Hillbilly Rockstar (6 page)

Devin drained his soda. “Because I didn't report it. Her puny brothers cornered me and had me on the ground when Crash and Sarge, the head of my road crew, intervened. I was so fuckin' embarrassed about it that I told them if they ever told a soul I'd fire them both.”

“Save me from the fragile male ego,” she muttered.

“After everything I've told you, you're actually surprised I have an ego?”

“No. You have to have some ego in your business.” She leaned forward. “Hiding something like that is due solely to wounded male pride and doesn't help someone like me who's protecting you. How many other unreported incidents are there?”

He shrugged. “I haven't read your reports, so I don't know.” A challenge lit his eyes. “Which incident were you referring to when you said,
Is she the one
?”

“The woman who said she cowrote one of your songs. Then, when you wouldn't meet with her, she would stand outside your bus and throw rocks at you?”

“Another delusional person. She ambushed me at five concerts before we caught her.”

“Getting hit with a rock is better than a bullet.”

Devin lifted a brow. “Ever been beaned in the back of the head with a rock?”

“Yes, and I've been shot, so I can say that taking a bullet hurts much worse than getting stoned.”

“Shit. Sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

“What about your relationship with China Marquette?”

He groaned. “Mistake. Big mistake. I'd never dated an actress and had no fuckin' idea the media shitstorm I was in for when I broke up with her. The woman is psychotic.”

All guys thought their exes were psycho. “She's the wholesome
girl-next-door star on the Disney Channel's most popular family show. How psychotic could she be?”

Devin leaned forward. “She blew up my car.”

Liberty's jaw dropped.

“That incident didn't make the papers. Neither did the one where she unloaded two hundred live chickens in my garage and let them die while I was away on tour for a month. Can you imagine the smell? Of course, there was no way to prove it. There were a dozen other things she did that no one would believe. She only ended her smear campaign when I threatened to release a sex tape we'd made. The raunchy things that girl begged me to do to her would've destroyed her career. And no, I don't feel a damn bit guilty because she was out to destroy me.”

“Nice world you live in,” she mumbled. “Are the other incidents I read about easily explained away too?”

He bristled. “Probably. To be honest, there've been so damn many I've forgotten some. But I won't be a prisoner to fame, Liberty. I won't let the couple of nut jobs out there have power over me and how I live my life.” He stood. “Anything else about me that you wanna pick apart?”

Pick apart? He'd freely offered up the information. “I'm just preparing myself for what I might run into over the next few months.”

“There's no way you can prepare for it because when the weird shit happens to me, I'm never prepared. Even if it's similar to something I've faced before.” He disappeared down the hallway without another word.

And he called her prickly? Sheesh.

Looking out the window didn't give her any idea where they were. She hit the intercom. “Reg? How far are we from Salt Lake City?”

“An hour and a half.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

She watched another episode of
Dexter
. Then she checked to make sure she could get online so she could log onto
Call of Duty
during her downtime. She so rarely got to play during the day. It'd be interesting to see the difference between daytime and nighttime gamers.

She ate a protein bar and double-checked her hair and makeup.
Maintaining her new style hadn't been as time-consuming as she'd imagined.
Plus, she did look more professional. Just wearing a little lip color softened her mouth, which she'd always thought was too harsh looking. Spike and Zeke—Joe's brothers who'd dropped her off—had even whistled upon seeing her feminine side. Of course, she'd immediately threatened to knock them on their asses if they believed girly clothes had changed her.

The look on Devin's face when he caught sight of her? Priceless.

The bedroom door opened, and he walked past the bathroom and down the hall.

After slipping her gun in her waistband holster, she went to the front of the bus.

Devin had draped a suit bag across the bench seat.

When she glanced over at him, he was blatantly checking her out. She could blush and ignore it or call him on it. “Do I pass inspection?”

“More than pass. Good enough that I'd make a pass at you, but I suspect you're armed.” His dark gaze swept over her again. “You carrying right now?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

She lifted her blouse and showed him a modified holster that stayed snug against her body but gave her easy access to her weapon.

“I'll be damned. Sometime you'll have to show me how fast you can pull.”

Her gaze never wavered when she said, “I sincerely hope that's something you'll never see.”

Properly chastised, he said, “What kind of gun is that? It looks small.”

