by Zoe York
She was clearly on the same regrettable wavelength. “We should get back to the bus.”
He kissed her softly before nodding. “Sweet dreams tonight.”
“The sweetest.”
“Try not to blush too hard when I send you dirty text messages tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She glanced away to the side, then back up at him, her eyelashes fluttering nervously. “So…about that.”
“Dirty texts a no go?”
“No, they’re okay. But I’ll give you a different number.”
“You’ve got a secret phone?”
She laughed. “Is that totally paranoid?”
“No.” It was smart as hell. “I’m turned on all over again.”
Another small laugh, and she started to tell him the number.
“Wait,” he said, digging out his phone and handing it over. “Just type it in. I’ll never remember it in the state I’m in.”
“Can I help you with that…state?”
He shook his head, no, and dropped his mouth to the bare stretch of her neck as she created a new contact for herself in his address book. “Tonight was all about you.”
“Really?”
“Call me old-fashioned.”
“I’ll call you a masochist, because there’s never a time I’ll voluntarily go without an orgasm.”
He grunted at the unexpected pleasure that little admission gave him. For all her worry about being a good girl, doing the right thing…for all the ways that Track had messed with her head, she still had the autonomy to say, “I want my pleasure”. Good for her.
Plus, hot as fucking anything. He kissed her hard and fast, then tugged her hair as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Every single time. You use me and abuse me until you come as often as you want. Got it?”
She beamed at him. Jesus. He wanted to carry her away from this tour as fast and as far as he could go, but she had people relying on her. So he’d do second best and build a wall around her. Let her ride the roller coaster a little more easy because he’d be able to give her this.
“Dirty Liana is in your phone as Sweet Tits.”
“You nicknamed yourself Sweet Tits.”
“Can you think of something better?”
“It’s perfect.” Another kiss, then it really was past time to be getting back.
He cracked the door open and shot a quick look down the hallway, listening as much as he was watching. Nobody. He took her hand and squeezed her fingers as they headed back to the main corridor. That, too, was empty, save for the guard who’d put his phone away. Dean waited until the guy did a slow turn around to look out the door, and he tugged Liana into the open, as if they’d just come out of the after party.
Dropping her hand was surprisingly hard, but the lazy, satisfied smile she shot him made up for it.
Before he could dwell any longer on what they’d just done, his phone vibrated with a text message. He pulled it out as they walked past the security guard. Matt. It was the middle of the night. Matt was either drunk-dialling or something had happened.
“I need to check my messages,” he said quietly as they crossed the parking lot. “Maybe make a phone call.”
“Everything okay?”
“I’m sure. It’s one of my brothers. Odds are good he’s just out partying.”
She tilted her head to the side. “The one who’s going overseas?”
“No, Matt, the next oldest. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Behind them, the arena door creaked open and a wave of people spilled out. They weren’t alone anymore.
He glanced back down at her. She was looking at the ground now, and he wanted to lift her chin and kiss her mouth, soft and sweet. So he lowered his voice instead and made his words warm, just for her. “No, go on in. Get a head start on those sweet dreams. I’ll be there in a minute.”
After she disappeared onto the bus, he turned his attention to his phone.
Quick question, Matt’s text started. How long are you away? Any chance I could use your place next weekend?
Dean scowled. Despite the late hour, he stabbed his thumb at the screen and dialled his brother, who answered right away, his voice bright and beer-happy against a background of bar sounds. “Dean!”
“No, you can’t use my place. You have a perfectly good apartment.”
“My landlord doesn’t want me throwing any more parties.”
“And you thought I would?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you about the party. I was hoping you’d just text back a happy-go-lucky yes.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.
“No kidding.” Matt didn’t sound upset. “So how’s it going? Hook up with any groupies yet?”
“I already told Sean there weren’t any groupies.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want to believe you.”
“Is he out with you tonight?”
“He is.”
Dean looked down at the dusty parking lot and scuffed the toe of his boot against a small pocket of dirt. “He in a good mood?”
Matt laughed and his voice shifted, like he’d moved his voice away from the phone receiver a bit. “Dean wants to know if you’ve told the Colonel about your tour.” He moved the phone back to his mouth. “That would be not yet. So yeah, he’s in a good mood. He’s got a hot babe in his lap.”
A feminine protest came through the phone line no problem and Dean shook his head.
Matt didn’t seem deterred. “What? You’re totally hot. And a babe. And—” He broke off, laughing. “Okay, I gotta go. No parties at your house, I promise. And we want a groupie report soon!”
“No groupies. Not that kind of tour.”
“Bang the hot singer, then.”
The right response to that was Go home, Matt, you’re clearly drunk, or Stop thinking with your dick, asshole. Stuttering silence was a dead giveaway.
Dean was already cursing himself when Matt started howling. “Oh Jesus. You did. You fucking dog. Yes. Man, I’m so proud—”
He hung up the phone. He couldn’t have that conversation with his brother.
