Aloud she said, “I’ve changed a lot since those days. Besides, it’s been forever since we went to the festival. It’ll be fun to see what’s new and what’s stayed the same.” She blinked her eyelashes in what she hoped appeared as innocence. “I can’t believe the concert is that same weekend. What a coincidence!”
A tiny twinge of guilt zinged her stomach at the white lie, but it wasn’t like she’d twisted his arm to ask her. He’d brought up the dance entirely on his own.
But could it really be this easy?
“Well, all right then.” With another dazzling smile, he pushed away from the counter. “Glad I brought it up. I hope you’ve got your dancing shoes, Cherry, because it looks like you and I are hitting up the old Harvest Dance.”
The finality of those words echoed in her brain, almost making her dizzy. Deacon huffed a laugh. “You know, this is something we should’ve done years ago. I sure as hell would’ve had more fun taking you than Krista in high school.”
It was hard, hiding the face Hannah wanted to make as he wrapped her in a loose hug. It was on the tip of her tongue to say no duh, but then, what good would it have done? The past was the past, after all. What mattered now was the future—their future—and the dance was the first step in securing that.
As the seconds ticked, and the hug stretched past the point of friendly, the mood around them shifted. The muscles in Deacon’s strong arms flexed around her shoulders, and Hannah couldn’t help remembering how it felt to have him hold her last night. Not in a platonic hug between friends, but in a real embrace of passion.
Was he remembering, too?
Hannah lifted her face from Deacon’s neck and watched the thick column of his throat bob in a swallow. She licked her lips, focusing on the smooth skin and the base where his pulse fluttered, remembering the taste of salt on his skin. She wondered what he’d do if she put her mouth there again.
The sudden rush of air as he stepped back actually fanned her hair.
Deacon coughed. “I, uh, better get to the arena.” The tightness of his face looked pained, and he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “The guys are waiting on me.”
“Okay.”
As Hannah watched, he backpedaled and spun around, stooping to grab his boots from in front of the couch and not bothering to slide them on. “But you should eat something,” he told her. “It’ll help. And tell Max I’ll be here to tuck him in before the show.”
She nodded wordlessly, cataloguing the twitching of his jaw and shifting of his eyes as he stopped at the top of the stairs. When he turned to face her, the physical distance across the bus was nothing compared to the strange emotional distance. For the first time in a long time, Hannah couldn’t get a hint of what he was thinking. His eyes were completely closed to her.
“Get some rest.” Deacon’s lips twisted in a sad version of a smile. “You deserve it.”
Then, with a two-finger salute, he bolted down the steps like the hounds of hell were after him. Hannah sank onto the bench seat, more confused than ever.
…
Slow and quiet, Deacon closed the door and toed off his boots. The bus was eerily silent. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, otherwise known as Nap Time at Kids Central, and the only time other than the dead of night you could hear a pin drop. Or hear yourself think. He’d chosen it for a reason.
Picking up his shoes, he treaded carefully up the steps. As much as he loved his son, Max was a tiny terror even the Hulk wouldn’t mess with when he got woken from a nap. The last thing Deacon needed was a meltdown during his chat with Hannah.
They needed to get this over with.
Too much time had passed since the kiss, but they’d yet to discuss it. Admittedly, he’d chickened out in the beginning. Hannah had been hungover the morning after, so he’d brought up the carnival instead, thinking it’d be a safe subject, and they’d hash out the rest that night after the show. Then the bus was put under quarantine.
Lizzie had caught it first, with Max succumbing just after that. A call to the pediatrician ruled out anything more serious than a stomach bug, but he and Tyler were kicked out so they wouldn’t get sick, too. Evidently, concert goers weren’t too keen on vomit.
The next day, Hannah and Sherry got hit, and it wasn’t until late yesterday that he got the all clear to move back. But after squeezing in a few extra stories with Max, he’d barely had enough time to change before heading to the arena for the concert…and this wasn’t the sort of conversation he wanted to have half asleep, either.
