Hillbilly Rockstar (25 page)

“Oh.”

He hated that one-syllable word. The only time a woman used that word in a good connotation was during sex when “Oh” was followed closely by “God.” It annoyed him to have to ask her, “Oh, what?”

“Oh, nothing.”

His second most hated word from women.

He watched Odette flounce off.

Yeah, he wasn't crazy about that flouncing thing that women did either.

His security guys—he had three tonight—didn't speak as they herded him out the back door into a waiting car.

Devin let his head fall back and relived the low points of the day, not the high points of the concert like he should have been. Waking alone, groggy and cold and Crash hitting him with all the issues before he'd had a cup of coffee. By the time they'd hashed everything out with the promoters, he needed to leave for the arena. When Liberty walked into the banquet room tonight, that was the first time he'd seen her all day. Now that they'd both cooled down, they could talk.

They pulled up to the back entrance of the building and the concierge led them to the service elevator. This stealth stuff was such a pain in the ass.

By the time Devin reached his far-too-quiet suite, he was on edge. He poured himself a glass of water and wandered to the big window in the dining area, staring at the twinkling lights of Houston.

Then he kicked off his boots and cut through the living area—complete with a fireplace—to the closed set of double doors at the end of the hallway. He knocked. “Liberty? Sweetheart, are you up?”

Stupid. Like she'd answer if she was sleeping. He opened the door wide enough to stick his head inside. A lamp burned on the nightstand. The covers had been turned down and a small foil-wrapped piece of chocolate had been centered on the pillow.

He didn't see her suitcase. He searched the room just to make sure.

His edgy feeling escalated. Her stuff wasn't on the counter in the master bathroom. She wasn't soaking in the gigantic Jacuzzi tub with her headphones on. She hadn't barricaded herself in the second bedroom.

Where the hell was she?

He called Crash.

“Yo, Dev. What's up?”

“Where's Liberty?”

“I imagine she's sleepin'. Why?”

“Why? Because she's not sleepin' in my bed. And isn't her job as my damn bodyguard to be close enough to guard my body? Which means she's supposed to
be
in my bed.”

Crash sighed.

Not good. “Tell me what the fuck is goin' on.”

“After last night's incident and your . . . disagreement with her this morning, she requested her own room.”

Devin froze.

“I agree with her. You're secure in this hotel, so you don't need her to stay with you. She had another guard stationed on this floor.”

“I don't want another damn guard. I want her.”

“Calm down.”

The fuck he would.

“You knew this wasn't permanent. Before we left Denver, we discussed the possibility that she wouldn't return for the last three weeks after the ten-day break.”

Devin fought his panicked feeling “Has she said she's not comin' back on tour?”

“Not exactly.”

“We're not on break yet.”

Crash sighed again. “We will be on break tomorrow night. She's traveling to Jacksonville with us. As soon as the show ends, she's on a plane to Denver.”

“Not fucking happening. What room is she in?”

“Take it down a notch.”

“Tell me what room she's in.”

Crash didn't respond.

“Tell me what room she's in or I'll go lookin' for her myself. And I'll do that by banging on every fucking door on this floor, Crash.”

“She's in fifteen fifteen.”

She'd requested the room farthest away from his?

“Dev, don't do nothin' stupid,” Crash warned.

“No promises.” Devin swiped his keycard off the table and his spare nylon guitar strap out of his case before he stormed out. He waved guard number one aside, as well as guard number two.

He beat on Liberty's door. “Open up.”

No response.

“Open up or I'll get the manager up here to unlock this door.”

No response.

“Liberty, I'm not fuckin' around.”

The door opened as far as the safety chain allowed. “What do you want?”

“To talk like reasonable adults.”

“Says the brattishly behaving man-child who's beating on my door at eleven thirty at night, demanding an audience.”

Man-child? “I'm not havin' this conversation through the crack in the door. Let. Me. In.”

The door shut. The chain rattled. As soon as she opened the door, he snagged her hand, quickly tying her wrists together with his guitar strap, and towed her out of the room.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Takin' you back where you belong. In my goddamn room and in my goddamn bed.”

“Let me go, you fucking psycho!”

“Not a chance.”

Liberty tried to jerk away from him, but he held fast.

When the security guards started toward him, he said, “She's fine. Me'n her are havin' a private chat in my room.”

When his bandmates started to open their doors to check out the action, Devin yelled, “Go back in your rooms. This doesn't concern any of you, so butt the fuck out.”

“You are such an ass,” she hissed.

“Yep. And, sweetheart, I'm just getting started.” He unlocked the suite
and didn't break his stride until he'd brought her into his bedroom and kicked the door shut. He crowded her against the post on the four-poster bed. “Remember our deal?”

Her eyes said she remembered, but her mouth remained closed.

“Determined to show me that stubborn side, are you? Fine. I'll remind you of our deal. In public, you're in charge. In private, I am. So we'll put aside the professional issues and talk about why you're shutting me out and running away.”

“I'm doing neither of those things.”

“Requesting a separate room for tonight wasn't shutting me out?”

Her eyes shot daggers at him, and no doubt she'd be thumping him in the chest with her fists if she had use of her hands. “So it's all right for you to sleep elsewhere, but it's not okay for me to do the same? That's utter bullshit, Devin. I spent last night and most of the morning in this suite pacing. Tonight I was fucking exhausted and I just wanted to sleep.”

