by Anthology
Deacon stood. “Good, then that’s settled. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Before she could open her mouth, Max came up the stairs with a to-go bag. “I thought you might like this.”
The grin that spread across Deacon’s face could have lit the entire bar. “You read my mind.”
“I think the entire section read your mind, dude,” Max said with raised brows as Deacon traded the bag for a wad of bills.
Harper was pretty sure she was the color of the Budweiser sign. When Deacon slid his hand around hers, she decided she couldn’t really care all that much. They went down the stairs and passed Marie and Gina at the bar.
Max followed them down the stairs and made a beeline for Gina. Marie waved her away and made the sign for phone. Harper dug out her cell and saw the bright bubble of text when she clicked it to life.
We’ll catch a ride with Gary and Jen. You go ride that stallion and give me every blessed detail.
She shook her head.
Deacon looked back at her. “What?”
“Never mind. Looks like we’re out of here.”
“You’ve got a car?”
“Yeah, I do actually.”
They stepped out of Honky Tonk Central and into the humid August night. The streets were frenetic with neon and foot traffic. Clubs lured. Some with twangs, some with sad acoustic tones, and still others with an engrossing mix of rock and rockabilly.
But nothing as alluring as the man beside her. His warm, calloused hand had an unrelenting grip. Like he was afraid she’d pull back. Not a bad fear to have because with a breath of life on the outside of the bar her jitters returned.
He hauled her across the street, his long-legged stride leaving her no choice but to jog to catch up. She twisted the handle of the bag of their food around her wrist. “Deacon! I’m wearing flip-flops here.”
“No wonder you seem so short tonight.” Instead of slowing down, he took the bag from her and handed it to the man that was sitting against the building. “Dinner’s on me tonight, sir.”
“Uh, thanks?” The man said and peered into the bag. He looked up at Deacon. “Seriously?”
“Burger.”
“Sold,” the guy said and smiled.
Harper was barely able to wave to the guy before Deacon led her off the main street and into a small park. Twinkle lights broke up the shadows and highlighted well-groomed trees and cared for benches. A few couples walked around, but for the most part they were alone.
“I actually hung out here earlier.”
“Sleeping off your epic barbecue lunch?”
“You follow me on Twitter too?” Deacon asked as he pulled her down onto a little square of lawn.
“Maybe.”
He set his bag against the tree and pulled her into his arms. She braced for the torrent of attraction that had taken over at the restaurant. Instead, he slipped his fingers into her hair and lightly massaged the base of her skull. He settled her astride his thighs and slowly urged her closer.
With each soothing stroke, her body revved and loosened at the same time. The contradiction did nothing to alleviate the need that simmered. She skimmed the backs of her knuckles along his scruffy cheek, drawing her fingertips along his jaw to his lips.
Restless, she rolled her hips in time with his touch. “What are we doing?”
“Getting to know each other.” His mouth was barely an inch away.
She traced his lower lip. When he nipped at the pad of her finger, she skipped down to the dent in his chin and lower to his Adam’s apple. She leaned in and brushed her lips over the whorls of hair that were a few days past scruffy. It tickled as she explored down to his clavicle.
His other hand slid down to her hips, gripping her tighter. Undeterred, she dipped the tip of her tongue into the little half circle notch and tasted his salty skin.
“You’re killing me.”
She smiled into his skin. “You’re the one that slowed us down. Now I want to take my time.” His rumbling groan buzzed under her tongue as she followed the line of bone. Just as she was about to make a return trip up, he gripped the hair at her nape and angled her up.
Street sounds faded until there was nothing but breath and there... Oh, God yes. Deacon’s soft lips. Gentle kisses dissolved into ardent strokes of tongue. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her fingers in his thick, silky hair.
He dragged her head back and coasted down her neck, shifting her until his cock was tucked tight against the seam of her jeans. Twinkle lights blurred into the night sky as he pulled her tighter against him.
Restless, she rocked against him. She reached out blindly, her palm scraping over the bark of the tree behind them. The flash of pain pulled her back. Zero to one hundred wasn’t smart. This had been simmering between them for days, but she had to think.
His teeth coasted up and over her chin and then his mouth was on hers again.
Sweet Pete, he knew how to kiss.
Most of the men she’d been with used kissing as a tool to get them into the end zone. That had been her feelings on the subject as well, but not with him.
Here and now, it was an art form.
He nipped her top lip and went in for another mind bender.
She’d never survive.
She pulled back. Instead of stopping, he went for her neck again. His fingers dug into her hips and ass. He had really long fingers.
God, no. Do not go there, Harper Lee.
She panted out a strangled version of his name.
He didn’t stop. No, he went for the sensitive—well, now she knew it was sensitive—skin between shoulder and neck. Were her eyeballs rolling back into her head?
So freaking good. Just another minute.
No.
“Deacon.” She managed to sound a little more firm. At least she must have because he pulled back.
That was probably a mistake. His pupils were wide with lust and his features had sharpened. But then he slowly softened and cursed. He cupped her face. “Too fast.”
She nodded. “A little.”
