Harper climbed the stairs of the bus with dread in her gut. The last time she’d been on a musician’s bus there had been a lot of liquor, a questionable level of memory, and her panties had ended up nailed to the overhead wall at the front of the bus’s living area.

Jazz, sitting in a lotus position, helped dispel the memory a bit though. She was in super short yoga shorts and a tiny one-strap sports bra thing in a searing day-glow pink that only Jazz would be able to pull off. The outfit showed just how lean and perfect her body was.

Harper sucked in her gut and straightened her shoulders. She really needed to get back to yoga. Like tomorrow.

“Hey.”

Jazz opened one eye. She shut her eye again and grinned, raised her arms in a long stretch, and suddenly leaped up to crash into her with an exuberant hug that sent them both sprawling onto one of the bench-style couches that lined the bus. “Can’t stay away, Chef Girl?”

“I’m here between meals to do my Tattoo Boy duty.” Harper winced. Yeah, that didn’t come out right.

“You just want to get your hands on all that hot man-flesh.”

Harper pressed her lips together and hoped her face wasn’t flaming quite as hot as it felt. “Can’t say that’s a downside to this particular chore.”

“Hell yeah.” Jazz laughed and caught her hand to drag her to the back of the bus. “Don’t mind the snoring and the mess. I make the guys keep the front of the bus clean, but the back?” She sighed hugely. “Not so much.”

The back wall had bunks stacked three high. All of them with the curtains closed. The second bunk up had a female foot sticking out with scarlet painted toes.

Harper frowned. “Which one is Deacon?”

“Bottom.”

Relief flooded her followed directly by anger. Why should she care if a woman was in there with Deacon? She didn’t have any claims on him. In fact, they’d done little more than kiss.

Right. That seismic orgasm you had yesterday was nothing.

She clenched her fist. Nope, she wasn’t going there.

“Hey.” Jazz touched her arm. “Deacon isn’t like Simon. Heck, Simon isn’t as bad as everyone thinks he is, to be honest.”

Harper huffed out a breath. She was being stupid. She pulled back the curtain a few inches and whatever breath she’d been holding whooshed out. Deacon was sprawled on his stomach, his head half tucked under his pillow, and his hands curled up around his head. That part was adorable.

It was the long, muscular line of his back that gave her pause. She’d cleaned him up last night and re-bandaged him with gauze and another thin layer of ointment. But she’d been so conscious of his discomfort and the raised skin that she’d rushed through the job, her one goal to get it over with so he could rest.

And still that had been enough to keep her dreams heavy with ideas fit more for a porn princess than a chef. A cold shower had been in order both last night and this morning. The man’s body was beyond sculpted.

Here and now, with a few hours away from him, she should be more even. She was exhausted and cranky, and yet all she wanted to do was climb into that bunk and curl around him.

She had an hour break.

Good grief. No, she was there to take care of his back and then get back to work. No naps, no cuddling, and certainly no porn princess thoughts about that impressively muscled body getting between her thighs.

She groaned.

“I know. You should see when he does yoga with me some mornings. He’s very flexible.”

“You are not helping, Jazz.”

She shrugged. “The big guy is hot.”

Harper slid her gaze away from Deacon’s back that gently rose and fell in sleep and zeroed in on Jazz.

“Don’t give me the eyebrow. I can enjoy the visuals without pouncing on the guy.”

“Sorry.”

Jazz grinned. “Jealous is good. He needs a girl that isn’t just looking to bounce and run.”

That was all she intended to do, dammit. She wasn’t in this for a relationship. She wanted Deacon. It’s not like she could deny that at this point. Just being in the same room with him had her palms tingling with the need to touch him. That didn’t mean she had to act on it though. She’d been attracted to men before and kept her panties on.

Okay, so none had been as tempting as Deacon, but she wasn’t a slave to her damn hormones even if it had been over three months since she’d had a man in her bed. And even then it had been about as exciting as white rice and butter.

Deacon was Indian food with an appetizer, and an extra helping of dessert.

With five weeks left in the tour that would be just about perfect. They’d gorge themselves on sex and fun and then they’d go their separate ways. It was perfect.

“We’re just having fun,” Harper said quietly.

“Deacon needs fun. A lot. Just don’t hurt him okay? He’s big and capable and one of the most even-tempered people you’ll ever meet. You know, the definition of a Boy Scout.”

