Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  She got to the first landing and her breath caught. There he was. God, Deacon was unbelievably beautiful. He was almost overwhelming. Strong, wide shoulders under a perfectly cut white dress shirt accentuated his tanned skin. He lived to be outdoors with running and climbing and it left a virile, healthy man that made her mouth water. Dark-washed jeans ended in cowboy boots that made her smile.

  Always a little Texas left in this man. Manners and chivalry were as much a part of him as the bass guitar. And he was staring up at her like she was the single best thing in the world.

  Part of her wanted to spin around and run up the stairs. To take everything she had in his room and bolt and never look back. Because she would never live up to that look in his eyes.

  Mitch was so right. There was forever there, and she’d been ignoring it for weeks.

  When he climbed those last steps to meet her, the only thing she could do was move into him. When his wide fingers crept around her waist to find her naked back, she shuddered.

  “You’re stunning,” he said as their lips met.

  She closed her eyes and fell the rest of the way into the gaping vortex of emotions she’d been fending off since the first day he’d looked down at her in the pavilion. The first day he’d rumbled out a moan about her cooking.

  Holy crap, she was stupid in love with this man.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him pick her up and carry her down the stairs. And when he grinned down at her and drew her into the circle of his friends, she let him.

  Twenty-Seven

  September 15, 6:58 PM - The Palladium

  Deacon shouldered his way through the crush of people backstage. The show hadn’t even started yet, and there were hundreds of people crawling around. The buzz of last night jitters seemed to hum through the room.

  The fucking Palladium. He couldn’t believe they were ending the tour there, of all places. He snuck out a side door that lead to the balcony area. People were already filling the bottom section that was general admission, but only a few were sitting in the seats along the top.

  He climbed the stairs to the very back. Some nights there were dining tables and candles, but this was a sold out night. Instead, there were seats lining the banister three deep. People would be packed into every crevice.

  Deacon dragged his hand along the chrome banister that added to the glamour of the space. Chandeliers gave the room an old world charm that was in direct opposition to the high tech stage. Huge screens were alive with testing screens for the various cameras around the room. The risers he was used to maneuvering around were gone tonight. The stage was stripped down showing off the scuffed floor that thousands of artists and actors stood on.

  And he’d be on that stage in a few short hours.

  He leaned on the railing for a moment more before he slid back into the shadows and through the discreet doors cut out of the silk-papered walls. Deacon ducked through the small doorway to the backstage where the hum of people was even louder. People had multiplied like Gremlins at midnight. He pushed his way through to the closet-sized dressing room they were sharing tonight.

  “Son of a—sorry!” Deacon slapped his hand over his eyes, but unfortunately Nick’s blissed out face, with full-on head-back action couldn’t be unseen. “Towel on the door, man.”

  “I got a little distracted. Too many fucking people are around.”

  Deacon heard the jingle of a belt and buttons and dropped his hand.

  A girl stood with a self-satisfied smile on her face and gave Nick a wink. “Have a good show.”

  “I will now, Tori-with-an-i.” Nick dragged her forward and buried his face in her neck for a moment, breathing her in. When he stepped back, the frown lines that lived in his forehead before a show were gone, and a rare smile tipped up the corners of his lips. “Got any requests?”

  “‘Ripcord’. I love when you do the guitar duels with Gray. So fucking hot.”

  Nick nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  The woman turned and sashayed through the door without a look back. Deacon couldn’t stop his own smile. “Well, then.”

  “Man, Tori-with-an-i was a very nice start to the night.”

  “I bet.”

  Deacon rolled his eyes. He dug out his leather cuffs and strapped them on. His fingers shook a little before he fisted them and opened them again. “Everyone on board with the setlist?”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah. I wish we’d gotten a better soundcheck, but we’ll make it work.”

  The door opened again, and Jazz waved a drumstick with a tissue on the end. “Is it safe?”

  “Depends. I’m bare-assed in here,” Nick called out.

