Hillbilly Rockstar

Maybe he should call Carl at Big Skye and demand Liberty be pulled off this assignment. It’d be easier to look at some big thug from LaGruder Security as a guy who was paid to protect him. He’d never see Liberty in strictly a professional light. Never. He cared way too f**king much about her.

But he was too goddamn selfish to let her go.

And didn’t that just make him the biggest piece of shit on the planet?

Caught between fear and gratitude, between resentment and humiliation, he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do.

He stripped and headed to the shower, bringing his bottle for solace.

The hot water pounded onto his tight neck and shoulders, but it didn’t ease the tension. Not on the outside. Definitely not on the inside.

The water had gone decidedly cool when he heard the bathroom door slide open.

Devin felt Liberty staring at him, but he didn’t have the guts to look at her.

“Are you all right?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I asked you a question and I deserve an honest answer.”

“I’m halfway to f**ked up.” He waggled the bottle at her, held it to his lips and welcomed the burn down his throat as he drank.

As soon as he swallowed, she snatched the bottle away. “Get shitfaced in your room, but not in here where you can drop this on the tile and leave glass all over the damn floor.”

“No doubt you’d heroically throw me over your shoulder and save my poor tender feet from big, nasty glass shards.”

Liberty pushed his back against the wall. “No, I wouldn’t. It’s not my f**king job to protect you from your own stupidity.” Her eyes searched his. “But that’s what this is about, isn’t it? My job.”

Devin blinked at her. Fire danced in her eyes. She was so incensed, she hadn’t even shut off the shower. She’d just stepped in fully clothed and gone toe-to-toe with him.

God, the woman was spectacular. She never held back—her passion or her anger. She wouldn’t let him hide.

In that moment, his muddled emotions cleared. He’d always heard Jack Daniel’s was truth serum, but he’d never believed it until now.

He reached over and turned the handle, cutting off the water. His hand shook as he attempted to wipe the droplets from the side of her face. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Me bein’ pissed off at you for doin’ your job. Me bein’ embarrassed—”

“Devin—”

He placed his fingers over her mouth. “Let. Me. Finish.”

She just blinked at him.

“I don’t like that you risked your life for mine. Not because of some stupid male pride but because your action proved to me that you—your life—is worth more than mine. You’re the one who should be protected, Liberty. But instead you’re takin’ down lowlifes who have a beef with me. It hit me in a way tonight that . . .”

“You’re more than just a job to me.”

“I know, baby, and that almost makes it worse.” He kept his hand curled around the back of her neck as his thumb followed her jawline. “I should send you away.”

“Devin. Don’t.”

“I should send you away,” he repeated. “But I can’t. If I gotta have someone protecting my ass, I want it to be you because I am more than just a job to you. And tonight I saw how good you really are at your job.”

Liberty moved in and pressed her body to his, nestling her face in the crook of his neck.

Although he was freezing his balls off, he didn’t move. They needed this reconnection. There wasn’t anything sexual about the way they held on to each other—but they’d gone beyond physical intimacy to something much deeper. Trust. Acceptance.

Finally, he said the one thing he should’ve said first. “Thank you for saving my ass tonight.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter Nineteen

One week left on this tour and then he could take a break.

Whether it was the heightened security after the incident in Berle County, or Liberty’s brilliant protection skills—he firmly believed in the latter—there hadn’t been any problems in the past week.

He’d had a few protestors at a performance in Georgia last night. Since they were playing a county fair, he thought they might pelt him with rotten produce. But they’d held signs, urging passersby to boycott the show because of the “unholy” message in his song “What Love Isn’t.”

Unholy. Wasn’t like he’d even played the damn song onstage at that stop.

Plus, Devin had been on his very best behavior. In public at least. In private? A whole ’nother matter.

Spending so much time in close quarters with the sometimes-prickly Liberty . . . Damn, that woman could get him all kinds of riled up. First thing yesterday morning they’d had a stupid fight about a gap in the schedule. He informed her she was wrong; she insisted she was right.

But Liberty was in an ornery mood and wouldn’t let it go.

He had shut the bedroom door in her face and concentrated on work. After he finally came out of his marathon songwriting session—at least his anger with her had one positive effect—he’d found her acting overly solicitous. When he questioned her on it, she admitted he’d been right about the schedule.

And she hadn’t apologized for her mistake or for her snotty attitude about it.

So Devin had half-jokingly informed her that bratty girls got spanked. When she didn’t get all indignant at the idea of him taking her in hand, he knew she was game for whatever he wanted to play.