“I asked you a question, Deacon. What are you doing, and why are you in my house?”
“Tell me how Keith is.”
I lifted my arm out in front of me, gesturing toward the other side of the house that held Keith’s room, then let it slap down on my thigh. “He’s asleep. He got sick a couple more times. Now what are you doing in my house?”
He glanced back at my kitchen island, as if the answer should be obvious.
I looked at what it was now covered with—medicines and sports drinks and the types of foods meant for sick stomachs, none of which I had bought. “You got all this?”
He ignored my question, and instead said, “If you don’t want me in here, you shouldn’t have made sure that I was one of the people who had a spare key.”
“I told you I was walking. That should have been a sign not to come here tonight, and especially not come in uninvited!”
“You don’t get to do what you did tonight,” he said in a low tone, and closed the distance between us a little more. “If you’re gonna walk from me, then you better do it for a damn good reason. But you can’t just take Keith from me because of a knee-jerk response I had. You can’t just take you from me because you’ve decided that I don’t want you.” He gestured around us, and said, “That I don’t want all of this.”
I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want to listen to what he was going to tell me. I didn’t want to believe his lies. “I heard you tonight, Deacon!”
“Yeah, you heard something I’ve said most of my life. It’s gonna be hard not to automatically come back with that. But I also panicked tonight when Keith got sick, and I just had to stand there and watch and wait because I didn’t know what to do, and you wouldn’t let me help you. Do you see this?” he asked, and threw his hand behind him toward the island. “You left and I immediately began searching what Keith needed and calling my grandma for help, and then I stood in a store for nearly an hour staring at boxes and reading them trying to figure out if it would help him or not because after all that, I’m still fucking clueless. That should tell you what I want, Charlie. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I want to try. I want to learn. I want to take care of him, and I want you to let me help you. I want you to let me take care of you.” His last statement was full of multiple meanings, his eyes pled with me to hear every one of them.
Heard, Deacon. Lies received.
“Just last week you said—”
“A lot can happen in a week, Charlie!” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “A lot can happen in a day, or a few hours, or even a couple minutes if you think everything is being taken from you.” His chest moved exaggeratedly as he stared at me.
As much as I wanted to continue denying his words, pushing them from my mind, I couldn’t. Not with that look, not with those words.
Because I knew both too well.
The tortured look on his face and in his light brown eyes screamed exactly that—that he’d felt like everything was being ripped from him. Like it still was . . .
He took a cautious step toward me, and then another. “I won’t tell you that I’m in love with you, because I’m still not sure that I’ll ever know what that word means. But I know that I can’t lose you. I know that my life feels wrong if you and your son aren’t in it. I know that I wanted to tear my damn heart out watching you walk away from me.”
He took the last step and cradled my face in his large hands, and tilted my head back so he could look directly into my eyes.
“Do you understand me, Charlie girl? I want your heart. I want it all.” Deacon’s mouth fell onto mine in a burning kiss that I knew I wanted to experience again and again. His arms curled around my body, his large hands searching and gripping and teasing until I was bowing into him.
His tongue tortured mine in a slow, declaring dance that didn’t match the rhythm of our hands or my pounding heart as his fingers trailed just inside the band of my shorts.
And then everything stilled.
His hands, his mouth, my heart . . .
Seconds passed before two of his fingers twitched against my bare hip, and I shuddered against him when his hands slowly moved lower, searching for underwear that he wouldn’t find.
A low rumble sounded in his chest before Deacon took my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered mostly to himself, and started to pull me closer, but I skipped out of his hold and stepped back toward the hallway leading to my bedroom.
I didn’t know what I was doing to him, but I knew what he was doing to me . . . what he’d done.
I’d thought I would never be able to trust anyone with my heart again, and though I had tried to keep it from Deacon Carver, it had been impossible. Even during the confusing times, even during the times when he’d broken a little piece of my heart, all I saw when I closed my eyes was him and what we could be. What we would be, because I knew he loved me too, and there was no longer a point in fighting it.
Deacon’s eyes darkened as he watched me back away, and suddenly he was stalking toward me. His long strides didn’t falter as he lifted me into his arms and walked us toward my bedroom.
His mouth never left mine. His hands gripped my body so tightly it was as if he wanted to memorize the feel of me beneath his hands, as if he wanted to make sure I was there.
The air in my lungs rushed out when my back hit the bed and Deacon’s body settled on top of mine. And just as he had been doing before, I dug my fingers into his back and shoulders. I felt like I had to hold on to something real; like I had to feel his body to know I wasn’t imagining this.
His mouth left a trail of hot kisses down my throat as he slowly lifted my shirt up my stomach, but both his touch and his mouth stopped when the bottom of the material teased my nipples.
“Remember what I said the other night.” His deep voice rumbled against my skin. It was more of a request than a question. “Say wait at the last second, and I’ll wait. Charlie Girl,” he demanded after a short pause.
“I know,” I said quickly, then sucked in a sharp gasp when his head suddenly dipped and he pulled one of my exposed breasts into his mouth.
His tongue rolled around my nipple and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending little shock waves straight to my core. Over and over again until I was gripping his hair and whimpering his name and moving restlessly beneath him, needing more.