  Jazz slipped in, all glitter and bounce. “Been there, seen that.” She looked around the room. She twirled her stick in one hand, nerves jumping around her. “Have you seen Gray?”

  Deacon shook his head. “Just got here myself.”

  “There was a reason I was using this room. It was empty and quiet,” Nick said and sat on the other end of the futon. He shifted to the edge, his knee bouncing.

  Jazz curled her lip. “Are you going to go into withdrawal when we have no more shows to do?”

  Nick dug out one of his picks and flicked it along his fingers. “Doubt it.”

  Jazz climbed onto the back of the couch and perched. “Pig.”

  He grinned back at her. “You’re the one that asked.”

  The door opened again and Simon’s inky mop of hair and bright blue eyes peeked in. “Did I miss the festivities?”

  Nick sprawled his legs out into the center of the room. “Yep.”

  “Damn.” Simon slid in and closed the door, leaning on it heavily. “Do we even know any of those people out there?”

  “I imagine some of the Trident people, but fuck if I know any of their names. Suit, Three Piece Suit, and Polo Shirt?”

  Jazz twirled one of her blingy purple sticks before tapping Nick’s shoulder. “Nice. How about Boring, Old, and Out of Touch?”

  Simon climbed onto the small vanity table jammed against the opposite wall. “I definitely saw all of them out there.”

  “Five minutes!”

  Jazz popped up, her flip flops snapping as she headed into the miniature bathroom. “Where the hell is Gray?” she asked through the door as she took care of her pea-sized bladder.

  “I saw him out in the crush of people. Two guys were talking to him.”

  Jazz washed her hands quickly and came out wiping her hands on her shirt. “Two guys? Who?”

  Simon shrugged. “I’m not his mother. That’s Deacon’s job.”

  “Fuck off,” Deacon said mildly. He stood and rolled his neck. They were fucking playing at the Palladium. In a few minutes. Fuck.

  Simon pushed through the lotions on the vanity. “Got any glittery lotion or something, Pix?”

  Jazz plucked out a bottle and held it against her chest. “Why?”

  “I want to feel pretty.” Simon flipped his shirt off and stood in front of her. “Want to rub me down?”

  “Not if you paid me a million dollars.”

  Simon held out a cupped hand. Jazz huffed and poured a dollop of lotion in his hand. He smeared it across his chest and slid his leather jacket over his naked chest, then turned to the mirror. “A little sparkle to attract the ladies.”

  “Fucking peacock,” Nick muttered.

  But there was no end to the smiles tonight. Even Nick was happy. Unheard of before a show. Deacon pulled out his lucky Journey shirt and flipped off the Def Leppard one he’d been wearing. As he tugged it on, Jazz gave a wolf whistle. “Shadup.”

  Nick shrugged on the jacket Roman made him and cracked his neck. He hopped up and down, shaking out his hands. “We ready to do this thing?”

  Deacon clamped a hand over Nick’s shoulder. “Ready.”

  Jazz bounded to the door and opened it. “There you are.”

  “I’m here,” Gray said, filling the doorway. A thin white Henley and his black vest and
jeans accentuated his tall, lean form. His eyes had that hyper calm that Deacon associated with pre-show Gray. Like he could see and feel everything in the room. It was a little eerie.

  Deacon let everyone walk out, holding up the rear. Gordo was outside making a fuss to get them to the stage. Deacon rolled his shoulders again. The fucking Palladium was their last show. How did that even happen? Megadeth filmed a fucking DVD here and they were just going to stroll out like it was nothing?

  No, he knew the guys in his band. Simon craned his neck to see. Jazz bounced between all of them like a pinball unable to keep still. Nick kept shaking out his hands like they were full of pins and needles. And Gray was stone, as always. The only thing that seemed alive were his ever-watchful eyes. Always scanning, always searching. What the hell was he looking for, and what the hell went on in his brain? Because none of it came out of his damn mouth.