“It's a Kahr Arms PM45. It's compact with the stopping power of a forty-five.” Liberty changed the subject. “What do you usually do first when you get off the bus?”

“Track down Crash and Sarge and see if there were any problems with setup. Then the event staff shows up.”

“Event staff. Who is that?”

“The head honcho responsible for bringing acts like mine into the venue. His or her assistants.”

“And your security.”

“They take me backstage. Show me the food service room and my ready room.” At her blank look, he said, “A ready room is just my private room. I require one at every venue—regardless of the size of the venue. The room can be decked out like a five-star hotel room or a canvas tent, or anything in between.” He pointed to the suit bag and the duffel. “Since I can't send my guitar guru, Check, to the bus anymore to get things I'll need in my room, that's my clothing for tonight and tomorrow night.”

The bus slowed down. While Liberty was taking in the sights of Salt Lake City, Devin leaned back with his eyes closed. She couldn't imagine how much pressure he was under, playing to a sold-out crowd two nights in a row. She wanted to ask him if he ever got nervous before going onstage, but he radiated that “back off” vibe, so she stayed quiet.

Once they'd parked in the back of the lot between the other two tour buses, Devin stood and put on his cowboy hat. “You ready for this?”

“Not really. How about you?”

He bestowed that million-dollar grin on her. “Darlin', I was born ready. I live for this. Come on, let's hit it.”

L
iberty acted cool, like being backstage at a Devin McClain show was no big deal. But secretly she was as excited as the first time she shot a grenade launcher.

The preshow activity had put her on edge. Luckily, Devin had two escorts as he entered the back door of the event center and two more inside. She didn't think the big events would be the problem anyway, but the smaller county fair venues. When Garrett had suggested canceling the preshow or the aftershow party, the promoter had refused. Devin agreed. Interactions with his fans were a big part of the tour. He wouldn't disappoint people who had paid extra for their tickets for a chance to meet him.

Devin had a no-contact rule prior to the performance. When she'd asked him about it, he said he needed time to get his head on straight and warm up before he walked onstage. So tonight he'd shooed her out of his ready room and she'd prowled the halls, watching the multitude of people it took to put on a show this size. From the catering staff to the media personnel, the roadies, the tech guys, the crew who traveled with the opening act.

She finally understood why he needed solitude. He had to be overwhelmed by everyone who wanted a piece of him. She wondered if it'd be a zoo tonight at the after-party that kicked off his headlining gig.

The crew removed the last of the opening act's equipment, and Devin's roadies had the switchover completed in ten minutes. The arena went dark. The crowd started chanting, “Devin, Devin, Devin.”

Devin's band took the stage under the cover of darkness. Liberty peeked around the corner and saw the two security guards escorting him.

He'd changed into tight jeans with a metallic sheen and a black and silver button-up shirt open to his sternum, revealing a gray tank top. He'd rolled up his sleeves and donned a black cowboy hat. Those tempting curls ringed his face when he put on his hat. She smiled when she saw the same pair of scuffed-up boots he'd been wearing since this morning.

He adjusted his microphone, his earpiece and the strap on his guitar before he said, “Hello, Salt Lake City!” and moseyed to the center of the stage.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Their reaction gave her goose bumps.

The lead guitar played a riff, the drums joined in and the show got under way.

And what a show it was.

No wonder his concerts sold out. The man was electric onstage. He had a great rapport with his band, making sure they got time in the spotlight. He danced a little. Male strippers had nothing on him—he knew exactly how to move that very fine body for maximum effect. He played a rock cover tune, all his biggest hits, and at one point he stripped it down to him and his guitar, with Tay on background vocals.

In that moment, she understood it wasn't the spectacle of his stage show that caused that
wow
factor, but the man himself and his music.

Ninety minutes and two encores later, he exited the stage for the final time. But his night wasn't over.

Amid the congratulations from the crew for the great show, he headed back to his ready room. Liberty followed behind the security escorts and caught the door before it slammed in her face.

Keeping his gaze on hers, he uncapped a bottle of water and drank deeply. His clothes clung to his body, completely damp with sweat. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Liberty's mouth went dry at the sight of the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, arms, and chest. Using a bootjack, he removed his boots and his hands went to his belt buckle. “Are you really gonna stand there and watch me strip without sayin' a word?”

