Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  Instead of heading into the city proper, he veered off the beaten path. Deacon wrapped his hand around the door frame through the violent dips in the road.

  “Just like any city, there’s always work to be done. It may not look like much but just you wait.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Mitch grinned. “Just making sure you knew I wasn’t kidnapping you and holding you for ransom. Don’t want to scare the big, bad musician.”

  Deacon held his tongue. The streets of L.A. had been good for one thing and one thing only. He knew how to land a punch and he knew how to run. Although he was pretty sure Mitchell could do some damage if he wanted to.

  “So, tell me, kid. Who schooled you already?”

  “About what?”

  “The road, kid. What else have we been talking about?”

  Deacon’s eyebrow quirked. “We haven’t talked in thirty minutes.”

  “I was ruminating.”

  Deacon laughed. “Is that so?”

  “Talk is cheap, silence is golden.”

  “I tend to agree with you. The people in my band aren’t exactly known for shutting their mouths.”

  “I seen you, kid. You’re a watchful sort. And I’ve seen you watching Harper.”

  Deacon sat back and folded his arms. “You know Harper?”

  “Harper’s practically my daughter. You don’t go messing with her. You hear me?”

  “I don’t think I can make that promise, Mitch.”

  “Oh really?” Mitch halted the truck with a jerk and turned to him.

  Wincing, Deacon pulled the seatbelt away from his neck where it dug deep. “Nope.” He met Mitch’s gaze. “I can’t turn it off. I wish I could—no, actually I don’t want to turn it off. She’s the first woman that’s even remotely interested me in too many months to count.”

  Mitch’s bear-sized hand clenched on the gear shift between them. “You’re going to mess with my niece’s head because you’re bored?”

  Christ, that wasn’t it. It would be a lot easier if it was. He knew the difference between infatuation, boredom, and actually liking a girl. What he felt for Harper was a heady mix of infatuation along with a great big side scoop of lust. “Evidently you haven’t been paying that much attention. First of all, she can hold her own.”

  “I know that, boy. Don’t talk to me like you know Harper.”

  “Then you should know she’s got some strong convictions. I’ve only known her a week and she’s made that very apparent.”

  The huge man’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “Truth.”

  Deacon unclipped his seatbelt so he could turn to face the man fully. “I like her Mitch. Not in—”

  “If you try and tell me you don’t want to get in her pants, I’m going to leave you here and let the fates decide if you get back.”

  Deacon swallowed down the first bubbles of unease in his belly. He had GPS on his phone, but they really were in the middle of goddamn nowhere. “I get it. You’re protective. I would be too. Hell, I already am.” He adjusted his ball cap. “I’m not gonna lie. She’s goddamn gorgeous. But if all I was looking for was an easy lay, I could get that.”

  “Cocky fuck.”

  Deacon shook his head. “Not cocky, just fact.”

  “What? So she’s a challenge?” Mitch’s hands fisted again.

  Deciding truth was probably the only thing that would save him, he made sure their gazes locked. “Part of it is the challenge. But any woman worth having in your life is going to be a challenge. I like her kind of challenge. Hell, I don’t even know if she likes me, Mitch. It’s not like I’m going to push myself on her.”

  “She’d rip off your nuts and roast them.”

  Deacon winced. “I don’t doubt it.” He eased back into the seat and stared straight ahead. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she wasn’t interested, but he knew in his gut that she was. There couldn’t be that much…crackle…between them.

  But she’d been ignoring him since that first day at the scavenger hunt—the conscious kind of ignoring. Like she was making sure they weren’t in the same room together. The minute he spotted her during the meals, she disappeared. And when she couldn’t get away, she made sure she wasn’t the one that waited on him.

  At first he’d thought he’d done something wrong. Maybe he’d come on too strong in the pavilion. Being near her made him feel centered for the first time in his life. And he didn’t want to let that go. At all. And then he’d caught her checking him out on one of his runs.

