So here it was, two goddamned days into this tour, and he wondered how the f**k he’d keep his hands off her for the next four months.
His raunchy, I-wanna-fuck-everything-that-walks side jumped in. Jesus, what is your deal? You had two hot groupies blowing you six hours ago. And tomorrow night, you could have two more. This is your life—and what a great f**kin’ life it is. Gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, agreeing to your every sexual demand—including hot girl-on-girl action.
Somehow he managed to shut that greedy voice down, because that wasn’t him.
When had sex become a spectator sport for him? He’d jerked off more in the last six months than at any time since his teen years. The only difference now was the sexual scenarios happened live in front of him instead of on his computer.
He hadn’t been balls deep inside a woman’s pu**y in ages. He’d become content letting his groupies blow him. Then he’d watch two—or sometimes three—naked chicks sucking and licking each other in an effort to turn him on. Which it did. But near the end of the live sex show, he ended up jacking off, or he’d gotten a hand job, before he sent the ladies on their way.
Today had been no exception.
After leaving the hospital, Liberty had taken his hand, almost without conscious thought. And he’d had the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until the desolate feeling subsided. But on the drive back, he reverted to that mind-set where he needed mindless physical contact, not thoughtful consideration.
So he’d given in to the lure of quick sexual thrills, but all the while he’d heard Liberty’s throaty laughter outside his ready room.
That’d f**ked him up big-time—because he realized he’d rather be out there with her.
The woman was wreaking all sorts of havoc with his life as he knew it. Only time would tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Chapter Eight
Liberty wasn’t sure how the first day of their long bus ride together would go. She knew Devin had given instructions for the bus not to stop until they needed gas. He hadn’t indicated whether that meant he planned to load up on truck stop food, or if he’d leave his bedroom and fix himself something to eat at some point.
Since she was off duty when they were confined to the bus, she settled in her bunk. Next stop she’d get more pillows because two wasn’t cutting it. Should she watch the backlog of movies she’d been saving on her laptop? Or catch up on the TV shows she’d been dying to watch?
Best get business out of the way first. She logged into her e-mail account. Garrett didn’t require daily reports, but after years in the military, she preferred a daily log of her duties and any issues. That way, if there was a problem, she could usually narrow down the parameters on where the misstep had occurred.
Maybe it was overkill, giving intel on the groupies who’d ended up with Devin. But Liberty suspected if she didn’t jot down the details, at the end of four months, she wouldn’t remember a single one.
How did Devin keep them straight? Or was he beyond the point that it mattered? When had he become the kind of guy who used and discarded women? After his rise to fame? Or had he always had women dropping to their knees in front of him?
Not your business.
True. She attached the report she’d finished and sent it off. She surfed the Internet and quickly got bored with page after page of useless information. Slipping on her headphones, she lounged against the wall and cued up the first season of Sons of Anarchy.
She’d made it through the first three episodes when she heard footsteps pass the heavy curtains.
Looked like the songwriter was out of his sanctuary.
Her stomach rumbled. Should she fix herself lunch? Or would Devin prefer to eat by himself? Would he ignore her? Engage her in conversation?
God. When had this professional situation morphed into junior high school lunch table drama?
When you admitted to yourself that you’re attracted to Devin in a big way.
With that thought in mind, she ignored the stomach growls and watched the next two episodes. She finally ventured out and heard muffled music from behind Devin’s closed door.
She’d just finished a “healthy” microwave meal when the bus slowed. Liberty peered out the window as they started up the exit ramp, seeing one of those super truck stops spread out on the right. She watched the other tour bus carrying the band pull into one of the gas bays. As soon as they stopped at the stall behind, she could see the interest two high-end tour buses generated.
Liberty headed toward the back of the bus and knocked on Devin’s door.
“It’s open.”
She stepped into Devin’s domain. His bed was made. He wore camo shorts with a white wifebeater. His feet were bare. He hadn’t shaved. Didn’t look like he’d combed his hair either. But he still looked damn good—too good. He’d propped himself against the padded headboard, amid half a dozen pillows. A notebook was spread open on his right side, and he held an acoustic guitar.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“We’ve stopped for gas. I wasn’t sure if you were getting off the bus or not.”
“Hadn’t thought about it.” Strum, strum. “Why?”
“If you get off, I get off too.”
When Devin aimed that famous grin at her and drawled, “Sounds fair to me, darlin’,” she blushed crimson.
“You know what I meant.”
“Any idea on how long we’ll be here?”
“Are some stops longer than others?”