by Zoe York
Liana didn’t need that bullshit piled on top of everything else.
He kept telling himself that fact through lunch and Liana’s WhisperSnip broadcast. At one point the video feed caught his arm, when he reached past her phone for some napkins, and Jackie and Andrew snickered over the fan guesses as to who the arm belonged to.
“They like your arm,” Jackie said before sticking out her tongue.
“And now they want to know who Jackie is talking to.”
Liana rolled her eyes at her phone and gave her unseen fans a teasing smile. “Let me have some secrets, okay?”
Dean told himself that next time she did this, he’d get the app and watch it for himself.
So he could understand how it worked. Not so he’d get that smile pointed in his direction.
Fuck, he was such a liar.
Four days he’d known her. Four days he’d had this job, and he was already fucking it up.
That thought propelled him out of his chair and into the hallway—where he nearly ran into Track Gantley, who’d been about to knock on Liana’s door.
Dean closed said door behind him and stood in front of it, arms crossed. “She’s doing a live video for her fans right now.”
The other man stepped back and they sized each other up.
Dean had a few inches on him, but he had a few inches on almost everyone. That fact didn’t normally make him quite as happy as it did right now.
“I need to talk to her.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yep.”
“She’s overreacting. This performance anxiety isn’t new. You should know that. She’s always struggled. I don’t know what she’s told you—”
“She’s told me she sings better when her time before the show is protected. That’s my job, and it’s literally the only thing I care about.” That second part was a lie. Dean cared a hell of a lot about this asshole saying Liana was overreacting, but that wasn’t his role.
“Look, you can’t coddle her on this.” Track turned on what everyone else probably saw as charm. “Man to man, I gotta warn you that she’s gonna—”
“Stop.” Dean needed to tread carefully here. He could tell from the look in the other man’s eyes that he genuinely believed the horseshit he was spewing. And Dean couldn’t—wouldn’t—expose Liana’s awareness of Track’s manipulative efforts. Especially not when they might be sub-conscious. He forced a friendly, understanding tone into his voice, just like if he was talking to a suspect. “Look, I hear you. But I’ve got rules I gotta follow, you know? And the quiet time before the show seems to be helping her. But I can tell her you wanted to see her.”
“Nah, don’t bother.” Track flashed him an extra-white smile and headed down the hall.
Dean couldn’t help but notice that his cowboy boots seemed extra tall today.
* * *
— —
* * *
After lunch, they headed to the National Mall in the shuttle bus. Today the elaborate stage was draped in even more red, white, and blue than the day before. While Liana did a quick sound check, Dean took some once-in-a-lifetime photos of the Washington Monument perfectly framed at the other end of the giant green lawn, quickly filling with people.
Even though Liana had done a show the night before, and gotten amped up, there was still something different about her today. Nervous energy that he hadn't seen before poured out of her as she spent time with the other performers in the VIP tent backstage.
She glad-handed her way through the crowd, barely looking at him but always having a quick smile when she did. And he did his job, having her back and making sure that Track was always somewhere else.
The sun was low in the sky when they were ushered into the wings of the outdoor stage. Dean stepped out of the way as Liana posed for a backstage picture with the host, but she tethered him back into her orbit with a single glance as soon as she was done.
Don’t go far, her body language whispered.
Like that was even an option.
It was dangerous how much he wanted to be right next to her. How much he wanted to simply stand behind her, have his hands on her shoulders and feel her heat against his front. Dangerous how he could still smell her hair from where he almost kissed her forehead the night before.
He wasn’t going anywhere, even though, in theory, he knew better.
Something had flipped inside him yesterday and now he felt constantly close to crossing a professional line. If she’d said anything other than, “I’m going to bed,” he probably would have kissed her.
He’d lock it down again. If he hadn’t spent the entire day half a step behind what they were doing, because they spoke in half-sentences and used a dense vocabulary for which he didn’t have a dictionary, maybe the simmering awareness inside him wouldn’t have exploded into such restless, wild wanting.
If he hadn’t had free rein to watch her warm up, get ready, transform, all with the pervy hunger of a voyeur…maybe he’d have already switched it off.
But somewhere between watching her big hair get even better and catching her blow herself a red-lipsticked kiss in the mirror before hustling to the wings, he’d filed away this Liana alongside the others: the quiet loner, the runner, the kind and generous star. And now the larger than life performer, in a tight black t-shirt, even tighter jeans, and killer heels…there was no point pretending he wouldn’t dream of this Liana tonight.
Which meant he was doing a shitty job, and Fosters didn’t punch below their weight. The Colonel would cuff him for mooning over his protectee, even if all he was protecting her from were raw feelings.
And Liana, a perfectionist to the point of harming herself, deserved nothing less than his best.
He wouldn’t put his selfish desires above what was best for her.
Right now, what she needed was for him to get his eyes off her ass and back where they belonged—scanning her surroundings and keeping her in a safe, secure bubble, away from the toxic reach of her ex.
