Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  Harper crawled down his body then came back up. “Too much,” she said against his throat when he reached for her again. She laced her fingers with his. “I feel like a live wire.”

  He stroked his way up her back, slick and silky with sweat. His bunk smelled of them, and there was no way to hide that. But he didn’t give two fucks. They’d pushed each other beyond the brink. And it was so much more than enough.

  Deacon brushed his lips across her brow, then her damp temple. She relaxed by degrees until her fluid body was draped over him and sleep finally became bearable.

  Deacon lifted his hand over his face to peer at his watch with one eye, surprised to see it was well past eleven in the morning. Simon’s incessant strumming prodded him into consciousness.

  His back was crowded into the carpet padding in his bunk and Harper was curled into his front, their feet tangled. Her tumble of sunny hair was tucked into his shoulder and neck, and they were both in sore need of a shower.

  The bus didn’t have good circulation in the best of times. Add in his penchant for being a few degrees above normal body temperature, and that equaled sauna.

  She pushed at him and rolled over. “Holy crap, you’re a furnace.”

  “Morning to you too, Lawless.”

  She opened one eye. “Is this going to be a thing?”

  “Us sleeping together? Hell yes.”

  She sighed. “I was talking about the Lawless thing.”

  “Oh.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and rolled them both over until he could stretch out on his back. He twisted on the little air vent. “Probably.”

  She lifted her face to the breeze. “What the hell is he singing out there?”

  Deacon tuned in. “It sounds like a cover of Bryan Adams.” He reached out and opened his cupboard, snagging the first two t-shirts on top. “Not that I want to cover up that delicious body of yours, but I gotta open this curtain before I die.”

  She pulled the shirt over her head. She looked down at her chest and laughed. “Good taste.”

  He grinned at the vintage Def Leppard t-shirt with the Hysteria cover molded to her chest. “You do have the very best breasts for concert shirts.” Snapping the curtain open, he reached for his shorts on the floor and stepped into them.

  Without the muffle of the heavy curtain, the lyrics came out full strength.

  “Back when we were doing sixty-nine in the bunk,” Simon sang out loud and clear.

  “Son of a bitch.” Deacon handed Harper her skirt and mangled panties.

  “What, I like Bry—” Harper poked his back. “Those are not the words.”

  “No, they aren’t.”

  Deacon tripped over a pile of clothes and slapped his hand on the wall as he reached the kitchenette. Simon sat on the couch with his acoustic on his lap, strumming with an unrepentant smile on his face as he repeated the lyrics once more now that he had an attentive audience.

  Deacon stared at the ceiling of the bus, automatically opening his stance to balance himself against the high speeds that Joe kept them at. “Simon.”

  Simon kept on strumming the cords to the often-covered song. “What? I’m just practicing the cover song for tonight.”

  Deacon simply stared. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I’ll sing the right lyrics tonight. Probably.”

  Harper came out, her hand sliding along his back before she tucked herself along his side. “Creative use of lyrics, Simon.”

  Simon grinned at her, his black hair wild around his too-pretty face, and blue eyes twinkling. “Man, I really like this chick. You can keep her around.”

  Deacon looked down at her. “You’re not pissed?”

  “Like I can lie about the fact that we had truly spectacular sex last night?”

  Deacon barked out a laugh. “You heard the lyrics, right?”

  “I dare you to sing them tonight,” she said with a bright smile at Simon.

  Simon fell back against the cushion, a shout of laughter filling the bus. “Lock her up, McCoy. I’m stealing her if you don’t.”

  Deacon curled his arm around her neck and kissed her soundly.

  That night, they played “Summer of ’69” with slightly bastardized lyrics that ended up on YouTube the very next morning.

  Nineteen

  September 7, 6:23 AM - Four Weeks, Five Days

  Harper dug her knuckles into the dough. Most of the crew were still in their beds, or just heading there. They’d been wheels up by three AM. The trip to the next town had been a mere two hours, so it was just easier to drive it and get some rest at the new venue.

