by Cari Quinn
“How do you know? You said…” She shut her eyes and bowed her head.
She wanted to say something else. He could see it in the way she’d turned in on herself.
“I said what?”
She slowly tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “You said you never said those words before.” Her voice was rusty with emotion.
“I haven’t.”
She rubbed the heel of each hand over her eyes. “C’mon. You’re too sweet not to have had long-term girlfriends. And then there’s your mom, at the very least.”
Deacon went still. “No. My mother never deserved those words.”
She stumbled back a step, turning away from him, her shoulders hunched. “And I do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She whirled back to him. “Because we have great sex? Because we laugh at the same stupid movies?”
“You know it’s more than that, Harper.” He walked away from her to look out the window. Fuck. He wasn’t handling this right. He knew she was going to be skittish, but Jesus. He curled his fingers into fists until his blood throbbed and his nails dug into his palms.
“I know it’s quick, but it’s just something I know.”
“Well, good for you.”
He swung back to her, but there was way more than a room between them now. For fuck’s sake, she wouldn’t even look at him. All the words that he’d been choking on were jumbled in his brain. And she wouldn’t hear him. Not now, when she was ready to bolt.
He snuck a peek at the clock and winced. He needed to be downstairs.
“I’m trying my damnedest not to push here.”
“Epic fail.”
He huffed out a laugh and crossed the room. He reached for her, ignoring the way she stepped back and tried to sidestep his touch. He cupped her face and forced her to look in his eyes. “We still have time to figure out the logistics.”
When her fingers crept over his wrists, the boulder of ice in his chest melted a little. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Meg hasn’t called you for a new job yet.”
“I don’t know when that will be.”
“Good.”
Her nails dug into his skin. “It could be tomorrow.”
“It could be next month.”
She blew out a breath. “You’re impossible.”
“We’re so good together. You can’t deny that.”
“Of course we are. But what happens when you’re in Europe touring, and I’m on a job with another band in I don’t know…Australia. We’ll be apart for months.”
“Lots of dirty Skyping. Inventive FaceTime on our phones. Who cares? With technology, we can make it work.” He let one eyebrow raise teasingly. “I bet you’d look amazing in my laptop screen all flushed like you do when you come really hard.”
“Deacon,” she said warningly, but he saw the pink bloom of excitement creeping up her neck. And it sure as shit wasn’t all from embarrassment.
He moved his hands down to her waist, and thanks to her tiny frame, he was able to swipe his thumbs along the underside of her breasts, happy to see her nipples harden under the cotton. “If it was just about sex, then I could put this in a nice, little, neat box like I have in the past.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m just trying to explain why it’s different. And I know you felt it last night.”
She veiled those summer sky eyes under her lashes, and he knew he’d been on target. Last night had been very different between them, and it wasn’t just because he’d skipped the condom. They’d laid each other bare last night. And it was fucking terrifying in a way he couldn’t explain. The only thing he knew for sure is that it had cemented something deep inside of him.
“You have an answer for everything.”
“I have to. You have more roadblocks than Boston.”
She laughed. “How the hell did I get involved with an optimist?”
He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers gently. He had to stay positive or he’d go insane. “Stay,” he whispered into her mouth. “Stay with me.” A flicker of pride at the back of his head screamed that he was begging, but he didn’t care.
Her lashes fluttered open. “Go work,” she said against his lips. “I’ll be here.”
He dragged her closer until she felt the length of him against her. Until she could hear his heart banging in his chest. He couldn’t force his absolute assurance onto her, but he could make sure she damn well knew he was wasn’t going anywhere.
She inhaled as he rocked the kiss deeper. And when he tore his mouth away, she was a little dazed. Not trusting himself to behave when she had the full body flush going on, he forced himself to walk out the door.
Once the door was shut behind him, he straightened his shoulders. He could only solve one problem at a time. And right now, his career was the only thing that made absolute sense.
He followed the voices downstairs, buttoning his white dress shirt over his t-shirt, and the lingering erection that pushed at his jeans. He was relieved to see that everyone else was taking this just as seriously. Gray was in dress pants, dress shirt, and vest. Nick and Simon both wore new black jeans, Simon a black fitted dress shirt, and Nick a white one.
But it was Jazz that had made the most incredible change. She’d softened her makeup and wore a purple-patterned dress and strappy heels. Her hair was still the unrelieved dark, save for one little purple strip hidden behind her ear. She looked professional and in charge.
And when she looked up at the stairs, she met his gaze with a wink. Ahh, there she was. Still in there, just putting on a good show. Damn, that girl was a force to be reckoned with.
Jackson Miller stood at the head of the table, five thousand dollar suit and crisp blue tie in full force. As usual, his eyes kept tripping over Jazz. Of course, he couldn’t blame him. She was stunning. And yet, it still made him slightly uncomfortable. If Jazz was a less worldly type, he knew Jackson would have had her snowed.
Fortunately for them, Jazz was only one part wide-eyed wonder. The rest was pure, genuine love. This was her calling, and she proved it every single day. It’s what made her so alluring and such a valuable asset.