Today was the day, though. There were no media events to do, and rehearsal was over. Deacon was staring at two full hours of uninterrupted Hannah time, and he was eager to finally have it out so they could push past the tension and get things back to normal.
At the sound of Sherry’s voice in the back bedroom, he headed in that direction. Hannah’s bunk was empty, which meant she was probably back there, too. The women had grown close over the last month of traveling. Deacon lifted his hand to knock, ready to interrupt their girl time…then let it hover in the air, hesitating.
You’d think after four days, he’d know what he wanted to say by now—but he didn’t. Somehow, even after the nonstop thinking, he was less prepared for this conversation than he’d been for the first one they’d ever had.
Christ, that day felt like yesterday. If he tried, he could still feel the phantom sunburn on his skin. That summer had been brutal, and by the time Hannah had come out to say hello, he’d already been outside for hours. When you didn’t have food to eat, things like the risk of skin cancer didn’t exactly rate a high priority.
He and his mom had just moved to Willow Creek a week before that, and Deacon had spent most of that time alone. While Mom hung out at the bar, doing God knows what with God knows who, he’d eaten everything remotely edible in the kitchen. He’d been this close to boiling the macaroni off an old handmade cross from kindergarten when a long shadow crossed over his feet.
“H-h-h-hello.”
That one, halting word had changed everything.
To this day, he didn’t know what had made Hannah cross the street. He’d never told her just how bad it had gotten, either, but it’d been bad enough for an angry kid with trust issues to follow her home…and the hunger pains tightening his stomach had only been half the reason.
Even then there’d been something about her that made him stop and pay attention. That had him thinking she was the sweetest, most honest thing he’d ever seen, or would ever see, in his entire life.
It was crazy to think how much his life changed because of one decision. It could’ve just as easily gone the other way, too, with him pushing her away like he had everyone else, and her leaving him alone again.
Now he had Max, so he’d never be alone again, but Deacon knew what it was like to live without Hannah. They’d kept in touch while she’d been in Paris, but it wasn’t the same. He hadn’t seen her face every day, or heard her laugh, or felt that sense of peace. He needed that in his life. His son needed that.
Deacon hung his head. Hannah was under his skin. There was no forgetting the taste of her lips, but this was bigger than the two of them. They had Max to think about, and he’d be devastated if Hannah disappeared or if things suddenly got weird. There was also the band.
As Tyler reminded him that morning, Hannah only signed the first half of the contract. The Steel Drum tour had two more months left in the U.S. and then another six weeks overseas. If they pushed the boundaries of their friendship again, and things went south, he’d be leaving the guys in the lurch. With his own extended contract still on the line, he couldn’t take that risk.
Deacon released a heavy breath. Sometimes the right thing felt a hell of a lot like nausea, but if it meant keeping Hannah in his life, his son happy, and his job secured, then it was what he had to do. This was the best decision for them both.
Resolved with that, he looked at the door…then slowly dropped his hand.
He’d give it another few minutes.
&n
bsp; Calling himself ten shades of coward, he redirected his steps. A hot shower would clear his head. Maybe he’d even pull a Hannah and rehearse what he’d tell her in advance. It always worked for her, helping her control her stutter, and though Deacon didn’t have that particular problem, he was nervous as hell. If her head was even half as muddled as his was, this conversation wouldn’t be easy.
Frustrated, he shoved open the bathroom door harder than necessary. Fog and heavily scented air rushed to greet him, and it took a second for the reason to register. When it did, he came to an abrupt stop with one hand on the doorknob and one foot still in the hall.
Candy and flowers.
As the steam disappeared through the crack in the door, a vision appeared, plucked straight from his recent fantasies. Creamy skin, pink from the shower and wet with liquid drops, topped anything his imagination could’ve conjured. Damp ginger curls clung to a slender throat that was arched back, making a sexy silhouette as full lips trembled in a silent speech to the ceiling. Dark, spiky lashes lay across a flushed cheek, hiding a pair of expressive eyes he’d know anywhere.
Torture, thy name was Hannah.
