by Lili Valente
All that matters is that Violet is alone on the dance floor, and Hollow Chest is clear to make his move. I see it coming—the inevitable conflict as he tries to take Benji’s place and oversteps himself—and my gut shouts for me to step in before it’s too late.
But Violet made it clear she doesn’t want any trouble repellent, at least not if it’s coming from me. So I clench my jaw and keep my ass in my seat as the creep slithers a hand around Violet’s waist, pulling her too close. She spins away with a laugh, subtly making it clear she isn’t interested in a slow dance, but the asshole just moves in again, backing her into a corner by the jukebox and reaching for her hair, proving he isn’t interested in respecting her space.
She dodges his grasping fingers, discomfort and fear mixing in her features, but still I sit. I wait, curling my hands into fists on my thighs as the handsy bastard grabs a fistful of her dress, holding her prisoner as she tries to dart around him. Violet shoves at his arm, her eyes bright and angry, and Hollow Chest responds with a mean laugh as he braces a hand on the wall behind her.
Every cell in my body is screaming for me to get over there, rip the guy’s hands off of her and stuff them into his mouth, but I’m not going anywhere until I get the signal.
The sign I’m waiting for.
The one I know is coming in three…
Two….
Violet’s head turns sharply to the right, her frightened eyes seeking mine across the bar, and I’m out of my seat in one hot second. The next, I’m behind the creep, hand curled tight around his shoulder.
“Hands off. Now.” I dig my fingers tighter into his bony flesh, silently promising him that I’m only going to ask nicely once.
He wheels around to face me, eyes narrow and a sneer on his lips that falls away when he gets a good look at who he’s about to start a fight with. All of the men in my family are tall and solidly built, and for twenty years the weight room has been my second home. Exercise is my therapy, one that doesn’t cost a dime and keeps me in the kind of condition that ends most fights before they get started.
Unless they’re really drunk or really stupid, most men know better than to mess with a guy who’s got fifty pounds of pure muscle on them and a “don’t fuck with me” look in his eye.
Hollow Chest is drunk—I can smell the cheap whiskey in his sweat—but he isn’t drunk enough to start something that’s going to end with him unconscious on the floor.
“Didn’t realize she was spoken for, man,” he says, sidling away toward the jukebox. “You should keep a tighter leash on your lady.”
“I’m not—” Violet begins, but I cut her off with a sharp—
“And you should learn to keep your hands to yourself. Now leave. And don’t come back. This isn’t the bar for you. We don’t like your kind of asshole.”
“Yeah, only our kind of asshole!” George, a seriously bearded biker, shouts from the nearby pool table, inspiring laughter in the rest of the men gathered around the cues.
For a second, Hollow Chest looks like he’s going to pop off to George—which would be a much bigger mistake than running off his mouth at me, seeing as George hits first and asks questions never.
But apparently, this loser isn’t stupid, either.
In the end, he scrubs a hand over his clenched jaw, mutters something unintelligible beneath his breath, and slinks out the door, letting in a rosy flash of sunset on his way out. The warm glow lights up Violet’s pale face, making her look like a model from one of those old Italian paintings my first stepmom loves so much, and then darkness falls again, leaving us alone in the shadows.
After a long beat, she clears her throat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I try not to sound smug, but do a shit job of it, so I’m not really surprised when irritation flashes across her features again.
“Go ahead and say ‘I told you’ so if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I feel just fine,” I say. But I don’t. I’m feverish, hungry, starved to the bone for another taste of Violet’s mouth. I’m out of my head with wanting this woman. It’s the only explanation for the words that come tumbling out of my mouth, seeing as I’m not usually a glutton for punishment. “Though, I’d like to know why you ran away last night. I thought we were having a good time. I know I was.”
Her lashes flutter. “Last night was a mistake. We’re not a good fit, Deacon.”
“How do you figure? You barely know me.”
“I know your type,” she says, crossing her arms. “And I know a lot of women are into the controlling alpha-male thing, but I’m not.”
I frown so hard my nostrils flare. “Controlling alpha male? Where the hell did you get that?”
“From the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you boss your family around.” She motions toward the dance floor. “The way you decide what’s best for complete strangers and rush in shouting orders.”
“I wasn’t shouting. Or rushing. And you weren’t safe.” I point toward the door her harasser exited less than two minutes ago. “Clearly. I wasn’t controlling, I was protecting. And as far as—”
“I don’t need protecting,” she pops back, lifting her chin.
“Pardon my French, but I’m going to have to call bullshit on that, Ms. Boden,” I say, leaning closer to her stubborn little mouth. “You need a bodyguard almost as much as you need a shot of common sense.”
Her eyes flash. “I can’t believe I got naked with you.”