“With a merit badge in hot.”

Jazz laughed. “There is that. But he’s the kind of guy you stay with.”

“I’m not looking for forever.”

“What girl isn’t looking for forever?”

Harper pulled Jazz back into the main living area. “I don’t want you thinking you can matchmake this into hearts and flowers here. I like Deacon. And I’m not going to deny that naked time is definitely on the table, but I’m just starting my career. It’s only a fling.”

Jazz sighed. “You guys don’t act like it’s just a fling.”

“We met a week ago,” she said incredulously.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

“And sometimes reality sucks. I’m on probation with this tour. If things work out, I’ll be assigned to another tour when this is over. With another band.”

“It might be our band,” Jazz insisted.

“You guys are going right out on tour again?”

“Maybe,” she said and folded her arms.

Harper rubbed Jazz’s arm. “I know how these things work. I’ve been touring with musicians all my life. You’re going to go record an album and start over. Next time you’ll probably co-headline at the very least.”

“You think so?”

The innocence in her gaze and the hope shining in her light blue eyes made Harper sigh. In years she was probably just about the same age as Jazz, but there was nothing but naiveté and sweetness under all the bravado.

She’d been like that once.

“I know so. I can see all the signs. You guys are on the cusp of something awesome. I can tell.” And that wasn’t a lie. She’d watched them practice, even watched them play. Oblivion was just getting started. They all were hungry for it.

And falling in love wasn’t in the plan. For them, it would more likely be separate planes and stiff goodbyes.

Jazz sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “You tell anyone I was getting sniffly about this and I’ll break your foot.”

Harper twisted an imaginary key in front of her lips and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Now go away so I can wake him up.”

Jazz hugged her before sprinting back to the bunk area and grabbing a towel. “I’m going to steal the shower before someone else wakes up.”

Harper took a deep breath, knelt beside Deacon’s bunk, and slid the curtain back. Sometime in the night he’d pulled the bandage off. The dense black of the tattoo was highlighted with a few spots in the filigree shaded in a brilliant purple that leapt off his tanned skin.

From the tops of his shoulders to the curve of his lower spine, the design was now a piece of him. Right now the pieces looked a little worse for the wear with dried blood and the sticky residue of tape.

What he needed was a shower.

And she had to help him.

Hardship of all hardships.

She slid her hand down his bicep to his forearm. “Wake up, Tattoo Boy. I’ve come to do my duty.”

The rumble of a groan made her grin. His skin was all warm with sleep and she had the strongest urge to roll into the bunk with him. Considering her history with tour busses, that was a damn miracle. But then again Deacon tempted her more than dark chocolate chips.

“Deacon,” she said softly.

He grunted what she could only guess was a no.

“I’ve only got an—” She squeaked as his arm shot out and dragged her under him and snapped the curtain shut in the space of a second. He tucked her under him, sliding his knee between her thighs before burying his face into the hollow of her neck.

Warm didn’t even cover it. The man could heat the entire bus. The pungent ointment filled the space, but under the medicine was the beachy scent of Deacon.

“You smell like cinnamon and bananas,” he said into her neck. The rumble of his voice teased her ear and goose bumps rose everywhere. She sighed out a groan when his lips coasted down her neck and under the collar of her polo shirt. His huge hand spanned the width of her belly as his thumb made small circles where her shirt had ridden up.

“Deacon,” she said helplessly.

The tip of his tongue traced her collar bone while his hand slowly pushed up her shirt. She was sweaty and sticky and had powdered sugar all over her. Not the way she wanted to get naked with a man for the first time.

But he kept making her forget about simple things like wearing pretty clothes and lingerie. She couldn’t honestly remember the last time anyone made her feel this alive. And when his fingertips brushed the underside of her bikini top, she arched for him.

He nosed under her shirt and nuzzled the center of the triangle of her halter top until her nipple stood so taut she pushed the damn thing into his mouth. He sucked through the thin material, his teeth grazing the tip again and again. “I knew you’d be sweet, but I didn’t think you’d actually taste like sugar.”

Embarrassed, she groaned and tried to wiggle free. Instead of letting her go he tugged the cup aside and sucked on her naked nipple and she forgot to be ashamed. Who the hell cared if she was covered in flour and sugar when he had a mouth like that?

