Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  Her smile faded. She wasn’t twenty-five, and she sure as hell wasn’t innocent either. But it felt so nice having him think that. It made her feel shiny and new, untarnished by Boyd and her own bad judgment. She should tell him the truth now, but everything inside of her was glowing at his appraisal—even if it was misguided and inaccurate. If she told him the truth, he’d stop kissing her, and right now all she wanted in the world was for him to do it again. So she told him to.

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  Chapter 12

  SHE WAS SO INTENT ON Grant’s kiss, she didn’t know why he stopped, but he lifted his chest from hers and reached toward the door.

  Then she heard it, a rapping at the window. A bare hand swiped at the snowy glass and bare knuckles knocked again as Grant tugged on the manual window lever. Snow whipped inside and swirled around, a miniblizzard leaving the driver’s seat speckled with crystals.

  “Hey, in there!” a pleasant, masculine voice called in over the wind. “You folks need some help or are you too busy to care you’re in a ditch?” He stuck his head inside when the gap was large enough and grinned at the two of them.

  Relief at being rescued mingled with disappointment at ending this interlude.

  The man looked to be about her age, and he was wearing a brown hoodie with no overcoat. His eyes were espresso dark, and she could see enough of his face to know he sported elaborate, sharp-edged sideburns. He was cute, if a little devilish in appearance, but honestly, she was so cold that a trip to hell didn’t sound half bad.

  “Yeah, we could use some help! We’ve been waiting on the police for more than an hour,” Grant answered.

  “There’s a huge mash-up about two miles back that way,” the man said. “They’re probably stuck in that. We took a different exit but barely made it through ourselves. The roads are for shit right now and we’ve got the tour bus.”

  Delaney almost burst out laughing. Tour bus? Of course it was a tour bus. With her luck, this guy was probably part of a Jesse Masterson cover band.

  “Well, we’re sure glad to see you. Do you think you could give us a ride to the next town?”

  “Of course, no problem. Come on.” He pulled open the door and a blast of arctic air carried along pellets of ice to slap at Delaney’s face. She instantly missed Grant’s body heat as he moved, but it was past time to be out of this car. He untangled his legs from hers and clumsily climbed toward the driver’s seat and out into the elements. The man popped his head back in to reach for Delaney.

  “Watch your step there, honeybun,” he said, gently grabbing her arm and tugging. “You all right?”

  “I’m good, thanks. I think you saved our lives.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She managed to grab her knitting bag, then clambered from the car. Her legs sank into two feet of snow. Grant turned back and caught her other hand. The wind was howling all around, biting at her face. A monster-sized tour bus loomed before them, just feet from where they’d skidded off the road. It was sleek and black and a welcome sight. Even if it was full of musicians.

  “Is there any way to get our clothes and stuff?” she called to Grant. She had to shout to be heard over the storm.

  He looked back at the car and shook his head. “I don’t think so. The trunk is jammed up in the snowdrift.”

  “Let’s boogie,” their rescuer hollered from behind. “We can’t stay here long or somebody is going to crash into the bus and then we’re all screwed.”

  Delaney stared for a second longer at the blocked-up trunk where her overnight bag was trapped. She hadn’t brought much for this journey. Just a few pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, and some toiletries and styling products. Damn, she really wanted her styling products. And her underwear. She wanted that too. She was now utterly and completely at the mercy of strangers. She would have cried then, but the tears would just turn to cubes on her face so what would be the point?

  Grant put an arm around her waist. “Sorry about your car. We can let the police know we’ll be back for it, but it’s stuck there for now.”

  She hadn’t even thought about the car. Her crappy little Volkswagen that had gotten her out of one mess but right into another. She wasn’t sure she’d miss it all that much.

  They made their way up the short but steep incline, trudging through the snow and getting soaking wet in the process. Brown Hoodie Devil Man pounded on the door, and when it opened, he climbed aboard first. Delaney followed with Grant right behind her. The bus was blissfully warm, and for that alone, she had to be thankful, yet the feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming.

