The bare rumble of his low voice is distracting as hell. I cross my legs and only then decode his comment. My eyes widen as I bite back laughter. “Wait, you didn’t seriously steal his magazines, did you?”
I wear noise-cancelling earbuds to block out the wet, rhythmic sounds that come from the other bunks at night—especially Dalton’s—but apparently the band is still getting used to the realities of living on a bus with nine guys.
“It was a public service.” Jera curls her legs up onto the seat beside her, tossing a half-guilty look toward her partner in burglary. “That stuff was garbage.”
I snicker, ripping open my yogurt. “Why, do you have something better?”
“What? No, I mean—”
Danny relaxes back on the couch. “That a blush, Jimi?”
She sends him a scathing glare. I flick my hair back, arching a brow. “Yeah, if you’ve got premium porn, sharing is caring, girl.”
Jax laughs as Jera’s skin flushes a deep red.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I give Jera a wink just to mess with her. “This far from home, it’s nice to have a little company. Even if it is of the glossy, two-dimensional variety.”
When I look away, my gaze snags on Danny and the heat simmering beneath the lazy sweep of his lashes. And yeah, after four days without privacy, possibly porn isn’t the best talking point for us.
“Wow, the air conditioning’s frigid today.” I clear my throat, retrieving my jacket off the back of the couch so I won’t keep headlighting everybody through the thin fabric of my off-the shoulder top.
Danny shifts in his seat. “Hey, can I uh, talk to you for a second?” He nods toward the empty back lounge.
My heart kicks up toward my throat and my eyes skip across the faces of the other passengers, afraid they might have found something odd about his request. Jayna stares out the window, crunching down carrots, and Jera’s busy scowling at Jax.
“No way!” The singer looks crestfallen. “We have to hit the piñata. Come on, we’ve got hours of driving still for you guys to talk business.”
“This will only take a minute, Jax,” I say.
After all, we can’t really be messing around too much on the bus, where people can hear everything. Or wait, does Danny mean “talk” or talk? Is he okay? I sneak a glance at him, but his knee isn’t jiggling the way it does when he’s upset. Pleasure warms me at the thought that he really just wants a moment alone with me. I shift forward to get to my feet, but then the bus lurches and I’m thrown against Jax’s firm shoulder.
Jayna squeaks, dropping her carrots onto her lime-green leather pants, and the engine emits a loud grinding sound. I hold my yogurt up so it won’t slop over the side, keeping a sharp eye on the traffic through the window while Reggie steers us onto the shoulder and hits the hazard lights.
“How bad?” I call out.
“I know that sound,” the driver growls, clicking open his seatbelt. “I’ll take a look, but I don’t think we’re headed anywhere under our own power.”
Of freaking course we aren’t. With a pang, I try to push away the thought of whatever Danny might have had planned for a stolen moment in the thin privacy of the back lounge.
Heads start popping out of bunks as I push to my feet, checking the time on my phone and dropping my uneaten yogurt on the table. Unfortunately, the first appointment today is with a national magazine, but we can switch that to a phone interview—maybe catch the photo shoot after the show if I do a little groveling to their photographer. Some singers would whine like toddlers about working after a performance, but Jax won’t mind giving up his groupie time to pose and look pretty for the camera. I pull my hair out from beneath the collar of my jacket and click on my GPS app, zooming out so I can see our blinking blue dot in relation to the closest maintenance hub for our bus’ rental company.
“Are we going to have to cancel the show?” Jax asks, his hair already a finger-tousled mess. “How are we going to make it there without a bus?”
I smile. “Relax, Superstar. This isn’t the only set of wheels on the road. I’ll call the other bus to come back and pick us up. We’ll swap out the trailers, and I’ll have a second vehicle meet us along with the tow truck so the other trailer can get on its way ASAP. With any luck, it will only get to the venue an hour after you do.”
“Why do we need to swap out the trailers then?” Jera frowns.
“Murphy’s Law.” Clancy tosses his almonds aside. “You should never count on things going as planned. Kate organized the trailers so the one on the performers’ bus has the most essential equipment. The trailer on the other bus has the stuff that’s easiest to rent or do without in a pinch.”
