by Anthology
Harper shook her hand then pulled the paper in front of her to scribble down his name and her cell on the ticket. She’d practically crawled into Deacon’s skin, but they hadn’t traded cell phone numbers yet. Too weird. She handed over the ticket. “Nice to meet you, Kate.”
Instead of putting the ticket in the fish bowl, Kate slid it into her pocket. Not sure what to make of that, Harper made her way into the crowd. The window was completely blocked by people at this point. And her own five-foot-three inch self couldn’t see jack. The funny thing was that both men and women were watching in rapt attention.
Deacon included.
It was going to be a long evening.
CHAPTER EIGHT
August 19, 12:12 AM - Close as Breath
The chatter of excited voices and the oppressive heat of the night was getting to her. She understood a concert. Watching some guy tattoo a stranger? Not so much. But Deacon’s attention barely shifted from the window.
The faraway look in his eyes was new as well. She was getting used to him being so…well, present when he was around her. He was overwhelmingly intense and sexy as all get out. And he made her feel tiny and special.
But here, in this place, she felt like a girlfriend. Maybe this was why she never really had a boyfriend. Hanging around and pretending she was interested was boring. Especially when it included a crowd.
She missed her kitchen and her tools. She’d rather pipe four hundred cupcakes than stand there a minute longer. And why was she standing here? Harper opened her mouth to ask Deacon if they could leave when his hand lightly brushed her nape and he pulled her into his side. He curled his arm around her shoulder. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Yes.”
He seemed to snap back into the attentive man she was growing used to. He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. “You’ve indulged me long enough.”
“I have been very patient.”
“And I’ll make sure to reward you.”
“I do like the sound of that,” she said against his mouth. “I couldn’t see anything, but I’m assuming he finished.”
“Yeah. Really impressive. There’s a reason he made it to the top three in the United States.”
“Satisfied now?”
His eyes took on a sleepy, hooded look that curled her toes.
“Not even close.”
She fought a smile, but lost the battle.
He grazed the tips of his fingers just above her chest. Her nipples instantly reacted. Again, saved by Wonder Bra, or the entire room would know how easily this man turned her on.
She ducked out from under his arm, catching his fingers as she snaked through the crowd.
“Deacon McCoy.”
Harper swung around to the voice. Deacon’s shoulders straightened immediately. Hell, even hers did. The voice was commanding and deep. And that was saying something when she had Deacon’s voice lodged into the permanent turn-on files in her brain.
A man stood in the middle of the room. People actually made room for him with low murmurs. He wore a muscle shirt in blinding white. Smears of ink slashed across his chest in vibrant colors. His arms were a collage of colorful art over sinewy muscle, skulls and snakes being the dominant theme. Heavy black-rimmed glasses accentuated his ridiculous chiseled features.
But it was the startling light green eyes that pinned them in place.
Deacon’s grip tightened.
“Fan?” she whispered.
“That’s Casey Wilde.”
“Who’s Casey Wilde,” she asked out of the side of her mouth. At Deacon’s bland look she winced. “Sorry, I didn’t pay attention. Is that the artist’s name?”
“Devil’s in the details, babe. And I am all details,” Casey said in answer.
“Crap.”
Deacon didn’t let go of her hand when he stepped forward, his other hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilde.”
The man’s left eyebrow shot up. “I’m a year older than you.”
Deacon grinned. “Casey then.”
“You want to get inked?”
Without hesitation, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I got a camera crew with me. Problem?”
Deacon shook his head. “Show me where to sign.”
“Sign what?” she blurted out.
“A waiver.”
“In case I fuck up on screen,” Casey said amiably. “But you’re good press, Deacon McCoy.” His head tilted up a little to meet Deacon’s gaze. “And you’re a big fucker.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Casey barked out a laugh and slapped his upper arm. “I might have to give away a few free tats to fit you in, but getting you on the show is worth it. Oh, I’m starting a new television show, by the way.”
“No shit.”
“Yes. And you’re my first celebrity.”
“If you made three calls you could have guys bigger than me. Hell, we’re touring with Rebel Rage.”
“Yes, but Oblivion is in the current news. Besides, I’ve already inked Johnny. What are you looking for, Deacon?”
“How much time do you have to give me?”
Casey rolled his shoulders. “I’m good for anything.”
“I’ve got a blank canvas on my back.”
Casey nodded. “Let’s see.”
“Right here?” Deacon looked around the crowded room.
An awestruck semi-circle had formed. Harper felt the energy blowing out around the two men. Both artists in their own right, and both men that people paid attention to instinctively. If Harper had come upon Casey in the street, she’d be hard-pressed not to stare at him. And lord knew she couldn’t keep her eyes off Deacon.
If her heart rate accelerated any more she was going to need an ambulance. Sweet Pete, they were both beautiful. Casey prowled around Deacon. Instinctively, she backed up and out of the circle. This wasn’t about her in the least.
“Jesus, you really are a big fucker,” Casey muttered again. “Lose the shirt.”
Yes, please.
No. She was not going to swoon over this man. She’d seen plenty of men without their… “My God.”