  As a kid, she’d spent hours on her father’s bus, along with Melody and Roxanne. They’d played with Barbie dolls on the bunks and had tea parties at the little folding dinette table. Her mom would let them have Kool-Aid and Swiss Cake Rolls and Delaney had always unrolled hers before eating it. Some of her favorite childhood memories were from days on that bus. It had sat in the driveway for a while after the last Jesse Masterson CD came out, but eventually her parents had sold it to pay other bills. No need for a tour bus when there were no tour dates to play.

  “Welcome aboard,” said a chubby, balding man behind the mammoth steering wheel. He had a shiny head and a friendly expression. That missing tooth was hardly noticeable at all.

  Their rescuer pushed the hood from his head, revealing dark brown hair that was either wildly styled or had gotten severely messed up in the gale-force winds they’d just hiked through. “Yes, welcome aboard the Paradise Brothers’ home away from home,” he said. “I’m Reggie. This is Sam, our driver.” He pointed to the chubby, bald guy. “This here is my brother, Finch.”

  Another man, just slightly taller than Reggie with auburn hair and rust-colored freckles, came forward and extended his hand. “Howdy. Glad to see you folks are OK. That car of yours is damn near buried in the drift. Good thing our Sammy here has got a sharp eye.”

  Sammy grinned. “Is that there a brassiere on the antenna?”

  Delaney blushed. That brassiere had cost her ninety dollars, but all things considered, it was money well spent.

  “Sure is,” Grant answered, smiling at her.

  “Hey, folks. How y’all doin’? I’m Humphrey.” A fourth man appeared behind Finch and his velvet voice accompanied his dark brown arm as he reached around the redhead. Humphrey had the sweet-natured face of a third-grade spelling bee champion, but his suggestive wink told Delaney he was every bit a grown-up man. They all looked to be in their midtwenties. Handsome, fit, cocky too. She could tell just by their bright smiles. She’d spent her life surrounded by musicians. She could read these guys like sheet music.

  Grant and Delaney shook hands with everyone while he introduced them. “I’m Grant. This is Elaine. Thanks so much for picking us up. It was starting to get damn cold in that car.”

  Reggie chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. It looked downright steamy in there when I peeked in the window, yeah?” He patted the driver on the shoulder. “Sammy, let’s get this rig moving before somebody plows into the back of us, yeah?”

  Sammy nodded, and Reggie motioned for them to sit down. There were two rows of pine-green suede sofas, one along each side the bus, and a small kitchenette just past that. Delaney knew with a quick glance that curtained sleeping bunks were toward the back, along with a bathroom. Standard-issue tour bus, and although this one was nice, it didn’t have the flashy rock ’n’ roll style of her dad’s old bus.

  These guys were honky-tonk. Up-and-comers, most likely. If the y’alls and the howdys hadn’t tipped her off, they oozed a certain Southern comfort kind of charm.

  “Where you two headed?” Reggie asked, sitting down next to Humphrey. Humphrey picked up a guitar pick and began toggling it over his fingers.

  Delaney sat down near Grant while Finch leaned against the counter, his arms crossed loosely over a green-and-black plaid shirt.

 
Grant looked her way. “That’s a good question. Memphis, maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Finch said. “Kind of shitty weather for a random road trip, ain’t it? Pardon my French.”

  Delaney beamed up at him. She needed to spin this her way before Grant went and said too much.

  “That’s kind of a funny story, actually,” she chimed in. “You see, Grant’s mother accidently took my phone when she left to visit her sister in Memphis and we’re hoping to catch up with her to get it back. So I take it you guys are musicians, huh?”

  Of course she already knew that, but she also knew getting them talking about themselves would distract them from asking questions about her. The old bait-and-switch technique. She tried to look starstruck, as if musicians were the coolest thing ever. As if Eric Clapton didn’t play golf with her dad.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Finch answered proudly. “We’re the Paradise Brothers. Based out of Nashville but we just played a couple of gigs up in Michigan and Indiana.” He leaned over and playfully cuffed Reggie on the back of his head. “Remember next winter, only shows down south, Reg. This weather is a crazy bitch. Oh, sorry for that French again, ma’am.” He looked apologetically at Delaney, but there was more sparkle in his eye than genuine remorse.

