She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
His voice took on a harder edge. “The rose garden would get out of your way.” He snapped his fingers in the air. “Just like that. Gone. I can do that. I can fix things.”
“You think I’d marry you to move a rose garden?” The idea was both preposterous and revolting.
“It’s not just the rose garden. That’s small time. I’m talking about the Governor’s mansion, Callie.”
She took a small step back. Like there was a house in the world that would entice her to marry him.
His voice turned gravelly, his expression darkening. “I make a much better ally than an adversary.”
A chill ran through her, and she realized she might be better off with another tactic. She forced herself to lighten her tone. “Hank, I’m flattered. But you have to know this is very sudden.”
The words seemed to mollify him, and he gave a thoughtful nod. “Fair enough. You need to think about it. I can understand that.”
“I’ll think about it.” She would. But not in the way he meant.
She wanted to appease him for the moment, to put an end to the drama. She wanted out of this conversation and to go home to her boys.
Luckily, three people chose that moment to exit the main door and join them on the porch.
Callie took advantage of the distraction. “Good night, Hank.”
She trotted down the stairs and walked quickly to the sidewalk, resisting the urge to break into a sprint. She wanted to leave Hank far, far behind.
She made it fifty yards.
“Whoa,” came a voice from the street side.
It took her a second to realize it was Deacon. Her heart was beating fast, and she was breathing deeply.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked.
She ordered herself to pull it together as she looked over at him. “You missed the meeting.”
He fell into step beside her. “I was hoping to catch the tail end. How did it go?”
“Not great.”
“No? What happened?”
She opened her mouth. Then she hesitated, unsure of how much to share.
* * *
Deacon had felt an immediate lift in his mood when he spotted Callie.
She had energy. She sparkled. The air seemed lighter around her, the world a more interesting place.
If something had gone wrong for her, he wanted to help.
“Tell me?” he prompted.
“Everyone loves that rose garden,” she said, her sarcasm crystal clear.
Deacon had heard about the garden, and he knew it was going to be a big problem for Callie.
“What about Lawrence?” he asked. As far as Deacon was concerned, Lawrence owed Callie his loyalty.
“Lawrence and Hank put on a PowerPoint together. It swayed everyone who might have been on the fence.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Deacon impulsively took her hand as they walked along the edge of the park.
It felt good. It felt ridiculously natural to be connected to her.
At the same time, it was disturbing to learn that Lawrence had abandoned her. Could Lawrence be naïve about politics? Or maybe two-thousand dollars didn’t buy much goodwill these days.
“They didn’t vote yet,” she said. “But it would have been seven to one if they had.”
Deacon looked for a way to help. “What’s your next move?”
A pained expression came over her face.
“Is there more?” he asked.
It took her a second to answer. “No. Not exactly.” Then she rushed on. “I don’t know what to do next. All I want to do is run a business, a simple little bakery that gives people tasty treats. I don’t want political intrigue. I don’t want favors and tactics and counter-schemes.” She abruptly stopped and turned to face him. “Is that so much to ask?”
“No.” His answer was simple.
And she was beautiful in the moonlight.
He smoothed her windblown hair. “How can I help?”
“You’re listening to me complain. That’s a help.”
“I’m happy to do it. But it’s not very practical.”
“Hank’s offered to help.” There was an odd inflection in her voice.
Deacon’s hackles rose. He didn’t want Hank anywhere near Callie’s problems.
“How?” Deacon asked, his question clipped and short. Too late, he wished he’d been more careful with his tone.
But Callie didn’t seem to notice. She gave a dismissive wave with her free hand and started walking again. “He wasn’t any help tonight, that’s for sure.”
Deacon wanted to press, but he also wanted to move past the topic of Hank.
“What about you making a donation?” he asked, watching for her reaction to the suggestion. With this much at stake, would she finally admit to having money?
“Even if I could afford it, I’m not going down that road.”
“There’s no way for you to come up with the money?” He covertly watched her expression.
“No. I’m not taking out a loan against my business to bribe a city politician. Wow. That sounds really unsavory, doesn’t it?” Her expression was inscrutable.
He knew she was lying about the money. She could be faking the moral outrage, as well. She seemed completely genuine, but he had to be smart about this.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
She hesitated. “You can.”
“It’s about Frederick.”
“I don’t mind talking about Frederick.”
Deacon weighed the pros and cons in his mind. “Were you in love with him?”
Callie slipped her hand from Deacon’s hold, and he could have kicked himself.
They walked in silence for a several minutes, passing the end of the park and turning onto a residential street.
He was about to apologize, when she spoke.
