Hillbilly Rockstar

by Lorelei James

  “I think I asked you a question and I deserve an honest answer.”

  “I’m halfway to fucked up.” He waggled the bottle at her, held it to his lips and welcomed the burn down his throat as he drank.

  As soon as he swallowed, she snatched the bottle away. “Get shitfaced in your room, but not in here where you can drop this on the tile and leave glass all over the damn floor.”

  “No doubt you’d heroically throw me over your shoulder and save my poor tender feet from big, nasty glass shards.”

  Liberty pushed his back against the wall. “No, I wouldn’t. It’s not my fucking job to protect you from your own stupidity.” Her eyes searched his. “But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? My job.”

  Devin blinked at her. Fire danced in her eyes. She was so incensed, she hadn’t even shut off the shower. She’d just stepped in fully clothed and gone toe-to-toe with him.

  God, the woman was spectacular. She never held back—her passion or her anger. She wouldn’t let him hide.

  In that moment, his muddled emotions cleared. He’d always heard Jack Daniel’s was truth serum, but he’d never believed it until now.

  He reached over and turned the handle, cutting off the water. His hand shook as he attempted to wipe the droplets from the side of her face. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Me bein’ pissed off at you for doin’ your job. Me bein’ embarrassed—”

  “Devin—”

  He placed his fingers over her mouth. “Let. Me. Finish.”

  She just blinked at him.

  “I don’t like that you risked your life for mine. Not because of some stupid male pride but because your action proved to me that you—your life—is worth more than mine. You’re the one who should be protected, Liberty. But instead you’re takin’ down lowlifes who have a beef with me. It hit me in a way tonight that . . .”

  “You’re more than just a job to me.”

  “I know, baby, and that almost makes it worse.” He kept his hand curled around the back of her neck as his thumb followed her jawline. “I should send you away.”

  “Devin. Don’t.”

  “I should send you away,” he repeated. “But I can’t. If I gotta have someone protecting my ass, I want it to be you because I am more than just a job to you. And tonight I saw how good you really are at your job.”

  Liberty moved in and pressed her body to his, nestling her face in the crook of his neck.

  Although he was freezing his balls off, he didn’t move. They needed this reconnection. There wasn’t anything sexual about the way they held on to each other—but they’d gone beyond physical intimacy to something much deeper. Trust. Acceptance.

  Finally, he said the one thing he should’ve said first. “Thank you for saving my ass tonight.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  One week left on this tour and then he could take a break.

  Whether it was the heightened security after the incident in Berle County, or Liberty’s brilliant protection skills—he firmly believed in the latter—there hadn’t been any problems in the past week.

  He’d had a few protestors at a performance in Georgia last night. Since they were playing a county fair, he thought they might pelt him with rotten produce. But they’d held signs, urging passersby to boycott the show because of the “unholy” message in his song “What Love Isn’t.”

  Unholy. Wasn’t like he’d even played the damn song onstage at that stop.

  Plus, Devin had been on his very best behavior. In public at least. In private? A whole ’nother matter.

  Spending so much time in close quarters with the sometimes-prickly Liberty . . . Damn, that woman could get him all kinds of riled up. First thing yesterday morning they’d had a stupid fight about a gap in the schedule. He informed her she was wrong; she insisted she was right.

  But Liberty was in an ornery mood and wouldn’t let it go.

  He had shut the bedroom door in her face and concentrated on work. After he finally came out of his marathon songwriting session—at least his anger with her had one positive effect—he’d found her acting overly solicitous. When he questioned her on it, she admitted he’d been right about the schedule.

  And she hadn’t apologized for her mistake or for her snotty attitude about it.

  So Devin had half-jokingly informed her that bratty girls got spanked. When she didn’t get all indignant at the idea of him taking her in hand, he knew she was game for whatever he wanted to play.

  He’d never been into role-playing. He suspected that was because he hadn’t found a woman he trusted not to make him feel stupid for wanting to try it. But he trusted Liberty, and she had no problem putting her pleasure entirely in his hands.

  So he’d tested the waters. Toying with her on the bus. A light whack on the butt here. A whisper about naughty girls needing punishment there. Smacking a spatula against his palm during lunch—which made her very, very jumpy and very horny, as evidenced by the shimmer in her eyes and the way she rubbed that smackable ass against his cock at every opportunity. As far as he was concerned, that meant game on.

  Before they left the bus, he set a belt on his bed . . . next to the tube of lube.

  She hadn’t balked when she’d seen it. Or if she had, she hadn’t exhibited any sign.

  Whenever they had a spare second during the fan meet and greet, Devin had told her exactly what he planned to do to her.

  Exactly.

  In explicit detail.

  The kinky woman had added a couple raunchy suggestions of her own.

  So the sexual tension between them hit a new high.