  And she’d left a box of spinach, egg and pepperjack on English muffins at breakfast for him. The kind of light, but iron and protein rich food he needed to fuel up for a run. Without a word, she’d started skewing the menu for him among the usual breakfast fare that most people preferred.

  Was she being a good caterer? Or was she looking out for him?

  “Yeah well, it’s not one-sided.”

  Deacon snapped his gaze to Mitch and sat up straighter. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Mitch shrugged. “She needs fun. And maybe you are a good kid. I’m still not entirely sure about that, but I’ve got to make quick judgments about people in this business. You don’t set off bells. That half-naked all the time lead singer you have—he’d get his nuts fed to him if he went near her.”

  “You sure like to threaten the boys.”

  Mitchell shrugged. “A punch is easy to take. A swipe at the jewels will make you cry like a baby.”

  “Fair enough.” Deacon sighed. “Simon’s a good guy.”

  “That kid has one thing on his mind.”

  The urge to defend Simon was strong, but he swallowed it down.

  “If Simon got near her, I’d tear his hair out by the roots. But Harper can take care of herself, so I don’t need to worry about it,” Deacon said.

  Mitch studied him for another beat and then put the truck back into gear without a word. They bounced over a few more cracked roadways until they came to a narrow opening that was more alleyway than street. Pop-up tents lined the street and greens, fruit, and flowers spilled from overburdened collapsible tables.

  He slid out of the truck and motored to the back as if he didn’t weigh in at three-hundred and fifty pounds. “C’mon kid. Time to earn your ride.”

  Deacon clattered down, stashing his bag deep into the footspace of the truck. Mitch handed him a huge plastic tub with rope handles.

  With every minute that Deacon hustled after him, there was another five pounds of produce added to his bucket. Tomatoes and potatoes, green beans, kale, and collard greens, the silky tufts of corn rode the overflowing bushel. And when they were done with one, he was sent back to the truck for another.

  Being Mitch’s slave labor for an hour seemed to have put the older man in good spirits. They rumbled over a few more dodgy streets until they were finally spit out into the guts and glory of Broadway. Deacon leaned forward, well aware he looked like a tourist as he soaked in the neon and heavy foot traffic. High summer in Nashville meant vacations and people spending their hard earned dollars.

  Mitch stopped in front of a tiny, dingy storefront with a surprisingly sparkling counter and window. “Start there.”

  Deacon grabbed his knapsack. “DeLuca’s?”

  “Yep. May not look like much, but if you like hot and barbecue then that’s your place.”

  His mouth watering before he even opened the door, Deacon hopped out. “Thanks, man.”

  “And just how are you getting back to the venue?”

  Deacon shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Mitch shook his head. “A bunch of the waitstaff is going to The Honky Tonk around nine. They have live music until the wee hours of the morning for you crazy kids.”

  “Well if I don’t get into too much trouble that’s where I’ll land.” How could he not go to something called the Honky Tonk in the middle of freaking Nashville? “Thanks again.”

  “I appreciate your back and your help today. But no mat
ter how big you are I’ll tie an old amp to your back and drop you in the nearest lake or river if you fuck over my niece.”

  Deacon tried not to smile as Mitchell chirped his tires as he pulled out into traffic. He was glad Harper had family that cared enough to face arrest for manslaughter charges. His own family had lost interest him a long time ago. He juggled his phone out of the bottom of his bag and decided to play with twitter.

  Hey tweeple. I’m on Broadway in Nashville. Want to have BBQ w/me? Find me at DeLuca’s in the next 15. - D

  He wasn’t sure the shout-out would amount to anything, but he hated to eat alone. So why the fuck not? He moved up to the counter and smiled. “I’m from California and need to be schooled in Tennessee barbecue.”

  The thick-necked man with a wide ginger beard smiled and rubbed his hands. “You have come to the right place.”

  “So I’m told. Feed me—and I can eat a lot.”

  Five minutes later he had a huge plate of brisket, ribs, slaw, potato salad, and a sweet tea.

  “Oh my God, he really is here.”

  Deacon turned to the excited voices of two women and one bored, lanky teenage boy. “Hey there.”