“It was complicated,” she said. “I was young. I’d been through a lot. My family was severely dysfunctional. My mother died, and I was all alone in the world with nothing. I’d already dropped out of high school. I could barely keep a roof over my head. And Frederick was kind. He wanted children. And I, well, I wanted security. We each wanted something the other could provide. Frederick was a decent man. I respected him. And I liked him.”
She made it sound almost noble, marrying a handicapped man for his money to give him children.
“I don’t regret it,” she said.
The cynical part of Deacon wondered why she would. She had two boys she clearly loved, all of Frederick’s money, and she was free to embark on a new relationship and better her circumstance even more.
He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like she was robbing banks. And her pragmatic attitude suited his purposes. All he had to do was make sure he was the next rich husband on her list.
“I understand,” he said.
She paused once again, turning toward him. “Do you?”
He took both her hands in his, happy to pretend he was buying the image she projected. “You’re kind. You’re generous. You’re devoted, a paragon really.” It wasn’t hard for him to say those words. He believed them.
She smiled with self-deprecating humor. “That’s ridiculous. You should see what goes on inside my head.”
“I’d like to,” he said, moving in. “I’d love to hear your innermost thoughts.”
That wasn’t the only thing he’d love. His gaze focused on her lips, dark and soft under the faraway streetlight.
“Deacon,” she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.
He cradled her cheek with one hand, leaned forward and kissed her soft mouth.
He instantly stopped caring who was pretending and who was playacting. It didn’t matter. N
othing mattered except the taste of Callie.
“Come in,” she whispered against his lips.
It took a moment for her words to penetrate, and he realized they were in front of her house.
“You’re sure?” he asked, not wanting to seem too eager.
“I’m sure.”
He held her hand as they took the walkway and entered the house.
There, Pam said a breezy good-night before she limped to her car.
“She’s off the crutches,” Deacon noted, moving closer to Callie in the living room.
“The sprain is healing fast.”
“That’s good.” He couldn’t stop himself from touching Callie, so he brushed her shoulder.
The fabric of her simple T-shirt was thin, and he could feel her warmth on his fingertips.
“A drink?” she asked, the slightest quaver to her voice.
“Whatever you’re having.” He kissed her temple.
She stood still for the length of the kiss.
Then she turned toward him and tipped her chin. “I think I’m having you.”
As her words hit his brain, the world disappeared. Passion obliterated everything.
“You are incredible,” he whispered as he drew her into his arms, kissing her mouth, slanting his head to deepen the kiss. Her taste filled his senses.
He pressed her fast against him, sliding his palms down her back, reveling in the tone of her body, the indentation of her waist, then the flare of her hips and her rear.
He held her close, his arousal building.
She moaned in response, the sound vibrating against his lips.
His hands convulsed against her.
“Upstairs,” she whispered.
He didn’t need another invitation. He scooped her into his arms and headed for the staircase.
“Right,” she said. “End of the hall.”
He walked as fast as he dared, and in seconds they were through the double doors, into an ornate, cream-toned bedroom with a fireplace and a massive canopy bed. It was lit by a small Tiffany lamp on the dresser. Impatience screeched inside his head.
Instead, he set her on her feet. His hands all but trembling, he cradled her face. He kissed her tenderly, ordering himself to take it slow and gentle. She’d never done this before.
Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt. They were trembling.
“Are you okay?” he asked, worried he’d frightened her.
“Huh?” She looked up at him, her blue-green eyes glazed in the dim light.
“You’re hands are shaking.”
“Help me,” she said.
It took him a second to realize she meant with his buttons.
“I can’t get them.” She looked at one of her hands. “Is this normal?”
“Are you afraid?”
“What? No. No. I’m... I don’t know what I am. But could you please take off your clothes?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He practically ripped his buttons open.
While he did that, she peeled her T-shirt over her head, revealing a lacy white bra. It was irresistible. She was irresistible.
She pulled off her slacks and stood in front of him in equally tempting panties, wispy and lacy, minuscule and sheer.
“Deacon?” she asked.
He gave himself a shake. “Yeah?”
“You’re overdressed.”
“I’m in awe.” He drew her toward him, wrapping his arms around her, feeling her melt into him. “You are stunningly beautiful.”
“You might be, too,” she said, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. “But I can’t tell yet.”
He chuckled, half at himself and half at her. She wasn’t anywhere near what he’d expected.
He quickly stripped to his black boxers.
“That’s nice,” she said, gazing at him, reaching out to stroke his chest.
Her fingertips sent flares of passion across his skin. He closed his eyes, arousal hammering along every nerve. Her hand moved lower and lower, until he grabbed it to stop her.
“Pace yourself,” he rasped. “Pace me,” he corrected.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, and with the other hand, he covered her breast.
She gasped, and when he kissed her mouth, she met his tongue, tangling with it.
