by Quinn, Cari
“Okay,” he said when it seemed that she was waiting for him to respond.
Harper listened with rapt attention to her instructions, asking way too many questions, but he’d be the one benefiting so he kept his mouth shut. Ten minutes later they were making their goodbyes. By the time they piled into Harper’s car, all of them were exhausted. If he’d been smarter, he would have thought about the fact that now he had no choice but to heal up. Getting Harper under him wasn’t happening tonight.
Ten
August 19, 10:00 AM - This Was Your Idea
Harper climbed the stairs of the bus with dread in her gut. The last time she’d been on a musician’s bus there had been a lot of liquor, a questionable level of memory, and her panties had ended up nailed to the overhead wall at the front of the bus’s living area.
Jazz, sitting in a lotus position, helped dispel the memory a bit though. She was in super short yoga shorts and a tiny one-strap sports bra thing in a searing day-glow pink that only Jazz would be able to pull off. The outfit showed just how lean and perfect her body was.
Harper sucked in her gut and straightened her shoulders. She really needed to get back to yoga. Like tomorrow.
“Hey.”
Jazz opened one eye. She shut her eye again and grinned, raised her arms in a long stretch, and suddenly leaped up to crash into her with an exuberant hug that sent them both sprawling onto one of the bench-style couches that lined the bus. “Can’t stay away, Chef Girl?”
“I’m here between meals to do my Tattoo Boy duty.” Harper winced. Yeah, that didn’t come out right.
“You just want to get your hands on all that hot man-flesh.”
Harper pressed her lips together and hoped her face wasn’t flaming quite as hot as it felt. “Can’t say that’s a downside to this particular chore.”
“Hell yeah.” Jazz laughed and caught her hand to drag her to the back of the bus. “Don’t mind the snoring and the mess. I make the guys keep the front of the bus clean, but the back?” She sighed hugely. “Not so much.”
The back wall had bunks stacked three high. All of them with the curtains closed. The second bunk up had a female foot sticking out with scarlet painted toes.
Harper frowned. “Which one is Deacon?”
“Bottom.”
Relief flooded her followed directly by anger. Why should she care if a woman was in there with Deacon? She didn’t have any claims on him. In fact, they’d done little more than kiss.
Right. That seismic orgasm you had yesterday was nothing.
She clenched her fist. Nope, she wasn’t going there.
“Hey.” Jazz touched her arm. “Deacon isn’t like Simon. Heck, Simon isn’t as bad as everyone thinks he is, to be honest.”
Harper huffed out a breath. She was being stupid. She pulled back the curtain a few inches and whatever breath she’d been holding whooshed out. Deacon was sprawled on his stomach, his head half tucked under his pillow, and his hands curled up around his head. That part was adorable.
It was the long, muscular line of his back that gave her pause. She’d cleaned him up last night and re-bandaged him with gauze and another thin layer of ointment. But she’d been so conscious of his discomfort and the raised skin that she’d rushed through the job, her one goal to get it over with so he could rest.
And still that had been enough to keep her dreams heavy with ideas fit more for a porn princess than a chef. A cold shower had been in order both last night and this morning. The man’s body was beyond sculpted.
Here and now, with a few hours away from him, she should be more even. She was exhausted and cranky, and yet all she wanted to do was climb into that bunk and curl around him.
She had an hour break.
Good grief. No, she was there to take care of his back and then get back to work. No naps, no cuddling, and certainly no porn princess thoughts about that impressively muscled body getting between her thighs.
She groaned.
“I know. You should see when he does yoga with me some mornings. He’s very flexible.”
“You are not helping, Jazz.”
She shrugged. “The big guy is hot.”
Harper slid her gaze away from Deacon’s back that gently rose and fell in sleep and zeroed in on Jazz.
“Don’t give me the eyebrow. I can enjoy the visuals without pouncing on the guy.”
“Sorry.”
Jazz grinned. “Jealous is good. He needs a girl that isn’t just looking to bounce and run.”
That was all she intended to do, dammit. She wasn’t in this for a relationship. She wanted Deacon. It’s not like she could deny that at this point. Just being in the same room with him had her palms tingling with the need to touch him. That didn’t mean she had to act on it though. She’d been attracted to men before and kept her panties on.
Okay, so none had been as tempting as Deacon, but she wasn’t a slave to her damn hormones even if it had been over three months since she’d had a man in her bed. And even then it had been about as exciting as white rice and butter.
Deacon was Indian food with an appetizer, and an extra helping of dessert.
With five weeks left in the tour that would be just about perfect. They’d gorge themselves on sex and fun and then they’d go their separate ways. It was perfect.
“We’re just having fun,” Harper said quietly.
“Deacon needs fun. A lot. Just don’t hurt him okay? He’s big and capable and one of the most even-tempered people you’ll ever meet. You know, the definition of a Boy Scout.”
“With a merit badge in hot.”
Jazz laughed. “There is that. But he’s the kind of guy you stay with.”
“I’m not looking for forever.”
“What girl isn’t looking for forever?”
