The crass woman whose sign Sam was holding had tried to take it back but she obviously thought better of it when Mark appeared and ripped it in two before they left.  Sam filled him in on her story as he led the way to the VIP seating.  He was still shaking his head. 

"Christ!  What a story!  Sod's Law, love.  Happens every fucking time.  No worries about your bag.  I'll see that it's sorted.  What I don't understand is why you didn't come straight to VIP?  You're on the list.  Someone'd have had my fucking head on a platter if it wasn't."  They were approaching Mr. Hot Jock, who was slouching against the wall. 

Sam nodded to him.  "Because he wouldn't let me in unless I flashed him."  Mark stopped dead.  Mr. Hot Jock went pale.

"Is that right?"  Mark's huge bulk turned.  Hot Jock seemed to shrink and become even more pathetic.  "It's your lucky day, pal."  Mark moved in.  "It's only me.  Cos if the boss knew..."  Even if it hadn't been Sam, which was bad enough, Russell wouldn't like any woman to be treated so disrespectfully.  He could be so curiously moral when he wanted to be.  Mark whistled sharply and within moments, Mr. Hot Jock was being led away while a new man took his post. 

"This is Ms. Douglass," Mark said pleasantly to the new man.  "Keep an eye on her while she's here.  I've got something to see to, but I'll be back to collect her later."  Mark showed Sam in, found her a spot and got her a drink. 

"My hero," Sam said grinning.  Mark smiled back.  "But what are you going to do about...."  Sam looked to the door where Hot Jock had disappeared. 

Mark's smile got colder.  "Well, I wanted in here, didn't I?  Reckon I'm gonna show him my tits, love."  He laughed.  Sam imagined it was more likely he'd be shown a pair of fists and then the door.  "Then I'm gonna get that little prick fired."  He nodded to her and moved off through the crowd.

On the stage below, the guys were all fired up.  They sounded fantastic and Russell was in top form, moving to the music and growling out the lyrics with passion.  The song ended and the crowd screamed.  Russell held up his beer in salute, met Sam's eyes and smirked as he lifted it to his lips and took a deliberately long swallow.  He was such a tease.  He knew full well what watching him drink a beer did to her; how she didn't like the taste of beer but she loved the taste of a man's mouth when he was drinking one.  He took another big gulp and sighed loudly, smacking his lips with satisfaction.  "Nectar of the Gods!"  His eyes caught hers and he winked.  "Nothing like the taste of that, now is there?" 

Sam shivered.  Women screamed, picking up on the suggestive nature of his demeanor even if they didn't quite understand it.  She raised her glass to him but he was already prowling away, stalking across the stage.  Telling stories.  Heckling the hecklers.  Getting cranky when they interrupted him while he was talking. (Which Sam found highly amusing-- especially when he told them to 'shut the fuck up'.)  And then there was his wicked biting sense of humor.  Attempting to burn the panties thrown on stage with his lighter while he spouted off things like: 'Keep your fuckin' underwear to your fuckin' selves!' and 'If there isn't a law against this in Chicago, there fuckin' should be!'  He didn't like things thrown at him but that didn't stop him from throwing things into the crowd.  Sam saw him toss flowers and a sweaty towel and a guitar pick.  In general he was just having a right old time of it.  And showing off, to be sure.  He was even more physical than usual, which for Russell was saying something.  He was dragging his hands through his hair.  Touching his lip.  Rubbing at his jaw.  Shaking his butt.  Posturing.  Working the crowd.  Working her.

He lit up another smoke and had them pass him another beer, laughing about how the other had gotten warm, sitting around sweating away.  "It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it," he crowed.  "So..." he waved his cigarette around, readjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder.  "Some of you may not know this... but over the years, I've held a lot of odd jobs..." he listed a few for them, laughing along with the audience.  Some of them were pretty pathetic. 

"Now being a DJ was good, of course...." His grin was shameless.  "Cos it was fuckin' great for getting the girls!"  He mimed putting a record on and swaggered around as he pretended to be that young boy again.  "You know...'And this one goes out to the girl in the pink dress!'.....and all that sort of stuff."  Everyone laughed.  "Ahh, the good ol' days."  Even the other Grunts were shaking their heads at him.  "But here's the thing...."  Russell was smiling.  "That was twenty years ago, mate, and I find-- with no small amount of irony-- that I haven't really grown out of that."

And with that, the band launched into 'Someone Else's Princess'.  The crowd cheered and clapped as the familiar opening bars rang out and Russell walked up to the edge of the stage, front and center, opened his mouth and growled out:

DARK hair... deep GRAY eyes...
M'baby gets me so good
She's got MY franchise...

Sam choked.  The crowd went wild.  The lights swirled.  So did that fluttery feeling in her chest.    