He unhooked her bra, sliding it away to touch her skin, skimming his knuckles over her nipple, drawing it between his thumb and forefinger, watching in satisfaction as her head tipped back, her eyes closed, and her mouth dropped open.
He settled her gently on the bed, lay down beside her.
“Let me,” he whispered, using his hands and his lips to kiss and caress her, finding her sensitive spots, doing his utmost to bring her to a perfect arousal.
She touched him back, exploring his body, testing his concentration and his resolve.
When her hand wrapped around him, he spun her onto her back, knowing he was beyond his limit.
He looked deep into her eyes. “Now?”
She nodded.
He was quick with a condom, and then he was above her. Her legs went around him, and he slid them to a slow and perfect meld.
Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips formed a perfect oh.
“Good?” he asked her, loving the expression on her face.
“Oh, Deacon.”
“I know.” He cupped her breast again, touching her nipple, bringing it to a peak.
He withdrew and surged, withdrew and surged.
Her fingertips grasped his shoulders, clinging tightly.
“What?” she gasped. “What do I...?”
“Nothing,” he told her. “You’re perfect. You’re amazing. You’re wonderful. Just let go.” He kissed her deeply, canted her hips toward him, pressed deep, pulled back, feeling her body, listening to her sounds, guessing what made her feel best.
Her chopped moans guided him. He increased his pace, driving harder and harder. Insistent waves of pleasure drove deep in his abdomen. He lost his focus, lost control, lost his very mind.
Then she cried out his name, and he tumbled with her, wave after wave after wave of infinite pleasure washing through him and over him and all around him.
When he came back to earth, she was panting in his ear.
He eased his weight from her, giving her lungs some space.
“You okay?” he asked between his own gasps.
“Wow.”
“Is that a good wow?”
She seemed to blink him into focus. “Wow. So that’s what people were talking about.”
He struggled not to laugh. But her expression was amazing, endearing and funny all at the same time.
He turned them together, putting her on top, wrapping himself around her and wishing he never had to let go.
He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find any words. So he stroked her hair and whispered her name, while her body went lax on top of him.
* * *
Callie woke up alone. The ceiling fan was whirring above her head. Two windows were open, and she was buried in a comforter, in the middle of the big bed.
She threw off the blanket, squelching her disappointment that Deacon had left while she was sleeping. Last night had been nothing short of magical. He was passionate, attentive and so incredibly sexy. Whatever happened between them after this, she would never regret making love with him.
It was bright in the room, brighter than normal. She glanced at her clock, shocked to see that it was nearly nine. The boys never slept this late.
She sat upright, worried something was wrong.
But then she heard their voices.
Ethan laughed, while James whooped.
Then she heard another voice. Deacon. He hadn’t gone home last night.
She dropped her head back d
own on the pillow. Instead of going home, he’d gotten up with her boys, letting her have a rare sleep-in. Could he have made himself any more perfect?
She brushed her teeth, pulled on a pair of exercise pants and a T-shirt and wandered downstairs.
The voices were coming from the kitchen, and she walked to the doorway to find Deacon and the boys clustered around the stove. James was on the step stool, Ethan on a chair, while Deacon wielded a spatula in one hand. The kitchen counter was a mess of bowls and utensils and baking ingredients.
James spotted her first. “Deacon’s making pancakes. They’re shaped like race cars.”
“Zoom cars, Mommy,” Ethan called out.
Deacon turned with a smile. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she said, walking barefoot into the room. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
He glanced around the room, and his smile dimmed a little. “Won’t take long to clean it up.”
“Smells good,” she said, realizing she should be appreciating his efforts, not criticizing them.
“They’re banana,” James said.
“And tasty syrup,” Ethan sang out.
“I’m guessing that’s a quote,” she asked Deacon.
“Tasty syrup is the very best kind of syrup.” He carefully flipped a pancake. “We’re going to need plates.”
James started to hop down.
“I’ll get them,” Callie said. “Can you get forks and knives?” she asked James.
“Wheels,” Ethan announced, pointing to the pan.
Callie noticed Deacon was using a back burner, and the position of Ethan’s chair made it impossible for him to reach the hot surface. More points for Deacon.
She set four plates out on the table, while James carefully arranged the cutlery. She added butter, syrup and juice to the mix. Then she started the coffee maker.
“I hope we’re not keeping you from something,” she said to Deacon.
He reached along the counter and wrapped his hand around her forearm, urging her closer, while leaning in, speaking in an undertone. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
After a quick glance to make sure the boys weren’t watching, he gave her a tender kiss.
She smiled, her heart feeling light.
“Pancakes one and two are ready for eating,” he announced to the boys.
James put his arms out like wings and made an engine noise as he trotted to the table. Deacon wrapped an arm around Ethan’s waist, making a matching noise as he swooped Ethan to the table, settling him in his booster seat.
The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies) Page 8