  “You’re really you!” The twenty-year-old girl with wild, black, Dolly Parton-sized hair came forward. Her lips were glossed in red to match her skin-tight red tank top. Jeans, kidney-constricting tight, encased long legs that ended in well-worn boots.

  “I’m really me,” he said with a laugh.

  A woman, slightly older, but with the same western I-come-from-Boobtown style came forward. “I’m Jamie Ray and this is my daughter, Dina and my son, Jack.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Deacon set his burden down and reached out to shake hands. “You’re quick.”

  Dina pulled out her phone. “I couldn’t believe when I read that tweet. I have Jazz and all of y’all up in a special feed on my Twitter account. God bless iPhones. I was waiting for the scavenger hunt information, and there you were.”

  “Yeah, Jazz is doing the scavenger hunt stuff tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh yeah, I know. Me and my mama, we know Jazz can give out extra clues if you’re patient. Right, Mama?”

  “Right, baby girl.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Can I have some money? At least I can eat while you two drool.”

  Deacon hid a smile behind his cup as he took a swig of his tea.

  Jamie Ray pulled a twenty out of her equally skin tight black jeans. “Bring us back a tea, baby. You want food, Dina?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat in front of him,” she said in a whisper that the entire eatery could hear.

  Deacon leaned forward. “So, tell me girls. Are you coming to the show tomorrow night?”

  “Of course!”

  With that opening, they let loose. Deacon nodded and laughed. He loved the one-on-one with fans. As they ate, another three guys and two high school-aged girls came. He spent the better part of the next two hours visiting with fans as the crowd grew and they took over the patio.

  Tea and truly amazing deep fried ice cream was passed out to everyone. When he finally stood to leave, he heard a chorus of awws and an army of phones came out. Another thirty minutes for pictures, autographs, and red-smeared lip-locks from Jamie Ray and her daughter Dina, and he finally got out of there.

  When a few of them followed him out to Broadway, he used his sizable stride to lose them in the crowd. He spent the afternoon ducking into bars to hear random musicians play and enjoy the local breweries.

  He drooled his way through a guitar shop and did the touristy thing with pictures at the statuary that lined the streets. He found a small park that was nearly deserted and scribbled down a few thoughts for songs as well as lyrics. After he added a few pictures to the band Instagram, he looked up the Honky Tonk. It was only a few blocks from him.

  But he had an hour to kill, at least. And for once, he was alone. No one had to be wrangled, no interviews, no soundcheck, just blessed quiet. He tucked his bag behind his back and leaned back on the tree and let the sun bake him into a sweet little nap.

  Seven

  August 18, 8:30 PM - Dancin' Shoes and Tattoos

  Harper leaned on the wide railing that overlooked the dance floor of Honky Tonk Central. The sweet scent of barbecue and the briny blast of grease laden fries made her belly grumble. They’d made their order thirty minutes ago, but the place was packed. Wall to wall people in a mix of western gear and Friday night please-guess-my-cup-size shirts danced or lingered around the bar.

  “Yo, Harper!”

  She turned to Marie and Gina, a few of the support staff from Food Riot. Gina fluffed her pixie cut of blonde hair. “That cute waiter is heading our way with food.”

  “Finally.” She perched on the end of the cube-shaped leather club chair.

  “Sorry it took so long, ladies.” The lanky waiter flashed a smile. The dim light up on the balcony sections of the restaurant couldn’t mask the way his bright blue eyes twinkled. There was a light breeze from outside that attempted to cut the humidity—special emphasis on attempted.

  Funky tables and chairs made for a mash-up of homey and eclectic in their area. Max, their flirty waiter, set his tray down near Harper. He smiled down at her, a dimple flashing.

  Instead of the charm he was trying to convey, all he did was remind her of another man with deeper dimples. When the hell did she start preferring green eyes over blue?

  Harper Lee, you are sitting in a pile of trouble.

  Shaking off the gloom, she accepted the huge blue plate of chicken fried chicken, extra cheesy mac and cheese, and red skinned mashed potatoes.