“Are you really gonna strip in front of me and expect me not to watch?” she retorted.

Devin laughed. “First night on tour and you're already bustin' my balls. So what's up?”

“Just wondering if you want me escorting you to the party, or if you'd prefer security. And how long before you're ready.”

“I need to shower, so you go on. Tell the security guys to stick around.”

She nodded. Just as she reached the door, it opened and a well-endowed blonde paused in the doorway. “Can I help you?”

“I'm supposed to meet Devin here.”

Liberty wondered how often that statement worked for these groupies. Her gaze dropped to the lanyard with the backstage pass. “Sorry. He's—”

“Very happy to see you,” Devin inserted behind her. “What's your name again?”

“Eve.”

“Beautiful name, doll. Come on in.” He took her hand and tugged her into the room.

When Liberty spun around to protest that this strange woman, whose name he hadn't even known, had gained access to him by flaunting her tits, she was momentarily sidetracked by his bare chest. How did the man maintain that physique when he spent most of his time on a tour bus playing guitar?

Devin murmured something to Eve and snaked his hand around her waist. He said, “I'll see you at the party,” without meeting Liberty's gaze and shut the door on her.

She wanted to knock until he opened the door again and point out this woman could be dangerous and should be frisked for weapons—but then she realized how ridiculous that sounded. Eve's outfit defined skimpy.

The security guard to the right smirked at her. “Yes, she's clean. We checked her. And the five others waiting in line behind her.”

She glanced at the ladies glaring at one another from various spots in the hallway. “Just make sure he makes it to the party after he's done.”

Liberty cautioned herself against a morality judgment. He was a guy
who used his celebrity for easy sex—no different from most of the men in the public eye.

What she didn't understand? Why some women were so eager to drop to their knees for a guy they didn't know. Did they brag to their friends about giving a celebrity a blow job? Did they think they were so good at sucking cock that a guy like Devin would fall in love with them? She snorted. Men weren't picky about blow-job technique. Any woman who put a dude's dick in her mouth was good at giving head.

“Hey, Liberty, wait up.”

She stopped and faced Odette.

Odette hadn't changed clothes; she still wore the iridescent skirt and sequin tank top from the performance. “I wanted to apologize for earlier this morning. I was rude to you. I'm sorry.”

Liberty started walking. “Apology accepted.”

“It's just . . . I've known Devin a long time.”

The way she emphasized
known
meant one thing. “How long were you and Devin together?”

She blushed. “A year. Being in close quarters on tour and thinking we were in love is something that a lot of musicians go through with other musicians. I've been with Steve for five years now. So we're proof that on-the-road romances don't always end in disaster.” Odette looked around. “Where is Devin?”

“Taking the edge off in his ready room.”

She stopped again. “You're okay with him banging a groupie on the first night of the tour?”

Liberty shrugged. “I'm his personal assistant, remember?”

“But you've got to be more than that,” Odette blurted. “Devin never lets anyone stay on his tour bus. And you've pretty much moved in.”

“All the better to offer my personal assistance whenever Devin needs it.” God. It burned her damn tongue to say that, but she let Odette assign meaning to it.

Odette looked . . . sorry for her. Then she dropped it. “Let's see what
delectable morsels the promotion company ordered for us tonight. The first and last nights of tour are usually when they go all-out on the food.”

Liberty was pleased the security guards manning the outer door checked everyone's passes. The half of the room cordoned off for fans was packed, while on the other side, a couple dozen people milled about, holding drinks but not eating.

“Hang on,” Odette said and vanished into the crowd.

This type of situation made her jumpy. Too many people. Too many ways to get to Devin. She checked out the other four security guys inside the room. Even though they were staying alert, she couldn't drop her guard. But since Devin wasn't here, she should probably eat.

She wandered over to the tables loaded with fancy food. Beautifully crafted rolls of sushi, skewers of roasted meat, mini pulled-pork sandwiches, bread with several different pesto and tomato toppings, artisan cheeses, creamy dips for the bowls of hand-cut potato chips. She didn't see any of the freeze-and-heat type of grocery store appetizers she was used to. Next to the bowls of brined olives was a mountain of fresh-cut vegetables and plates of exotic fruit. At the end of the table she spied trays of chocolate desserts with swirled rainbow-colored icing and gold flecks that she was afraid to touch.

