by Cari Quinn
“So this is where you guys are going with music now?”
“We’ll see.”
Deacon nodded. He understood exactly what he meant. Creating music was half expression, half feedback from the crowd. And if that night was anything to go by, he’d be hearing a whole new kind of music from Rebel Rage in the future.
“Thanks for the invite, and the advice.”
“This business will chew you up and shit you out quick. A little head’s up is the least I can do.”
Deacon curled his arm around Harper. “Good luck, man.”
As they made their way back to the penthouse, Deacon tried to keep up a conversation with Harper, but the silences kept widening. His brain was full of information. All week he’d been trying not to stress about the meeting with the lawyer, but now with this new information, the dread was winning.
Harper seemed to realize he needed to figure shit out because she stopped trying to engage him with crazy topics. When they got up to their floor, the main living space was empty.
“All right, enough of the moping. Go sit at the counter.”
Deacon climbed onto one of the breakfast counter stools. “Well, shit. I must have been a real downer in the car if you’re going to cook.”
She pulled out omelet fixings and pulled down a pan from the overhead rack. “Nah, not too bad. I know you’re worried about tomorrow, and that didn’t help.”
He reached over and snagged a pepper from her cutting board.
“Don’t make me cut off one of those precious fingers.”
Deacon grinned around a mouthful of red pepper. “I do love it when you threaten me in the kitchen.”
“You have weird kinks, big guy.”
“And you keep coming back for more.”
She popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “I do, don’t I?”
Thirty
September 21, 11:56 AM - Ripcord
Harper dug through her duffel bag for a clean pair of jeans. She’d all but moved into the penthouse and was earning her keep cooking for the six of them. Cooking lessons with Jazz kept her sane, and the guys were good about trying out all the different recipes she’d stacked up on the road.
But today was appointment day.
Jazz and Deacon had spent endless hours on the phone trying to get an appointment with a lawyer to look over the contract. Simon and Nick were too busy celebrating to worry about anything so pedestrian.
But they only had a few weeks to figure out the contract, and getting an appointment with a lawyer in the industry was proving difficult. Finally, Gray had caved and called his family’s lawyer and had gotten a referral for two contract attorneys.
Hands slid around her waist from the back before Deacon’s spicy cedar scent enveloped her. She closed her eyes and snuggled into his embrace. She’d never been an overly demonstrative person before Deacon. A few hugs for family, but nothing like she was with him.
She wasn’t sure if it was because he was so big, or if it was because she couldn’t keep her hands off him. And for right now, she couldn’t care. She nuzzled her cheek against his, surprised to see the scruff was gone.
She turned in his arms. “Look at you, all clean-shaven.”
He ran a hand over his jawline. “I know. It feels weird. Cold.”
She laughed. “I gotta say, you just sliced about five years off of your face.” She cupped his cheeks. His green eyes were bright with nerves and the playful Deacon that she’d gotten to know on tour. Here at the penthouse he’d loosened up even more.
Having a valet service was really dangerous on so many levels. Sex, food, and a lot of movies had relaxed the both of them into complacency. Last night had been the first time the real world had intruded into their happy little bubble.
“Why do you think I leave the scruff?”
She laughed and dragged her lips over the hollowed cheekbones to the feathery curls that had escaped the hair drier closest to his scalp. He groaned, dragging her closer until his towel fell to the floor.
“Nope.” She twisted out of his grasp and across the room. “I just took a shower.”
“We can take another one,” he said as he crossed the room after her.
She crawled across the king-sized bed and bounced off the other side. “No. You put that away, mister.”
His dimples flashed as he prowled across the twisted sheets. “You haven’t said that to me all week.” They’d spent hours on the balcony under the sun, and on the roof of the building that had a pool. He was brown and perfect, without a tan line to be found.
And hard. Can’t forget about that, Harper Lee.
She bumped into the wall as he stepped off the bed, his long legs eating up the room to cage her in. “Now, Deacon.”
“Now, Lawless,” he said with the low, growly voice she could never quite say no to.
Lips trailed up her neck to her ear, where he nipped playfully. “Surely we can spare ten minutes. Especially the way you drive.”
“Funny guy.” She tipped her head back briefly. “God, you had to do the thing,” she moaned.
His hand snaked behind her waist to slip into her jeans, his other hand unzipping the front. The entire time, he placed open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin that bridged shoulder and neck.
Her phone chimed from the dresser and she found some deep well of strength inside. She pressed both hands to his chest and pushed him back. “Gotta go.”
Walk it off.
She blew out a breath and re-zipped her jeans.
Don’t look.
Nope. No looking.
She peeked over her shoulder and groaned. Deacon stood where she’d left him, his arm braced on the wall, his achingly perfect body tight, and his cock at the ready. If that wasn’t bad enough, his bold grin made her laugh.
“Incorrigible.”
He pushed off the wall and grabbed his dark jeans off the chair in the corner and stepped into them sans boxers and disappeared around the corner.
Sweet Pete, she’d end up jumping him in the car.
