So not like her. Tattoos were nice enough, but they didn’t invite her to touch—at least not until Deacon. Actually a lot of things were different when it came to Deacon.
“Harper?”
“What? Oh, yes...it’s gorgeous.”
“Good.” He took her hand and crossed the room.
“I thought he was only taking a stretch—”
“I don’t care. I need a few minutes away from everyone.”
“Oh. Well, I can do that. Want me to be the lookout?”
Deacon caught her around the waist and hauled her into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut by shoving her up against the steel door. She didn’t have time to do anything but gasp as his mouth slammed down on hers. She hooked her arm around his neck, fisting his hair.
With his delicious back currently off the menu, she was limited in what she could touch. She ripped her mouth away, her breath stuttering. “What the hell, Deacon?”
“I’ve been watching you crawl around that fucking floor underneath me for two goddamn hours.” He raked his teeth over her bottom lip and down her chin to her neck. “A camera watching my every move.” He curled her legs around his hips as he lifted her to meet his touch. “Having to stay still and listen to your husky laughter, trying not to react to the way you’ve been watching me, the way your mouth works...Christ, Harper.” When his tongue swirled low behind her ear, she actually felt her eyeballs roll back into her head.
Spikes of want that had been simmering since the bar were now off any seismic chart she could imagine. The fact that he’d been just as aware of her the entire time made the lust she’d felt in the bar pale in comparison to this. She could hear his heartbeat, could feel it pounding against his breastbone and thudding into her own. It matched her own jackhammer pace.
As lean as he was, he was still so much larger than her and her legs could barely hang on. He shifted until one hand palmed her ass and he tipped her just so. “Tell me to stop, Harper.”
Stop? Was he fucking nuts? She looked around at the graffiti art that gilded the walls in silver and gold over matte black. The mirror across from the door ratcheted up the sex factor to Fantasy Island the Return. He was actually grinding her against the door and she was loving it.
Well, she’d love it a bit more if she could just—oh, God. His hand slid into the back of her jeans, cupping her cheek tightly. She reached down and unzipped her jeans so he could bury those long, elegant fingers deeper. She watched his back muscles flow, the tanned flesh corded with sinew and the tentacles of black art that crept up from his waist to his middle back. His hips dipped into a roll that made her insides liquefy. God, was that her making those keening noises?
Did she care?
The friction from the front, the long night of teasing, the days of wanting him, and his questing fingers shoved her from the honeyed buzz of warmth and fuzzy brightness to orgasm like a switch. The cool metal of the door on her ass as he finally managed to slip two fingers into her made her arch and fist his hair. The only way she could stop herself from screaming was to sink her teeth into the dense muscle where his shoulder met neck.
He hissed and caught her mouth as he rolled his hips ever slower, her name that same litany of whispered longing from before. Murmurs that matched the undulating rhythm of his hips until her orgasm faded out like a star at dawn. He smiled into the kiss with a low chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked on a wheeze.
“I kinda like that you branded me because I made you come so hard.”
She pulled on his hair, but his laughter was contagious. She couldn’t even care that she’d just dry humped him against the door. Not with an orgasm like that.
CHAPTER NINE
August 19, 3:48 AM - There's Tired and Then There's Tired
Finally Casey rolled his chair back. “Stand up for me and let me make sure it’s all cool.”
Deacon rolled his shoulders and stood.
“Arms out for me.”
He followed orders, clenching his hands into fists. “You’re killing me.”
Casey grunted. “It’s done when I say it’s done.”
“Does that mean sit back down?” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice. It really wasn’t manly.
“No more torture. You’re good. Go ahead and take a look before I bandage you up.”
Deacon headed right for the mirror as the two camera guys hopped up to follow him.
Casey handed him a mirror so he could check it out in full. “As you can see, it covers your back pretty thoroughly.”
“Shit yeah, it does.” The work was stunning. Deep blacks faded to grays making the original tribal design more three-dimensional. There were purple lines mixed in from the original design that had been placed.
During the process of the tattoo Casey had changed it. Made the lines thinner in spots, thicker in others. It was a damn blueprint of his body. Finely rendered filigree rode the length of his spine. It reminded him of pen and ink drawings of intricate patterns done for a coat of arms.
On the whole it looked like layers of metal work coming out of his flesh.
“It’s fucking phenomenal.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Are you sure you want to do this for free? This is a thousand dollar tattoo.”
“I’d probably charge more like fifteen hundred, but who’s counting?”
Deacon laughed. It would hurt his ready cash, but he’d pay it.
Gladly.
Casey came up behind him with a bottle with some sort of green solution in it. “Nah. I’ll be taking pictures of this bad boy, though, and you’re definitely going to be an episode of ‘Wilde Side Studios.’ Oh, and I’ll need pictures after it’s healed.”