  Except she was too keyed up to rest. She shared a bunk wall with five other women on the crew, all of them stacked like the trays of food she served every day. She was used to this environment. She’d learned to live on a few hours of sleep a long time ago. Life on the road wasn’t exactly restful—you found sleep when you could, and no one had a regular schedule.

  Well, the food did. Regardless of the amount of sleep she got, food was the one constant in her life. Her newbie status gave her the breakfast rush along with the lunch. Heck, most of the time, she was helping with the dinner, as well. Danny and Meg got to sleep off their partying from the night before, now that the tour was well on its way to finished.

  Harper couldn’t complain. She was lucky enough to have this position to start with. Meg’s reputation for playing as hard as she worked was definitely true. And even if Meg didn’t take her on permanently, this was a great company to have on her resume.

  The last two weeks with Deacon had been amazing. Heck, the entire tour had been pretty awesome. She and Deacon stole time whenever they could, which was a lot more than she was used to. Between school and the road, she’d never been around one guy long enough to get interested beyond a week. The few times she’d actually tried to let it be more had fallen apart faster than a soufflé on a speeding bus.

  And yet, it worked with Deacon. She couldn’t even pretend it didn’t. For God’s sake, she couldn’t shake him if she wanted to. He was too sweet to scream at, for the most part. And the few times she’d let loose on him, he’d grinned at her with that damn dimple and asked her if she was done.

  It was maddening. Mostly because she hadn’t known just how much she’d needed to vent. And the sleeping deal was really messing her up. She had a hard enough time sleeping before Deacon, and now she was absolutely useless unless his furnace-like body was behind her.

  She rolled forward and touched her toes to stretch her back. Since it had been a no Deacon night, it seemed smarter to work than to stare at the frayed carpet that lined her bunk. The illusion of soundproofing just pissed her off when insomnia came with her shitty baggage.

  And the chance of seeing Deacon today was slim to none. He was going to be crazy busy, thanks to the Seattle press. They were getting closer to the end of the tour, and that also paralleled into Oblivion’s turf. Seattle down through Santa Barbara was the club circuit he’d played for most of his career.

  And the press wanted Oblivion.

  With her hands curled around her ankles and dawn streaming into the truck, she felt at peace for the first time since she’d rolled out of her lonely bunk.

  Large hands gripped her hips and pulled her back. She shrieked and popped her foot up in a donkey kick.

  “Holy shit!” She whirled around, her fists bunched. Deacon’s quick reflexes and height advantage had saved his balls, and his face from her right cross.

  He caught her hand and pulled her into his chest. “Christ, Lawless.”

  He only called her that when he was truly exasperated with her. She rolled her eyes. “Well, don’t sneak up on a girl.”

  He wound his arms around her shoulders until her nose was jammed between his pecs. Jimi Hendrix’s face stared back at her. “I was trying to surprise you.”

  With her eyes closed and heartbeat currently at run-from-a-rapist-slash-murderer speed, she inhaled his woods and ocean scent. Then she slugged him in his rock hard abs. He di
dn’t even grunt, the jerk. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  He laughed into her hair. “I gotta say, I’m glad you can take care of yourself. If I was an inch shorter I’d be singing soprano tonight.”

  “You’d deserve it.”

  “I love when you’re cranky.” He lowered his nose to her shoulder then into the disheveled knot of her hair. His kiss was comforting—at first.

  The rasp of his tongue along her neck and nip of teeth at her ear didn’t help calm her heartbeat down any. She slid her arms around and under his shirt to feel the play of smooth, hot skin over muscle. “I missed you.”

  “Is that why you’re cranky?” He drew her back so he could cup her face.

  On her toes before he could lean all the way down, they met with a soft sigh. She felt his smile in the kiss and followed up with one of her own. She flicked off his beanie hat, fisting his hair at his nape until he moaned for her. “I didn’t think you guys would get in so soon. Don’t you have a radio show this morning?”