“Still, isn’t this going to totally screw the schedule?” Danny’s eyes are wary, as if he’s waiting for me to freak out.
“Birds fly, politicians lie and buses die.” I shrug. “It’s the way of the world.”
His face relaxes, a smile touching his lips as he tips his head, studying me.
I glance away, self-conscious all of a sudden, and I point my phone back at Jax as I head toward the side door. “I bet we have time for that piñata while we’re waiting for our pickup. I’ve got to snuggle up to AAA for a second, but get that bad boy ready.” I narrow my eyes at him. “And if anybody takes the first shot without me here, they are so fired.”
I swing out the door, already dialing. There’s no way I’m touching a single piece of candy out of that piñata, but there’s also no way I’m missing the moment when Dalton’s porn storm comes shooting free—nipples and glossy-print buttocks fluttering through the air like the flying flag of a true concert tour.
My job rocks.
MY ALARM CHIMES THROUGH my earbuds, and I scrape my eyes open, staring blearily at the bottom of Jayna’s bunk. When it chimes again, I claw my phone out of the tangle of sheets next to me, tap the screen to turn off the alarm, and reach into the cubby by my head for some clothes. We haven’t seen a hotel in five days. It’s shows every evening, into the bus by 2 a.m. and then driving all night to make it to the next venue in time for press appointments, load in and sound check.
We hit the road each night with the band still wired from the performance and the crew hopped up from the sprint of breaking down and loading the trailers. The booze follows the beer, and after that comes a guitar or two, an unamplified bass or a banjo, sometimes a violin. Out here, everybody but me plays something.
When I die, it is exactly the eternity I want: a tour bus sliding through the city lights in the wee hours of the morning, laughter rattling the steamed windows and dueling guitars from the couches.
I wouldn’t give it up for anything, but everybody else sleeps until we get to the next venue, while I’m up at eight, making phone calls to ensure that the next few shows are advanced properly. It’s easier on my head—and my hips—now that I switch to tea after my second beer, but on the first couple tours I would try to prove myself by matching the musicians shot for shot. On those mornings, I felt even more like death than I do right now.
Four hours of sleep in a row—that’s all I want. If I could get it once, I’d be good for the rest of the week, but this run is harder to sleep on than most, even with earbuds. Everybody settles down along with the sunrise, but Clancy snores like the world is tearing in two, and Jera thrashes until sometimes, she rolls herself entirely out of the bunk. Lately, it’s worse because Jax disappears into the bathroom two or three times a night, emerging with fresh sniffles, blown pupils and energy that never seems to crash.
Still, my responsibilities won’t sleep even if I could. I do the shoulder-cramping, wriggling dance to get dressed in a bunk that’s not tall enough to sit up in and then slip out from beneath my curtain. Light blasts through the big, lounge-area windows, and I cringe back, lifting a hand to shield my eyes.
Somebody’s boxers are in the aisle and I step over them—only to stumble on a pile of blankets, rapping my forehead sharply on a bunk support. Danny’s bunk is right above Jera
’s and there’s always a pile of bedding below the two by morning. Jera wears a set of llama-print footed pajamas because she’s too restless for blankets to keep up, and Danny kicks off his covers because he has a metabolism that could heat a small city. I really ought to just strip their extra bedding and save the mess.
I’m rubbing my bruised head when a curtain rattles back, revealing a flash of boxers festooned with robotic sheep. Danny’s tattooed arm reaches out, wrapping around my waist and rolling me up and into his bed with startling ease. I suck in a surprised breath and he touches a finger across his lips, reminding me of listening ears. Quietly, he slides the curtain back into place, closing us into the warm darkness of his bunk. It smells like him: cracked black pepper and smooth redwood.
His abs flex against my back as he bunches pillows behind him and then arranges me until I’m reclining against his chest and between his legs.
“I have to get up,” I protest in the barest of whispers. He nuzzles his face into my hair, a slow, sparkling feeling jangling all through me at the gesture.