  “Food I didn’t have to cook.” She sighed.

  “This place is crazy. I didn’t think I’d find anyone I knew.”

  Harper shut her eyes. Oh, God, no way. It couldn’t be him. Taking a deep breath, she looked up. What the hell was he doing here? Deacon loomed over her, his insane height making her very aware of just how tiny she was on the stupid chair that was barely a foot off the floor. And his dimples were a million times more potent than Max’s, dammit.

  Max turned. “Hey, man. I didn’t know they had another person in their party. Can I get you something?”

  “We don’t,” Harper said quickly. “He’s not with us.”

  “Oh, okay.” Max looked from Gina to Marie and back to her. “This guy bothering you?”

  Deacon smiled amiably. “Party crasher, that’s me. You girls don’t mind, right?”

  “I don’t,” Marie said with her usual quick friendliness. “You guys don’t right?” Gina shook her head and moved over on the couch. Harper swallowed a growl.

  Lanky Max seemed tall, fit, and delicious without Deacon in the room, but now he seemed more like a boy. Dense muscle and another four inches of powerful fuck-me-running hotness put waiter firmly in last place in the hotness factor. Add in the little bit more than scruff decorating Deacon’s strong jawline that lent him a slightly dangerous edge and she could hear her heartbeat between her ears.

  Or was that her thighs?

  He always looked a little morning after, but now he was the definition of sun-rumpled. Tan and delicious.

  No. Not delicious.

  “Whatever dark beer you’ve got,” Deacon said with a smile.

  His deep voice dragged her back to the moment and she turned away to study her plate instead. That was delicious, not Deacon.

  “You got it.” Max backed out of their little corner of the balcony section. “I’ll be right back if you need anything.”

  Deacon shifted his battered knapsack from his shoulder to the floor next to the couch. “Mitch told me you guys would be here.”

  “Mitch?” That little shit. And since when did he sic a guy on her? Usually he was ready to beat them with a cast iron skillet or with his plate-sized hands.

  “Yeah. He took me into town with him today. This area is awesome.”

  Deacon moved next to her, and then, before she could say a damn word, he straddled the c
hair and cozied up behind her. The wall of beach-scented heat that rolled forward enveloped her as surely as if it had been his arms.

  “What d’ya got there?”

  She tried to scoot forward to give him room, but she was already at the edge. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back. “Easy there.”

  His fingertips grazed her ribs. She closed her eyes. Do not moan, Harper Lee. With her eyes closed, all she could focus on were the little circles he was making. Was he doing that on purpose? “There are other chairs, you know.”

  “I like this one,” he said low in her ear.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and the room seemed too loud and invasive. All she wanted to do was curl back into him.

  When he snaked his other arm through and broke off a piece of her chicken, she instinctively jammed her elbow into his gut. His rock-hard, crazy-muscled gut. He popped the piece into his mouth. Spell broken, the food thief was back.

  “Oh, wow. That’s good.” When he reached around her for another piece, she slapped his hand.

  “I ordered this for myself, big guy. I’m not feeding you.” There. She even sounded normal. So, her voice might be an octave or two lower. No one could tell with all the noise.

  “C’mon. I’ll order another plate.” The teasing rumble of his voice skittered down her neck and zeroed in on her nipples. Thank you, Wonder Bra and the little bit of extra padding. Because her little tank definitely wouldn’t hide her reaction.

  “We share this one, and we can share mine.” He leaned forward, crowding her again, and snagged the menu off the table. “Maybe.” He sat back, absently brushing her hair over her shoulder and played with the ends. His cargo clad thighs hugged her.

  All very normal. It was as if he’d sat with her like this a million times. She tried to keep herself stiff and away from him, but the tiny pulls on her hair melted her spine like butter on warm bread. She cut up her chicken and potatoes, instinctively making sure to make larger pieces for him.

  God, what was she doing?

  She was not feeding this man again. This was her night off. She was feeding herself, and that was all there was to it. This man was not going to make her any more insane. Nope. No.