  “Yep. Joe and his damn weather app are going to be the death of me. We hauled in about thirty minutes ago,” he said between kisses. “I figured I’d get a run in before we had to leave.”

  She settled back against his chest, the reassuring beat of his heart under her ear. “You do realize you have a disease, right?”

  “You cook, I work out. Imagine what a pain in the ass I would be if I didn’t?”

  “You’re right. Don’t change. Obsess away.”

  He laughed and rested his chin on top of her head. “Besides, I can’t sleep right if you’re not suction-cupped to me.”

  She hid her grin and linked her arms at the small of his back. “We’re not sleeping now.”

  He stepped closer, his thigh brushing between hers before he boosted her onto the island counter. “Well, I do need a warm-up before my run.”

  She pushed at his shirt, needing his salty ocean flavor in her mouth. He hooked her legs around his hips, and clever fingers had her bra undone a moment later.

  His long fingers cupped her breast, pulling at her nipple. They’d perfected the quickie. In fact, it should be boring at this point, the way they knew just what to touch and stroke for maximum efficiency—but no. Every single time was more amazing than the last. Whether it was five minutes behind a locked door, or an hour on a blanket in one of the parks, it never stopped being mind-blowing.

  “Harper, we’ve got—well, shit.”

  She scrunched up her shoulders at Mitchell’s voice. Deacon peered at her from the curtain of hair that had fallen forward.

  It was as bad as getting caught by her dad. She harnessed the girls and slid out of Deacon’s hold. She dropped to the floor, twisting their fingers together behind her back. “Sorry, Mitch. What do you need?”

  “It can wait.”

  Deacon’s fingers tightened on hers before slipping away. “It’s all right. I just wanted to say hi before I started my run.”

  “Right,” Mitch said coolly.

  They weren’t exactly hiding their…whatever it was. But they didn’t go out of their way to vocalize it either. Well, unless they were on the bus. Then it was pure fun to find out what Simon would do when they got caught.

  Three cover songs had been reworked, and it was becoming a standing joke that they were dirtying up 80’s songs on stage. There was even a YouTube channel that had them all, along with song requests that the fans wanted bastardized.

  Social media was a monster when it came to these guys. And it had translated to even more ticket sales. She’d heard the talk between the managers in the executive lunches she put together.

  Oblivion was outselling Rebel Rage, saving the tour. In fact, she’d even heard that the guys were going to get an extra ten minutes in their set, starting tonight. Deacon didn’t know about that yet, and she couldn’t bring herself to give the details to him.

  Discretion was a huge part of their job. And she really didn’t want to clean up any more blood when Johnny and Rebel Rage found out they were increasing the opening act’s time, which, of course, meant they were sawing off that time with the headliners.

  Not good.

  Deacon pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll find you later.”

  Mitch simply looked at her, waiting for Deacon to jog out of earshot.

  Harper slapped her now too-warm dough on the butcher block and wrapped it in cling wrap before shoving it in the fridge to cool. “What?”

  “I should be glad that you’re actually with a nice guy instead of the road insects you usually choose.”

  Harper winced. Okay, so her flings weren’t exactly the stuff of dreams, usually. But they scratched an itch and were easy to forget. Exactly the definition of a hookup and all she ever needed.

  Until Deacon.

  “But you’re not?”

  Mitch unloaded the usual morning fixings, then set up the grill for the massive amount of eggs they cooked every day. Methodical Mitch and his eternal damn quiet.

  “Just spit it out, Mitch.”

  “I’m thinking on it.”

  “Don’t think and censor, just spit it out.”

  Mitch pulled out his two huge spatulas and started scrambling the cartons of eggs they used. “I like the boy. He’s good people. He’s exactly the type you should settle down with.”

  “Settle?” Harper sagged against the island. “I’m twenty-two, Mitch.”

  “You might be twenty-two in years, but you’re already battle weary, honey girl.”

