by Cari Quinn
Deacon followed her. “He’s just pissed at me.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s mad because we called him on the bonehead move. The truth hurts.” She snapped the curtain to the shower open and stepped under the luxury rain nozzle.
She lifted her face to the spray as she tried to wash away Nick’s words. She was just a placeholder, as awful as it was. And if there was a sting of tears under the water, that was her problem. Her career trajectory might not be on par with Deacon’s, but it was still important. And it was hers.
She’d worked hard to pay for culinary school and she didn’t want to be making road food for the rest of her life. She wanted to build on what she was learning and make it work for her. Someday she’d have her own business license and employees.
She flattened her palm on the tile, letting the cool marble soak into her skin until her tears turned to water. Someday wasn’t today. She knew she had to pay her dues. And soon enough, that meant going where the work was.
She quickly finished up and opened the curtain to Deacon’s steady gaze. He held out a towel for her, and she let him wrap her up in the huge, warm terrycloth. And when he encircled her in another layer of those sturdy arms, she battled back the tears again.
Please, Meg. Just hold off that call for a little while. Right now, he needs me.
Thirty-Two
September 24, 3:17 PM - When the Levee Breaks
Harper rolled over onto her stomach. A shaft of sun lulling her back down into the soft cocoon of a nap. An insistent rumble tried to pull her back out.
Pulse-bzzz-pulse.
Tic-tic-bzzz.
She peeled an eye open. Her phone was flashing a text and a missed call. When it started vibrating again, she snatched it off the coffee table.
She rolled to her side, tucking one of the blankets she was using for a pillow under her cheek. They’d been staying at her Aunt Maggie’s house. Thank God for her crazy work schedule. She’d been more than happy to let them crash there for a few days. Deacon was still hunched over his laptop, as he had been for the last three days. Two notebooks, a scatter of pens and his phone sat at his elbow, and a super-sized iced coffee sat sweating, barely touched at the top of the desk.
She glanced down at her phone, flicked through a few texts from her brother and one from her dad. Nothing earth shattering there. She didn’t recognize the number on the voice mail so she tucked her phone into her pocket and swung up to a sitting position.
Quietly padding across the room, she caught a new website up on Deacon’s screen. She curled her fingers along the tense muscles along his shoulders. “Who’s Ripper Records? Why does that sound familiar?”
Deacon looked up with a distracted smile. He hauled her around and dumped her on his lap. He tucked his chin into where her shoulder met neck and inhaled. “You smell like sunshine.”
“Handy since I was napping like Garfield in a big ray of sunshine.”
“Lazy shit.”
She curled into his arms. “Yep. It’s shameful.” She nodded to the screen. “Avoiding the topic?”
He sighed. “No.”
She raised her brow and he laughed.
He reached around her to tap on the touch pad. “I’ve been reading a few articles about this Donovan Lewis guy. Evidently, he made his money as a venture capitalist. Which is pretty much code for a gambler.”
“He’s a hot gambler.”
Deacon drilled his finger into her side. She squirmed and slipped her hand into his hair. “Not as hot as you.”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“So, he’s just the money at Ripper Records?”
“No, that’s the thing. The label seems to be all him. I can’t find any other names associated with it except producers for the talent. And then I found this.” He clicked on hyperlink with the name, Lila Shawcross.
A super-hot blonde filled the screen. Wicked China blue eyes stared right into the camera and felt like they were boring into her freaking forehead. A Mona Lisa smile played around her full mouth. She stood with her arms crossed and a pair of dark rimmed glasses dangling from her fingers. She showed off a killer body with a form shaping suit in a rich eggplant color.
“Jesus. She’s hot.”
“Yeah, she is. You should see her in person,” he said under his breath.
Harper plowed her elbow into his side.
Deacon brushed his lips along her neck behind her ear. “Easy.”
She slid her hand along his forearm. “Yeah, so what’s up with hot girl? And why do you know that she’s hotter in person?”
“She came to one of our shows. I didn’t know who she was at the time.” He paused, tapping his finger on the desk. “She got under Nick’s skin, that was for sure.”
Harper snickered. “He probably wanted to fuck her.”
“Nice.”
Harper turned to him. “Like he didn’t? Like you didn’t?”
His brows snapped down. “I did not,” Deacon said and fisted her hair, dragging her in for a hot, hard kiss.
Surprised, she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on. He clamped an arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him and his growing erection. He scraped his teeth over her lower lip and opened her wide for his greedy tongue.
“Whoa.” She pressed her forehead to his, her breath unsteady. They’d gone from business and teasing to that little flash of Deacon that came out at the oddest times. Possessive, wicked, and always left her a little off-center. “What was that?”
“I don’t like you thinking that.” His voice was hard-edged. So unlike the easy man that always made her smile.
“What?” She opened dazed eyes. “That you thought another chick was hot?” She leaned back against the desk to get a better look at him. “It’s going to happen.”
“I’m a one woman guy, Harper.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head. Where was all this coming from?