Gone was the girl he’d known in high school. Erased was the rock he’d depended on in college. The goddess in the shower was a woman, a beautiful woman, with tantalizing curves, shapely legs, and the most incredible smile he’d ever seen.
The arousal flowing through his veins mocked his previous so-called resolve.
“Cherry.”
Her name came on a choked breath, but Hannah’s eyes snapped open. Smooth skin turned to stone as she stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed, before slanting those green eyes toward him in horror.
“Deacon!” Frantic, she tried to cover her body, slinging one arm over her perfect breasts while reaching for the folded towel on the counter with the other, only to quickly draw back her hand and slap it over her lower half as well.
It was the hardest thing he ever did, keeping his eyes above her waist. Taking one step forward, he grabbed the terrycloth and handed it over, not trusting himself to get any closer. When she took it from his hands, she could hardly look into his eyes. Deacon’s chest gave a hard kick.
Hannah made quick work of the towel, wrapping the terrycloth around her torso and clinging to the edges. She bit her lip and stammered, “Wh-what are y-you doing?”
It wasn’t remotely funny. The reappearance of her stutter meant she was either stressed or anxious, two things he never wanted to be the cause of. But he couldn’t help the laugh that broke free at the innocent question.
A full-bodied, unstoppable laugh that threw his head back with the force of it.
“What am I doing?” he repeated in amusement, hearing the gruffness of his own voice and dragging in a deep, floral-scented breath. “Oh, Cherry…I’m losing my ever-loving mind.”
“Wh-what?”
He shook his head, too wound up to explain. It was time to go. Clearly, their conversation wouldn’t be happening today—there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d make it through telling her the kiss was a mistake with a straight face. Not after seeing her naked. Nope, what he needed right now was distance. Distance and a lobotomy.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Deacon turned on his heel. Later, he’d apologize and try to find some way to explain his behavior, but the important thing was getting out of there before he made things worse. He was halfway through the door, eyes still closed, when a voice had them popping open.
“Hey, D-man, sound check over already?”
Too late to leave without opening the door any wider and risk exposing Hannah, he shifted back to block Sherry’s view and grunted in response.
She snickered near the bedroom door. “Good talk there, caveman.” She sauntered forward, then eyed where he stood with a strange expression. “Say, whatcha’ doing standing in front of the bathroom? Waiting for a written invitation?”
She laughed again, ever the smartass, and at the nearness of her voice, Hannah released a high-pitched squeal behind him. Panicked, he rushed to close the door tighter around his leg…and that’s when Sherry understood.
“Oh, snap!”
Even in his basketball days, Deacon hadn’t seen anyone move that fast. Double-timing it back to her room, Sherry called out, “Sorry, Hannah!” just before slamming the bedroom door…
And that awoke the miniature Hulk and Princess sleeping in their roosts.
“Hannah!” was quickly followed by Lizzie’s, “Mama!”
As for Deacon, his feet were glued where he stood, halfway between his best friend and his wailing son.
He glanced back over his shoulder. Hannah’s eyes were wet with unmistakable vulnerability. He shook his head, wishing she saw what he did when he looked at her now. She didn’t need that expensive makeup or fancy Parisian crap she’d been clinging to lately. She was beautiful exactly as she was. It was crazy that he hadn’t noticed just how much before.
Max’s cry pierced the air again, seconded by Lizzie, and Deacon fisted his hands. Sherry ran back out of the bedroom, muttering fresh apologies as she rushed to her daughter, and he released his death grip on the door.
“You’re gorgeous, Cherry.”
He waited until the message hit home and a softness entered Hannah’s eyes, then turned around and closed the door with a firm tug behind him. Wiping his hands on the front of his jeans, he quickly made it over to his son to comfort him…walking away before he crossed yet another line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
Chapter Ten
Two days later, Hannah had to pinch herself. She couldn’t believe where she was or what she was seeing in front of her. Sure, she knew the world she now lived in, understood what happened while she hid herself away on a tour bus singing silly songs with the kids, but this was the first time she’d ever actually seen it with her own eyes.