They got the five-minute heads-up from the stage manager, and the band slid to one side, knowing the performers on stage would be filing past them in a minute. Liana reached her hands out and wiggled her fingers. He’d watched them do this yesterday, but today West didn’t reach past him. Today Dean was right in the way, and on one side West took his hand and on the other, Liana closed the circle.
What was Dean going to say? Nope, not my thing? For the next six weeks, he was her shadow. Her things were his things.
So that meant her hand in his hand. Cool, slim fingers, squeezing tight. An extra pulse as she whispered amen in that slight, melodic twang of hers. Like it had three syllables. Ah-ma-en.
His blood felt like sludge as they broke apart, making his limbs heavy and his chest hurt. It was a day for painful revelations, clearly. He wanted to want her. Resented that his brain thought it best to shut down this feeling when it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
She was radiant, all the energy pulling tight inside her like the start of a nuclear reaction, and as soon as she hit the stage, she turned on that power and blew him away.
He watched her set from the shadows. The night before he’d circled around to the front, watching the crowd, watching her face, but tonight he stayed in one spot. Most of the time she was in profile. He hadn’t realized how often she looked up at the sky.
Singing to the heavens. Like an offering, a plea. Except for when she started River Bed Lullaby, and she looked into the crowd, as if she was actually looking for that listener from earlier, and she softly said the woman’s name. “This one’s for Ashley, and everyone else who needs a little extra hope tonight.”
He couldn’t get over the power of her voice. Of her.
The way he was drawn to her talent, her spark, her vulnerable softness…he didn’t want Liana in the way he usually wanted women. This felt different because it was different. It wasn’t like seeking like, it wasn’t the casual hap
penstance of mutual chemistry.
They weren’t even in the same solar system. She was a star, a goddess in more ways than one, and he was a regular Joe.
It was just a crush.
Damn. For the first time since Dean was a teenager, he had an honest to God crush. The kind where everything the other person did was magically special, where he got flustered and embarrassed over nothing more than the fear that someone could look at him and see all these feelings, these big, special feelings.
He was fourteen again, and full of ridiculous hope.
This couldn’t end well, but just for tonight, he couldn’t turn it off, either.
Chapter Eleven
THEY left Washington in the middle of the night to avoid traffic snarls and were in Raleigh, North Carolina by breakfast.
In the end, the night before had gone just fine, much to Liana’s surprise. She’d pasted on a smile and made her way through the VIP tent after the concert. Dean stood between her and Track, who’d clearly decided to give them a wide berth. And then it was over.
Somehow the lack of confrontation hadn’t brought the relief she’d expected.
She actually never slept that well when the bus was on the highway, so once they arrived, she hung her do-not-disturb sign on her door and slept for a few more hours.
When she woke the second time, everyone was gone.
Except for Dean.
She found him sitting on the couch in bus’s small living room, reading a worn paperback.
“Good morning,” he said, closing the book and tucking it into the little lip where the couch met the window.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “For another forty-five minutes.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Where is everyone?” She glanced around. Even their driver was gone.
“Dwayne and West went on a supply run to Walmart with some of the crew. Not sure where Andrew and Jackie are.”
Liana had a pretty good idea, but their secret wasn’t hers to share. It wasn’t even hers to know, but she’d caught enough hints to have a pretty good guess they were somewhere inside the arena.
Alone.
Like she was with Dean.
Suddenly the bus was stuffy even though the air conditioning was running.
“Ah.” She leaned against the wall and tucked her hands into the pockets of her cut-off jean shorts.
He looked at her, which made sense, because they were talking, but they were alone and she was aware of her bare legs and the way her t-shirt pulled across her breasts, which suddenly felt heavy and hot.
She worked out. Paid a lot of money to people to keep her skin bare, her hair shiny. She knew how to dress for cameras and red carpets.
But Liana never, ever felt sexy.
Not deep down. Not in the powerful, hell ya he wants me kind of way. Because real men didn’t want her most of the time. They passed her over as too high-maintenance or aloof. Too busy. Not doting or domestic enough. Too much, not enough, never quite right for the kind of guy she wanted.
She’d found it easier to date other celebrities. Actors, musicians. The occasional industry professional.
And in order for a man to see her naked…there were pretty significant mental hoops she had to jump through to be in the right place for that to happen.
Right now, with Dean looking at her legs?
Liana was suddenly aware that he liked her. He thought she was hot.
She liked that so, so much.
She licked her lips and wiggled her hands deeper into the pockets of her jean shorts. Her t-shirt pulled tighter around her curves and his eyes followed the welcoming path she created for his gaze. And then she jerked his attention back to her face by opening her mouth. “So…you’re just reading.”
He was good. He didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah.”
“I might go do the same.” She pointed behind her to her bedroom.
He nodded.
She didn’t move. Heat sizzled beneath her skin.
He didn’t disappoint. With a lazy, wide sweep of his arm, he gestured to the compact couch. “You could sit out here.”