  When Devin finally had her alone that night, naked and open to his every whim, Liberty played her role so well they both lost themselves in the moment. He had made her come three times in his version of an erotic orgasm torture. Then he’d spanked her—had spanking always been so fucking hot? After he’d pinkened her butt cheeks, he’d fucked her ass.

  Sexy as it’d been watching his cock stretching that tiny hole and feeling the tightness of her back channel surrounding his dick, Devin preferred the hot, wet clasp of her pussy. What made the experience fun, besides that Liberty wasn’t an anal sex virgin, was afterward, they’d laughed and cuddled in bed like it was completely normal. He loved that they were defining a new normal for their relationship.

  “Devin?”

  His head snapped up, and he realized he’d completely zoned out while waiting for the sound check to begin. He saw all four members of the Wright Brothers Band leaning on the edge of the stage.

  Grinning, he said in his usual corny spiel, “If it ain’t the four Wrong Brothers tryin’ to make it right.” He shook Paxton Wright’s hand first. As the oldest brother, Paxton led the band as well as sang lead vocals. “What’s with the hair, Pax? You starting a revival of 80s metal hair bands?”

  “Gnarly, dude!” Paxton’s shoulder-length black hair flew all over in his head banger’s impression. Then he flashed devil horns with both hands.

  A chorus of his brothers’ groans echoed behind him. “Don’t encourage him, Devin. Or we’ll be covering ‘Talk Dirty to Me’ in our set,” one of the twins warned.

  “That’s a great idea,” Paxton said. “We’ll debut it tonight.”

  All three of his brothers flipped him off.

  Flynn, the second oldest brother and the lead guitar player, sauntered up. The physical resemblance between him and Paxton ended with their dark hair color. Their personalities were also total opposites. Paxton was the showman with amazing vocal range. Flynn was the guitar-playing genius who preferred the shadows to the spotlight. He held up his fist to bump Devin’s. “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah. Why didn’t you play Gatorfest this year?”

  The only time Devin could tell the identical Wright twins, Easton and Weston, apart was when Easton sat behind the drum kit and Weston held his bass. Devin shrugged and said, “Promoters decided to try somet
hing new and only have me play events where I headlined.”

  “How’s that going?” Paxton asked.

  “Good. Think I’ve played every casino in the Southwest. The audiences have been great. We’ve switched opening acts every two weeks or so. Some the record label insisted on, but the rest I got to pick.”

  “Thanks for choosing us,” one of the twins said. “We’ve been looking forward to opening for you for months.”

  Devin rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the ego stroke, but we all know I oughta be opening for you guys.” The Wright Brothers were one of the few bands who’d successfully sold albums ranging in style from country to pop to bluegrass to light metal. It helped sell records and concert tickets that not only were they incredibly talented, but the brothers had become the bad boys of the music scene. Paxton was notorious for his many messy public affairs with actresses, Flynn for his profanity-laden, equipment-destroying public meltdowns and Easton and Weston for WWE-style barroom brawls and for dating the same woman at the same time.

  “See, we’re hoping your good ol’ boy public persona will rub off on us,” Paxton said with a grin.

  “Crash mentioned there’s more security. Does that mean the leeches from the fucking media are banned from backstage?” Flynn asked with a sneer.

  “We’ve beefed up security. Some weird shit goes along with bein’ in the public eye. You guys know that.”

  Easton and Weston nodded.

  “So backstage access is limited. And you’ll see more security than normal. Just to be safe.”

  “Does any of this have to do with backlash from your song ‘What Love Isn’t’?” Paxton asked. “Because I gotta say, that song is beautiful. Righteous. We even covered it a couple times.”

  “You have?” If any other act would’ve said that, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  “We aren’t exactly the poster boys for staying away from controversy,” Paxton said dryly.

  “You know, I haven’t performed that song once on this tour?”

  “Your choice?” Paxton asked.

  Devin shook his head.

  “Man, you can’t bow down to the haters,” Flynn said. “The song is about the writer’s vision, not the listener’s.”

  Simple truths always had the most impact on him.

  And sometimes it made him impulsive. “What say we remedy that tonight? You guys interested in playing it with me?”

  Paxton looked at each of his brothers and they nodded. “How about if we go one better? You might’ve been discouraged from playing that song on this tour, but we haven’t. We can make it our last song, and you can join us onstage to perform it.”

  Devin grinned. “Brilliant.”

  “Devin?”

  All five men turned when Liberty skirted the corner of the stage.

  And like every other time Devin saw her, his heart beat a little faster and his smile got a little wider. “Come meet the opening band.”

  Just as he opened his mouth to introduce them, Liberty blurted out, “I can’t believe I’m standing here with the Wright Brothers.” She stepped forward—way too close to Paxton—and kept blathering. “I have all your CDs. And, wow, all you guys look so much better live in person than in your videos or pictures online. They don’t do you justice.”