She slid her fingers into his hair and bit back a groan. When he found her other breast, he plucked the tip between his thumb and forefinger. She didn’t know which sensation was going to kill her first.

He moved his mouth to just behind her ear. “I think it’s becoming my single obsession to make you come. Think I can do it without touching anything else but these perfect breasts?”

When he alternated between tugging and whispering around the very tip of her nipple with the pad of his thumb, she actually wondered if it was possible. She’d never been overly sensitive when it came to her breasts, but as usual, when it came to Deacon nothing fell under normal parameters.

He flipped her shirt and halter top up and suddenly took her in his mouth. He went from one to the other until she was so dizzy with wanting him that she was one big exposed nerve.

She rolled her hips instinctively, but he pinned her down with his thigh across her hips. He laced the fingers of his left hand with her right and brought them up above her head. “No cheating.”

She stared up at him. His eyes glittered in the low light of their little cocoon. He kept eye contact with her as he dipped to take her nipple in his mouth again. The nip of pain from his teeth made her hiccup through a groan.

He nuzzled his nose around the tingling tip of her left and traced her right nipple with the calloused pad of his middle finger. Relentlessly patient, he found a rhythm that brought only pleasure.

She sucked in a breath, trying desperately not to cry out. And through it all, he never broke eye contact with her. When she couldn’t breathe and her heartbeat overrode all hearing, he latched his mouth over her left breast and sucked hard.

The resulting zing of release slammed her into the mattress. Every muscle locked as pleasure careened through her from nipples to the throbbing and neglected center of her, all the way down to her toes. Behind her eyelids, little sparklers danced before she finally let out a breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned into her neck and unclasped their hands bringing his arm under her head to cradle her closer. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Sounded damn good from here too,” Simon said from above them.

Deacon punched the padding above them. “Dammit.” He looked down at her, his eyes glittering for a whole different reason this time.

Simon grunted. “What? It worked for us.”

“God, yes.”

Harper slapped a hand over her face. She’d completely forgotten that she’d seen a female foot sticking out of the cubby above Deacon. Of course someone was up there. When she heard the rustle of sheets and a delighted giggle, she was pretty sure dying from embarrassment was a real thing.

“I’m sorry,” Deacon breathed into her ear. The sweetly pliant Deacon was gone and she could feel tension shimmering off of him. “Privacy sucks on this goddamn bus. I didn’t even think. You were just there, and all I could think about was getting you in here next to me.”

She cupped his cheek, drawing his lips back to hers as she relaxed. Memories of another bus, of the fumbling and pain, the embarrassment and the misery would not choke this moment.

This man had taken the time to make sure she came hard enough that pinwheels were still lazily spinning in her head. She lingered over his lips, drawing him into the kiss. “Let them listen,” she said against his mouth. “Maybe it will be the first time Simon hears what it’s like for a woman to come.”

“Hey!” The thud of feet hitting the floor was the only warning, but Harper tugged her shirt down just as Simon whipped the curtain open. “Want me to come in there and demonstrate?”

Harper pushed her bangs out of her face with a cheeky smile. “I’m good.”

Simon looked at her face and down to her breasts that were still spilling from her halter top, but at least covered by her shirt. Then his gaze drifted to Deacon. “Well, shit. Yeah, you are.” He snapped the curtain back.

“What?” Harper looked up at Deacon still leaning over her.

Deacon laughed and buried his head into her neck. “Man, you are amazing.”

“I only said—”

He slid his arm under her head. “Yeah, I know.” He cupped her breast, flicking the still tight tip with his thumb and stroked his way up her neck to frame her jaw. “That smile, those flushed cheeks, and those eyes so wide. I don’t blame Simon for closing the curtain.”

Frowning. “I don’t get it.”

He laughed. “No man would steal that from a friend. Besides, he knows that if he said one more thing I’d rip his tonsils out of his fucking throat, right, Simon?”

Harper blinked.

“Yep,” came a voice from the bunk above.

“This is the weirdest makeout session I’ve ever had. And I’ve been in some weird ones.”

He caught her mouth in a long, slow kiss, spinning it out until she groaned into his mouth. And again, she forgot herself. What the hell was in this man’s kisses?

“I want to see how wet you are, but if I touch you then I’m going to want inside you.”

A laugh somehow made it out of her. “Wet doesn’t even cover it.”