  Delaney smiled back and batted her lashes in pseudo-awe. There were platinum records hanging on the wall back at her parents’ house, but these guys did not need to know that.

  “Well, fortune smiles, yeah?” said Reggie. “We just happen to be headed to Memphis ourselves. We’re booked on Beale Street in a couple of days, so you’re welcome to ride along with us.”

  “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? We don’t want to put you guys out,” Delaney said. An hour or so in their company was one thing, but it was a ten-hour drive to Memphis from where they were, and in this weather, it could take twice that long. Even though these guys were country, they would have heard of her dad. He’d been out of the scene for a long time, but his reputation lingered. And it was a small step from knowing Jesse Masterson to recognizing her. She pulled her bangs down over her forehead.

  Reggie’s dark brows pinched together. “What kind of gents would we be if we just dropped you off at the next rest stop with no car? It’s no problem. We’ve got plenty of room, yeah? But if you want us to leave you someplace, of course we can. We’re probably stopping off near Champaign tonight.”

  Delaney turned to Grant. “I need to call my sister. Is your phone working?”

  He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. “I don’t know if you’ll get a signal but you can try.”

  “Um, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” She glanced up at Reggie.

  “Of course not, but if you just want privacy, feel free to go in the boogie-woogie room.”

  Grant started laughing and she couldn’t hold back her smile. “The what?”

  The rest of them snickered like sassy frat boys. Finch leaned forward and pointed down the hall to the room at the end. “The boogie-woogie room. It’s the only real bedroom on the bus, so whoever brings a lady on board gets to sleep there. Guess you’re in luck, sweetness.” He nodded at Grant and Delaney felt the entire women’s movement take a giant step backward.

  “Meanwhile,” Reggie added, peeling off his hoodie, “this thing is soaking wet. I’m going to change and throw this stuff in the dryer. Say, are you two as wet as me? You want to toss your stuff in to dry?”

  She was wet. That trek through the snowdrifts had left her jeans soaked, and wet denim was not comfortable, but neither was the idea of taking off her clothes on a bus full of men.

  Humphrey jumped up from his seat and pulled a duffel bag from one of the bunks. “I got some stuff you can wear.” He rifled around in it for a minute before pulling out a pair of black athletic pants with a white stripe down the leg, and a T-shirt. He handed them to Delaney. “Here, you can wear these while your stuff dries.”

  Finch pulled another bag from a second bunk and pointed at Grant. “Yeah, I got some stuff you can wear.”

  Grant held up a hand. “No, that’s OK. I’ll—”

  Finch shook his head and interrupted. “Do unto others, man. You can change in there.” He pointed to the infamous boogie-woogie room.

  Delaney looked at the offered garments. A white T-shirt? It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  “I don’t suppose you have a bra inside that duffel bag, do you?” she asked.

  Humphrey’s grin split wide, making him look even younger, yet even naughtier.

  “Oh, hells yeah. We got bras. We got lots of bras.” He stepped to the side and opened a drawer. Full of bras. Then he pulled open the drawer beneath it. “We gots panties too.”

  His eyebrows did a little hula dance and Delaney laughed.

  “Now, that might seem a little strange, sweetness,” Finch offered, “but the ladies, you see, they like to toss us things when we’re onstage, and we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. So we scoop up whatever they send our way, and when we have a bagful, we drop them off at Goodwill. Everybody wins.”

  “And some of these have just been left behind. You know, souvenirs,” Humphrey added, as if there were any question. “But don’t worry. All these feminine undies have been freshly laundered.” He lowered his voice. “Reggie loves to wash the panties.”

  She looked over at Reggie, who was still sitting on the sofa. He just flipped his palms up, like yeah, I love to wash the panties.