She takes me away
She takes me up
She feed my needs
Keeps me sharp
Keeps me pumped

He thrust his hips seductively and raked his fingers up his thigh, teasing them all and hinting at another meaning to 'pumped' that no one in their right mind could miss.  His every move screamed sex.      

I'm splitting out my skin
She's got me in a mess
So deeply imbedded
In MY very OWN princess...

The roar of the crowd was deafening.  Russell just flung around his sweaty hair and screamed back, growling out the lyrics now.  It was foreplay on stage.  He was singing about want.  Lust.  Need.  Desire.  Love.  Infusing it with that wild hunger she'd heard in his voice all those nights he'd called her on the phone, hot and hungry and dying for her to make him come.  The sexual energy bleeding off him was unbelievable.  And unmistakable. 

Sam found her body moving in sync with his, swaying.  Undulating.  An erotic push and pull separated by the length of the room and by hundreds of screaming fans.  He seemed to be feeding off their energy, making it his own.  Turning it back on them.  And her.  He was incandescent.  Sexy.  Hungry.  And he was clearly enjoying himself.  Enjoying showing off for the one woman whose attentions he was dying to have.  Their desire had been burning for months, sparked by that night in his bed and honed to an exquisite point by weeks of erotic phone calls.    

His voice was growling now, raw and low.       

Love unrequited?
Love un-re-quited?

He shook his head as if to say, 'Love unrequited?  Not any more, mate.'

Jamming up my system
I'm melting with desire...

So was Sam.  So was everyone else.  He screamed on.  More a rough growling purr than proper singing.  It made her hot.  It made her wet.  It made the crowd insane.  And it made Russell only more determined to press on.  The rush was incredible.  He was on top of the world and they were all going to know it before he was finished.  The alpha was showboating for his mate and it felt good.  Fuck that.  It felt great.   

I'm splitting out my skin
She's got me in a mess
So deeply imbedded
In MY very OWN princess...

He stood at the edge of the stage, wagging his finger at the women who were tying to grope his crotch when he got too close.  But instead of moving away directly, he covered his groin with his hand and took a step closer.  Teasing them all before he danced away, gyrating to the throbbing beat.  The walls had fallen away.  Sam had come to him.  This was their time.  And he intended to make every second of it count.

The song ended and he shook his head wildly, flinging sweat everywhere.  And then he did the unthinkable.  He smiled at them all, took a gulp off his beer... and then pulled his black button up shirt over his head and used it to wipe away the sweat from his face before throwing it out into the crowd.  They went insane.  It didn't help that he grinned and playfully shouted "Fight!  Fight!  Fight!"  There was a ripple in the tightly packed audience where the shirt landed, but he just laughed and bummed a smoke off one of the others after realizing with a curse that he'd tossed his cigarettes away. 

It was wild.  He was riding the edge of something dangerous.  And it was as exciting as it was erotic.  Sweat shone on his skin and the way he looked under the stage lights in worn jeans and a white tank was enough to take Sam's breath away.  He was clearly enjoying himself, whipping the crowd up even more as he chatted with them, telling suggestive stories and just in general, playing the part of masculinity personified.  It was mesmerizing.

"Yeah... that's it.... Come on, now!"  He stood at the front of the stage shaking his hips and clapping his hands over his head.  "You need to move.... don't just stand there swaying.  MOVE!"  His eyes sparkled hotly.  "It's my experience that it just isn't the same--just isn't done properly--unless you get all hot and sweaty."  Something had flipped over in him.  He was wild.  Reckless.  Innuendo flew.  The band kept on playing and he kept on singing and talking, all the while prowling around on stage like an animal who scented its mate.  Pacing back and forth, waiting.  Watching.  Strong and powerful and intense, just letting it all unfold before him as he waited for the perfect moment to strike.  It was coming soon.  The crowd could sense it. 

So could Sam.  And it made her shake.  She was caught in his spotlight.  Wanting it even... but trembling at the thought of what it was going to be like to be alone with him. 

Mark appeared at Sam's shoulder again.  It took him three tries before he could get her attention.  He smiled to himself at that telling little detail as he guided her away, through the security corridor to wait backstage.   

The screaming had quieted to a dull roar.  From where she was positioned, Sam had an awkward view of Russell.  He was out front, talking to the audience.  "Right, so... here's the plan."  He pushed his sweaty hair back off his face.  "We're going to go wet our whistles for a moment... Maybe have a wee...."  The crowd tittered.  With an electric jolt, Sam realized he'd seen her.  He was already walking backwards.  Away from them.  Towards her.  "No worries, though.  We'll be back directly...."  He tossed the mic to someone and all but flew from the stage.

He didn't wait.  He didn't stop.  He just grabbed her hand tight in his and dragged her along after him.  Desperate to have her all to himself, he led her into the small bathroom of their dressing room, kicked the door shut and pulled her into his arms.