Leaning over, Arabella raised her voice to add, “Especially Nate.”
At that, all three women cracked up. The guys loved teasing their wild, flirtatious drummer about how seriously he took his hair and his huge array of products. The girls…well, they just loved raiding his stash.
Sharing a grin, they went back to watching the performance. The guys were at the chorus of “Next Time,” and Charlie’s deep voice kicked in to harmonize with Tyler’s smooth baritone. As he stepped up to the microphone, his gaze fell on Arabella in the front row, and Hannah could’ve sworn she saw a flash of fear in his eyes.
What in hell’s bells is going on?
She refused to believe Charlie was bored, or any of the other ridiculous ideas Arabella had filling her head, because she’d seen the way the bassist came alive whenever she walked into a room. Charlie watched her with stars in his eyes. No, something else was going on that had him acting so strangely. She just couldn’t figure out what.
Deciding she’d bring it up to Deacon later, Hannah reached out and took Ella’s hand. Her friend smiled softly as she squeezed it tight, then together, they turned and sang along.
…
When Deacon was up on stage, he didn’t make it a general habit to look out into the crowd. Sure, he smiled and hammed it up, staring straight ahead at some unknown spot as he lost himself in the music. But he never tried to distinguish any of the faces within the inky, shadowy blob.
Whenever he did happen to notice the crowd, say when the lights went up, or the rare person screamed his name, Deacon’s skin began to itch. The attention, the sheer number of people who came to their shows, still didn’t feel real even after a month’s worth of performances. It was humbling and uniquely uncomfortable.
While no one came to a Blue concert for the fiddle/keyboard player, if he paid too much attention to the fame thing, that’s when fear crept in. Too much was riding on this opportunity panning out, and too much was still left up in the air. The thought of this being taken away and going back to teaching music lessons, struggling to make ends meet, made his blood run cold.
But tonight, Deacon broke his own rule. He looked out into the crowd, his eyes having one target, and one target only.
Hannah.
Watching her sing along with Tyler’s lyrics, her face shining with pride for him, made every struggle, past and future, worth fighting. The pain and sweat had led him here, standing on stage and sharing this moment with her. Mixing his old world with the new.
With a final swipe of the strings, he lowered his bow and shot Hannah a smirk.
The crowd surged to their feet. As they cheered, the usual requests for “Rain Dance” and a few of their other big hits rose above the noise, and Tyler grinned his appreciation before turning to the band. He gave a nod, and one by one, he, Tyler, Nate, and Miles turned to face their bassist.
No man in the history of the world had ever looked so panicked.
As the cheers quieted, Charlie cleared his throat, and the harsh sound echoed through the speakers. Biting back a smile, Deacon exchanged a smirk with Nate. So far, he was off to a promising start.
Slowly, the crowd took their seats, sensing that something was brewing. Charlie patted his right pocket, then slapped it again, tangibly confirming the ring was where he’d left it, even though he’d checked that same damn pocket a million times before they took the stage.
Releasing a deep breath, this time stepping away from the microphone before he did it, he firmed up his chin and signaled to Miles.
A string of simple chords began rolling across the stage, and Charlie gave the audience a nervous smile. “Hey, everyone.” When they returned his greeting with a chorus of, “Hey, Charlie,” his friend laughed, and a smidgen of starch left his shoulders. That was better.
“I guess you’re wondering why the music stopped, huh? I promise we’ll get back to that in a minute, but first, there’s something important I want to do, and I figured as loyal Blue fans, you should be a part of it.” Whispers rose as he dabbed at the sweat beaded on his forehead and grinned sheepishly. “I’m pretty nervous.”
Feminine awws swelled the theater, and Deacon shook his head. Even twitching in his boots, Charlie Tucker had charisma.
“By now it’s no secret that I found the love of my life this summer…Nashville’s own Arabella Stone.” When Charlie targeted their manager in the front row, he chuckled at the trio of women wearing matching expressions of excited wonder. A little more of that starch faded away. “Come on up here, darlin’.”
