“This is true.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “You are going to make me fend off many a male tonight.” Her hair was a sleek curtain of gold down her back. She wore a purple button down top in some sort of slinky material that drew the eye to her curves. Black jeans and little flats kept her from looking like she was going out to a club. But the effect was no less gut punching.
She laughed and curled her arm around his back. “I think that’s my problem, pal. Everywhere we go some woman is trying to climb over me to get to you.”
Deacon snorted. “We’ve only been out of the house once in the last week.” Okay, so their outing to the grocery store earlier in the week had been a little hairy. Thank God for the valet service at the penthouse.
“I’m never going to get that chunk of hair back.”
“She wasn’t that—” He shut up at her look. Okay, so the fan had been a little zealous. Ever since they’d played two of the major venues in L.A., things had been a bit crazier for them. Simon came home with scratches and numbers stuffed in every available pocket every time he went out. Nick had started wearing disguises.
Jazz had even taken to leaving the house without her usual colorful hair and clothes, just to get a reprieve. And Gray had disappeared altogether. Deacon had no idea where he was most of the time.
He hustled them both across the street to “The Den.” A line of people curled around the edge of the building. On the small marquis, Johnny Cage’s name was in bold, black letters. He flashed the red tickets to the guy at the door and the bouncer opened the door.
“What the hell, man?”
Deacon glanced over at the belligerent fan and watched the guy’s mouth drop open. “Dude, you’re Deacon McCoy. I thought you and Johnny hated each other.”
“Don’t believe the tabloids,” Deacon said.
Five hours ago, he would have thought the same thing. But when the courier service had shown up with tickets for Johnny’s gig he’d been too curious not to check out the show.
“I didn’t know Johnny did solo shows.”
Deacon looked down at Harper. “I knew he did acoustic shows sometimes, but never alone as far as I knew.”
He’d been a fan long before Oblivion had opened for Rebel Rage. And he was a big fan of their acoustic music. In fact, he couldn’t figure out why they didn’t play a longer acoustic set for their show. There was no end to the magic that happened between the men in Johnny’s band when they stripped out the bombastic sound and simply played.
“I still can’t believe he sent you tickets.”
“Me neither, Lawless.”
A woman in unrelieved black met them at the large entry way. “May I see your tickets?”
Deacon handed her the red tickets.
“You can take your pick of seats along the balcony. There’s a stairwell just over there.” She pointed to the side of the stage.
“Thanks.” They climbed the stairs to the small balcony with a row of tables. “Here okay?”
Harper nodded and they sat down. A waitress met them and took their drink order. He looked down at the small stage with three different Gibson acoustics set beside a leather stool. No other adornments, not even a banner behind where he would sit. It was as stripped down as he’d ever seen outside of open mic nights.
Harper leaned into him, curling her arm through his. “Am I the only one that feels weird?”
He laughed and brushed his cheek against hers. “Nope. I don’t know what to think.”
The room started filling up with people and a few more VIP’s were seated around them in the balcony. The waitress came back with their drinks and an envelope and set them on the table. “Mr. Cage sent this over with the drinks. He said everything is on him tonight.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
She smiled. “If there’s anything else you need, just flag me down.”
“Thanks.”
Harper took a sip from her glass of wine. “Officially weirded out.”
“Yeah.” He flipped open the envelope and pulled out two plastic passes and a handwritten note. “He wants us to come backstage after the show.”
“Is that all it says?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not like he’d invite you here to pound the crap out of you, right?”
Deacon gave her a sideways glance. “I did the pounding.”
She grinned. “Yeah, you did. I meant a rematch, of course.”
“Uh huh.”
Harper laughed and leaned into him as the lights went down. The murmur from the crowd settled as the stage was lit by a soft spotlight. Johnny came out; his usual concert attire of leather and rude t-shirts was missing. Instead, he wore a button down white dress shirt and jeans.
“Thanks for coming. And thank you to The Den for letting me do this show.”
The crowd clapped and a few catcalls came from females in the back. Johnny smiled, but it lacked his usual cocky bravado. He was quieter, almost unsure of himself as he started strumming.
The lyrics were almost brittle with sorrow. The music was soulful and honest. Throughout the set he bared himself to the crowd. Song after song was a gritty portrayal of love and loss, disillusionment and a tiny slice of hope.
When he finally stopped playing, the entire room clapped and cheered. He came back for an encore and played a few of the Rebel Rage songs acoustically, getting the crowd to laugh and sing along to close the show.
As he finished up, Johnny looked up and caught his eye. He gave him a little salute, then took his bows and ducked backstage.
“Holy crap.”
Deacon laughed and sat back in chair. “Holy crap is right. That was awesome.”
“I think YouTube is going to blow up with that one.”
He laughed. “If he’s smart, it will.”
“I spotted a guy recording it in the back.”