He groaned and pressed his forehead into the pillow beside her head. “Shower. Now.”

“Well, we do have a shower date.”

He brushed his nose along hers. “You’re sure that you’re okay with this?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered when we got back last night.”

He groaned and shifted closer to her. “Good, because I think you’re going to have to help me get some carpet fibers from the wall in here out of my back.”

“Crap. I came here to help you with your back, not screw up your tattoo.”

“Worth it,” he said and watched her tuck her sensitive breasts back into their respective cups. She bit back the groan as the tips brushed her palms.

Shit, they were sore.

He leaned into her deliberately. “You’re killing me.”

Part of her wanted to open her thighs and take that incredibly impressive erection inside her. Maybe then she could relax. Maybe with a little Deacon sex she could get rid of the incessant ache that sat in the middle of her chest.

But as usual, they were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

She rolled away from him and out of the bed that was more coffin than anything else. Considering hers was much the same, minus a foot of leg space, she would curl up and sleep like the dead if she didn’t move.

He stood beside her and she instinctively leaned into him. Deacon was a cuddler, and he was turning her into one which was a miracle in itself. She was used to her space. Life on the road was devoid of it, so she valued it more than money at times.

With Deacon she seemed to forget that.

Dangerous, Harper Lee.

She stepped away from him and turned him around. “Oh, Deacon. That’s gotta hurt.”

“It doesn’t feel great.”

His skin was raised and little curled fibers stuck to his shoulder blades. She peeked into his bunk. “You’re going to have to trash those sheets too.” Black and purple ink, blood, and the greasy residue of the A&D ointment stained the crisp white sheets.

“We’ve got a stack of sheets.”

“Good thing.”

He shrugged. “Are you sure you want to help me with the shower deal? I know we haven’t exactly…” Again, he winced. “It ain’t pretty.”

Touching him was probably her favorite thing besides developing recipes. She slid her hand into his. “C’mon, big guy. We’ll be fine.”

He grabbed a battered black knapsack and opened a slim cupboard next to his bed and dug out toiletries. All the while, he never dropped her hand. “So, where are these showers?”

“This park used to have campgrounds, and they have one of those summer camp type shower deals.”

He jammed his feet into waterproof flip flops. “How do you know this?”

“Roadie for ten years, remember?”

“Do the tours really go to the same venues this much?”

“Summer tours are the easiest to put together for most labels. Not to mention the major players in tour promoting. There aren’t many outside venues that can hold a crowd this large in Nashville—so, the Woods gets a lot of traffic.”

“Do we have any shitty places coming up?”

“Oh yeah.” Being on the road with a band wasn’t all glamour, it wasn’t even mostly glamorous. Most of the stages had ancient wiring and were an engineer’s nightmare. They’d certainly find that out at soundcheck today.

He grinned down at her as he tucked a hank of her hair around her ear. “Gonna tell me?”

“Nope.”

He leaned down. “Not even if I…tickle it out of you?”

She jumped away from him so fast that he ended up chasing her down the length of the bus. She hopped down the stairs and took off at a dead run for the showers.

“You really think you can outrun me?” he asked as he loped up beside her without even breathing hard.

She let her gaze drop to the shirtless Deacon with his muscles flexing with each long stride. Holy mercy, not even right. He had muscles on his damn muscles. And the eight pack that rippled up his long torso left her without an ounce of saliva.

She wasn’t sure she liked this whole being a slave to her sex-drive thing, but right now she couldn’t care. Not when she had a view like this. He passed her, and the obvious and easy athleticism of his pace made her feel frumpy.

Kicking it up a notch, she was gulping breaths by the time they made it up the hill to where the beer tents were set up for the show that night. “Over there,” she said on a wheeze.

Deacon slowed his pace. “You don’t have to try to keep up with me.”

“Ass,” she said with a gasp and grabbed her knees. “How the hell are you not panting?” The heat made her lungs burn as much as the lack of oxygen.

“All we do is sit and get on a bus and sit some more. I’m ready to scream with all the inactivity.”

“Guess we don’t have to worry you gaining weight on tour like some other people.”

“Opposite problem for me. I have to eat more. I just burn weight off. Luckily I have my very own chef now.”

“You think so?” she said and rested her elbows on her knees. But already her brain started whirling with recipes to keep him healthy.

“I know so. You like taking care of us idiots. I’ve seen the breakfast things you’ve been leaving for me.”

