Rocked

by Taryn Elliott

  The little dynamo had to burn a thousand calories a night. Her red-and-purple-streaked hair was dripping, her studded purple bra and matching boy shorts glittered in the fluorescent lights accenting her pale skin. An equally naked Simon followed her, clad in only a pair of jeans and a wicked smile.

  Gray came next with barely a wrinkle in his ever-present white button down shirt with his leather vest and black cargos. The only proof he’d been on stage were his damp temples and exhausted eyes.

  Nick followed him with an oddly bright smile lighting his face. His blond hair stuck up everywhere, and his white Henley clung to his leanly muscled chest. His jeans hung low, showing off a hint of hip bones and a dark blond trail above his buckle.

  Finally, Deacon came in, full of wide smiles and dripping with sweat. And seriously intent eyes.

  “No.” Harper slid behind the table.

  “C’mon, Lawless, gimme some sugar.” Deacon headed for her and trapped her behind the table, dragging her in for a full body hug.

  “Ugh, you’re a sweaty mess.” She struggled half-heartedly. He was completely soaked to the skin. He buried his face into her neck, his low chuckle driving her crazy. It was ridiculous how sexy he was when he came off stage, but the big lug didn’t need to know just how much that turned her on. “Out!”

  He squeezed her ass affectionately, then joined the rest of the band at the front of the table. They were a diverse group, but one thing matched on all four of them. Excitement, exhaustion, and relief. End of the tour relief.

  The end of her time with Deacon was barreling down on her faster than she wanted to own up to.

  Jazz slapped her hands together and rubbed, dragging Harper back away from the doom and gloom. “Oh, man. You know just how to make the night even more awesome, Chef Girl.”

  Harper smiled. “It’s the last night I can spoil you guys. Tomorrow is big wig night.”

  “Great. That means sissy finger food,” Nick grumbled.

  Harper couldn’t stifle a grin. “Probably.”

  “Fucking Los Angeles.” Simon picked up one of the sliders. “The one thing I didn’t miss was the fact that no one eats here,” he said around bites.

  “We didn’t eat either,” Jazz chimed in.

  “That was because we were poor. Now, we definitely are not.” Nick stuffed a turkey sandwich into his mouth. He kept looking toward the door.

  Deacon socked Nick in the arm. “Do you actually have someone coming backstage? I thought you were strictly pre-game, son.”

  Harper rolled her eyes and refilled the half empty trays from her cart.

  Nick shoved him back. “Fuck off. I do have a surprise, though.”

  Jazz looked between Nick and Deacon. “What kind of surprise?”

  Nick’s face shuttered, and his gaze slid away from her. “Just an old friend.”

  Deacon frowned. “What kind of old friend?”

  Jazz shrugged, looked around, noticing Gray already sat on one of the battered couches that lined the wall. She quickly piled food onto two plates and followed him over. Harper frowned as Gray picked at a wedge of watermelon, but didn’t really eat any of it.

  “About fucking time,” Nick said, a huge smile lighting his face. He jammed his plate onto the smaller table that held their post-show beverages.

  Harper followed his gaze to see another man at the door.

  Simon looked up, muttering “holy fuck,” before dumping his plate as well. The two men hurried across the room, both pulling the new guy into a bear hug. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Nick actually hug anyone before.

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe you actually came! How the fuck are you doing, man?” Nick clamped a hand on the bald stranger’s shoulder before dragging him back into a hug.

  After a few more slaps and raucous laughing, they all came toward her and the food.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. Fuck, it’s good to see you.” Nick’s voice was more excited than she’d ever heard. And even for him, the f-bomb was free flowing.

  Deacon’s arms were now crossed over his chest and the good cheer was completely missing. Void of all emotion, actually. Instinct had her rounding the table to stand by his side. She tucked her fingers into the cement tight grip he had on himself and drew his arm around her waist. Finally, he sighed and kissed her on the temple. She frowned up at him, but he shook his head subtly. “Snake, meet my—” He cleared his throat. “Meet Harper.”

  The trip-up stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Deacon had been throwing around the L-word, and they couldn’t even figure out introductions? She slapped on a smile and held out her hand. “Harper Pruitt. I’m on the staff here.”

  Simon popped another sandwich into his mouth. “She’s more than staff. This girl is our goddess chef and Deacon’s main squeeze.”

  “Thanks, Simon,” she muttered. Simon shrugged, smirked, and rocked back on his heels, his mouth full of meat and bread.

  Snake’s hand was cool to the touch, his palm damp. “Deacon always was a lucky shit.”

  Before she could try and put together an answer, Nick jumped in. “Snake called me this afternoon. Out of rehab and looking fine.”

  Deacon nodded, rubbing her back lightly, but she couldn’t tell if he was being affectionate or trying to soothe himself. “You look great, man.” Deacon’s voice was cool and achingly polite.

  Nick’s eyebrows beetled down briefly before smoothing back to his usual I-don’t-give-a-fuck mask. Harper looked from Nick to Deacon and had the sudden urge to hide in her kitchen.

  “I’ll let you guys visit,” Harper began.

  Deacon clamped his hand around her hip. “No. I’m good.”