  “I’m liking this woman quite a lot already. Is she . . . ?” Paxton’s unspoken yours? caused his pierced brow to quirk.

  Devin snaked his arm around Liberty’s middle and hauled her out of mauling distance—not from the Wright Brothers, but because she looked ready to pounce on them. Which was way fucked up because she never gushed or went all fan girl on anyone. Especially not on him. “This is Liberty. She’s my personal assistant. This is—”

  “Paxton Wright.” She wiggled out of Devin’s hold and took both of Paxton’s hands in hers. “I’d know you anywhere. My roommate in Kabul was obsessed with you. She had posters of you all over her side of the room. I gotta say, you’re much hotter without the guyliner. And the earrings.” She reached up and touched the end of his hair where it rested against his pectorals. “It looks good longer. Hits that mark between rock-’n’-roll bad-boy hottie and soulful balladeer.”

  He couldn’t believe she fucking touched Paxton’s hair. His hair! Then she stepped back and giggled. Fucking giggled.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to violate your person. I know how Devin gets about that when strange women do it to him.”

  “No worries.” Paxton flaunted his trademark grin and she sighed.

  Fucking sighed.

  But the torture wasn’t over yet.

  Liberty moved on down the line, chatting and fucking flirting with the brothers, who had a revolving door to the bedroom on their bus and were rumored to be major stockholders in a condom company. Jesus. She was acting like she’d never been around anyone famous before, fawning over them like a starstruck groupie.

  He froze.

  Was this what it felt like to be jealous?

  Yes. And just think; this is what Liberty deals with for hours every day.

  Devin draped his arm across Liberty’s shoulders, trying not to make it look as if he was pulling her away from the Fab Four—aka the Wrong Brothers. “Great havin’ you guys here. We won’t keep you. We have some things to discuss, so I’ll see you at rehearsal in an hour.”

  Liberty damn near broke her neck craning around to say good-bye to them. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “What is wrong with you? You were borderline rude to them.”

  And you were borderline slutty.

  Okay. He had to take this jealousy thing down a notch.

  He didn’t speak again until they reached his private room.

  She flipped on the lights, but as soon as the door shut, he locked it and plunged them into darkness. Then he pressed her against the wall, holding both her wrists in his hands behind her back, immobilizing her.

  “Devin, what are—”

  “So you want to fuck Paxton Wright.” He nuzzled her neck, letting his stubble scrape her tender skin. “Or maybe you want to fuck Flynn Wright.” He followed the edge of her jaw up to her ear.

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s the question of the day, ain’t it, darlin’? Didn’t you say you couldn’t tell the difference in the dark?” He spoke in that low, velvety tone that had her trembling from head to toe. “We’re completely in the dark. You could live out your fantasy of fucking Paxton . . . with me. I’ll even sing one of his songs as I’m doin’ you.” He started the chorus to their Grammy-winning tune, knowing exactly how much Liberty loved the sound of his voice—his voice, not Paxton fucking Wright’s voice—in her ear as he fucked her.

  She trembled, but she rallied with “You are an ass. Just because I find him hot doesn’t mean I want to bang him. Don’t go attributing your practices with groupies to me. I am not a groupie with you or anyone else.”

  “Former practices,” he said with a snarl. “You’re the only woman I want. You’re the only fucking woman I see whether we’re in a room with a thousand people or when we’re alone.”

  Heated silence hung between them.

  “God, you slay me when you say stuff like that—you know that, right?”

  He placed his lips on the pulse pounding angrily in her neck. “I mean it. Baby, you know I mean it.”

  She found his mouth in the dark and kissed him until they both had to come up for air. “Then show me,” she panted against his neck. “Pin me to the ground and fuck me like you own me. Like I never need to doubt that I’m yours.”

  Devin’s grip tightened on her wrists. “Are we role-playing like last night?”

  Her softly murmured “No” vibrated through him as loud as a shout in his ear.

  It was the first time she’d indicated there was something more between them than just hot sex. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear it from her.

  He took her down to the floor. He didn’t remember how they got their clothes off or when he’d put on a condom. He only remembered
his frantic desire to be inside her, kissing her, marking her, pounding into her, proving that she did belong to him.

  The next afternoon Liberty’s cell phone buzzed and the ID read: Private caller. “This is Liberty.”

  “Libs! S’up?”

  She smiled. “You tell me. Been a while since I’ve heard from you, Beetle Bailey.”

  “God, I hate that nickname.”

  “I know. Why do you think I use it?”

  “Fuck you, Liberty Bell.”

  “Back atcha. So, little sis, how’s the army treating you?”

  “Like I’m a slave.” Bailey sighed. “Some days it’s not so bad. Others, I can’t freakin’ wait to be done.”

  “I remember those days. You over there? Or over here?”