Yes, her boobs begged. She crossed her arms over her chest. It didn’t pay to be too obvious.
“Or we could go for a walk?”
“No.” She smiled, a slow, sweet curl of her mouth that matched the way he was looking at her. “Reading sounds lovely.”
She went and got her book, and a light cotton hoodie because she was pretty sure her nipples were going to slice through her bra and t-shirt any second.
When she returned, he’d grabbed one of the chairs and propped his feet up on that, leaving lots of room on the couch for her. She grabbed a sparkling water for herself and offered him one before settling in next to him. She pressed her back against the arm of the couch so she was facing him and bent her knees to set her bare feet on the seat between them. Her book rested on her thighs, so she could sort of read and mostly watch him.
She was hopeless.
But he was really good-looking, which seemed like a reasonable defense, especially when his brow furrowed and he chewed on the corner of his lip as he read.
She forced her attention back to her own book, and the black-ops mission underway on the pages. She loved thrillers for the over-the-top action and macho heroes, but today the quiet man in front of her was way more interesting.
“How’d you sleep last night?” she asked, interrupting the silence.
He made a humming noise and kept reading for a second or two more, like he was finishing a paragraph. Then he marked his spot with his finger and looked sideways at her. “Yeah. Okay, actually. The bunk is quite spacious.”
She laughed.
“Better than an army cot.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“You don’t like sleeping on the bus, eh?”
That was an opening for her to tell him that she never slept well. About the disquiet, the worry she always felt but that had gotten much worse this tour.
But then he’d know that, and worry about it, and then he might figure out how she coped…so…no. That was staying in the vault.
Besides, the bus rule was that once people started to go to sleep, you did the damn same, because a band that didn’t get enough sleep didn’t perform well.
Hence her morning nap.
“No,” she finally said. “Not that well. I never do.”
“That was a lot of thinking for such a short answer.”
She took a deep breath and held it.
He laughed gently.
“I’m being a dork,” she finally admitted in a rush of words.
“I told you that you didn’t have any social skills,” he teased, low and warm, and she blushed as she let her book drop to the ground.
He’d turned, just a bit, and his hand grazed her knee as he lifted his arm and stretched it across the back of the couch.
His hand was right there. She could lean forward and press her lips to those long, strong fingers.
Her leg slid off the couch and she shifted.
Now she wouldn’t even need to lean forward.
Instead she turned the other way, swinging around so they sat side by side, thigh against thigh. “Share your footrest,” she whispered.
He dropped his far leg and looped his foot under the leg of the chair, pulling it closer. “Nope,” he whispered back. “This isn’t going to work. My legs are longer than yours.”
“Mmm.” She shifted again, abandoning the shared footrest idea. Her hand brushed his thigh as she turned to face him, this time with her legs curled beneath her.
“Liana…” Yes, she liked her name rolling off his tongue. Even if it was accompanied by a wary narrowing of his eyes.
“Yes?”
His phone vibrated between them. He paused, then leaned away from her and dug it out. He glanced at the screen. “This is my brother. He wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”
She waved her hand. “Yeah, of course. I’ll go read in
my room.”
“Stay.” He touched her shoulder before standing up. “I’ll step outside.”
* * *
— —
* * *
Dean hit the answer button as he levered the bus door open. “Sean. What’s up?”
“Hey.”
That was all. One syllable, followed by a stretch of silence, and Dean knew. He swore silently and kicked his foot against the ground. “You got news?”
“Yeah. I got the call. I’m going sooner than later.”
“No work up?”
“It’ll be fine. There’s a need for a…” The phone crackled and for a second, Dean thought maybe his brother was already headed overseas, that he was calling from a foreign airport and the pain in his chest felt like a heart attack. “Sorry, shitty signal. I’m on the lake. Anyway, I’m going up to Pet on Monday, and then I’m heading over sometime in the next few weeks. Lots of stuff in flux. Just wanted to tell you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Fuck, he wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t felt like this when Jake had gone on his tour. But this was Sean. Mr. Mercurial. The baby.
“How’s the hot singer?” Sean changed the subject.
Smoking hot and really complicated. “She’s nice. I like her band.”
“Are there groupies all over the place?”
Dean laughed. Sean was still a pile of hormones. The eleven years between them sometimes felt like a lifetime, although when it came to Liana, his hormones worked just fine. “No.”
“Shame.”
He threw his brother a fictional bone. “Well, who knows. Tonight is the first real concert. I’ll report back.”
“I’ll hold you to that!”
Dean snorted. “Hey. I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”
A hesitant pause. “Yeah.”
That worried Dean more than he wanted to admit. Sean’s going to be just fine warred pretty hard in his head with get on a plane and go see for your fucking self. “Talk to you later.”
“Peace out, bro.”
He stood there for a minute, hands on his hips, head down, before turning back to the bus. When he did, Liana was standing in the open doorway.