“Oh, girl. That’s your man?”
“What?” Harper asked, but she didn’t really care what random woman had asked her because she couldn’t pull her gaze away from Deacon. She’d felt him under his shirt. She’d been wrapped around him, but to actually see him without a shirt was distracting.
He was tan. Every inch of him rippled with muscle and sinew. He wasn’t overly vascular like some gym-types were, but he was positively ripped. And that was just the back. His shoulders were damn impressive under a shirt, but without one?
Awe-inspiring.
A tight waist flowed into his low-slung cargos. For the love of all things good and kind on this earth, he even had those dimples above his ass like she saw in pictures of models.
He was a damn Adonis under the vintage t-shirt. Any other man with a body like his would be wearing a white tank top and showing it off at all times.
To add into the not-freaking-fair column, he didn’t have a hair on him. At least on his back. She sidestepped until she caught the front of him and lost her breath. Six pack? Nope. He had an eight pack of solid muscle with pecs that rivaled any leading male in Hollywood. A light sprinkling of hair spread across his chest and then a darker trail started just above his navel and disappeared under his pants.
“You’re killing me, Harper.”
His voice broke her trance.
Shameless hussy.
Yep.
“Yeah, well the feeling is mutual.”
“If you let me do what I want on your back, I’ll do it for free.”
You can say that again.
Obviously surprised, Deacon’s attention returned to Casey. “What are we talking?”
“Full coverage.”
“In one session?” Deacon asked steadily.
“C’mon back and we’ll figure out a sketch.”
; Deacon nodded and pulled his shirt back on. The collective awws that sprinkled through the crowd made her smile. Deacon rolled his eyes and held out a hand for hers.
He yanked her forward until her nose was buried in his amazing chest and his heat enveloped her. It strengthened the already heady reaction she’d had. Now his scent was back in her nose. She was so utterly screwed. He’d barely touched her and her nerve endings were frayed.
Did she mention screwed?
“I don’t mind you eating me up with your eyes, but I could do without the rest of them.”
She patted his belly. Now that she knew exactly what was going on under there, how was she supposed to concentrate? “Considering you’re going on camera, I think that ship has sailed, big guy.”
Okay, she didn’t sound nearly as breathy as she thought. She could totally do this.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
She shrugged. “If I get bored I’ll just leave your ass.”
He laughed and clutched her elbows, drawing her up until her nails dug into his sides. The very tips of her shoes scraped the floor as he swallowed her mouth.
The kiss was open-mouthed and carnal. A stamp of approval? Or was he calling her bluff? Because it would take a natural disaster to make her leave him right now. She twisted his shirt into her palms and gave back just as much. Her tongue slid along his. She sipped and nipped until they were flush together.
Harper laughed into the kiss and pulled her mouth from his. “As much as I’d like to continue this, I think we’ve given them enough of a show.”
“Just letting them all know that you’re mine,” Deacon said on a low voice.
She was his? Rewind that one a second or five. “Excuse me?”
His gaze was unflinching. “Mine for as long as you’ll have me. I don’t share, Harper.”
“Neither do I.”
Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that. This was fling material. She was all about having a little fun. She was already breaking her own rules by even talking to Deacon. And she knew she was going to end up skin to skin.
But his?
No.
She belonged to no man and no place.
“I’m yours for five weeks.”
No. That wasn’t what she was supposed to say, dammit. Why the hell had that slipped out? But the look in his eyes made her belly ease. Relief and pleasure stared back at her.
Run. Run for the door right this second, Harper Lee.
“It’s a start,” he said amiably and set her down.
She realized that she wanted to see what came next for the first time in…well, ever. A start with a definite end. She could handle that.
“Want me to hold your hand?”
He laughed. “You’ve got a mean streak in there, Chef Pruitt.”
“Nah, mean streak is making a pound of bacon and leaving you one piece.”
“Don’t joke about bacon.”
She laughed at his serious tone and shrieked out a laugh when he swept her up, tucked her under his arm, and headed into Casey Wilde’s makeshift studio.
It was probably a good thing he was holding on to her because the cameras, huge spotlights on tripods, and half a dozen crew members shouting would have sent her back out the door.
“Easy.”
“Don’t think you can handle me like you do your friends, Deacon McCoy.”
“I love when you get all growly.”
She dug her fingers into his forearm, but he just kept carting her over to the drafting desk Casey was sitting at. He plunked her down on the chair. “So what do you have in mind?” he asked Casey, wasting no time.
Harper huffed and dug her phone out of her pocket. This was going to take forever. With a sigh, she opened her Twitter account. She saw a few tweets from Jazz about the scavenger hunt the next morning and then a few general bickering ones between Simon and Jazz.
They really had the whole brother/sister deal going whether they knew it or not. With a sly grin, she opened a new tweet and typed.
Want to see your favorite bassist @DemonMcCoy getting inked? 200 RTs and I’ll take pictures.
She busied herself with email and Facebook as Deacon and Casey hashed out a sketch. When a text message bubble popped up, she grinned. Evidently Jazz and Simon were online and ready to fuel the fire into a tweeting frenzy.