Harper pulled Jazz back into the main living area. “I don’t want you thinking you can matchmake this into hearts and flowers here. I like Deacon. And I’m not going to deny that naked time is definitely on the table, but I’m just starting my career. It’s only a fling.”
Jazz sighed. “You guys don’t act like it’s just a fling.”
“We met a week ago,” she said incredulously.
“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
“And sometimes reality sucks. I’m on probation with this tour. If things work out, I’ll be assigned to another tour when this is over. With another band.”
“It might be our band,” Jazz insisted.
“You guys are going right out on tour again?”
“Maybe,” she said and folded her arms.
Harper rubbed Jazz’s arm. “I know how these things work. I’ve been touring with musicians all my life. You’re going to go record an album and start over. Next time you’ll probably co-headline at the very least.”
“You think so?”
The innocence in her gaze and the hope shining in her light blue eyes made Harper sigh. In years she was probably just about the same age as Jazz, but there was nothing but naiveté and sweetness under all the bravado.
She’d been like that once.
“I know so. I can see all the signs. You guys are on the cusp of something awesome. I can tell.” And that wasn’t a lie. She’d watched them practice, even watched them play. Oblivion was just getting started. They all were hungry for it.
And falling in love wasn’t in the plan. For them, it would more likely be separate planes and stiff goodbyes.
Jazz sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “You tell anyone I was getting sniffly about this and I’ll break your foot.”
Harper twisted an imaginary key in front of her lips and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Now go away so I can wake him up.”
Jazz hugged her before sprinting back to the bunk area and grabbing a towel. “I’m going to steal the shower before someone else wakes up.”
Harper took a deep breath, knelt beside Deacon’s bunk, and slid the curtain back. Sometime in the night he’d pulled the bandage off. The dense black of the
tattoo was highlighted with a few spots in the filigree shaded in a brilliant purple that leapt off his tanned skin.
From the tops of his shoulders to the curve of his lower spine, the design was now a piece of him. Right now the pieces looked a little worse for the wear with dried blood and the sticky residue of tape.
What he needed was a shower.
And she had to help him.
Hardship of all hardships.
She slid her hand down his bicep to his forearm. “Wake up, Tattoo Boy. I’ve come to do my duty.”
The rumble of a groan made her grin. His skin was all warm with sleep and she had the strongest urge to roll into the bunk with him. Considering her history with tour busses, that was a damn miracle. But then again Deacon tempted her more than dark chocolate chips.
“Deacon,” she said softly.
He grunted what she could only guess was a no.
“I’ve only got an—” She squeaked as his arm shot out and dragged her under him and snapped the curtain shut in the space of a second. He tucked her under him, sliding his knee between her thighs before burying his face into the hollow of her neck.
Warm didn’t even cover it. The man could heat the entire bus. The pungent ointment filled the space, but under the medicine was the beachy scent of Deacon.
“You smell like cinnamon and bananas,” he said into her neck. The rumble of his voice teased her ear and goose bumps rose everywhere. She sighed out a groan when his lips coasted down her neck and under the collar of her polo shirt. His huge hand spanned the width of her belly as his thumb made small circles where her shirt had ridden up.
“Deacon,” she said helplessly.
The tip of his tongue traced her collar bone while his hand slowly pushed up her shirt. She was sweaty and sticky and had powdered sugar all over her. Not the way she wanted to get naked with a man for the first time.
But he kept making her forget about simple things like wearing pretty clothes and lingerie. She couldn’t honestly remember the last time anyone made her feel this alive. And when his fingertips brushed the underside of her bikini top, she arched for him.
He nosed under her shirt and nuzzled the center of the triangle of her halter top until her nipple stood so taut she pushed the damn thing into his mouth. He sucked through the thin material, his teeth grazing the tip again and again. “I knew you’d be sweet, but I didn’t think you’d actually taste like sugar.”
Embarrassed, she groaned and tried to wiggle free. Instead of letting her go he tugged the cup aside and sucked on her naked nipple and she forgot to be ashamed. Who the hell cared if she was covered in flour and sugar when he had a mouth like that?
She slid her fingers into his hair and bit back a groan. When he found her other breast, he plucked the tip between his thumb and forefinger. She didn’t know which sensation was going to kill her first.
He moved his mouth to just behind her ear. “I think it’s becoming my single obsession to make you come. Think I can do it without touching anything else but these perfect breasts?”
When he alternated between tugging and whispering around the very tip of her nipple with the pad of his thumb, she actually wondered if it was possible. She’d never been overly sensitive when it came to her breasts, but as usual, when it came to Deacon nothing fell under normal parameters.
He flipped her shirt and halter top up and suddenly took her in his mouth. He went from one to the other until she was so dizzy with wanting him that she was one big exposed nerve.
She rolled her hips instinctively, but he pinned her down with his thigh across her hips. He laced the fingers of his left hand with her right and brought them up above her head. “No cheating.”
She stared up at him. His eyes glittered in the low light of their little cocoon. He kept eye contact with her as he dipped to take her nipple in his mouth again. The nip of pain from his teeth made her hiccup through a groan.