“Right.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His gaze dropped to her chest, then back up to her neck and finally, her eyes. “Right,” he repeated.
She slid off of him, her butt landing on the grass before she collapsed against the tree beside him. “You’re really good at that, mister.”
He smiled. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for over a week.”
“Planning works for you.”
Laughing, he rolled onto his knees and leaned into her. “Just imagine what I can do in a controlled environment?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she pushed him back. “Dangerous.”
“Not dangerous, just thorough.”
Well, crap. She looked away.
He gently nudged her chin back to face him. “I can take you back to the bus, I can find us a hotel,” she looked down, “and I can also wait.”
Her gaze flew back to his. “You’re okay with that?”
“I’m hard as a spike, but I’ve had hard-ons before, Harper. I’ll live.”
Before Harper knew what to say Deacon tucked his shoulder down and hefted her onto his shoulder. Just like that? From let’s bang to sack of potatoes?
“You have got to stop hauling me around.”
He grabbed his knapsack. “I need to run off a little energy.” He took off back where they came.
Squealing, she kicked once and levered herself up on his shoulder. “You don’t even know where my car is.” People’s heads bounced in front of her and the startled frowns turned to grins when she waved. No need for someone to report him for kidnapping.
Even if it felt like that’s exactly what he was doing.
“I’ve got one more thing to check out before we go.” He tightened his grip on the back of her knees and stroked the back of her thigh. “Don’t trust me?”
The man was going to kill her and he hadn’t even gotten her naked. “No.”
He laughed and headed down an alley.
“Where are we going?”
“On my way over here I saw one of those sandwich signs and want to check something out.”
“How?” He pulled out of the flood of foot traffic and lowered her to the sidewalk.
“How what?”
Off center, she crashed into his side and he took the opportunity to drag her closer. “How could you even see a sign with all this chaos?” She waved her hand into the melee. There was so much neon and so many signs they just blurred into one big mess.
He shrugged. “I knew the name.” With that bit of intrigue and an arm around her shoulder, he swept her into the crowd again. They’d flashed by brownstones and stucco, brick and neon. She didn’t even know what street they were on anymore. How the hell could he know where they were?
“Do you have a GPS in your brain or something?”
He laughed and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I grew up all over the place, remember?”
“Yeah, well, so did I.”
“Girls have a shitty sense of direction?”
She slugged him in the belly. As usual he barely noticed, just kept moving forward, dragging her along to his own plan. “Deacon, give me a little hint.”
“Let’s just say that the bus ride was damn long. And Netflix got me through a lot of boring days and nights.”
“And that has what to do with Nashville? You don’t exactly seem the type to be watching Hayden Panettiere.”
He snorted. “I do seem to have a thing for tiny, smokin’ hot blondes.”
“Get real.” But the belly flipping pleasure still arrowed through her. She was just a chef. A no-name chef at the moment.
His dimple deepened. “I watched a lot of tattoo shows. This one guy that competed was fucking awesome. And I saw his name on this board. He’s doing a three day workshop and holding night appointments.”
“And you made an appointment?”
“Nah. I just want to check him out. If he can fit me in, I’ll see what’s what.”
“So, on your day off you’re going to subject your skin to raw, sizzling pain?”
He stopped in front of a huge window with “Monster Ink” emblazoned on the glass in scripted letters. She looked up at him, and his green eyes were sparkling for a different reason now.
She wasn’t sure whether to be offended or intrigued that he’d switched gears so easily. Now he wanted to inflict pain on himself?
She could bite if he liked a little pain.
“You did see my ink, right?”
Steering her brain back to the subject at hand, she grazed her knuckle along his forearm where Oblivion was stamped and then to his left bicep. Oh, she remembered the ink. The first time she saw him that had been one of the more memorable aspects to him. Next to his eyes.
“I saw.” She scraped her nail over the splatter of red and black, pushing up the sleeve to get a better look. Now that she had access to his body, she could explore and sate her curiosity. A Treble clef and a bass clef made a yin yang sort of deal on his upper arm with splashes of red and black behind it like blood splatter and ink had a shootout.
It was eighteen kinds of hot. Although that could have something to do with the network of muscles. She couldn’t remember a gym freak that had ever turned her on like Deacon. Most of them seemed too into themselves, but Deacon didn’t do any flexing or posturing to get people to notice him.
Hell, he didn’t need to. His height did that whether he wanted it to or not. But he seemed at ease with his body. Fluid and graceful on stage and off. It was a little off-putting to tell the truth. She had complete control in the kitchen, but outside of that? Not so much.
He slid his fingers into her hair, tipping her face up to his. “The tat isn’t going to change no matter how much you rub at it.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to push him away. When he didn’t budge she laughed. “Ass.” But he continued to look down at her, his eyes shone in the dim light of the neon and glass. “What?”
“Maybe the tattoo guy isn’t all that interesting after all.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He crowded in on her. She brushed her nose along the firm ridge of muscle under his shirt, closing her eyes when his ocean scent curled around her. Slipping her hand around his back and along the smooth skin of his back shouldn’t have felt so natural, but God it did. The light sheen of sweat that gathered in the dip of his spine made her wonder just how drenched they’d end up once their clothes disappeared.