Because that was not what it was.
Even if it was a hook-up—which the thought of made his stomach flip uncomfortably—he’d never crow about it. He didn’t do that. Ever.
His brothers needed to have their heads knocked together.
But the conversation still made him uneasy in a new and worrisome way, because he also didn’t ever get involved with a woman without some clear parameters.
And if one thing was super fucking clear, it was that with Liana, he had zero boundaries. Like being in her orbit stripped him bare of all defences. Before they did any more kissing, they needed to talk.
Chapter Fifteen
THEY barely got another second alone together for nearly forty-eight hours.
They drove all day to get to the show in Knoxville. The entire trip, Liana was aware of Dean’s presence in a brand-new, super intense kind of way.
As soon as they arrived, she had a sound check, then a meet and greet.
Her cheeks hurt from smiling by the time Dean swung open the door to her dressing room. No sooner had she stepped inside than the wardrobe assistant followed her in with her clothes for the night, and behind her came the make-up artist to retouch her face.
She made a face at Dean in the mirror over their heads as they bustled around, and he held her gaze, his mouth curving into an amused grin.
He hadn’t shaved. A few more days and he’d have a full-on beard.
She liked that. She should tell him how much, before he went and did something foolish like shaved it off.
He lifted one eyebrow. What are you thinking about?
Her cheeks flamed. “Hey, can I have the room for a minute?” The crew members looked up, surprised. “Just like five minutes. Three. Feeling kind of stressed out with the bustling.”
It was a total diva move that normally she’d apologize for, but as soon as they were out of the
room, Dean had her backed up against the counter, his mouth on hers, and she didn’t care.
“Stressed out?” he asked against her lips.
“Just needed a kiss,” she murmured back.
“Good thing I’m here, then.” Both of his arms were around her now. She was well and truly trapped, and the next brush of his mouth was a rolling wave that caught her and pulled her out to sea.
He lifted her effortlessly so she was sitting on the counter and nudged his way between her legs. Yes, oh definitely that. She squeezed her legs around his hips and tried to slide their bodies together just so, but he pressed her back against the mirror.
“Just a kiss, princess. No time for anything more.”
“Spoilsport,” she said breathlessly, giggling until he took her mouth again, hard and rough, stealing the laugh and her breath. He sent her spinning into the riptide again.
Slick, wet heat. A crazy kaleidoscope of sensations twirled inside her as he explored and caressed her with his tongue, his lips, his hands. He kissed her with his entire body, his embrace commanding and addictive.
Drowning had never been so tempting before.
A quick knock at the door killed that thought quick.
Dean slid her off the counter, helping her find the floor with her feet before he stepped away.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered. It wasn’t the right thing to say, exactly, but he’d turned her brain to mush.
He tugged on a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he bent over her. He kissed her cheek. “Our secret, princess. No worries.”
“That was fun.” She grinned up at him.
He winked as he walked backward toward the door to let them back in.
She tried and failed not to look at the substantial erection pressing against the front of his jeans.
And that was all they got for the rest of the evening.
Andrew didn’t have the greatest night. A problem with his in-ear monitor, and then he’d snapped at Jackie, which was probably the stupidest choice he could have made for more than one reason.
And then she’d had to intervene when he’d gone ballistic on the sound engineer after the show. It was a shame, really, because she’d had an incredible show, and she attributed at least a bit of that to the breathless excitement that rioted through her every time she thought of Dean’s kiss.
She’d wanted to show him just how appreciative she was, but that would have to wait, because as soon as Andrew calmed down, they were back on the bus to get to Louisville by the next morning because her next show was a daytime slot at an outdoor festival.
* * *
— —
* * *
Dean knew managing a grumpy band wasn’t how Liana wanted to unwind after another spectacular concert. Jackie was pissed because of something Andrew had said to her during the show, so she stomped off her to her bunk as soon as Dwayne pulled onto the highway.
West pulled out his tablet and sat right in the middle of the living room, taking up a lot of real estate on the couch at the same time as he propped his legs on a chair.
Liana looked exasperated with him, and Andrew, who was slouched over the table, spinning a coin over and over again.
Clearly she wasn’t the oldest of four brothers.
Dean kicked the chair out from under West’s feet.
“Hey!” the drummer protested.
Rule one of a grumpy house full of boys: everyone suffered the same consequence. As soon as Dean had realized that trick, the Foster home had way less bickering.
“Get the cards,” Dean said. “We’ll play a few hands.”
Rule two of a grumpy house full of boys: give them something to fiddle with while they sort out their shit.
The tablet, the coin…those were fine, and they’d eventually get there on their own, but Liana was tired and Dean didn’t have time for this shit. Getting them doing the same thing increased the likelihood of whatever was simmering between the surface with those two actually boiling over—and then getting dealt with properly.
Rule three of a grumpy house full of boys: big brother leads by example. He pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table. “Who’s in?”