He nuzzled his nose around the tingling tip of her left and traced her right nipple with the calloused pad of his middle finger. Relentlessly patient, he found a rhythm that brought only pleasure.
She sucked in a breath, trying desperately not to cry out. And through it all, he never broke eye contact with her. When she couldn’t breathe and her heartbeat overrode all hearing, he latched his mouth over her left breast and sucked hard.
The resulting zing of release slammed her into the mattress. Every muscle locked as pleasure careened through her from nipples to the throbbing and neglected center of her, all the way down to her toes. Behind her eyelids, little sparklers danced before she finally let out a breath.
“Fuck,” he groaned into her neck and unclasped their hands bringing his arm under her head to cradle her closer. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Sounded damn good from here too,” Simon said from above them.
Deacon punched the padding above them. “Dammit.” He looked down at her, his eyes glittering for a whole different reason this time.
Simon grunted. “What? It worked for us.”
“God, yes.”
Harper slapped a hand over her face. She’d completely forgotten that she’d seen a female foot sticking out of the cubby above Deacon. Of course someone was up there. When she heard the rustle of sheets and a delighted giggle, she was pretty sure dying from embarrassment was a real thing.
“I’m sorry,” Deacon breathed into her ear. The sweetly pliant Deacon was gone and she could feel tension shimmering off of him. “Privacy sucks on this goddamn bus. I didn’t even think. You were just there, and all I could think about was getting you in here next to me.”
She cupped his cheek, drawing his lips back to hers as she relaxed. Memories of another bus, of the fumbling and pain, the embarrassment and the misery would not choke this moment.
This man had taken the time to make sure she came hard enough that pinwheels were still lazily spinning in her head. She lingered over his lips, drawing him into the kiss. “Let them listen,” she said against his mouth. “Maybe it will be the first time Simon hears what it’s like for a woman to come.”
“Hey!” The thud of feet hitting the floor was the only warning, but Harper tugged her shirt down just as Simon whipped the curtain open. “Want me to come in there and demonstrate?”
Harper pushed her bangs out of her face with a cheeky smile. “I’m good.”
Simon looked at her face and down to her breasts that were still spilling from her halter top, but at least covered by her shirt. Then his gaze drifted to Deacon. “Well, shit. Yeah, you are.” He snapped the curtain back.
“What?” Harper looked up at Deacon still leaning over her.
Deacon laughed and buried his head into her neck. “Man, you are amazing.”
“I only said—”
He slid his arm under her head. “Yeah, I know.” He cupped her breast, flicking the still tight tip with his thumb and stroked his way up her neck to frame her jaw. “That smile, those flushed cheeks, and those eyes so wide. I don’t blame Simon for closing the curtain.”
Frowning. “I don’t get it.”
He laughed. “No man would steal that from a friend. Besides, he knows that if he said one more thing I’d rip his tonsils out of his fucking throat, right, Simon?”
Harper blinked.
“Yep,” came a voice from the bunk above.
“This is the weirdest makeout session I’ve ever had. And I’ve been in some weird ones.”
He caught her mouth in a long, slow kiss, spinning it out until she groaned into his mouth. And again, she forgot herself. What the hell was in this man’s kisses?
“I want to see how wet you are, but if I touch you then I’m going to want inside you.”
A laugh somehow made it out of her. “Wet doesn’t even cover it.”
He groaned and pressed his forehead into the pillow beside her head. “Shower. Now.”
“Well, we do have a shower date.”
He brushed his nose along hers. “You’re sure that you
’re okay with this?”
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered when we got back last night.”
He groaned and shifted closer to her. “Good, because I think you’re going to have to help me get some carpet fibers from the wall in here out of my back.”
“Crap. I came here to help you with your back, not screw up your tattoo.”
“Worth it,” he said and watched her tuck her sensitive breasts back into their respective cups. She bit back the groan as the tips brushed her palms.
Shit, they were sore.
He leaned into her deliberately. “You’re killing me.”
Part of her wanted to open her thighs and take that incredibly impressive erection inside her. Maybe then she could relax. Maybe with a little Deacon sex she could get rid of the incessant ache that sat in the middle of her chest.
But as usual, they were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
She rolled away from him and out of the bed that was more coffin than anything else. Considering hers was much the same, minus a foot of leg space, she would curl up and sleep like the dead if she didn’t move.
He stood beside her and she instinctively leaned into him. Deacon was a cuddler, and he was turning her into one which was a miracle in itself. She was used to her space. Life on the road was devoid of it, so she valued it more than money at times.
With Deacon she seemed to forget that.
Dangerous, Harper Lee.
She stepped away from him and turned him around. “Oh, Deacon. That’s gotta hurt.”
“It doesn’t feel great.”
His skin was raised and little curled fibers stuck to his shoulder blades. She peeked into his bunk. “You’re going to have to trash those sheets too.” Black and purple ink, blood, and the greasy residue of the A&D ointment stained the crisp white sheets.
“We’ve got a stack of sheets.”
“Good thing.”
He shrugged. “Are you sure you want to help me with the shower deal? I know we haven’t exactly…” Again, he winced. “It ain’t pretty.”