  “Okay, but I’m still working.”

  Deacon’s face slipped into an easy smile, though it never reached his eyes. “I can steal you away for five minutes, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Deacon looked over his shoulder at Gray and Jazz, who were speaking quietly to each other, eyes glued to their guest. Tension pulsed in the room, both from the new guy and Nick. Simon seemed oblivious to it, chattering happily at Snake about the shows across the country.

  A moment later, Harper was being dragged across the room to the hallway that connected the backstage with a maze of corridors. Deacon made two turns and popped open a side door that led to the catering entrance.

  Before she could say a word, his mouth descended on hers. She could still taste the sweat of the stage on his lips and skin. Stage sweat was different from his workouts. It was distilled Deacon. Cool ocean breezes with an icy front behind it.

  He hauled her up until her arms were around his shoulders and her feet dangled from the floor. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was rough and vibrating with frustration. For once she was pretty sure it wasn’t her that was bringing it out of him.

  Instead of feeding into it like she normally would—God, Deacon on the edge was irresistible—she forced her brain to engage and gentled her fingers into his damp hair before lightly raking her nails along his scalp. His shoulders were stiff as boulders, and his lips were almost careless which definitely wasn’t Deacon.

  She tore her mouth away from his and pressed her cheek to his. “Shh, big guy, just hold onto me.” His rock-solid body eased by degrees. His breathing was harsh, and his grip finally lessened around her ribs. “That’s it. There we go.”

  He gently lowered her to the ground, until her cheek was pressed against his chest. His heart raced, but his breathing finally slowed. He looped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight.

  “Gonna let me in on the freak out?”

  He rubbed his chin on top of her head. “Do you know about Snake?”

  “Not really.”

  “He’s our ex-drummer.”

  “Oh.” She tried to remember what she’d read that first day she’d met Deacon, but she was pretty sure another drummer hadn’t been mentioned in her quick Wiki search. “I guess it wasn’t a smooth exit?”

  “More like handcuffs and a f
orced stint in rehab.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  She could hear the pain and regret in his voice. With her hands around his waist and her fingers under the damp cotton, she took slow, even breaths to trigger him to do the same. “How long?” she asked quietly.

  Deacon sighed. “He must’ve gotten out a few weeks ago. I’ve lost count. Before Jazz and Gray joined the band, we were counting down the days. We weren’t even allowed to talk to him when he was in. We had to talk to him through his mother, and let’s just say she not the most reliable person.”

  She pulled back. “He knows he’s been replaced, right?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We were clear on that.”

  The hesitation waved a big red flag in her face. “Nothing was left unsaid?”

  Deacon slipped away from her. “A lot of shit was left unsaid.”

  She tucked her hands into her apron pockets. Deacon was no angel, but he rarely swore in front of her, and never with a bite in his voice. “And?”

  He turned away and jammed his fingers into his hair, lacing them at the back of his head. “It’s not important.”

  “Oh, I bet it is.”

  “Leave it, Harper.”

  She took a step back. His harsh voice tripped a switch inside her. She turned back to the doorway, pain a hot ball in her throat. He was hurting and obviously didn’t want to talk. He’d wanted her to distract him. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and fisted them at her sides.

  That’s all they were supposed to be. Good sex and a way to pass the time. It was what she wanted. And given a little more time, Deacon would come to realize that, too.

  This wasn’t any of her business. And this was the perfect time to walk away before they got any more invested. Before he said that freaking four letter word again. She wasn’t sure she could take that again. She turned to him, and the ball in her throat doubled in size.

  In the dim glow from the security lights, she saw his knuckles go white with how hard he was holding on.

  “Dammit,” she muttered and strode over to him, ducking under his arm. “Tell me the rest.”

  His green eyes blazed with anger and worry. A rare pride lit his face making his chin tilt up.

  She poked him in the center of his chest. “Taking a swing at someone when you go back in, that’s better than telling me? Because with all that anger bottling up, you’re going to do something dumb.”

  “I don’t do that,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, really? I think I remember patching you up after a fight recently.”

  “They came at me first.”

  “Right. And Snake’s not coming for your family right now? Do I look dumb? Isn’t that what you’re worried about?”

  His jaw relaxed slightly. “I—”

  She drove her fist into his belly. “Ow, dammit.” She shook out her hand.

  He looked down at her with a single raised brow. “You don’t want me to hit anyone, but it’s okay if you do?”

  “I can’t reach your hard head.”

  His lips twitched, and he lowered his face to hers. “Better?”

  She cupped his face, coasting her thumbs over the prominent cheekbones and down to the hair shadowing his jawline. Prickly and yet soft, she let the rasp of his beard ground her. “Tell me.”

  Anger and tension slipped out of him like water. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to believe he’s here to visit. I really do.”

  The ball eased in her, too. She hated to see him upset, that was all. “But you don’t.”

  He sighed and straightened up, lacing his fingers with hers. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bailed him out, and he’s promised to change. Promised to do better. A day later, he’s back at the dealer.” He hauled her close, lifting a hand to play with her braid.

  “You have Jazz now. And Gray.”