“Finally.”
Deacon looked down at his phone. It was exactly a minute after one. “You wouldn’t be giving me crap about being on time now would you, Simon?”
Simon walked his thumb along every knuckle of his hand until they all cracked. “Shut up.”
Deacon nodded to the man that was making them all nervous. “Jackson, nice to see you again. Gordo.”
Gordo had the good grace to blush.
Jackson smirked down at him. “They gave you a nickname. That’s great. Guess I don’t have to ask how the tour went, then?”
Deacon poured a glass of iced tea from the pitcher at the center of the table. “I’d say the tour went really well. But then again, I’m sure Gordo kept you up to date.”
Jackson’s smile widened. His ultra-white perfect teeth glinting in the sunlight. “Of course, but I always like to hear the details from the artist.”
“We killed every night,” Simon said.
The executive turned his attention to Simon and Nick, then back to the table at large. “I agree. In fact, your numbers put you at a co-headline status, at the very least, and with another hit single, maybe more.”
Simon and Nick looked at each other, and Nick pulled out a chair. “That sounds promising.”
Jackson pulled out a leather laptop case. He flipped it open and unbuckled an accordion compartment with five packets individually clipped. “I’ve spoken to the head of the label, and we want to offer you a contract.”
Deacon’s heart stuttered and the free-fall swing in his gut made him grip the chair in front of him. They’d worked their asses off to get here and he had to school his features so he didn’t shout out a, “Fuck, yeah.”
Nick sat forward in his seat, his fingers reaching for the contract.
“I like that you’re eager, Nick. I want you all to kno
w that I had to go to bat for you. Even with the great numbers on the tour, you’re still an unknown entity. You could easily be a one hit wonder.”
Nick’s hand paused a few inches before the pile.
Simon folded his arms. “We’ve had three singles in the top fifty now.”
“And that’s why I’m here. I believe in you guys. We want you in that studio, pronto. We want an even bigger album on the production end.”
Jazz’s gaze fluttered around the table. First to Gray, who sat motionless and silent to her left. His hands were flat on the table, and he was carefully listening—at least Deacon hoped he was. One could never tell with Gray.
Then her gaze went to Simon, Nick, and then finally to him. He smiled back at her reassuringly. They had the capacity to do big things. “The Becoming” proved that.
Deacon reached across the table for a copy of the contract.
Jackson flattened his hand on the documents. “This is a one album deal. We want you to grow with Trident, but we want to be up front with you. And reality is that the music climate changes daily. But we’re behind you every step of the way. We’ll work with you to find the best producers for your sound.”
Deacon met Jackson’s eyes. For the first time, he was pretty sure Jackson wasn’t playing car dealer. He was actually being up front. When the man lifted his hand, Deacon slid the contract in front of him.
“And with any luck, this will be the first contract of many.”
Deacon scanned the contract, pleased to see that they could stay in the penthouse as they were recording. That was big. They wouldn’t have to waste their advance finding a place to live.
“Now, I want you to have a lawyer look over the contract.”
“Why can’t we just sign?” Nick asked. “In fact…” He flipped to the last page and scrawled his signature over the bottom. “I’m fucking ready.”
Deacon’s gaze flew to him. “This is a big step.”
“We’re going to sign it.” Nick shrugged. “Why drag it out?”
Deacon frowned. “Because there could be negotiations.”
“No, there won’t be.” The finality in Jackson’s voice reverberated through the room.
Simon and Nick glanced at one another and then at Jackson. Simon finally spoke up. “C’mon, guys. This is going to get us on the map. A fuckin’ contract!”
Jackson nodded. “This is a great deal. Better than you’d get from any other label right now. We’ll give you a little time to read it over. How’s October first sound?”
“I’m ready now,” Nick said.
“The first is great,” Deacon said firmly.
Jackson flipped his laptop case closed. “If you need the names of good lawyers to help you read the contract, let us know.” Jackson turned to Gordo. “Let’s leave them to it. We’ve got a few more meetings today.” He turned back to them. “We hope you’ll be part of our family.”
Deacon sat down hard as he watched Jackson and Gordo leave.
Jazz rounded the table to hug Gray, practically vibrating. She flipped off her shoes and hopped around the table to hug everyone.
Deacon laughed when she flitted off to the kitchen. He flipped through the reams of legal jargon and double-speak. He was pretty sure he understood only every third word.
“It’s celebration time!” Simon took the contract from Deacon. “This is Trident. They sign some of the biggest acts out there.”
“You’re right.”
Simon’s glass halted an inch from his lips. “I am?”
Deacon shook his head. “You’re right. We can’t go into everything assuming that they’re trying to screw us over.” Hope flared for the first time since the day Jackson found them at the Blue Rhino. He really didn’t like the idea that they couldn’t negotiate the contract, but then again, it was probably a standard first contract.
Just like any band, they had to pay their dues.
Deacon scrubbed his hands over his face. “How many bands would kill for this?”
Nick eased a hip against the large table. “I can walk down Sunset and get killed by at least five that I know of.”