Deacon frowned. Just what was Johnny up to? The room cleared out fairly quickly and he downed the last of his beer. “I think it’s time we find out just why were invited to this shindig.”
“I’m damn curious.”
He flagged down the waitress. “I’ve got a few passes to go backstage. Which way should we go?”
“If you go back down the stairs, you’ll see a door by the bar.”
Deacon smiled and laid a pair of twenties on the table.
She waved it off. “Mr. Cage—”
“You deserve it.”
The waitress blushed. “Thanks.”
Harper hooked her arm through his. “You just gotta make all the girls fall in love with you, don’t you?”
“I only care about one.”
“Such a smooth talker.”
He brushed his mouth over hers. Every day he’d been given with her was a blessing, but each day, he also wondered just when she was going to get the call to leave. He couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, and she made a tiny groan as she curled into his arms.
“What was that for?” she asked when he finally let her go.
“Just had a need to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”
“Laying it on thick there, Big Guy.” She bumped his arm. “All right, put the dimples away now.”
He laughed and led her to the stairs. There was a small line of people at the door when they got to the bar, but they were quickly waved past when Deacon waved the black laminated passes.
They made their way down the scuffed cement hallway to the small room. Refreshments were on the table along the far wall, and a few people were talking quietly in groups.
“Hey McCoy, thanks for coming.”
He turned to Johnny’s voice. His arms were flexed thanks to bunched fists. This was not the cocky front man that had owned the stage for twelve years.
Deacon stiffened, and Harper gripped his belt loop at the small of his back.
A muscle flexed in Johnny’s jaw until he finally uncurled his fingers and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m not going to pound on you again.” His eyebrow rose at Deacon’s silence. “Or let you pound o
n me again,” he said with a twist of lips.
Deacon rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t know what to think when I got the invite.”
Johnny shrugged. “I’ve been hearing some shit and wanted to talk to you before you signed your deal.”
Deacon’s shoulders went tight. “Why?”
Johnny sighed. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful. No one was around to tell me to be careful when I first signed my deal with Trident.”
Deacon crossed his arms. He did not need another dose of bitter Johnny.
“You think you know everything, and you’re riding that high. Let me just get my shit down on disk and out there for everyone to hear. That’s all that really matters.”
Deacon lifted his chin and let him go on.
“It does matter. Don’t let them own you. That’s all they want. And once they own your music, they might as well own your soul. Just remember that before you sign on the dotted line.”
Deacon frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You know what that means.”
“It’s not like there are a million labels knocking down our door.”
Johnny laughed. “Oh, they will, kid. Believe me, they will.”
Deacon rubbed his left triceps. “I saw someone scouting you a few weeks ago.”
The older man nodded. “Ripper Records. Probably too good to be true, but I guess we’ll find out.”
“Why?”
“Trident is dumping us. They’re cleaning house, looking for fresh blood.”
“What? Why the hell would they let you guys go? That’s asinine.”
Johnny laughed. “We’re one of the lucky ones. At least we didn’t get put on a shelf for the next five years to rot.” He shook his head. “I know you don’t get it. You just want that brass.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t fucking listen to anyone when I was your age, but do me a favor. Attempt to grow a brain cell or two.”
Deacon rocked back on his heels. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I know. Of that entire crew you run with, you’re probably the only one that isn’t.”
Deacon decided answering that one was asking for trouble. He’d take the compliment. He shrugged. “We’re getting a lawyer to look over the contract.”
“Good. Spend the money on one. Don’t just get the first shithead out of law school. And please don’t fucking use one that Miller sends your way.”
Deacon lifted a shoulder. “As I said, I’ve got a few brain cells to call my own.”
Johnny laughed, and this time there was a trace of amusement it. He came forward with his arm outstretched. “I’m sorry shit went down the way it did. You just reminded me every day what it felt like to be hungry again. And I sure the fuck hated it.”
Deacon shook the man’s hand, surprised to find callouses on his wide palm. He’d thought Johnny had been living the high life for the last decade. What on earth would put a working man’s skin on his pampered hands?
“Thanks for the advice.”
Johnny sighed. “You probably won’t take it.”
Deacon tapped his temple. “Brain cells remember?”
“You’re all right, kid. Helluva right hook, too.”
Deacon laughed. “You know right where the kidneys are.”
“Once a brawler, always a brawler.” Johnny glanced down at Harper. “Guess you’re not completely immune to all of us musician types, huh?”
Harper lifted her chin. “I’ve got a few of those brain cells, too.”
Both men laughed.
“She’s feisty. You keep the feisty ones, son.”
“I intend to.” He winced when Harper pinched his side. “This was a great set. I’m glad I got to come out and see you like this. If Ripper Records is smart, they’ll snap you up.”
“I’m testing out some of the new songs. The guys were stuck in New York with personal shit.”
“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?”
CHAPTER 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.”
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