  And then there was the stage. Lights strobed and the overhead screens flashed the Oblivion logo. His blood hummed, and the roots of his hair tingled in response to the cheers.

  People calling their name.

  Los Angeles. The place they’d called home for so long was taking notice.

  And at the edge of the stage, a sunny crown of braids caught his eye. His skin flamed, and his heart went from a simple artery that pumped blood through his veins to a pounding rhythm inside him.

  Harper.

  She wore her chef whites and a ridiculous pair of purple Crocs. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  They all piled up at the mouth of the stage.

  The rest fell away as she stepped forward. He dragged her in and covered her mouth. She smelled of lemons and clean air tonight. She tasted like sugar and all-spice. And she felt like his. Would always be his. The catcalls and whistles around him ceased to matter.

  She rarely came to him before a show, and he didn’t realize just how much he needed her on his tongue before he sang his words, how much he needed her touch before he played a note.

  She’d become his air when he wasn’t looking.

  “C’mon, Romeo.”

  Deacon broke the kiss with a smile into her lips. “For luck.”

  Harper smiled back at him before opening those summer sky blue eyes. “I love you, big guy.”

  “Get moving.” Simon shoved him onto the stage.

  “Wait, what?” Deacon’s breath stalled in his chest. “What did you say?”

  Harper stood on the sidelines grinning like an idiot.

  Deacon laughed, and they all piled out into the shining light of the Palladium, and then nothing else mattered. Riding the high of being there, and Harper finally saying the words he never thought he’d hear, he smiled and screamed a “Wooohoo!” into the mic.

  Five thousand screaming fans packed the floor and the rafters. Flashbulbs popped, glittering off the art deco chandeliers that hovered over the ballroom. And with Jazz’s steady beat they launched into their first song of the night.

  And it was perfection.

  Twenty-Eight

  September 15, 10:58 PM – Need

  Deacon teased the edges of her panties. Lace and cotton hugged the warm sweetness of her. He leaned forward, tracing his mouth along her jaw before switching hands. He wrapped his left arm around the bucket seat and skimmed his other hand into the shadowed crease under her cargo shorts. “Again.”

  She bit her lip. “Again? Didn’t you just kill me in your dressing room?”

  “Say it again,” he growled.

  Harper leaned over the console between them and framed his face, her summer sky eyes sweet and soft. “I love pancakes?”

  He gripped her ponytail. “Lawless.”

  Delighted she arched up and pressed her lips to his ear. “I love you, Big Guy.”

  “Fuck. I’m never going to get tired of that.”

  He tucked his fingertips under the elastic, groaning at the smoothness he found there. “God, how am I going to let go long enough to get you upstairs?”

  “The parking guy will be—” Her voice broke as he slipped between the softness of her lips.

  He slid a little further and groaned into her ear at the wetness he found. So she hadn’t been indifferent to his hand on her thigh for half the ride.

  Her thigh muscles loosened as she eased off the gas and her other foot jammed in the clutch. She pulled the parking brake, turned off the car, and flung off her seatbelt in the space of a breath.

  “Deacon.”

  His name was barely a whisper under the growl. He peered out the window, happy to see the coast was still clear. His chest as tight as the slick core of her surrounding his fingers. “So, we’ve got the penthouse to ourselves.”

  She jerked as he circled her clit. “Completely?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Just you and me.”

  Her blue eyes went soft in the low light of the parking garage. “God, yes.”

  He slid a second finger inside of her until he was hilt-deep into her. And he wanted it to be his cock. This wasn’t enough. This cramped car and twisted fingers. He wanted her wide open to him. He wanted her screaming.

  He just wanted her.

  Deacon scraped his teeth over her sun-kissed shoulder as her pussy tightened around his pulsing fingers. Part of him wanted to keep going, to watch her go over here and drive her crazy enough to say those three little words again.