“You got it.”
“And my aftercare instructions are important, so listen up.”
“Shit. I’ll need someone to help.”
Casey glanced over to the couch. “Better wake up the babes. Jazz will be handy to do it when your girl isn’t around.”
His girl. Deacon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face at the idea of Harper being his. She’d probably try and deny it like she did earlier, but it was definitely a true statement.
Deacon walked over and crouched beside Harper. He tucked her hair behind her ear and traced the back of his knuckles along her cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She drew in a deep breath but settled right back into the oversized sweatshirt pillow. He slid his hand into the back of her hair, letting all the silky softness slide around his fingers and tangle around his wrist.
What he wouldn’t do to grip that a little tighter and draw her into him for a kiss. But the camera was rolling and he didn’t want to push himself on her yet.
It had been a long and confusing day. They’d gone from platonic to tongue tied in a single day. And as much as he’d wanted to kiss her stupid the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he didn’t want to test his luck on camera.
A guy had his pride.
“Harper, wake up.” She moaned and tried to turn over, but he held her in place. “Wakey, wakey.”
“Not that I don’t love the mushy Deacon voice, but shut up, dude.”
Deacon looked over at Jazz. She still had her eyes closed, even though she was obviously awake. “Tat’s done, Purple Pixie.”
“Finally,” Harper murmured. “But that doesn’t mean you need to stop the little neck massage thing,” she said on a low moan.
Christ, the woman was going to kill him before the night was over. “The artist has instructions for aftercare. I thought you might like to hear them, since I intend on bugging the hell out of you to help me out.”
“Is that right?” Harper opened one eye. “And what makes you think I’ll do that?”
“You can’t wait to get your hands on me?”
Jazz snickered. “I’m sorry,” she waved, “just ignore me. Please do go on.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “I’m enlisting your help too, midget.”
> Jazz’s eyes popped open. “I get to manhandle the mansterpiece?”
“Down girl,” Harper muttered.
“Oh, I know it’s your mansterpiece, but I gotta admit to wanting to get a feel.”
Harper rolled onto her elbows. “You haven’t?”
Jazz mirrored her. “Nah. Twitter and the internet seems to think that the band passes me around like a party favor, but I have standards.” She grinned brightly, her purple contacts glowing in the low light. “Most of the time.”
“I didn’t...I wouldn’t—”
Jazz waved her off. “I’m just sayin’. So you know, you can feel safe about stuff. Deacon’s a sweetheart, but he’s more brother than lover material for me.”
“Thanks, I think,” Deacon said and stood.
Harper pushed herself to a sitting position. “It’s none of my business.”
Jazz nodded to the cameras. “Tell that to the world, girlfriend.”
Harper winced and pushed her hair out of her face. “Let’s just get this done.”
Crap. It was asking too much to think that she’d have time to actually do the aftercare for him. “You don’t have to do it. I’m sure Jazz would be okay with—”
“No, I got it,” Harper interrupted.
“Okay, but maybe I should learn just in case.” Jazz sat up as well, her voice full of laughter. “Only because I love you unconditionally.” She stood and drilled her finger into his ribs.
“Good to know,” Deacon said and kissed her forehead.
Casey’s sister was back. Her eyes were clear and focused as she snapped on black medical gloves. “Didn’t think I’d miss this part, did you?”
Deacon folded his arms across his chest. Being manhandled was part of the package lately. More and more fans were coming up to them in airports and after the shows for autographs and pictures, but he’d never felt more objectified in his life than tonight. He’d been directed to strip in front of people, he’d been stared at for hours both by fans and the invasive eye of a camera, oh and he’d be on television in the next few months.
Right now all he wanted to do was to get out of there. To take Harper and find a quiet spot and let her play nurse. He fisted his hands under his biceps. Was that too much to ask?
Harper slid her palm over his forearm and gently turned him. “Oh, wow.”
He could feel her eyes on him. He stood up taller, straightened his shoulders and spine. He shut his eyes when the tips of her fingers ghosted down the very edge of his back.
“Don’t touch.” Kate said firmly.
“I didn’t—” Harper started to protest, but took a step back.
“He’s a huge open wound. It’s a pretty wound but still very raw, and right now he’s very prone to infection. So I’m going to teach you both what to do for the next few weeks.”
Deacon knew the song, the lyrics, and the choreography to this particular song.
“I’ll wash you up and we’ll coat you with a fine layer of triple antibiotic. Normally I’d cover you in gauze, but this piece is big and very intricate. So we’ll wrap him in saran wrap to protect the piece. But you can’t leave it on too long. The tattoo needs to breathe, but it’s the best way to get you out of here and back to...well, wherever you’re going.”
“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.
CHAPTER 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 di
dn’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?”
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