When Jazz put it out on the main band account, it had a landslide effect. She had so many notifications of retweets that she couldn’t even text Jazz back right away. A few texts later and they had a plan. Maybe she wouldn’t be so bored after all.
After a few measurements—which, she had to admit, she enjoyed—Casey’s graphite pencil was flying across the page.
“Why the hell is my phone blowing up?” Deacon juggled his phone out of his thigh pocket. “Four hundred and thirty-eight tweets?” He turned to her. “I’m not that popular on social media.”
“You are now.” She held up her phone and snapped a shot of his growly face with his arms out. “That’ll look good on Instagram.”
“What do you know about Instagram?”
She tilted her head to the side. “I know all about Instagram. In fact, I used social media as my thesis platform.”
“Oh, did you now?” At Casey’s direction Deacon lifted his arms over his head.
She snapped a picture of his ridiculously chiseled profile before the thought actually fired into her brain. At his raised brow, she shrugged. “What can I say? I am officially objectifying you for the world to see.”
“Uh huh. For—wait, for the world? What did you do?”
“I may have gotten the Oblivion Instagram password from both Jazz and Simon in separate texts. They’re pretty excited about this.” She glanced down at her phone and back up, taking another picture. “Possibly a little too excited.”
He dropped his arms to his sides and strode toward her. “C’mon, Harper.”
“Saying my name all sexy-like isn’t going to stop me.” She flicked through the settings and shared the photo via Twitter and Facebook.
Deacon must have heard the snick and whoosh of it posting because his chin dropped to his chest.
She slid her phone back into her pocket. “The fans are eating it up, and it’s good for Casey’s show too. I plugged both. Win-win.”
“I’ll take the free publicity,” Casey said without looking up from his papers.
Deacon groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, I guess it’ll get Gordo off my case, too. I suck at Twitter.”
“It’ll be cool for Jazz’s scrapbook thing too. You should see all the stuff she’s got.” At his blank look, she shrugged. “What? She gave me the link.”
Deacon slumped in his chair. “I feel stupid.”
“God, why? Have you seen your body?”
He shrugged. “I’m not some model.”
Kate snickered behind her. “Darlin’, if the guys who came in wanting back tats looked half as fine as you, I wouldn’t mind doing the prep work.”
“Kate.” Casey’s tone was unyielding.
Kate just rolled her eyes and flashed a grin at Harper. “My brother is far too serious.”
“And I wonder why I put up with her every day,” Casey muttered.
Harper snuggled down into one of the netted chairs that were scattered all over the room. It looked like an oversized basketball hoop that hadn’t been clipped out. It was the perfect size for her and surprisingly comfy. She tucked her feet up and listened with half an ear as Casey and Deacon went through the details. When she heard full back tattoo, she looked up. “Wait, you’re serious? He can’t do all that in one night, can he?”
Deacon looked over his shoulder at her. “One of the reasons Casey’s so famous is that he can do in four hours what most artists take eight to do.”
“And it’s done well?” She winced. “I didn’t mean—” She twisted an invisible key in front of her closed lips. Nope, she didn’t want to know. Besides, she didn’t have any art on her body, so how did she know how long a
session took?
When Deacon climbed onto a padded table that had a face cut out, she immediately held up her phone for some shots. As he got comfortable she was struck again by just how ridiculously fluid his body was. Hardly a freckle marred his skin.
Going with instinct, she slid under him and took a shot of his face peeking through the donut opening. “I see chairs like this at spas. Those involved a massage, not self-inflicted madness.”
With the narrow opening, she didn’t have any choice but to focus on his eyes, and they were clear and bright. No fear, not even an ounce of trepidation.
“The end is worth it.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Not a very convincing argument, Deacon.”
He snaked his arm down and flipped the wisps of hair she’d styled forward. Usually she had it all pinned back away from her face. “Why do you do your hair?” He brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek where she’d dusted bronzer. “And this.”
“That’s not permanent.”
“When I make a decision, it’s final.”
She swallowed. In her ever-changing world, finality seemed so…rigid. She understood flux and quick bursts of satisfaction. For God’s sake, she couldn’t even decide to keep her hair long or short half the time.
She slid out from under the chair and got sidetracked when Kate started prepping the large piece of the sketch across Deacon’s back. She taped it to his shoulders then tapped Deacon’s calf. “Up and at ‘em, Muscles. I need to make sure you’re all straight.”
Harper swallowed as he stood in front of her and Kate ordered him to stand straight. Kate sprayed his back with some sort of solution. For the oversized camera on the trolley track, she explained about the prep work and the lotion that would adhere the design to his back. Kate fussed with the paper, and then pressed down firmly enough that Deacon had to widen his stance to stay still.
Harper took pictures and tried not to focus on the fact that another woman was rubbing lotion on his back. It really wouldn’t be nice to break her fingers. Kate’s strokes were smooth and sure, but she was taking a little too much pleasure in the task.
Harper finally dropped the phone and growled, causing Kate looked over her shoulder with a grin. “I’m a professional.”