  But a louder part of him wanted her alone and unencumbered. Wanted her where no one else could hear.

  She cupped his face, her eyes searching his. “Where’d you go?”

  “To my happy place.”

  “Oh yeah?” She scraped his cheek lightly. “I hope it included me, since your fingers are still inside of me, buddy.”

  “There’s nothing on this earth that can compare to that happy place.” He moved in until their lips touched. “And I’ve decided that I don’t want any interruptions. I think we should go inside.”

  “There’s always tomorrow. We can take the car up to one of the vistas, and I can show you just what the hood of the car is good for.”

  He groaned into her mouth. “I do like how you think, Miss Pruitt.” He opened his door then leaned back. “Wait there.” He shut his door on her laughter and rounded the car. He waved to the parking attendant hotfooting his way over to them. He opened her door for her and helped her out.

  Harper tossed the keys to the kid and dragged him toward the front of the building. They kissed their way through the wide, glass doors and impatiently groped each other through the insufferably long elevator ride.

  He pushed her out of the elevator once they got to the penthouse. He looped his arms around her waist and dragged her back against him to kiss her temple. “You always smell like sunflowers. When you’ve been cooking all day, it’s more like lemons, but mostly sunflowers.”

  “Look at you, knowing my scents.” She scraped her nails over his forearms, laughter alive in her voice. “Does that mean you have to turn in your guy card?”

  “No, that means I’m observant.” He crowded in on her. “And that your scent follows me around.” He buried his nose into her ponytail, then in the nape of her neck. “When I roll over in the morning and bury my face in my pillow, I get another whiff of you.”

  She tipped her chin down as he trailed his lips over the column of her neck. Her low moan revved up the part of him that was always ready for her. He coasted his hands under her shirt and cupped her full breasts, tugging at the tips lightly.

  The hiss of her breath made him bolder. He ground his hips into the curve of her ass and continued to pluck her nipples lightly through the lace of her bra.

  “Does that feel good?”

  Her head fell back against his chest restlessly. “You’re such a tease. I’ve been on edge the whole car ride.”

  He flicked a thumbnail under her nipple and she gasped. With each shuddering breath he tightened the pinch.

  “Harder,” she panted.

  His heart slammed against his ribs. He was so close to the thresho
ld today. These were the days he was almost afraid to touch her. That his big hands would be too clumsy or too rough. That maybe today would be the one time he forgot himself.

  She was so impossibly small compared to him.

  “Deacon,” she said on an insistent groan. “Harder.”

  He twisted the tips. The rasp of lace over the satin softness of her nipple made his fingertips tingle. God, they’d taste amazing. But when she ground herself back on his cock, he focused on her hitching breath and the way her back arched to get more of herself into his hands.

  Flipping her shirt up so he could see the pale pink lace only made things worse. Her nipples were already the blush pink that only happened when he sucked on them strongly.

  Was she as wound up as he was?

  Would her nipples darken even more?

  He dragged the lace down until it was tucked under each nipple so they stood taut and tight. He blew gently on them and watched blood darken them another shade.

  She dug her nails into his outer thighs. “Fuck.”

  He grinned against her temple at the hard k of the word on her lips. She didn’t swear all that often, so when it came out, he paid attention. He lifted her hand to his mouth and sucked on her thumb until her nails went for blood on his thigh. Only then did he bring her thumb back to the strained tip. He blew on her wet nipple and he felt her shudder in his arms.

  “Show me how you hard you want it,” he said in her ear as he helped her cup the heaviest part of her.

  Instead of doing it herself, she twisted his fingers to cover her again. “Pinch.” Her voice was raw. “Until it throbs. Until I say.”

  He slid one arm around her waist, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He didn’t go any lower, just let her know he was there. When her stomach quivered under his touch, he bit back an oath.

  Keep it together.

  He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger then tugged until it was stretched away from the fullness of her breast. When he let go, she rolled her hips against him. “Harder.”