  “I’m just starting my career. This is my first gig, thanks to you. But I have so much more I want to accomplish before I think about long-term boyfriends.”

  “That boy isn’t boyfriend material.”

  “Deacon McCoy was built with the words dream boyfriend in mind. What? You don’t think I’m good enough for him?”

  “Don’t talk stupid.”

  Harper growled. “Then I’m not getting what you’re saying.”

  “I’ve seen him with you, Harper. He’s got forever in his eyes.”

  “No. I—” she swallowed. “We’re just in the honeymoon phase.”

  “Exactly.”

  “No, not like that.” Exasperated, she pushed her hair back and tied it up in one of the bandannas she kept in her apron at all times. “We’re in the lust phase.” She really didn’t want to talk sex with Mitch. He really was as close to her father as her actual dad.

  “Sex is easy, sistah. But that boy watches you.”

  Tingles fluttered between her shoulder blades. Okay, so Deacon was a little intense. She’d grown to like the way he had to touch her when he was near her. And when she caught his gaze across the arena during soundcheck, it felt like a caress.

  “We’re just caught up in each other. It’ll be fine when we go—” She swallowed quickly as the spit lined her mouth and the tiny flutters popped into sweat. “When we go our separate ways.” Her voice sounded decisive. Of course it did.

  She pulled out the first package of dough she’d made and rolled it out on her powdered butcher block. It would be fine.

  She could totally walk away.

  Mitch didn’t say another word, and neither did she.

  * * *

  Deacon’s calves burned as he hiked his way up the little running trail that circled the venue. He really liked when they had accessible space surrounding the amphitheaters. He’d run anywhere, but the trails made it more challenging.

  And the hilly route was full of steep inclines. Man, had he needed the burn of a good run. He really didn’t sleep well without Harper in his space. Even in the coffin sized bunk, they made it work. She calmed the restlessness that had been following him for years. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky, but he wasn’t going to question it. He’d just do everything in his power to hold onto it.

  Add to that the tour was winding down, and things with the band were tight. Hell, they’d even written a new song together last night on the drive out. All of them had been too wound up to sleep.
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  Pieces were falling together. And if sales were anything to go by, Trident would be offering them an actual album contract. A golden ticket—fucking finally.

  Maybe, just maybe, they’d see that this version of Oblivion was the one that worked. Not the matchy-matchy leather and costumed punks the label tried to sell the public. This was them. Grunge rock shirts and denim, leather and lace, and suit vests over cotton. Each of them an individual that made up an interesting whole.

  Not a boyband.

  A rock band.

  It was working. With the last single, “Sex and Candy”, they’d hit top twenty. Drum solos and guitar solos loaded up their forty minutes into perfection. And now the only thing they needed to do was figure out how to write together. That part was still a crapshoot, and more chaos than not, but they were getting there.

  He climbed the dried mud that clung to the trail, following the sharp incline through weeds and branches. The foliage was dense, and the earthy wetness of the North Pacific air filled his lungs. Dust coated his hands, caking into mud with his sweat.

  But finally, the trees opened up and the brush let him go. The view stole his breath. The stage looked like a playground staked in front of nature’s own bowl of plenty. Water cut behind the hills and mountains and the sky was achingly blue.

  Gorge Amphitheater in all its glory.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to playing at such impressive places. The outdoor concert season, which gave them access to places like this, was ending. But he didn’t care. Seattle would be their backdrop tonight on a crisp, cloudless night.

  What more could they ask for?

  He climbed the fence that lined the top of the hill leading to the parking lot and slowed his pace to a brisk walk. Trucks were pulling out after dumping the gear for Rebel Rage, as well as their own modest equipment.

  The site was buzzing as the sun crested over the first mountain. He turned the corner into the hive of activity, sliding between busses and trucks until he found the gray and green Oblivion bus. He climbed on board, nodding to a yawning Joe, who was headed to the back and his own bunk for some much needed rest.