She frowned. Maybe that was part of it. As much as she loved creating, it was the people that ate her food that really kept her going. “Well, you like to work out. And I’ve done plenty of dietary classes.”

“You’re a dietitian too?”

“Not quite, but I do have the foundations and I researched a bit.”

His eyebrow rose. “So you were thinking about me?”

All the alarm bells and flashing lights started going off in her head. And not for the orgasm reason this time. “It’s my job to put together the right fuel for my clients.”

Deacon nodded, his smile gone but humor still flirted with his lips. “I see.”

“I’m responsible for keeping you guys in top form. And if you kill yourselves with these crazy runs you seem hell bent on doing every day, at least I can make sure you’re eating the right thing.” She stood with only a small groan, thank you very much. “But now we have to get your back cleaned up. Between the sweat and sleeping, you’re a damn mess.”

“I’m sorry you have to take care of it. I can get Jazz to—”

“No.”

He grinned up at her as he stretched his hamstrings. “No?”

“I said I’d do it.”

“And you always do what you say?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.” He picked up his bag and went into the ancient bathrooms that were little more than a shack. The park had given up on doing much more than keeping the water running. Little things like replacing broken windows weren’t in the budget. The echo of his flip flops on the tile was followed by spray. Her Teva sandals saved her from getting squicked out about the floor of the cavernous shower.

She stopped in the doorway when Deacon’s hands went to the waistband of his shorts.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“What, am I going to get a case of the vapors because you’re getting naked in front of me?”

He simply grinned.

Of course she could do this. She stripped out of her shirt. She wasn’t the one going full Monty. Heck, she could walk around the park in the bright pink bathing suit and be completely suitable for the general public. She shucked out of her cotton shorts and tossed them on her small pile on the bench. Then why did she feel so exposed?

But when Deacon dropped both his pants and boxer briefs she lost all lung function. Running up the hill had nearly killed her. Deacon in all his glory was going to finish off the job.

His legs were long and muscled from running and whatever else he did. Rowing? Could rowing possibly do that to his thighs? And then there was the entire…package situation.

He watched her as she looked him over. And as he hardened before her eyes, she could only swallow. He turned away from her and switched on the spray.

“A cold shower is only going to do so much, Harper. I want you too much to be bashful about it.”

“It’s a natural response to any woman.”

He looked over his shoulder. “If you say so.”

She reached for the washcloth he’d brought and stepped closer to him. “Kate told me that I should slowly dab away any residue and fibers from the gauze.”

He nodded and ducked under the showerhead, letting the water drill his neck and slowly slide down his back. “Go for it.”

God, why had she said she could do this? Getting her hands on him was going to make it harder to stay focused. Sex was one thing. This was intimacy. And intimacy came with hooks.

She gently slid the soapy cloth over his shoulders. Suds coasted over the network of muscles that made up his back. Little particles and flecks of abused flesh washed away. Kate had explained the extra plasma and blood that would shed from the tattoo, but for the most part Deacon’s back was unmarred. Casey Wilde knew his craft and knew how to work on skin with the least amount of tearing.

She traced the pads of her soapy fingers down the filigreed design that mimicked his spine and out to the tribal markings that looked like intricate armor. Layers of beautiful black and gray artwork had been painstakingly etched into his skin.

And she’d sat there, watching the entire process. Weirdly, it felt like it was hers, too. That was just insane, but true nonetheless.

He leaned against the half wall that housed the trio of showerheads that made up the stall. The slap of water on tile and their breathing were the only sounds. She didn’t even know what to say to him. So she washed away the suds until the water ran clear, and then replaced her fingers with her lips.

She couldn’t stop herself from touching him. He’d been so gentle and yet so very insistent in the bunk that her own gentleness was building up inside until she couldn’t stop the overflow. Muscle and sinew flowed under her fingertips as she followed the design. At his indrawn breath, she sighed and tracked the path of the design down.

The knife-edge of the bottom of the tattoo arrowed just above his ass. She followed the dimples that dented his flesh and then slowly slid around to the front of him. His flesh was cool under the lukewarm spray until she came to the heavy erection between his thighs. Her name was a whisper under the slapping water that fell around their feet. She cupped her fingers around his shaft and lightly stroked through the suds that remained.