“Rest,” he murmurs in my ear. “You never rest.”
“I can take care myself just fine, thanks.”
His exhale sounds like a laugh. “And I like that about you.”
He doesn't argue, but he doesn't move, and his arms are still relaxed around my body. His morning erection nudges the small of my back, and with a little alarm and more than a little interest, I wonder if he wants to continue our experiments right now. Not that we’d be the first to have sex in the bunks of the bus, but it’s not something that happens without everyone knowing exactly what you’re doing.
And whom you’re doing it with.
The bus is quiet except for Clancy’s snoring. I listen closely, trying to determine if anyone is awake who might have heard Danny pull me into his bed. When he shifts, I ignore the longing squeeze of my inner muscles and how many days it’s been since I’ve had the privacy to enjoy him, or even his battery-operated stand-in.
Danny’s lips skim the very edge of my ear as he breathes, “Stop worrying, Kate.”
The worn, soft cushions of his prized studio headphones settle onto my head, and now I can’t hear anything at all. Anxiety prickles through my fingertips. People could be awake, could be noticing that I’m not in the lounge like I normally am in the morning. Did I leave my bunk curtain open or shut?
Acoustic guitar overwhelms my thoughts; unhurried chords and some creative picking that makes my ears perk up. Christ, no wonder he’s so in love with these headphones: they sound like I’m camped out in the corner of a sound booth. Besides, it gives me a twinge of pride to be allowed a peek into the musical world of his playlists, the place where he hides when he’s silent and just a little set apart from the rest of the herd on the bus.
Danny’s chest flexes against my back, and then it softens as his breath unwinds. He strokes my hair, his fingers playing through the strands until my scalp hums with pleasure. Between his collarbone and shoulder is a hollow that fits my head just right. Maybe I can listen to one more song. It’s no more time than it would take to hit the snooze button.
The song changes to something by Iron and Wine, the slow tones a perfect match for Danny’s long fingers tracing intricate, invisible designs down my arms. My hair riffles as he lets out a long sigh and relaxes farther, and my muscles loosen along with his. My whole body felt bruised with fatigue when I got up, but now my skin is delicately aware, his every touch breathing pleasure across a dozen nerve endings at once.
Anyone could find us here. All it would take was the brush of a shoulder sending the curtain askew and our cover would be blown.
Hanging out together isn’t part of our deal, isn’t anything like the steamy, deliberately kinky affair I thought we agreed upon. But Danny doesn’t seem concerned with that, and right now I can’t remember why I would be, either. It feels...okay...to be here, hiding with him from the complicated world for a few more minutes while music slips and winds through my mind.
Danny gathers me closer, his heat a living blanket that soothes even as it warms, and I melt into a quiet sleep.
Chapter 12: Crossing Lines
Falling asleep in Danny’s arms turned out to be very easy. Not getting caught? A whole different story. We had a terrifying near miss this morning on the bus. I was woken by the scent of coffee, reminding me I failed to get up and make it for everyone the way I usually do. The headphones had slipped off and the sound of people moving around in the lounge drifted clearly through the curtain. When I stiffened, it woke Danny. He rubbed his hands lazily down my arms and then breathed, “Wait,” into my ear. I shifted to the side while he grabbed a pair of jeans and hopped to the ground. It took an interminable hour of waiting in his bunk before we stopped for gas and everyone got off the bus so he could give me the all clear.
Just as we were almost home free, the crew all piling out of the bus, Clancy asked where I was. My heart rate tripled in an instant. Danny told him I was still in my bunk; that he had stolen my cell phone and turned off the alarm so I would get some sleep. That brought hearty approval from Jera, but once the crew returned to the bus, I caught Clancy sending me a silent, skeptical side-eye.
Clancy’s traveled with me enough to know that I rarely sleep in, and more importantly, that I’m no longer swayed by a handsome face and quick fingers on the frets. If our secret comes to light, Clancy will know it isn’t simply an affair, and I don’t want anyone digging into Danny’s business; prying at problems he shouldn’t have to share.