Country music’s most famous stage held way less than most of Blue’s venues, but it came with a certain status that couldn’t be denied. As Hannah sat in the front row, dressed to the nines and styled by professionals, and watched her best friend live his dream, her eyes went misty.
No way would the sullen teenager she’d met ten years ago believe this would one day be his future—performing at The Grand Ole Opry House in front of a screaming crowd. Seeing Deacon up on that stage had her wishing she could go back and hug that boy all over again. Whisper in his ear that dreams really did come true.
To the right of the stage, just behind Tyler, Deacon stroked his bow across the strings. Hannah shivered as if he’d run it over her skin. He played that instrument the same way he approached everything in his life, with focus and raw masculinity. Chewing steak. Tying his shoes. Heck, even washing his hands, the man looked sexy doing them all. Simply put, he was her living, breathing fantasy come to life.
Which was why she was getting so antsy about her timetable.
The Harvest Festival was one month away. Sure, he’d asked her to the dance, but not because he suddenly saw her as girlfriend material or because he couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms again. Obviously, the invite had been more of a “hey, why not” type of thing, which would’ve been fine back when they were in high school. Today’s Hannah wanted more.
She wanted Deacon to fall in love with her.
Right now, they had plenty of affection between them, and maybe even a hint of lust. She desperately wanted to believe he wanted her, too, and that the heat in his eyes when he’d caught her in the shower hadn’t been just a trick of the light. But he still hadn’t mentioned their kiss, or even attempted to flirt with her. A couple sweet compliments did not a lover make.
Maybe Deacon was happy with the way things were and didn’t want to rock the boat. Or maybe he still only saw her as a friend and nothing more. The night of the club could’ve been a fluke. Because if he wanted her as much as she wanted him, wouldn’t he have shown it by now?
“This is so exciting!”
Arabella bumped her elbow, and Hannah tore her gaze from Deacon to smile at her friend
. The pretty band manager looked amazing in a vintage, pinup style dress that was equal parts elegant and retro.
Ella turned so her mouth was pressed against Hannah’s ear. “I grew up coming to shows here,” she told her in a loud voice, competing with the music, “and I watched videos of my mama perform. But this feels different, you know?”
Hannah took in the room, electric with energy. “It’s definitely incredible,” she yelled back. “I’m just so glad I’m here to see it!”
Arabella bumped her shoulder and smiled. “Wouldn’t be the same without you!”
When her friends reminded her yesterday about the Birthday Bash, confirming the service they’d hired to watch the kids, Hannah had flown into a tizzy. Tonight’s event had been on the schedule from the very beginning, but between tilt-a-whirl kisses, a hangover and stomach bug, and naked shower mishaps, she’d completely forgot.
Upping her nerves was the dress she’d packed. She wasn’t even close to throwing in the towel yet, not with as much progress as she’d made, but her original choice wasn’t cutting it. She’d needed a wow dress. A dress that’d push Deacon to the very edge of his sanity. A run-of-the-mill LBD from the mall just wouldn’t cut it.
That’s where Sherry stepped in. Together with Blue’s stylist and the band’s hair and makeup team, they primped, curled, and squeezed Hannah into Nashville glam perfection. When she’d surveyed the result, even she had to admit she looked good.
The look on Deacon’s face when he saw her walk out? Completely priceless.
“He still can’t keep his eyes off you,” Sherry told her with an air of satisfaction, “and I can’t say I blame him. You’re always gorgeous, Hannah, but tonight, you freaking sparkle!”
Hannah blushed at the compliment. “I do sort of feel like Cinderella,” she confessed with a laugh. “No one’s ever done my makeup like this before. Not even at Sephora.”
“Well, trust me, the makeup artists had more fun than even you did.” Sherry reached over to wind one of her red curls around her finger. Her hair was up in a complicated, elegant braid, and a few soft tendrils framed her face. “I mean, seriously, can you imagine how boring it is styling a bunch of dudes every day?”
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 13