“You got naked with me because I drive you crazy,” I murmur, blood pumping faster as her nipples tighten, poking through the thin fabric of her dress. “Hell, I’m driving you crazy right now.”
“I can’t stand you,” she says in a breathy voice that goes straight to my stiffening cock.
“But you still want to kiss me,” I whisper.
“I want lots of stupid things,” she says, her hands reaching for my chest.
I’m certain she’s going to push me away, so certain that I’m already braced to catch myself with a quick step back. Instead, she fists her hands in my shirt, hauling me close as she presses up on tiptoe, fusing her lips to mine.
The kiss is instantly hot, wild, and completely inappropriate for public consumption. I’m dimly aware of hoots and cheers coming from the other patrons as Violet’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, but it’s hard to focus on anything but the rush of attraction, the electric feel of her hands smoothing around to grip my shoulders, the spike of arousal coursing through me as her curves press against my chest.
I know we should stop, or at least take this outside, but my brain can’t talk my body into cooperating. I’m too lost in this woman, helpless in the face of a firestorm of attraction even hotter than the one that raged between us last night.
Finally, she pulls away, panting against my lips, “I’m going home now.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“No. We’re not going to do this. We’re going to be friends. Just friends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Good,” she says with a sniff. “I don’t want to be your friend, either.” And then she kisses me again—hard and deep—before making a beeline for the door and slamming out into the evening air without a backward glance.
I’m about to go after her when the door opens and Violet pops her head back in, pointing a stern finger my way. “Don’t follow me.”
She vanishes again, leaving me with the laughter of the assembled company. A beat later, Benji appears at my side, clapping a hand on my back. “It’s okay, man. Some wild horses just can’t be broken.”
“I don’t want to break her; I want to date her,” I hear myself saying. I’m not sure where the words came from—I don’t want to date her, I find her every bit as frustrating as she finds me—but still…
There’s something about her…
Something that makes me sneak to the door and glance outside, just to make sure Hollow Chest isn’t giving her trouble on her way to her car. He isn’t. There
’s no sign of him, only a firecracker in a dress all the colors of the sun, running away from me as fast as her shapely legs can carry her.
CHAPTER 3
From the texts of Violet Boden and
Mina Smalls
Violet: Are you awake? I desperately need advice, and there’s no one else I can ask.
* * *
Mina: Yeah, I’m up, but what can possibly be so desperate at six a.m. on a Sunday?
* * *
Violet: I need you to tell me how to turn my libido off. The way you did when you swore off sex last Christmas, remember?
* * *
Mina: Um, yes, I do…but why would you want to do that? Sex is fun and you definitely need to get laid, Vi. How long has it been since the divorce?
A year and a half?
* * *
Violet: Two years. Six weeks.
* * *
Mina: HOLY SHIT! How has that much time passed already? It seems like you guys just split up!
* * *
Violet: It’s because we’re old. Time flies when you’re getting old.
* * *
Mina: Speak for yourself, honey. I’m feeling amazingly youthful and vibrant this morning. Especially considering I didn’t get to sleep until two a.m. Hot babies don’t require sleep. They can survive on energy drinks, ramen, and sex alone. Or probably just sex and the occasional glass of water to replenish all those lost bodily fluids.
* * *
Violet: Stop! I don’t want to talk about sex or hot babies or bodily fluids. I want to talk about winter landscapes covered in fallen snow and bare tree limbs and still, quiet darkness without a speck of light.
* * *
Mina: That sounds as depressing as hell. Who has you so upset, mama? Tell me his name. I’ll kick him in the balls for you.
* * *
Violet: I don’t want you to kick him in the balls, I just want to forget about his balls and his lips and his hands and the way the smell of him makes my mouth water like a ravenous sex monster.
* * *
Mina: Oooo! A ravenous sex monster! That sounds like fun. You should go for it! Ravage him, girl. Tear his clothes off and have your wicked way with him.
* * *
Violet: You’re not listening.
* * *
Mina: No, you’re not listening. It’s time to come out of hiding, Violet. You’ve mourned long enough. It’s time to get back in the saddle and ride this stallion who has you so worked up. Ride him all night long, girl!
* * *
Violet: I can’t! He’s a jerk with an ego the size of Tracey’s enormous boobs, and I refuse to lose my Divorce Virginity to an asshole.
* * *
Mina: I hear you. Mean people are the worst. And you can’t reward that kind of behavior with pussy, or they’ll never learn.
* * *
Violet: He’s not mean, exactly, just…bossy. And controlling. And insufferable. But for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about him and fantasizing about him and wanting his big stupid hands all over me. I barely slept at all last night. It’s like I’ve been infected with some sort of terrible disease, Mina. You’ve got to help me!
* * *
Mina: No, no, no. It’s not a disease, darlin’. That’s just your lady beast, ready to come out and rule the night! And we don’t want to put her to sleep. We just need to point her claws in another direction.