No, you are the one that wanted to slow down remember, Harper Lee?
The light rumble in his chest made her open her eyes just in time to see him coming in for a kiss. He stopped, inches away from her mouth. He cupped her face so gently. This huge man that could snap from playful to gentle in a nanosecond left her so unbalanced.
And she wasn’t used to being unbalanced, dammit. She cleared her throat. “Well come on. Let’s go see this guy.”
He followed the curve of her cheek with a slow sweep of his thumb. “Plenty of time, Harper.”
Why was it that when he said her name it sounded like a promise instead of the plain old masculine name it felt like usually? And this time when his lips met hers it stayed sweet. The rush of need simmered between them instead of overflowing. His lips were soft and almost hesitant. As if learning just what she needed in the moment.
Following the dip of his spine up to where his back broadened, she coasted back down until she could cup his butt. He grunted, then she felt his lips curve into a smile, breaking the kiss. She took the opportunity to unglue herself. Off balance. Need peppered the air between them. They were in the middle of the freaking sidewalk and she was ready to climb him like a damn tree.
And she’d known him for less than a week.
So she let her mouth curve into a grin. Smiling and flirting were safe. “So where do you want the tat if he’s going to work on you?”
He slid a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Something on my back.”
“No ink on your back yet?”
“Nope.” He hovered over her mouth, his intent clear. More kissing. And she would be one big pile of gooey, needy awfulness if she kissed him any longer. He was way too good at it.
She stepped back, her smile widening when he tried to pull her back. But just like that, her gentle giant let her go and followed her to the door of the tattoo parlor. She turned, her skin buzzing at the simple contact of their fingers intertwined. Breathing easier because his all-too intense gaze was off her and his smell was out of her nostrils, she led him through the crush of bodies.
A woman stood at a podium, her face bland with an I-don’t-give-two-shits-what-you-want-I-am-the-gatekeeper look. Jet black hair in a skull hugging cut framed her incredible face. Her creamy skin was dusted with freckles. Not the cute kind. They were more of the large and in your face style, just like the woman seemed to be. But they weren’t a detriment. In fact she made Harper feel very plain.
The Amazon’s make-up was done to emphasize the tilt of her eyes and play up feline green eyes. Part of her wanted to stumble back a step, but Harper knew that would be a mistake. She glanced at the woman’s name tag. It was one of those Hello My Name is stickers. The name—No.
Deacon hooked their joined fingers against her belly as he crowded in behind her.
“Looks like quite a line. Guess he’s booked up, huh?”
“Ya think?”
Harper smothered a smile. Genteel southerner this woman was not.
“I’m assuming we aren’t getting in.” Harper kept her voice mild and friendly minus the sugar.
“Well, aren’t you a smart blonde. It’s a miracle.”
Deacon stiffened behind her, but Harper held up a hand. “Obviously No doesn’t have any spaces available. And she’s probably been badgered quite a bit.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly.”
“Is there a spot where the big guy can at least watch one of the tattoos bein
g done? He’s a fan.”
No obviously relaxed her shoulders and nodded to a line of people at a large glass window. “He can watch from over there.”
Harper looked over her shoulder. “Looks like your height will come in handy, Deacon. You can see right over their heads.”
Disappointment clouded his eyes, but he nodded. “Yeah, if you’re cool with it, I’d like to watch for a few minutes.”
“Oh, hey.” They both turned back to the woman. “We’ve got a drawing for a consultation. Because we knew there’d be a big line.”
“Thanks.” Harper smiled at the woman then looked up at Deacon. “Why don’t you go take a look and I’ll fill it out.”
“You sure?”
Politeness was etched on his face, but she could tell he really wanted to be among the horde. “Go.”
The grin that spread across his face was well worth the loud crush of people and what would be a boring hour or more for her. Deacon’s pleasure could become addictive.
Harper turned back to the woman, and her unflinching stare. “What?”
“He’s not pushing for an appointment.”
“He’s not the type to be rude.” Harper huffed out a laugh. “He’d probably bite off his own tongue first.”
“He’s Deacon McCoy.”
Realization hit. Deacon was growing in fame. He didn’t act like anything other than a sweet man that just happened to play bass for a band that was exploding across the rock scene. Why was it so easy for her to forget that?
Sure, Simon, Nick and Gray were the more easily recognized—especially Simon since he was the lead singer. But the sheer size of Deacon made him a commanding presence. She saw how people reacted to him. They half expected him to be famous just because he was larger than life. And yet, he never acted entitled. Something told her he wouldn’t lose that aspect either.
She looked over her shoulder. Deacon stood at the back of the hallway, his hands tucked into his oversized cargo shorts. He wore a simple red t-shirt with the iconic script Ford emblazoned across his chest. Regular guy should have been stamped across him and yet somehow it simply wasn’t.
“He’s just a nice guy.” Harper shrugged.
“So I see.” After a pause, she spoke again, holding out her hand. “I’m Kate.”