“Exactly.” The familiar revving in his gut propelled him to the back door. He looked down at the rushing traffic of Wilshire. Bugattis mixed with Beemers and high end Toyotas. They were being given a taste of the silver spoon for the first time in their lives.
This was the first album, and the live shows already showed just how well they did without any real marketing push. Imagine what they could do with the full strength of the label putting a show together for them?
Nick and Simon both came out onto the balcony. “I just read that we get to keep the penthouse while we work on the album. It’s part of the deal.” Nick folded his arms, staring down at the street below. “We don’t have to live in some dank basement while we prove ourselves.”
Deacon nodded. “I read that, too.” He spread his fingers out on the smooth marble. They had a huge space to practice and write, and then access to amazing equipment and a top notch recording studio. It was the dream.
“Think we can get rid of the boy band shit?” Deacon asked.
Simon grinned. “Dude, we got that Roman guy up our asses. And I can tell you right now, my ass looks superior in leather.”
Deacon laughed.
“Guys?”
They all turned at the sound of Jazz’s voice. She’d changed back into Jazz-wear with a ridiculously bright shirt and denim cutoffs, her bare toes curled slightly on the cool tiles. Gray was behind her in jeans and a t-shirt.
It was probably the most relaxed he’d ever seen Gray in the penthouse.
Jazz came out and climbed into her favorite lounger. “Guys, we get to write together and make a kickass, motherfucking album!”
Nick sat on the end of the lounger, grinning like a lunatic. “Yeah we do. I might even let you write a song.”
She kicked him until he toppled onto the tile with a laugh. She crawled to the end and looked down at him. “I’m going to rock your world.”
Deacon laughed down at them. Everything felt right. Perhaps the future held something more than broken promises and maybes for the first time.
“We need to go out!” Simon said.
Jazz scrunched up her face. “We have one more show tomorrow. Let’s just be us tonight. I volunteer to do body shots, though.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Simon said with a waggle of eyebrows.
“Probably not your mouth, though. I don’t know where it’s been.” She smiled sweetly up at Simon. “Actually I know where it’s been, so definitely not.” She scooted back on the chair and snagged Gray’s hand. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”
Deacon caught a flash of blonde hair and saw Harper in the doorway. He crossed the patio and dragged her out with them. She tried to shake her head and move back. But this news was important and he wanted to share it with her, too.
“I’m totally interrupting.”
Jazz bounced onto her knees and held her arms out for a hug. “No! This is a celebration. You’re Deak’s girl, so of course you’re included.”
“I—” Harper hugged Jazz because no one could resist her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jazz said with a squeak-inducing squeeze.
Nick stood and crossed his arms. “Well, we don’t want a sausage party. Pretty girls are a must.”
Simon grinned. “Now that’s a very good idea.”
“Oh, guys, not a million people.” Jazz said warily.
“Just a few,” Simon promised.
The entire main living space of the penthouse was filled with people when Harper peeked around the corner at the downstairs. She so wasn’t built for this kind of scene. The three people dressed in black waitstaff gear—now those were her people.
She tugged at the hem of her slinky gold dress. She was playing dress-up. And every single one of them down there was going to know it.
Jazz had dragged her out to find a celebratory outfit, and she
’d let the happy, little drummer talk her into buying a dress. Living on the tours left her with little time to spend any of her money, so she didn’t feel too bad about the price tag on the dress she’d found. The shoes, however, those were out of control.
The only good thing about the entire ensemble is that it would roll up into her duffel bag. So she’d have one really…really, really, expensive ensemble in her wardrobe.
Get the hell down there, Harper Lee.
She lifted her chin and fluffed her curls—again, thanks to Jazz. She even had little sparkly gold pieces deftly clipped in. One deep breath and she’d go.
And now.
With her fingers wrapped around the banister, she made herself move.
Take the steps slowly, Harper Lee.
Don’t stare at your feet.
She scanned for wide shoulders that usually stood well above the crowd. Simon, in unrelieved black, had two women flanking him at the counter in the kitchen, shot glasses all lined up.
Nick had a curvy blonde leaning into him on the couch.
Jazz danced through the crowd in her bright pink dress that flirted with her knees like a foamy cloud. Men smiled at her and women couldn’t help but be in awe of her. She was pure happiness.
Across the room, against the wall was Gray. His eyes tracked Jazz’s progression as he sipped from a beer quietly. Always quietly assessing, that one. Especially when it came to Jazz.
Harper’s gaze drifted away to the few suits that had arrived. Even Toby Gordon, their manager, seemed to have loosened up a bit tonight. Was that a woman he was talking to?
Way to go, Gordo. Maybe that will loosen you up.
She got to the first landing and her breath caught. There he was. God, Deacon was unbelievably beautiful. He was almost overwhelming. Strong, wide shoulders under a perfectly cut white dress shirt accentuated his tanned skin. He lived to be outdoors with running and climbing and it left a virile, healthy man that made her mouth water. Dark-washed jeans ended in cowboy boots that made her smile.
Always a little Texas left in this man. Manners and chivalry were as much a part of him as the bass guitar. And he was staring up at her like she was the single best thing in the world.