Arabella hesitated, blinking at the stage in awe, and Sherry impatiently reached over to yank her arm. Even from up on stage Deacon could read her lips: Go! Get up there.
Arabella blinked and shot to her feet. When she finally started to move, Hannah swung her excited gaze to Deacon.
Is he…? she mouthed, bouncing in her seat. Deacon smiled and shrugged.
Charlie met Arabella at the stairs and gave her a hand as she climbed up, swallowing visibly as she glanced at the crowd. Like her boyfriend, she wasn’t comfortable in the spotlight, but then she focused on the man she’d given her heart to when she was just a kid, and the worry disappeared. Why shouldn’t it? Arabella had loved Charlie for years, waiting patiently for him to wake up and see her as a woman, and now he finally did.
Deacon’s gaze went back to Hannah and held.
“Arabella, I told you once that I wasn’t good with fancy words, but that because of you, I finally understood what Tyler’s been singing about all these years.”
Deacon heard the smile in Charlie’s voice, and the audience chuckled appreciatively.
“Sweet girl, you’re the song in my heart. You make me want to be a better man. You fill my life with laughter and silly lists, and whenever you’re by my side, I know it’s going to be a good day because with you there is no other option. Every day with you is a blessing, Arabella, and I want to spend the rest of mine making you feel as lucky, happy, and honored as you make me.”
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, and as Deacon listened to Charlie’s words, a strange sensation floated through him. He managed to drag his gaze away just as his friend hit the stage on one knee.
Arabella squealed. The entire room joined in. Falling onto her knees, too, she threw her arms around Charlie’s shoulders and screamed, “YES!”
He laughed aloud, kissing her hard before he pulled back and said into the microphone, “Baby, I didn’t get to ask you anything yet.”
The crowd chuckled again, eating up every second, and Arabella blushed to her ears. Charlie shook his head and kissed her again, then his face took on a serious expression.
“Now, where was I?” he asked, and Ella feigned a stern look. “Oh, right.” With a glance toward the wings, Charlie said, “Now, I’ve already got your father’s blessing, and I know he’s backstage waiting to swoop you into his arms, but first, Arabella James Stone, I have a question for you.”
Reaching into his right jeans pocket, he withdrew an antique diamond ring, her mother’s engagement ring, and held it up in the air. “Baby, I know I’ve driven you crazy the last couple weeks. It’s just that I wanted this night to be perfect. But I swear, if you do me the honor of becoming my wife, I’ll only act weird and drive you crazy a few times a year. Five or six, maximum.”
Arabella’s honeyed laugh rang out in the theater, and her face radiated so much love it was almost hard for Deacon to look at her.
Setting down the microphone, Charlie took her left hand, slipped the ring past the first knuckle, and stared into her eyes. The room grew so quiet the people in the rafters probably could hear the witty, former playboy as he shakily asked, “Will you marry me?”
Tears sprang from their manager’s eyes, and she nodded over and over. Laughing and gasping in between kisses on Charlie’s face, she yelled again, on cue this time, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”
Once again, the crowd rose to their feet, and the applause was ten times louder than it had been minutes ago.
Hannah held her hand over her mouth, openly weeping with happiness as she clung to Sherry’s arm. Deacon smiled at his friends and took a step back, letting the happy couple have the spotlight, and as he did, he realized he’d never felt more whole.
Having Hannah here, being a part of his new world.
Hearing her sing random songs about country men not wearing guy-liner.
Cheering on their mutual friends getting married.
Living with him, laughing with him. Sharing life.
Hannah was the key to him finding balance in this insanity. She’d always been his calm in the storm, and now she was the same for his son. Being with her every day this last month, Deacon didn’t know how he’d ever find the strength to let her go again.
When Hannah shifted her gaze, and their eyes met, something moved inside his chest.
This girl was his song. She filled his life with laughter and silly accents, and every day with her was good because she made it that way, with her warm hugs and warmer smiles and the way she looked at the world. She loved his son almost as much as he did, and she made both their lives better simply by being in it.