“So this Ellis guy, he’s really Steven Tyler’s lawyer,” he called from the bathroom. He ducked his head out, toothbrush in his hand. “Not some lackey. Not that that’s a bad thing. Anyone’s better than the guy I have.”
“No guy?”
“Bingo,” he said and started brushing his teeth again.
She slipped on the only blazer she owned and followed him to the bathroom. “I was looking at his client list and it’s pretty impressive. Rebel Rage uses this guy, too.”
“Huh.” He took the brush out of his mouth. “You think that’s how he heard about our contract?”
“Kinda hinky on the lawyer privilege thing don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I still can’t believe Gray has these kinds of contacts.”
Harper leaned on the door jamb. “Jazz is freaking out.”
“We had to take the first available appointment. I just wish it didn’t have to be on the same damn day.”
“It’s better to have two different pairs of eyes on the contract.”
Deacon sighed and rinsed his mouth. “I know. At least Gray is going with her.” He crossed to her and rubbed her upper arms. “I just wish the guys would come with me.”
“I don’t get it.” She thought they’d want to be as informed as possible. It didn’t make sense that they’d let Deacon take the lead on this.
He shrugged. “I’ve always been the one to figure out the paperwork.”
“This isn’t paperwork, this is your future and your work. Copyrights and royalties and God knows what else.”
“I know, baby.” He smoothed his hand down her braid. How many times had he done that to soothe her? Her stomach flipped. Add in the endearment he saved for when she was upset, and it took everything inside her not to climb into his arms and ask him to never let go. It wasn’t even her livelihood that was at stake, and she was twisted up about it. What the hell was wrong with her?
Because you hate to see hi
m twisted up, Harper Lee.
He was playing a good game, but she felt his restlessness, met it with urgency in the deepest part of the night when she couldn’t stand it any longer. When he lost himself inside of her seemed to be the only time he was truly at peace.
And she could do that for him with so little effort. Even if the ties got stronger each time she made love to him. Whether it was pounding and sweaty or sweet and romantic, she knew it wasn’t just sex.
It never had been.
And crap, that scared her.
She pressed her forehead to his chest then turned her cheek into his shirt, taking a gulp of Deacon essence into her. “You ready to do this?”
“Definitely.” Without thought, he linked his fingers with hers and pulled her out the door and down the stairs.
Simon was downstairs in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and jet black shades covering half of his face. He was sprawled in the chaise end of the couch scrolling through his phone.
Deacon stopped beside him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”
“Nah. I have a guy looking at it.”
Deacon jammed his free hand into his hair. “Well, who is it?”
“A guy Jackson recommended.”
Deacon tipped back his head. “And I’m sure that’s not a conflict of interest or anything.”
Simon finally looked up. “What is your deal, man? The lawyer works for us, not for Jackson.”
“Right, Trident’s a multi-million dollar client, and we’re schlubs. Who’s he going to take care of?”
Simon flicked off his sunglasses and sat up. “Why do you have such a hard-on for the screw job? We just want to get our music out there, build up a reputation, and then we can play big-shot-hard-ass with the contracts. Right now, we’re still up and comers.”
Deacon hung his head, and she tightened her grip on his hand. He smiled slightly at her and sighed. “I’ve got a great contract lawyer that’s willing to talk to us. I’d like it to be all of us.”
Simon stood in front of the open fridge, picking cherries out of a bowl. “Take notes, because I know you will. Or hell, record the whole damn thing, and we’ll listen to it later.” When he had a handful, he slammed the door. “But don’t stress yourself, Deak. This is pretty much a done deal.”
“It’s stupid to go into this blind.”
She heard the anger and frustration in Deacon’s voice. Part of her wanted to go over to Simon and slap him upside the head to make him listen, but she could see that the lead singer already had made up his mind. He was just killing time.
Harper slid her fingers out of Deacon’s grasp and went to drawer next to the fridge and pulled out one of the half dozen phone chargers that they kept there. “Taping the session is a good idea. If Mr. Ellis goes for it, of course.”
“And what if he doesn’t? You guys should be there to hear this.” Deacon’s voice was drifting into the tense anger that matched his shoulders.
“I’d just zone out anyway. Go, be the Boy Scout you always are and report back to the little people.”
“Fuck off, Simon.”
“What?” Simon cocked his hip against the counter. “Like I’m lying. Of any of us, you’re the only one that would be able to figure out what the lawyer guy is saying. It’s just noise to me.” He popped another cherry into his mouth. “Boring noise.”
“And what happens if we sign this contract and get locked into something stupid for years?”
Simon boosted himself onto the counter, letting his feet swing. “Then we live in this crazy penthouse and make records, then go on the road and play. That’s the endgame anyway.”
Deacon stalked across the room and slapped the intercom button.
“Yes?”
“This is Deacon McCoy. Please have the car brought around for me. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Deacon gentled his voice. “Thank you.” He held his arm out to Harper. “Let’s go.”