Andrew didn’t move.
Neither did West, but he made the classic mistake of sniping from a distance. “Andrew won’t get in the game. He’ll just sit there be pissed that someone else wins.”
“Fuck off.” Andrew’s voice was quiet, but filled with enough anger that Dean did a slow glance up at Liana. He didn’t know these guys that well. He needed her to be the arbiter of when enough was enough.
She was still in her stage makeup, heavy dark eyeshadow and a too-smooth face, so it was hard to read the subtle signs in her face, but the not-so-subtle tightness around her mouth was enough to broadcast to all three men that she wasn’t happy. Silence stretched as she looked back and forth between Andrew and West, then finally settled her attention on Dean. Her eyes were filled with questions, but her lips softened as she exhaled. “I’m in. Let me just get changed while you set up the table.”
“You gonna let Liana take the new guy’s money?” West goaded, and Andrew stood up so fast, Dean got between them.
No fists were flying tonight.
“Put your money on the table and get the chips.” He pointed a finger at Andrew, then glanced back over his shoulder at West. “If you want to say anything, you can do it when it’s your turn to bid. Or between deals. Got it?”
“I don’t got nothing to say.”
“Is that because you’re—” West cut himself off when Dean turned, giving him a warning look.
“Table. Cards. Chips. Money.” When neither man moved fast enough, he used his NCO voice. “Now!”
That did the trick.
By the time Liana returned, her face scrubbed clean, her hair up in a loose, swinging ponytail that made him want to tug on it something fierce, the table was set for four people to play some poker.
Dean only paid enough attention to the game to win every third hand. The rest of the time, he watched West poke at Andrew. Andrew’s anger build. Liana get pushed closer and closer to the breaking point, until West sneered one too many times and she slammed her cards onto the table.
“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, staring at her drummer in disbelief.
It was Andrew who answered instead. “He doesn’t know when to stop.”
“You know what? I don’t care. You turned a little thing into a big fucking deal tonight,” she stormed, gesturing sharply at Andrew. “And you—” she snarled at West. “He’s absolutely right. You don’t know when to stop. And I don’t know why. Have we just hit that point in a tour where we’re in each other’s faces too much? Is this some sort of delayed fallout from my anxiety last week? I don’t get it. And I want you both to stop. Right now.”
To their credit, they both looked sorry. Too bad they also looked sullenly, stubbornly insistent that it was the other guy’s fault.
Dean decided it was time to pull the pin. “What happened earlier today?”
West’s face turned ruddy and Andrew’s eyes flared wide.
Ha. Oldest brother, twenty-year veteran NCO. They never stood a chance. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Liana, who blinked at him in surprise. He restrained himself from smirking. Something serious still needed to be sorted out.
He didn’t have a clue what it was—just that something must have happened between West and Andrew, and if pushed enough, they’d come out with it.
“He overreacted—” West said.
Andrew sputtered right back, cutting off his bandmate. “And he keeps rubbing my face in the fact that he’s making more money than me!”
“What on Earth are you talking about?” Liana glared at Andrew. “I assure you that y’all are paid the exact same. And if I could, I’d dock you both a good amount for ruining my evening.”
“Not for being in the band.” Andrew slinked low in his chair. Dean
could practically see the younger man’s inner toddler pout. Oh boy. “He’s been building his solo stuff on iTunes. And now he’s rubbing my face in it.”
If speech bubbles were a thing in real life, Dean would bet money he’d see a black squiggle over Liana’s head right now.
“So you let that spill onto the stage?” Her eyes flashed with bright, righteous anger. “If you aren’t happy with where you’re at in your career, you have a bus full of people who have shown over and over again they’re happy to talk business. We’ll support you, but not if you’re a jerk about it. There is no room on my stage for jealousy. Pull a stunt like that again and I’ll fire you without a second thought. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Andrew sat up a little straighter. If Dean was his platoon 2IC, he’d have rapped him over the knuckles for not being ramrod straight, but this was no longer his scene to direct.
He got to sit back and enjoy watching Liana tear a strip off two idiots.
It was pretty damn hot. He cleared his throat, and Andrew gave him a wide-eyed look. Dean raised his eyebrows.
Andrew flinched. “And I’m sorry.”
Liana rolled her eyes. “Maybe start with that next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said softly. “We all let our emotions get the better of us from time to time.”
“I’m sorry, too,” West said, but he wasn’t looking at Liana. He held out his hand toward Andrew. “I was being a dick.”
They shook, then Liana slapped her hand on top of their clasped fingers. “One more hand before bed?”
“Nah,” Andrew said, shoving back from the table. “I’m out, if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing. Hey…tomorrow we’ll kill it, right?”
He held out his fist for Liana to bump against. “Kill it dead, boss.”
“That’s better.” She wiggled her index finger and he ducked his head so she could kiss his cheek. “Love you, stupid.”