  Delaney had been in some interesting situations before, some of her own making and some created by fate, but this might be a new low. Reduced to wearing a groupie’s discarded underpants. But she was low on options right now. Her own bra was still flapping in the wind on Interstate 94, and heaven only knew when or how she’d get to a store. She had no car, no money, no phone, no anything. All she had was Grant and the clothes on her back. The very wet clothes on her back.

  “Thanks,” she said to Humphrey. “I might just have a look.”

  She reached into the drawer as if it was a snake pit.

  “Anything in there for me?” Grant asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “Only if you’re into women’s panties,” Humphrey answered.

  “Only when I’m invited,” Grant answered.

  “Nice,” Delaney murmured. “That’s very nice. Very gentlemanly of you.”

  “You guys hungry?” Reggie called out. “We got Hot Pockets, yeah?”

  Delaney stared into the mirror in the boogie-woogie room and tried to wrestle her damp hair into a ponytail. Her new skanky-ho bra fit pretty well, and the T-shirt and pants from Humphrey were soft and warm. Certainly better than wet jeans, and she was finally starting to thaw. Now she just needed to call Melody and figure out where the heck to have the Paradise Brothers drop them off.

  Grant came in and shut the door just as she was about to dial, and he started to undo his pants.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  He glanced around the room as if wondering who she was talking to. “I’m changing my clothes,” he said when he realized he was it.

  “You can’t wait until I’m out of here?”

  His smile was classic big bad wolfy. “You’ve seen pretty much all of me, remember?”

  She did remember. Very clearly. She remembered what he looked like naked and sudsy, and she damn well remembered what he felt like pressed up against her in that Volkswagen. Her cheeks flamed, and he chuckled.

  “Such a Girl Scout,” he whispered and continued to get undressed.

  She turned her back to him and dialed Melody’s number. Her sister answered on the fourth ring. “Mel, it’s Lane. I need an update.”

  “It’s not a good time right now,” her sister murmured into the phone. “The producers are here and Mom—”

  “Delaney, is that you? Hello, darling,” her mother’s voice cut in, bright and chipper, the fake kin
d of bright and chipper. It was the voice she used when things were terrible but she wanted to pretend they weren’t. “I was just telling Harvey the producer, you remember Harvey our producer, right? Well, I was just telling him how you are out scouting locations for another Master-soaps boutique. Have you had any luck?”

  Oh, God. She couldn’t do this fake song and dance right now. Not with Grant in the room. “Hi, Mom.” Delaney used the same fake bright and chipper tone. With any luck, her mother would get the hint and give the phone back to Melody. “Um, yes, I have been doing that little thing. I don’t have much to tell you right now, though.”

  Delaney gave a fast glance over her shoulder and saw Grant’s muscular back as he peeled off his shirt. “Let’s talk in a few days. Meanwhile, can I talk to Melody, please?”

  Her mother’s voice came through again, but more muffled and low, as if she’d covered her mouth with her hand. “Lane, where are you? Melody said your phone had been stolen. Is everything all right?”

  There was legitimate concern in her tone, and Delaney felt her eyes well up with tears. She wanted to tell her mother everything and have a good, long cry, and then her mother would make her cookies and tell her everything would be fine. But it wouldn’t be fine. Her mother couldn’t get that awful sex tape back. She couldn’t make people stop saying mean things on Delaney’s Facebook page, and she couldn’t stop magazines from printing pictures of her. Her mom also couldn’t tell her what to do about incredibly sexy Grant, who was taking his clothes off right behind her in the boogie-woogie room of a tour bus.

  He’d stripped down to his boxers. She could see him in the mirror’s reflection, and damn if they weren’t really plaid, just like he’d said.

  None of that mattered right now, though. All that mattered at this precise moment was getting her phone, her wallet, and her forty thousand dollars back.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Mom, but I really need to talk to Mel. She’s helping me with something important.”

  “Oh, well that sounds fabulous, darling.” Fake-voiced mother was back. “Keep in touch, then. I’ll have you just chat with Melody about those details while I fill Harvey in.”