A deep voice behind her said, “Seems a waste, don't it? All this pretty, expensive damn food and no one has touched it.”

Liberty faced Crash. “I don't see a plate in your hand.”

“So let's be the first ones to load up.”

She piled her plate high. “What happens to all this food if no one eats it?”

“Depends. Devin has stipulations in his contract that if we're near a kids' home or a women's shelter, they get first dibs. If we're close to a military base or a veterans' facility, it gets delivered to the mess hall. Boomer, our sound guy, is the resident do-gooder, so he makes sure it goes someplace besides in the damn garbage.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I know soldiers would be thrilled to get grub this good.”

They found a table that gave her a decent view of the room.

“I'm assuming there haven't been any problems tonight?” Crash asked.

“None.”

“Were there women waiting for him at the ready room after the performance?”

Liberty shook her head. “That shit's been stopped.”

Crash nearly choked on his sandwich. “No women at all?”

“Don't pity the poor man, Crash; he's with a woman now. The others are allowed to wait in the
hallway
, and they'll be checked out before they get near him. From what I can see, the biggest threat to his safety is him suffocating from all the ladies who want to dog pile him.”

He laughed. “And a few men too. But it ain't as bad as all that. A lot of what you'll hear about him and his um . . . appetites are bald-faced lies to sell sleazy magazines.” He crunched a chip. “His bandmates think you're his new girlfriend and the PA thing is just a front.”

“I know.”

“You don't have a problem with them thinking you're a pushover for letting him fuck whoever he wants while you're supposedly in his bed every night?”

Her gaze met his. “Makes it easier all around if they think I'm a pushover. And to be blunt, I don't give a flying fuck how they judge me. It's not like I'll become besties with any of them.”

“Harsh.”

“You, Devin and I know that I'm not here to make friends. So the first time Odette asks me to have lunch with her and Tay and I decline, they'll be fine. But the third or fourth time I say no. Then they'll think I'm so cock whipped that I can't leave Devin's side even for a lousy hour. I'm good with that too. Because I won't be having girl time or lunch with them. Ever.”

Crash's eyes turned serious. “You're better at this job than I thought you'd be. Just think. We only have sixty-seven more performances to get through.”

“Since Devin isn't very forthcoming about his bandmates, can you give me a rundown on each one? Hookups, history, length of time Devin's been working with them?”

“Most of them have been with him since his third album. Jase is the lead guitar player and he's on again, off again with Tay. Tay is the keyboard
player and backup singer. Odette is our string virtuoso. She and Dev were involved for a while, but now she and Steve, our drummer have been together for years. Gage is the bassist. Leon plays slide steel. They've both been with him since the beginning.”

“Are they studio musicians when they're not on tour?”

He shook his head. “Someone at Devin's level could hire top-notch studio musicians and tour with them. The record label suggested that, but Devin is loyal. He trusts all of his band members and considers them his family. At one time he approached the label about rebranding themselves as the Devin McClain Band, but they shot him down.”

“He's amazing in concert. I was pretty blown away, to tell you the truth.”

Crash nodded. “I've managed his road crew for eight years and I've not lost the excitement of seeing him onstage.”

The sea of people parted, clapping started, signaling the star had arrived.

Liberty had wondered if Devin would show up with a woman on his arm, but he came solo.

Coming solo was probably rare for him since he had women lined up, ensuring he didn't have to take himself in hand. She snickered. Not PC. But hey, at least she hadn't said it out loud.

Devin looked around, saw Crash and beckoned him over.

“Duty calls. Enjoy your break. I figure he'll be ready to head back to the bus in an hour.”

Liberty watched him doing the meet and greet, and she could tell he genuinely enjoyed it. He must've had his picture taken a hundred times. He signed T-shirts, ball caps, posters and CD covers without missing a beat or losing his smile.

Finally, the crowd thinned. But he wasn't done. Looked like he had media interviews. During that time, he'd finished a bottle of water. She thought she caught him staring longingly at the food table, but he didn't stop what he was doing to eat.

She had the strangest compulsion to fill a plate with food and force him to sit.

Don't go there. It'd set a bad precedent. You're not his caretaker; you're his protection.

But the truth was, Devin McClain looked like he needed a caretaker.