His groan reverberated through her chest, tightening her nipples and making her teeth chatter in reaction. Just a quick trip against the tiles, and she could have all of him inside her.

“Harper,” he groaned and tipped his head back. “I don’t have anything with me.”

She closed her eyes and leaned heavily on his arm. “Of course you don’t.”

“I didn’t think…”

Of course he didn’t think. Deacon didn’t go into this shower knowing it was a sure thing like most men would have. She pushed him out of the path of the water before she turned him. The spray was too harsh for his back.

Rising on her toes, she pressed a soft kiss to his neck, his chest, and the tight nipples that edged his firm pecs. She sipped water from the dips and ridges that made up the wall of muscle that banded his midsection and finally followed the vee that lead to his cock.

She crouched low, looking up at him. Water starred his lashes, and his hair was slicked back, making his angular face starkly beautiful. The usual crinkles around his eyes were missing. In their place was an intensity that stole her breath.

They’d played, they’d flirted, and they’d laughed. But laughter didn’t quite fit here. She stroked the smooth skin of his cock and followed a vein tracing the underside of his shaft with the pad of her thumb. When a muscle in his jaw flexed, she felt the answering clench of her muscles, the clasping tissues inside her that felt too tight, too exposed, as she opened her knees for balance. His nostrils flared and the gold at the center of his hazel eyes glowed from the shafts of light that came in from the broken window panes.

She brushed her nose along the base of his cock. The familiar scent of his soap filled her brain. She opened her mouth, dragging her lips along the hot, hard length of him. Using the flat of her tongue, she sipped water from him.

The stream from the shower fell around his neck and arrowed down the line of his abs and right to her mouth. She flicked her tongue under the sensitive ridge before taking him inside.

A hiss of indrawn breath made her bolder. She cupped around him with her tongue and took him deep into her mouth and then deeper, into her throat.

Her name was a strangled groan as she relaxed and took as much as she could before pulling back and sucking. The wetness from the shower and her mouth made the act easy. She watched his face for clues, and when his fingers slid around her hand at the base of his cock and increased the pressure, she felt her own arousal burn.

His head tilted back as he drew in a choked groan. God, yes. Giving back some of the pleasure he’d given her twice now was heady. Knowing it was her touch that made his entire body lock up and veins bulge in his arms and neck made her bolder.

She sucked harder, held him tighter, twisted with a firm hand.

The slap of his hand on the half wall made her eyes widen. His eyes burned into hers, and she saw him raise his hand to let her know that he was close.

Still, she kept up the pressure, and when she felt the first pulse of his cum at the back of her throat, she took him deeply again. She swallowed and massaged her tongue along the underside of his cock before she freed him.

His hands gripped her hair, urging her up against him. He gripped her ass before he lifted her up and into a harsh kiss, all clashing tongues and teeth. Her lips were already swollen from going down on him, and yet he didn’t shy away from the intimacy of a kiss.

She fisted her hands in his hair and held on as the kiss roughened into a mating of mouths. He rubbed her against his stomach, hooking her legs around his waist for purchase.

He turned her into the tiled wall and she climbed higher on him. She didn’t even want to check to see if he was hard. She didn’t want that temptation. Because right now she was hot enough to do something stupid.

Harper squirmed against him, the emptiness inside her dying for that piece of him that would end the ache that felt heavier every hour. Just like her mouth, she knew he’d fill her up until she was ready to scream.

Until she did scream.

She tore her mouth away from his and scraped her teeth down his neck. “Oh, God, we gotta stop.”

“Where’s Simon’s stash when you need it? I want inside you so fucking bad I can’t think,” he said with a strangled groan.

She bumped her bikini bottoms along the ridge of his erection with a matching groan. “I have to get back to work. If I just had eight condoms and four hours, I’d kill you.”

“Jesus.”

She cupped his face and slowed the kiss. “God, it’s going to be so good.”

“No performance anxiety. Nope. None.” Before she could slip away from him, he dragged her closer again and kissed her breathless. “I have a fan thing after the show tonight, so I probably won’t be able to get away.”

Disappointment sat heavy in her chest. “That’s okay. I’ll be cooking for that shindig.”

“We’re heading to Dallas tomorrow. I don’t know it quite as well as Austin and Galveston, but maybe we can slip away for a while?”

She couldn’t stop a smile when she tipped her head back to get a good look at him. “Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Deal.”

“Good.”