“Aww, Deacon don’t go away mad, just go away,” Simon said in his usual snarky, offhand tone.
Deacon practically dragged her through the doorway to the bank of elevators. When the doors closed behind them, he punched the crimson padded wall. “I can’t fucking believe him.”
When he shook out his hand, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t break your hand.”
“I’d like to break his goddamn face.”
Harper let out a small chuckle before she cupped his hand in both of hers. She shook his arm until he looked down at her.
“What?” he groused.
She pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “We’re going, and Jazz is already at a meeting. We’ll make sure you have all the information possible to take to the guys. I promise.”
“I just don’t understand how they can be so…” He paused and stared at the ceiling, “I don’t know, cavalier about it.”
Frustration leaped off him. She didn’t know what else to do but be there for him.
Finally, he looked down at her. Eyes that would forever swallow her whole seemed to soften and a little of the frenetic anger melted. He sighed. “I’m sorry.” He cupped her face. “You’ve had to listen to me freak out about this for a week. A lot of fun.”
“Oh, I think we’ve found a way around that for the most part.”
He grinned into her mouth. The kiss was sweet and soft. And as the doors opened, she hooked a finger from each hand into one of his belt loops and dragged him out into the lobby.
“We’ll go talk to this guy before you get yourself so wound up that the meeting is useless.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Deacon slung an arm around her shoulders, dragging her against him. “Of course you are.”
“The sooner you realize these basic things, the happier you’ll be, big guy.”
They walked out the wide glass doors to see the tricked out Audi that Jackson had sent over. He was still in the wooing process, but in this one instance, she didn’t care. The engine on the sleek black car was freaking amazing.
“You scare me when you get that look.”
She looked up at him. “What look?”
“That look. The one that says you’re going to make me break the Holy Shit handle again.”
She skipped across the cement entryway to the car. “Hello, Will.”
The usual afternoon attendant smiled at her. He was younger than her and barely an inch taller, but he was adorable. His shoulders went back. “Miss Pruitt.”
She caught Deacon rolling his eyes as he got into the passenger seat.
Will opened her door. “When will you be returning?”
“A few hours.”
“Oh.”
Harper couldn’t stop the smile at Will’s obvious disappointment, but he recovered quickly when she got into the car.
“Have a nice day.” Will ducked down. “You too, Mr. McCoy.”
Deacon gave him a halfhearted salute. When Will shut the door, she waved before pulling into traffic.
She smacked his arm. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh huh.” She pulled into the passing lane and weaved her way through the afternoon traffic.
“Could the kid be any more obvious?”
“Deacon, you’re what? Four years older than him. You can’t really call him a kid.”
“Oh, I can. He shows absolutely no fear. Does he have a death wish?”
Laughing probably wouldn’t be a good idea, but a chuckle escaped anyway. “Like you have anything to worry about?”
“That’s not the point.”
She glanced at him, the giggle trapped in her chest breaking free. “Stop grinding your molars. You’ll get a headache.” She reached across and gave his cheek a little pat.
“Too late.” He reclined the seat a bit to give him another spare inch of leg room. “You could have cured my headache,” he said with a leer.
“Last night twice, and this morning wasn’t enou
gh, pal?” She shifted gears and coasted past a truck and two Corvettes before snapping back into the right hand lane.
Deacon slapped his hand against the roof of the car and swore. “Take it easy, Lawless.”
“What? They were in my way. We have places to go.”
“I’d like to sign my first real contract before they put me in the grave.”
“And yet, you let me drive.”
“Obviously I have brain damage. Must be the lack of oxygen to my brain from all the orgasms.”
“Must be.” She downshifted and slid over three lanes, then cut across two. Los Angeles traffic was like playing Grand Theft Auto on the professional level, but she loved it. Especially with an engine that actually responded to her touch.
Deacon gripped the door frame. “You’ve got that look in your eyes again.”
With her blood humming and the sun shining in the sunroof, she remembered why L.A. was one of her favorite places. Where else could she see beauty in a smog filled sunset over the valley, and feel the thrum of a city constantly alive with people? Even the noxious burps of exhaust from the busses blocking her in couldn’t dampen her mood.
A pair of cruisers with twirling lights had a Bentley pulled over, giving her the edge to sneak between the busses and shoot north on San Vincente Boulevard.
“Son of a—” Deacon sat forward and turned back. “You did see the cops, right?”
“They were busy.”
He let out an exasperated laugh. West Hollywood and congested traffic killed her momentum for a few minutes until they got to Sunset. Deacon sat forward as the Whiskey A Go Go came into view.
“I don’t care what we have to do, but I’m playing there.”
She grinned. “Mosh pits and sweat.”
“And history.”
They stopped at a light, and she saw the pure joy in his face. This was it for him. The music and the connection, but even more than that, he was connected with the grit and edge of Sunset. Under all the charm and sweet smiles, there was a hunger she understood.
He turned to her, his green eyes shining with intent. “I want to play there for hours, until I’m dripping and the people are screaming.”