* * *
Violet: I tried that, but that guy I’ve been texting on Blender stood me up.
* * *
Mina: Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. That’s what you get for trying to hook up with someone named Chad.
* * *
Violet: What’s wrong with the name Chad?
* * *
Mina: Chads are all pasty, weak-willed, whiny, overly entitled rich white guys who think their shit doesn’t stink and their tiny cocks are God’s gift to women.
* * *
Violet: That’s harsh. But…maybe kind of accurate, now that I think about it.
* * *
Mina: I once named a hemorrhoid Chad. That’s all that name is good for.
* * *
Violet: LOL. You’re insane.
* * *
Mina: Agreed. But I’m also here for you, and I’ve got an extra ticket to the River and Blues festival this afternoon. You should come with me, drink a few beers, listen to some good music, and see if any of the shirtless men catch your inner wild cat’s fancy. If all goes well, we could have you happily boinking a hot baby of your own before sunset.
* * *
Violet: I don’t think I want a hot baby.
* * *
Mina: Okay, fine, then you can scope out a sexy silver fox and leave all the hot babies for me. I find that a more than acceptable arrangement. I’d forgotten how nice it is to be able to get a guy hard with nothing but a wink and a smile. Getting my ex in the mood was such a production I was exhausted before we even got started.
* * *
Violet: Grant never had problems with that.
* * *
Mina: We’re not talking about Grant or thinking about Grant. Grant is the past. The smoking-hot single men of Sonoma County are your future. Meet me at the parking lot by the River Road exit at noon. We’ll carpool.
* * *
Violet: Okay. But I’m over Grant, Mina. I really am. This isn’t about wishing I was still with my ex. It’s about not wanting to make the same mistakes I made the first time.
* * *
Mina: I hear you. And I’m going to help you make all new mistakes. I promise. Starting with getting you tipsy and facilitating your first one-afternoon-stand in a porta-potty.
* * *
Violet: Disgusting. Maybe I should stay home.
* * *
Mina: Nope. Forget about meeting me—I’ll swing by and pick you up, be your designated driver so you can have a few too many and make irresponsible decisions. Be ready, leave your hair down, and wear something a little slutty. Like that backless sundress with the yellow flowers. You look gorgeous in that one.
* * *
Violet: That’s Addie’s, actually. And I’m pretty sure she wore it to the theme park today.
* * *
Mina: You let her out of the house in that?
* * *
Violet: She’s eighteen, Mina. She leaves the house any way she wants to leave the house.
* * *
Mina: But that’s a grown-woman dress and Addie is our precious baby, Violet. I refuse to believe she’s not still six years old and stuffing her face with so many ham-and-feta filled apricots that she ends up throwing up in my swimming pool at least once every summer.
* * *
Violet: I know. Time has gone by so fast.
* * *
Mina: Further evidence that there is none to waste. Wear the green dress with the sequins sewn into the skirt, the one that makes you look like a mermaid, and we’ll hunt you down a sexy sailor. I’ll be there soon, but I’m towing the boat, so I won’t be able to pull into the driveway. Meet me outside?
* * *
Violet: Be there. Ready or not, sailors here I come.
CHAPTER 4
DEACON
I need to hit the gym. Hard.
Go for an epic run.
Strap a two-hundred-pound boulder to my back and hike a thousand miles of the Pacific Coast trail.
That last option is probably my only real shot at exhausting myself enough to get Violet Boden out of my head.
I usually sleep like the dead. After years in crowded barracks as a younger man and long stints in base housing so tight you could hear your neighbors three houses down sneeze when they had a cold, I’ve become adept at tuning out the world in the name of a good night’s rest.
But last night it was all Violet’s lips and Violet’s hands and the smell of her lingering on my clothes driving me out of my damned mind with wanting her. And yes, I could have changed my shirt, but then I wouldn’t have been able to smell rosemary a
nd sage with a hint of honeysuckle sweetness on top. Wouldn’t have been able to close my eyes and imagine Violet riding me while I took matters into my own hand. Again. And then, just a few hours ago as the sun was rising, yet again.
The jerking off is getting embarrassing. I couldn’t meet my own gaze in the mirror while I was shaving. Something has to be done. ASAP.
As soon as I pull down the drive away from the house and turn left onto the highway leading into Guerneville, I call Tristan, intending to leave a message for my unavailable baby brother—he’s no doubt still shacked up in bed with his new bride—but he answers on the first ring, his voice crackling through the speakers.
“Morning, man. What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I lie. Telling Tristan that I’ve got a chronic hard-on for one of his employees is a bad idea. “Just wondering where you were hitting the gym these days. I need to join up somewhere with enough room for interval training. The free weights in the barn aren’t going to cut it much longer.”