“Meaning you didn't want to sleep with me.”

“Meaning it is best if we just let it go.”

“No.” He framed her face in his hands and repeated, “No. You're not doin' this. I'm not letting you. And I'll stop bein' a man-child and tell you straight up: You hurt me last night. I opened up to you. I told you things about my sister that I've never told anyone—including my family. On the way to the hotel last night after you got done with the cops, you acted like the date with me was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. How the hell was I supposed to take that?”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

“But that's how it came across. I know last night was a big ordeal for you. I understand why, yet at the same time, I don't. Baby, you did your job keeping me safe.”

“Do you know what the cops did after they separated us and took me onto the bus? They tested me for gunpowder residue.”

“Why?”

“Because they suspected I'd shot up the bus for publicity purposes. Because, evidently, my job as ‘personal assistant cum bodyguard' means I'm your publicity whore.”

Goddammit. He remembered how pissed off he'd been when the cops in Kansas City had accused him of the same thing after the attack on JT. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I was more worried about your safety than my feelings. God, Devin. Someone pierced the fucking wall where we sleep with bullets. The only person who recognized the danger to you was Crash. By the time we arrived, he'd already dealt with getting you to a secure place. While the end
goal—ensuring your safety—was the same, it still made me feel useless, okay? Useless and weak, and why the fuck am I fucking
crying
?”

Devin undid the strap around her wrists and pulled her into his arms. “You're not useless. And you're not weak, Liberty. You're the strongest woman I know.”

“You shut me out too,” she said, her words muffled against his chest. “When I tried to talk to you, you went to the bar.”

“Didn't I warn you that we'd fuck up at some point? I guess last night was that point.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me too, baby.” He stroked her back. “Me too.”

“I'm glad you opened up to me on the beach. If we ignore the cops and bullets and my crisis of faith in doing my job . . . that was the best date I've ever had.”

“I'd argue the karaoke ran a close second.”

Liberty didn't try to extricate herself like she normally did.

“Are you okay?”

“Just exhausted. I didn't sleep at all. Well, I dozed off for ten minutes until the bad dream woke me.”

Of course she'd internalize everything and end up having a nightmare. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.” During the months they'd shared a bed, Liberty had had a couple more flashbacks. He'd been there for her with every one, holding her in the aftermath, listening as she shared more of the horrors of war with him. It humbled him, how this strong woman would let him see that vulnerable part of her and that she trusted him to help her through the demons that still dogged her. “Was it Sean again?”

She nodded but didn't elaborate.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said hoarsely. “But I will. It was that same nightmare, but this time when I reached the body on the ground, it was you, not him.”

He closed his eyes, his stomach in knots, his heart in his throat.

“I couldn't save you either.”

Oh, sweet baby, you already have.

Devin pressed his lips to the top of her head. He loved her. Not exactly
a revelation, but the first time he'd admitted it to himself. Question was: Should he admit it to her?

No. The woman was dead on her feet.

“Liberty? You still with me?”

“Sorry. I'm fading fast.”

“How about if I stand guard for you tonight and chase those bad dreams away?”

“Please.”

He swept her into his arms and laid her on the bed between the sheets. Then he shed his clothes and crawled in beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

Early the next morning, Devin paused in the doorway when he realized Liberty was on the hotel phone.

“Hey, it's Liberty. I hate to call you so early, but could you meet me downstairs in the restaurant?” Pause. “In fifteen minutes?” Pause. “Great. See you then.” She hung up and turned around.

Those pale eyes cataloged every naked inch of him. The woman about killed him when she licked her lips.

“Who're you meeting?”

“Reg.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because he's driving the bus to Portland. My guns are on the bus, which the police impounded. I'm going to Jacksonville with you in two hours, which means I can't get the guns before I leave. Crash assured me
that the tour company is fine with my firearms being locked up on the bus—as long as the driver knows. I'm hoping Reg is all right with it.”

“He will be.”

“Don't be so sure of that.”

“Sweetheart, you worry too much.” He cringed. “Sorry. It's your job to worry. I'll shut up now.” His eyes held that unmistakable gleam. “But we do have fifteen minutes to kill.”

“Devin. That's not enough time.”

“It is if I only make you come once before I fuck you.” He stalked her until her back hit the sliding glass door. “See? This is the fun part of fightin'. The makin'-up part.”

“We made up last night.”

“With words. Now I want to show you that my nonverbal apologies are so much better.”

Smiling, Liberty placed her hand on his chest. “I can't. I have to talk to Reg. If he says no, I have to stay in Houston until the bus is released. Then I'll pick up my guns, pack them in my checked bag and fly to Denver from here.”

“But I need you in Jacksonville.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels like you're ditching me. That you'll return to Denver and then in ten days you'll decline to finish the tour.”

Something—guilt?—flickered in her eyes.

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

“Devin.”

“Tell. Me.”

“You're wrong. I'm seeing this thing through.”

His mouth crashed down on hers with more force than he'd intended.

But Liberty twined her arms around his neck without hesitation. She changed the tenor of the kiss, from ferocious to tender. Her kiss soothed him, calming his fear that she intended to sneak out of his life for good.