Hannah wouldn’t ditch Max, even if things went south between the two of them, because that wasn’t her style. She lived life with her heart on the outside and children always came first. Hannah had the most beautiful soul of anyone he’d ever met. It was almost as if she’d been made especially for him…and he was so damn tired of fighting that.
Earlier tonight, Sherry had slipped Deacon a key card. It was burning a hole in his pocket. The childcare service they’d hired for the kids was staying overnight, so Max and Lizzie would be taken care of. If anything did happen, he knew Tyler would call, which meant literally nothing was stopping him from doing what he wanted. Taking Hannah away and giving in to the intense chemistry that burned between them. That is, if she still wanted him.
Hannah’s soft lips parted in surprise, as if she could read his thoughts, and even from the stage, he could see the need sharpening her eyes. That look pushed the scales.
The same gut that convinced him to follow her home ten years ago, told him to trust it again. As he had the last time, Deacon intended to listen.
He just hoped his gut knew what it was doing.
Chapter Eleven
Excitement swirled low in Hannah’s belly. Outside her window, the city of Nashville passed by in a kaleidoscope of neon lights and highway sounds, but it was the inside of the limo—or rather, the man seated beside her in the back seat—that had her heart pounding.
Deacon’s hand gripped her thigh, just above her kneecap, and his nimble fingers flexed and kneaded her skin. They hadn’t spoken since they left the Opry, and each set of passing headlights illuminated a look of possession on his face. It was another trick of the light, obviously, mixed with her fanciful imagination. But it thrilled her just the same.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her breathless voice piercing the strange mood that had fallen between them. Did that sound as husky as I think it did?
Deacon’s gaze flicked to hers. “The Hermitage,” he answered quietly, his eyes seeming to gauge her reaction. “We have a room there for the night.”
“Oh.”
Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say…but it hadn’t been that.
Nodding, she let the information settle over her, pursing her lips and then rolling them over her teeth, and tried her best to rein in her imagination. She’d made the mistake of letting it run free in the past and had ended up hurt and disappointed. What she needed was a bit of clarification.
“Cool. So, um, is everyone getting a room tonight? Or just…you know, you and me?”
“Just us,” he confirmed, and Hannah nodded again before looking straight ahead.
The bus probably had an electrical issue. That was why they couldn’t sleep there tonight. Most likely the air conditioning or the hot water. Maybe even the plumbing. If any of those things were to conk out, it would definitely suck. Only, if that were the case, then Sherry and Tyler and the kids would need rooms, too.
Okay, so a problem with the bus was out. But something else for sure.
Maybe…err…well, possibly…nope.
She had nothing.
As she continued to ponder away, Deacon’s fingers slid ever so slightly higher up her leg. When they disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt, flirting with the sensitive skin along the inside of her thigh, Hannah’s breath caught.
Did he realize where his hand was? Should she say something, or simply enjoy it?
Then his fingertips began tracing a series of slow, tight circles along her skin, causing her entire body to clench, and a low moan/hum vibrated her throat.
There was no imagining that.
“I’m not expecting anything, Cherry,” Deacon murmured, and she looked up from where she’d been staring a hole into her dress—or, rather, where his hand had disappeared beneath it. His eyes were open and earnest on hers. “We can get room service and spend the night sleeping in a big, comfortable bed if you want. If you’d rather, I can even ask the driver to turn around and head back to the bus, and we can pretend none of this ever happened. Or.” His hooded gaze dropped to her mouth. “We can go up to the room, close the door, and finish what we started the other night.”
Hannah’s mouth tumbled open.
Well, hell. There was no stopping her runaway imagination now.
If she were honest, she’d thought she had sensed a change in him during the performance, but she’d been wrong so many times before. Even after the final song, when she’d headed backstage with Sherry and Arabella, and took turns with everyone else congratulating the newly engaged couple, she’d felt Deacon’s eyes on her. Arabella’s dad had passed around flutes of champagne, and while the guys teased Charlie for being nervous, and the girls made plans to go dress hunting in New York, she’d snuck glances in his direction, too.