He frowned. “You know that, right? This,” he pointed between them, “isn’t just a passing thing.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound so sure about it.”
“No.” She grasped a handful of his silky hair, pushing it back from his angular face. His scruff was back and his eyes were a little bloodshot around the edges, but the gold infused green was so beautiful and clear. So intense. “I don’t throw the love word around for just anyone, pal.”
He relaxed his grip. “Then why were you so surprised?”
She tried to put her scattered thoughts into some sort of order. “I just meant it’s okay to look. You’re human. You’re a musician, for God’s sake. I know beautiful women are going to be a part of your life, that’s all.” She nodded to the screen. “Case in point.”
Deacon sighed and his shoulders relaxed, his focus back on the screen. “She was on the hunt, but it wasn’t for a guy. She was talking to Rebel Rage that night, I think. But she stopped by to mention that she was impressed with our set.”
“So that’s a good thing. Maybe that means you have in in.”
He hauled her in against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. “Maybe.”
She let the cedar scent of him fill her senses. The man was always so toasty warm. “Call them.”
“It’s not that easy, Lawless.”
She rolled her eyes and climbed off him. She unearthed her phone, scrolled down to the bottom of the website and found a contact number.
“Wait. You can’t just call.” He made a reach for her, but she skirted out of his reach.
“Sure I can.” She walked to the window as the phone rang.
“Ripper Records, how may I direct your call?”
“Yes, hello. I’m looking for Lila Shawcross.”
“She’s unavailable, may I take a message,” the woman asked crisply.
“Yes, I would. I’m calling on behalf of Deacon McCoy and the band, Oblivion.” She could feel Deacon behind her. She hurriedly rattled off his number. “He’s interested in a me
eting at her earliest convenience.”
The woman’s voice changed a little, became less dismissive. She repeated Deacon’s name and phone number. Harper turned to Deacon, met his direct stare.
“I appreciate your time,” Harper said and hit the end button on her phone. “There we go.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Don’t go all glowery on me, Big Guy. It’s just a phone call.”
He moved in on her. The tired was so close to the surface. Worry and sleepless nights were becoming the standard. If it wasn’t him pacing or randomly exercising, it was him reaching for her in the pre-dawn hours. Her guy was right on the edge and time was running out.
“We don’t have an agent to vet that kind meeting.”
“So, go for a more informal meeting. That’s what she did.”
Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “Informal,” he murmured. And the pacing started again.
She glanced at the wall and saw the time. “Look, it’s after business hours. How about I cook you something?”
He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, that’s a lie. You’re always hungry.”
She had to hand it to him, he tried to smile for her, but he was beyond distracted. The worry lines were grooved into brackets around his mouth. If he wasn’t going to relax, she’d have to make him relax.
“Deacon, come upstairs with me.”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
She passed him, and when she got to the stairs, she wiggled out of her shirt and pelted it at his head. He turned, surprise lighting his ever-changing eyes, and then his laser focus went hot.
She sprinted up the stairs, laughing when she heard him pound up after her. Of course he caught her, but she squealed out a giggle as he lifted her and tossed her on the huge sleigh bed they’d been sharing. She rolled onto her knees and faced him.
He’d lost his shirt, and the tanned flex of muscles pushed her playful mood into hyper-drive. It was obscene just how beautiful this man was. And he was hers.
His green eyes shone with determination and retribution. And man, she couldn’t wait to tire him out. The soft whisper of denim hitting the floor and his rigid, swaying cock coming her way made her mouth go dry.
She unhooked her bra and before she could get to her shorts, he was hauling her up against him. His mouth was hungry and as intense as it had been downstairs only a few minutes ago. Like he needed to convince her that the passion between them was as strong as the love.
Like she could forget.
He peeled off her shorts and panties, rolling her onto her back. Fingers, lips, heedless words fought with his kisses. He rolled again, hoisting her above him to straddle his chest.
“Deacon,” she panted as she tried to balance herself.
“Higher.”
“What?” She looked down at him, her body and mind buzzing with excitement and the sheen of lust that was trying to delete her rational brain. It scared her sometimes. How incredibly intense it was when they got together.
He lifted her off the bed until her knees were pressed into the mattress beside his head. With the first lick of his tongue along her cleft she reached for the wide headboard. She arched over him, her thighs stretched wide to combat his shoulders and his grip on her ass.
She looked down to see him staring up at her, his mouth working her past pleasure and headlong into a scream. He held her there as his tongue delved inside of her, alternating with a stroke inside then around her clit and back again. Unrelenting as a metronome and equally as focused.
She couldn’t break her gaze. The room shimmered around her vision and her thighs quaked, her mind shut off and she became the pleasure between them, and still she watched. There was nothing but him, not pain, not an orgasm, not a scream.
She lost her words as he lashed her with his tongue and swallowed her come with greedy gulps. His lips and chin were wet from her and still he held her there. And then suddenly, the vortex passed and he lifted her off him to land at the other end of the bed on her back.