Which is why I take an extra moment to make my expression neutral as I walk down the hall toward the stage. The floor of the venue has a heartbeat, and it vibrates up through my heels as I walk down the hall toward the stage. I know the sound is born from the thrum of Danny’s strong fingers and that makes it shiver up my inner thighs like foreplay, like a warning.
Pausing at the edge of the curtain, I watch as the band launches into their second encore. This amphitheater is one of the biggest we’ve hit so far: eight thousand people, every one of them insane for The Red Letters, and I can absolutely see why.
Danny strolls up the center of the stage, shoulders loose and head hitting along with the beat. His bassline rolls out like a road paved with sin as the audience surges against the security barrier, screaming and eager for everything the music promises.
Except for his solos, Danny hangs toward the back of the stage, and Rex’s lighting design for this tour is absolutely genius: he leaves Danny at the intersection of light and dark, never fully illuminating him so the sharp planes of his face and the taut snap of his lean body are always interesting, always mysterious to the fans straining to see more.
I want to strip him naked and follow every line of shadow with my tongue.
Jera’s drums crash into the song, thumping behind each throaty chord of the bass. I close my eyes, my clothes suddenly too heavy against my skin. I don’t know how I’m going to get back on a bus full of people and keep my hands off him. Not after a whole week without his naked body at my mercy. Not when I can still smell the black pepper and sexual promise of his scent on my skin from this morning.
The music ends and howling takes its place, thousands of people screaming for more. I swallow with my eyes still closed, understanding exactly how they feel.
The band appears in front of me before I’ve got my game face on, and I hitch up my purse and toss a towel to Jax to cover my second of hesitation. “Jax, the way you were singing ‘Rough Ride’ tonight...” I give out a low whistle. “We had to emergency evac everyone under the age of twenty-five and I nearly pelted you with my panties. You guys play another ten shows like that, and we’ll all retire to the tropics and get matching infinity pools.”
Jax whoops and Jera high-fives me.
“Add a couple hot tubs to the pool order and you’ve got yourself a deal, girlfriend.”
Jax sweeps me off my feet, twirling me twice in a sweaty hug before he sets me down. I usher them away from the stage,
laughing. “There’s food in the dressing room and beer on ice. Back on the bus by two, boys and girls.”
I can’t even look at Danny. Not right now with the rush of the show glowing in his face, energy burning off his body. The leather pants he hates hug every glorious muscle of his ass, and I want to rip the buttons off the dress shirt that’s hiding his tattoos.
Jera and Jax turn the corner toward the dressing room, and Danny catches my hand. “Kate.”
His eyes hit mine, and my mouth goes utterly dry. A door opens and he spins me inside, closing the closet behind us. A mop handle falls into my shoulder blade as Danny’s hand dives into my hair. His mouth drops to my throat. When a tiny yelp of a moan escapes me, the kisses go rough until they’re bites, the small stings of pain pulsing straight down between my legs. I’m drenched and I need the friction of him, need him hard and fast and merciless.
I reach for Danny and find his erection, scratching my fingernails over the taut leather that cages his thick shaft. He yanks me to him, his hips snapping forward so his cock is ravaging my clit through every annoying layer of cloth between us.
“Condom,” I gasp, clawing my purse strap off my shoulder. Breaking away from him, I turn and bend down, digging blindly for a foil packet that is suddenly the only focus of my existence. The pressure at my waist loosens as he flips open my button and shoves my jeans and panties down to my knees.
Condom. If I don’t find a condom in the next tenth of a second, I’m going to forget all about the consequences, clamp him between my legs and ride him until my lungs detonate.
I suck in a breath as his tongue finds the center of me and swallow down a scream as it delves unapologetically. His hand forces more space between my denim-shackled knees, and then his tongue is fucking me from behind. I have to bite my lip to keep quiet as moans ripple up through me. I fall forward a little, and one of my hands smashes on a plastic packet in my purse that crinkles promisingly. My legs loosen enough for him to slip forward to my clit and he’s wild right along with me, teeth and tongue and a slight scrape of beard stubble all different sensations and I’m high on all of them.
Playing the Pauses (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 2) Page 13