She couldn’t put a finger on how or why it happened, but something major had shifted. The look in Deacon’s eyes when he watched her now wasn’t the same one he’d had yesterday. Or the day before that, or the year before that. It was sharper, more curious, and it had a delicious, jagged edge.
After the toasts had ended, he’d come up behind her and whispered that he wanted to take her somewhere. Even without the new look in his eyes, there wasn’t even an option of telling him no.
She’d follow him anywhere.
Turning onto her hip, Hannah curved her hand around Deacon’s jaw. The bristles of his neatly trimmed beard softly abraded her skin, and she stared into his eyes as she admitted, “There’s nothing in the world I want more than to be alone with you tonight. I’ve wanted this for a long time. So long that the longing feels like it’s a part of me.”
Deacon inhaled sharply as a muddled mix of emotions washed over his face. “I want it too, baby.” He lowered his forehead to hers and swallowed. “I think I may’ve wanted it for longer than I’ve admitted to myself.”
A shocked laugh bubbled up her throat, but still, Hannah was almost afraid to believe it. How many times had she imagined him saying those very words? How many times had she woken up with her sheets twisted and mangled around her legs, and Deacon’s voice ringing in her ears, only to realize it had been another dream? Too many to count. But this time, cinnamon-scented breath coasted across her cheek, and a hot hand was branding her thigh. Her imagination had never felt so vivid before.
Just to be sure, though, Hannah pinched the inside of her forearm hard—then giggled when it stung like a bitch.
Her eyes swam with emotion. What do you do when you finally get the one thing you’ve always wanted? How do you react when the person you’ve wished for, thought about, and prayed over for ten long years was suddenly right in front of you, looking at you the way you’d always wanted him to see you, finally wanting you back?
As it turned out, the answer was easy.
You grabbed hold and started making up for lost time. Immediately.
With a flick of her hand, Hannah’s seat belt fell away. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she pushed up onto her knees and lifted the skirt of her A-line dress, climbing over Deacon’s lap as soft pants of breath fell from her lips. Green-gray eyes widened as he gripped her hips, and she nestled her legs on either side of him.
Deacon glanced at the privacy panel obscuring their driver’s view. “Cherry…”
His roughened voice trailed away as she dragged a lone fingernail down the long row of pearl buttons on his shirt. It was fitted, black, and designer, chosen for the stage, and he looked good enough to eat in it. Like a modern-day Johnny Cash. But no shirt in the history of shirts could compare with the sight of Deacon’s bare skin.
Over the years, Hannah had covertly coveted that skin—whenever he cut the grass for her parents, bare-chested and gleaming in the sun, or they went swimming in Lake Norman, beads of water clinging to his pecs. But she’d always forced her gaze away, never wanting to risk getting caught ogling. She’d certainly never allowed herself to touch. Now, she could do both.
Eager fingers set to work, unhooking buttons, and the hard knot in Deacon’s throat bobbed. “I want you, Hannah.” He hissed as the edge of her nail trailed over his freshly exposed skin. “You’ve gotta know that I want you. But, baby…I need to do this right.”
Hannah heard the strain in his voice, sensed his conflict, and continued undoing buttons.
Deacon grabbed onto her wrists. “Our first kiss was outside on the fucking street.” Guilt swamped his eyes. “You deserved better than that. You damn sure deserve better than being groped like a horny teenager in the back of a car.”
Oh, you sweet, sweet, misguided man.
Wishing, not for the first time, that he could read her mind and stop with the foolish guilt trips, she sat back on his lap. “First off, it’s not a car. It’s a limo.”
She wiggled her eyebrows with a teasing grin, hoping to ease the tension steeling his shoulders—but her attempted joke went over like a lead balloon. His expression seemed to grow even more tortured, if that were possible. There truly was no limit to the man’s stubbornness.
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 14
