Finally Casey rolled his chair back. “Stand up for me and let me make sure it’s all cool.”

Deacon rolled his shoulders and stood.

“Arms out for me.”

He followed orders, clenching his hands into fists. “You’re killing me.”

Casey grunted. “It’s done when I say it’s done.”

“Does that mean sit back down?” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice. It really wasn’t manly.

“No more torture. You’re good. Go ahead and take a look before I bandage you up.”

Deacon headed right for the mirror as the two camera guys hopped up to follow him.

Casey handed him a mirror so he could check it out in full. “As you can see, it covers your back pretty thoroughly.”

“Shit yeah, it does.” The work was stunning. Deep blacks faded to grays making the original tribal design more three-dimensional. There were purple lines mixed in from the original design that had been placed.

During the process of the tattoo Casey had changed it. Made the lines thinner in spots, thicker in others. It was a damn blueprint of his body. Finely rendered filigree rode the length of his spine. It reminded him of pen and ink drawings of intricate patterns done for a coat of arms.

On the whole it looked like layers of metal work coming out of his flesh.

“It’s fucking phenomenal.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Are you sure you want to do this for free? This is a thousand dollar tattoo.”

“I’d probably charge more like fifteen hundred, but who’s counting?”

Deacon laughed. It would hurt his ready cash, but he’d pay it.

Gladly.

Casey came up behind him with a bottle with some sort of green solution in it. “Nah. I’ll be taking pictures of this bad boy, though, and you’re definitely going to be an episode of ‘Wilde Side Studios.’ Oh, and I’ll need pictures after it’s healed.”

“You got it.”

“And my aftercare instructions are important, so listen up.”

“Shit. I’ll need someone to help.”

Casey glanced over to the couch. “Better wake up the babes. Jazz will be handy to do it when your girl isn’t around.”

His girl. Deacon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face at the idea of Harper being his. She’d probably try and deny it like she did earlier, but it was definitely a true statement.

Deacon walked over and crouched beside Harper. He tucked her hair behind her ear and traced the back of his knuckles along her cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She drew in a deep breath but settled right back into the oversized sweatshirt pillow. He slid his hand into the back of her hair, letting all the silky softness slide around his fingers and tangle around his wrist.

What he wouldn’t do to grip that a little tighter and draw her into him for a kiss. But the camera was rolling and he didn’t want to push himself on her yet.

It had been a long and confusing day. They’d gone from platonic to tongue tied in a single day. And as much as he’d wanted to kiss her stupid the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he didn’t want to test his luck on camera.

A guy had his pride.

“Harper, wake up.” She moaned and tried to turn over, but he held her in place. “Wakey, wakey.”

“Not that I don’t love the mushy Deacon voice, but shut up, dude.”

Deacon looked over at Jazz. She still had her eyes closed, even though she was obviously awake. “Tat’s done, Purple Pixie.”

“Finally,” Harper murmured. “But that doesn’t mean you need to stop the little neck massage thing,” she said on a low moan.

Christ, the woman was going to kill him before the night was over. “The artist has instructions for aftercare. I thought you might like to hear them, since I intend on bugging the hell out of you to help me out.”

“Is that right?” Harper opened one eye. “And what makes you think I’ll do that?”

“You can’t wait to get your hands on me?”

Jazz snickered. “I’m sorry,” she waved, “just ignore me. Please do go on.”

Deacon rolled his eyes. “I’m enlisting your help too, midget.”

Jazz’s eyes popped open. “I get to manhandle the mansterpiece?”

“Down girl,” Harper muttered.

“Oh, I know it’s your mansterpiece, but I gotta admit to wanting to get a feel.”

Harper rolled onto her elbows. “You haven’t?”

Jazz mirrored her. “Nah. Twitter and the internet seems to think that the band passes me around like a party favor, but I have standards.” She grinned brightly, her purple contacts glowing in the low light. “Most of the time.”

“I didn’t…I wouldn’t—”

Jazz waved her off. “I’m just sayin’. So you know, you can feel safe about stuff. Deacon’s a sweetheart, but he’s more brother than lover material for me.”

“Thanks, I think,” Deacon said and stood.

Harper pushed herself to a sitting position. “It’s none of my business.”

Jazz nodded to the cameras. “Tell that to the world, girlfriend.”

Harper winced and pushed her hair out of her face. “Let’s just get this done.”

Crap. It was asking too much to think that she’d have time to actually do the aftercare for him. “You don’t have to do it. I’m sure Jazz would be okay with—”

“No, I got it,” Harper interrupted.

“Okay, but maybe I should learn just in case.” Jazz sat up as well, her voice full of laughter. “Only because I love you unconditionally.” She stood and drilled her finger into his ribs.

“Good to know,” Deacon said and kissed her forehead.

Casey’s sister was back. Her eyes were clear and focused as she snapped on black medical gloves. “Didn’t think I’d miss this part, did you?”

Deacon folded his arms across his chest. Being manhandled was part of the package lately. More and more fans were coming up to them in airports and after the shows for autographs and pictures, but he’d never felt more objectified in his life than tonight. He’d been directed to strip in front of people, he’d been stared at for hours both by fans and the invasive eye of a camera, oh and he’d be on television in the next few months.

Right now all he wanted to do was to get out of there. To take Harper and find a quiet spot and let her play nurse. He fisted his hands under his biceps. Was that too much to ask?

Harper slid her palm over his forearm and gently turned him. “Oh, wow.”

He could feel her eyes on him. He stood up taller, straightened his shoulders and spine. He shut his eyes when the tips of her fingers ghosted down the very edge of his back.

“Don’t touch.” Kate said firmly.

“I didn’t—” Harper started to protest, but took a step back.

“He’s a huge open wound. It’s a pretty wound but still very raw, and right now he’s very prone to infection. So I’m going to teach you both what to do for the next few weeks.”

Deacon knew the song, the lyrics, and the choreography to this particular song.

“I’ll wash you up and we’ll coat you with a fine layer of triple antibiotic. Normally I’d cover you in gauze, but this piece is big and very intricate. So we’ll wrap him in saran wrap to protect the piece. But you can’t leave it on too long. The tattoo needs to breathe, but it’s the best way to get you out of here and back to…well, wherever you’re going.”

“Okay,” he said when it seemed that she was waiting for him to respond.

Harper listened with rapt attention to her instructions, asking way too many questions, but he’d be the one benefiting so he kept his mouth shut. Ten minutes later they were making their goodbyes. By the time they piled into Harper’s car, all of them were exhausted. If he’d been smarter, he would have thought about the fact that now he had no choice but to heal up. Getting Harper under him wasn’t happening tonight.