He crawled over her, hooking her ankles around his neck until she was folded in half. Then he sunk into her slowly. The position left her with no choice but to take all of him. Stretched to the limit, filled to the brim, he was everywhere. And in that moment, she realized there’d been a piece missing inside of herself, and she welcomed him. With each slow, measured thrust, he became part of her.
She gripped his powerful arms as he loomed over her. She watched his eyes change. The fury receding as the love came roaring up between them. Sliding her feet down and bringing her knees up to cradle him she watched him, held him, and loved him.
This was what she’d never had before. What she’d only found in his arms, and with his strong body, and even stronger heart. She pressed her forehead to his, whispering his name, the words she found so hard to offer, the words that were getting easier to say.
To believe.
With her arms around his neck, she became his. The teasing was gone, the wildness harnessed, and there was nothing but Deacon. Nothing but them and the way they moved together. His hardness to her soft, his intensity to her freedom, and the love that entwined them both.
She held on as the orgasm blanked out doubt and she felt him fill her. His breathing harsh, her name a hoarse cry in the waning sunshine. She wrapped herself around the man she’d never hoped to find.
And in the aftermath, there were no words left. He curled around her, tucking her back against his chest and he finally slept. She held his forearm around her front and stayed there watching the sun’s rays disappear into dusk, content to be there with him and let him sleep.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but moonlight had replaced sunset when she felt him stir behind him. She’d dozed off, but a growling stomach behind her made her smile.
“Finally hungry?”
He pressed open mouthed kisses along her neck. “I’m always hungry.”
“See, that’s what I said earlier.” She felt his cock stir behind her, and she moaned when he slipped inside her once more. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Sore?” he whispered as one hand slid down to lightly stroke her clit.
She sighed out a moan. “A little.”
He pumped lightly. She brought her hand down to meet his, and she could feel his cock slide through their fingers as he opened her thighs. The release was sweet and soft, with his voice filling her head.
When she came around again, she had to roll away from him. They’d never eat if she stayed there spooning him. “Shower and food, Big Guy.” She flicked on the light.
He stretched, the sheet barely covering him. He didn’t even bother to pull it up as he rolled onto his stomach, stuffing a pillow under his cheek. “I could eat a pound of pasta.”
Her gaze trailed down his tight back with the armor-like tattoo rolling over muscle. She forced herself to look at his face. Food. Not Deacon on a platter. “I think I could, too.”
His dimple winked. “Looks like we’re having pasta. Why don’t you go hit the shower, and I’ll put the water on.”
“Make sure you—”
“Yeah, yeah…salt the water. I know. Go on.”
She scooped up her shorts off the floor and took her phone into the bathroom. She flicked on some music and stepped into the coat closet sized shower.
When the music switched over to her ringer, she stuck her head out to look at the readout. Again, she didn’t recognize the number. She hurried through the rest of her routine when the chime for a voice mail trilled over the music.
With a towel around her, still dripping, she hit play.
“Harper, this is Meg. Don’t get too comfortable with that hunk of rockstar ass. I’ve got a gig that lost a chef, and you’re in if you can get to San Antonio tomorrow night. Call me back.”
Harper’s chest tightened. Tomorrow? So fast?
The second message cycled through.
“Harper, Meg again. Danny and I
have another gig already, so this would be a trial basis for you to run your own truck. It’s for five months. Call me back. I need you there by tomorrow afternoon. I found a flight from Los Angeles if that’s where you still are. Call. Me.”
Excitement bubbled up as she snatched her phone and ran into the bedroom. The bed was empty, Deacon already downstairs with his own music blaring. She dragged on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers over her damp skin. She’d actually be able to run her own tour? To be in charge of a staff.
To finally be able to put a menu together on her own.
She ran down the stairs, phone gripped in her hand.
“Hey, slow down. I know you’re hungry, but the water just started boiling.”
She ran to him and threw her arms around him. “You won’t believe this.”
He caught her up against him, smiling down at her. “Man, you are excited. It’s just pasta.”
She hopped back down. “It’s not about the pasta.” She peeked around him. “Did you empty a jar into a sauce pan?”
He winced. “I figured you could doctor it up.”
She rolled her eyes and raided the spice rack, dumping in garlic and onion powder with a pinch of oregano. She opened a can of mushrooms and squeezed out the water, dumping it in as well. It wouldn’t be impressive, but it would fill their belly.
“I got a call while I was upstairs.”
Deacon leaned against the island in Maggie’s country kitchen. His tall frame making the space seem even smaller. “From your folks? Or Maggie? Is she kicking us out?”
She slid between him and the stove to grab a whisk then set the sauce to medium heat. She dumped a bag of bowtie pasta into the water. “No, actually it was Meg. You’ll never believe it. I have to call to figure out exactly what’s going on, but I got another gig. Can you believe it? My own gig. Not playing third chef this time, either. Just me.”
When he didn’t say anything, she turned around. His face was blank, his eyes shuttered.
She stepped closer to him, lacing her fingers with his. “Deacon, you knew I was going to get a call to go back to work.”
