A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(7)

"Not true, bro," Dylan grated through clenched teeth. "Nobody cares more about this band than I do, you know that."

Craig narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized Dylan. "I believe that. But  you still won't clean up your act for it, because that means doing the  dirty work."

"Who the hell died and made you my father?" Dylan muttered.

Craig shook his head.

"Get your shit together," he continued. "Go on the tour. Play nice with the girl. And write me at least one good radio hit."

"That's pretty mercenary of you, Hop," Dylan said. "Isn't it supposed to  be about the soul of the music, or something artistic like that?"

"Stop being a smartass," Craig said. Dylan sat back and adjusted his  collar. "It's a digital market now. No one buys albums. It's a YouTube  world we're living in."

"Complete with the bass solo version of All Along the Watchtower," Dylan mused.

"He's not even the worst of it, kid."

"That's truly frightening," Dylan confided.

Craig sighed. "Make music, Dylan. Make the music we both know you've got  inside you. Use this tour to get back whatever it is that you lost." He  held up a finger. "But if you touch my little girl, I'll cut your balls  off and burn down your career."         

     



 

Dylan frowned. "No promises on that one, old man."

Craig snickered. "You're on dangerous territory."

Comprehension dawned on Dylan. That conversation he'd had with Craig a  few years back, the one where he'd talked about his daughter-he'd spoken  about how proud he was of his little girl. Claimed she was a natural  with just about any stringed instrument...a prodigy, in fact.

Suddenly it all made sense, and he understood why Craig had been so  defensive all morning. His stomach sank. Melody wasn't just their new  bassist, and Dylan's new obsession; she was Craig's daughter.

So completely screwed.





3


Her three favorite guitars were resting in the belly of the long black  and gray bus. The butterflies swirling around in her stomach grew more  frantic as she realized that this was actually happening, that she was  embarking on her first multi-city tour as a member of her favorite band.

She caught Rip glaring at her; the butterflies began to feel more like a tornado.

"That's Snake's bunk," he said flatly, indicating the bed she'd been about to claim.

I wasn't the one who made your drug addicted bass player have a public  meltdown, buddy, she wanted to say. Instead, she took a deep breath and  offered him a tight smile. "My bad. Didn't realize."

"You can share with me," Dylan called out from across the bus. He shot  her a wink as he pulled a guitar down from a cupboard. Melody's  traitorous body tingled with anticipation at the prospect, but she  immediately stamped out that thought. Dylan had the makings of a sex  god-a perfectly chiseled body, a mesmerizing voice, eyes that could make  any woman go weak in the knees-but if he believed she'd jump into bed  with him the first chance she got, like some random groupie, he was  sorely mistaken.

"Oh man, if we're sharing, we can take turns," Tank added, waggling his eyebrows.

"Super tempting," Melody said sarcastically. "But I'm afraid you guys are just too much for ‘lil ‘ole me to handle."

"You'll change your mind," Dylan promised confidently.

Cocky bastards. They were all self-destructive little boys, and they  would not have the opportunity to draw her into their childish games-or  their beds. No matter how tempting that bed might be, she added to  herself, glancing at Dylan again.

Melody heaved her backpack onto the unoccupied bunk she had decided to  claim, using more force than was strictly necessary. It was the farthest  empty bed from where Dylan slept, which had been the sole motivating  factor in her selection. He seemed determined to continue his weirdly  focused pursuit of her, and she wasn't going to do anything to encourage  that behavior. Satisfied with her choice, she turned to explore the  rest of the bus, and promptly slammed into someone.

"Watch it, Big Red."

A smile tugged at her lips. Jesper was the only band member who didn't  seem determined to make her life miserable in one way or another.

"You watch it, Mean Mr. Mustard."

"That's it. You better run..." Jesper made a grab for her and Melody  squealed, darting away down the long, narrow sleeping hall of the bus.  His laughter followed her as she emerged from the hall and into the  small living area behind the driver's seat.

A round, wooden table and five black chairs had been set up there for  the band's convenience. Dylan sat in one, his feet propped up on the  table as he strummed his guitar. Damn him for being so attractive. His  thick eyelashes shadowed his dark blue eyes, which smoldered above high  cheekbones and a chiseled jawline. His brown hair had grown just a  little too long on top; it would be the perfect length for grasping  fingers to hold onto while-

"Can I help you with something, Hopkins?" he asked, one eyebrow raised,  the usual smug grin on his face. Melody cursed herself for being so  obvious in her admiration. Dylan Bennett didn't know much, but he was  certain to know when he was being checked out. She could only imagine  how often that happened.

"Get your feet off the table," she told him. "We eat there."

He chuckled. "Actually, I eat in bed." He sent her a suggestive, heated  look. She was sure that look made groupies scream and claw at each other  to get to him, but she forced her expression to remain passive. That  was easier said than done when her heart leapt in response, and her  belly writhed with yearning.

"I've always heard that men who eat in bed are sloppy lovers."

He just laughed, which in turn made her scowl; he was so secure in his  sexual prowess that her insult hadn't even grazed him. "Any time you  want to test that theory, sweetheart, just come on by. Though you should  check beforehand to make sure I'm not...already occupied."         

     



 

God, he's such a pig; a ridiculously talented, handsome pig.

"I'm not into sharing," Melody said in a dry voice. "But thanks for the offer."

"Well, if you should ever change your mind, it remains an open invitation."

Melody turned away from him and headed down the steps of the bus,  letting him have the last word. Again. What choice did she have? They  would just continue their verbal sparring until she got so upset that  she lost her temper-and that was exactly what he wanted. Of that she was  sure.

Outside, men were bustling about, loading the bus up for departure. A  couple of them passed by, and a grin split Melody's face. She recognized  the tallest one.

"...and she had the tightest, I mean the tightest-"

"Mike-"

"I'm getting there, just let me tell it-"

"Mike, shut it! There's a lady present. "

Big Mike stopped as soon as he noticed Melody, and gave her the once-over.

"That's not a lady," he finally pronounced. "That's a guitar player."

"Still a smooth talker, huh?" Melody said, reaching out to give the big,  burly man a hug. Big Mike had been her father's go-to tour manager for  as long as she could remember. For over two decades, he'd been keeping  dozens of rock stars in check and out of trouble.

"You staying away from those boys in there?" Mike asked sternly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad." Her actual father had already given her  the same lecture Mike was about to give her: they were all trouble,  they were even worse when you got them out on the open road after a gig,  don't come crying to me when they play too rough, and on and on.

Dylan's dark blue eyes flashed through her mind unbidden, and her memory  conjured up an image of him from the night they had first met, at the  local show-he'd sat on a barstool with an acoustic guitar and played,  completely lost in his music. Melody couldn't believe how deeply she had  connected with him on stage. It had felt electric, like a current  drawing her toward him, like some animalistic force pulling at the  depths of her soul. She knew that she would always find his talent  incredibly attractive.

It was his actual personality that was a turn off.

"You tell me if they get out of hand," Mike continued. "I'll have a word  with them." The way he rubbed his hands together indicated that if that  happened, he was planning to let his fists do the talking.

"Will do, Mike," Melody lied. She was more than capable of fighting her own battles, but Mike was sweet to watch out for her.

She excused herself after that and headed toward the rear of the bus,  walking aimlessly. Too bad she'd quit smoking five years ago. A little  something to take the edge off would have been nice.

Then she saw something better than cigarettes, better than alcohol,  better even than sex. Across the street from the bus bay, proclaiming  its presence in bright, neon colors was her salvation: Uncle Danny's  Burger Shack.