  “I know. And we wouldn’t be where we are now without them. I just don’t know if Nick and Simon will remember that now that Snake seems better. I just can’t trust that he’ll stay that way.” He slid his fingers into her hair. “I know it.”

  “It could be different.”

  “He’s no different than my mother. He’ll just charm his way back in, and then he’ll leave disaster in his wake when things get tough, and they will. You know this business. He just wants back in because we’re on top.”

  Ah, there it was. She tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “Snake didn’t do so well when you had to fight to play?” And his mother? God, she wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the time. She’d already been gone from her post for too long.

  “When we didn’t have a gig more than twice a month, he’d disappear from practice, he’d steal from what little petty cash we had at the apartment. He’d steal from me.”

  “For drugs,” she finished.

  “He wasn’t picky. Whatever he could get his hands on would do.”

  She sighed. “Surely, the rest of them know this.”

  “Of course, they do. But Nick and Simon have known him since high school, Harper.”

  “And he’s family.”

  Deacon nodded. “He was family.”

  Was. Deacon had already distanced himself from Snake. But what about the rest of his friends? She stepped back enough that she could drag him down to her again. She laid a soft kiss on his mouth. “Then we watch out for Simon and Nick.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah, we.”

  He grinned and came back in for a whole different kind of kiss. This one was sweet, intense and playful. “We.”

  “Don’t get too excited, big guy. I’m only helping out because you give good orgasms.” His smile didn’t falter. In fact, it got bigger, the freaking idiot.

  “Right. I forgot.”

  She shook her head, caged her hand around his smug mug, and pushed him back. “I gotta work.”

  He laughed and bent forward, tossing her over his shoulder.

  “Deacon!”

  He slapped her ass. “Quiet, Lawless. I’m just getting you back to work faster, that’s all.”

  Since dignity had evidently left the building, she let her arms fall straight down his back. And because his very fine ass was there, she gave him a slap right back.

  * * *

  Before Deacon walked through the door to their after-show area, he let Harper down. He smiled down at her. Smudged lips and a crooked braid told a more intriguing story than what had actually happened outside.

  He hadn’t known he’d needed to talk it out until she’d pushed. Actually, he’d never had anyone to talk to before. The only discussions he ever had with his bandmates were after a blow up, and usually ended in bruises or blood. Harper’s way worked a helluva lot better.

  He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Harper might not be quick to jump on the love train, but he knew she cared about him. And that was enough for now.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  He laughed and cupped her face, mirroring the soft kiss she’d given him only moments before. As usual, she went up on her toes and clamped her fingers around his wrists.

  She was fighting how in-tune they were, but it was a lot easier to enjoy Harper than to try and force a label on her. The problem was, he only had a few days to convince her that they shouldn’t go their separate ways after the tour ended.

  So the only way he could show her was by touch. Cognizant of the people milling around and her fellow employees scrambling nearby, he managed to keep the kiss light. Barely.

  Every single time he touched her, the sense of belonging strengthened. They were like layers in a song he’d never hoped to create. Words were only one part of them. The harmony of their bodies moving together, the underlying melody of humor and rightness he felt around her, it all made up a composition he’d happily give a lifetime to figure out.

  She was his ultimate song that would never have an end.

  When he finally managed to stop kissing her, it ended in a smil
e. Her eyes were still closed, and she’d pressed her lips together. She slowly blinked those summer blue eyes open, and all the words he wanted to say crashed against his teeth.

  Holding them back killed him.

  He wanted to shout to everyone in earshot that he loved this woman. Instead, he gathered her in for one more hug. Not trusting that he’d let her go if he kissed her again, he stepped back. “We’re heading to the penthouse tonight. Come with me?”

  Her eyes went wide. “To your place?”

  He tilted his head side to side. “Well, our place. But I have my own room. That has a door. And a king-sized bed.”

  She clutched his fingers. “You had me at door.”

  He laughed and pulled her into the after-show room. “A night or two of privacy sounds awesome, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Deacon turned around, walking backwards as he twisted his fingers with hers. “Don’t go there, Harper. This isn’t the end.”

  She pressed her lips together again, but this time it didn’t look like she was savoring.

  “Deak?”

  Harper’s eyes shuttered, and she looked at the floor as Jazz came up beside them. She flicked a look at Jazz, and her face changed again. “Jazz, are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Deacon let out an oof as Jazz slammed into his chest, her arms slipping around his waist. “Hey,” he said gently and smoothed his hand down her single ponytail. “Tell me what I can do.”

  “I’ll let you guys talk.”

  Jazz peered up at him and Harper. “Oh, wait. Did I interrupt a thing? I’m sorry.” Her violet eyes filled and fat tears dripped down her cheeks.

  “No, no. That’s okay. We have all night to talk,” Harper said hurriedly. Deacon fought a smile at the acute panic on Harper’s face. She’d handled Jazz just fine when he’d been in the fight with Johnny and Killian, but give her an emotional Jazz without a crisis to fix, and his girl was ready to run.

  “Are you sure?” Jazz asked, burying her face in his chest.

  “Yes, definitely.” Harper squeezed his hand then practically flew across the room to her cart and food.

  “What’s up, Pix?”