Caged

by Lorelei James

  center of the table. Obviously a lot of planning had gone into the presentation of the table, so Molly wondered if the food would be as impressive. What if they served a fish mousse or something she couldn’t choke down?

  Deacon nudged her and she looked up at him. “Julianne asked you a question.”

  “Pardon?”

  Julianne flashed her a brittle smile. “Wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Deacon, you’re sure you can’t have even one glass? This is an excellent Malbec.” Julianne held out her glass for Bing to refill.

  “He has a one-drink limit when he’s in training, remember?” Bing said.

  “Oh, right. Never mind. I’ll drink your share.”

  “You don’t have alcohol restrictions while taking medication after your surgery?” Deacon asked.

  “Not for such a minor procedure,” Derek said. “Julianne was only in the surgery center for an hour. She could’ve still made her four-o’clock tee time.”

  Deacon stiffened beside her. Silence distorted the air—a more disturbing sound than if someone had been screaming. After a moment, Molly squeezed Deacon’s thigh beneath the table. He immediately leaned over and placed his mouth on her ear. “I’m done with this bullshit. We’re outta here as soon as the dessert plates are cleared.”

  Her heart broke for him. His mother continued her manipulative ways even now, forcing Deacon’s father to miss his son’s fight.

  “I realize you’re a doctor, Derek, but it was a bit more involved than that,” Bing corrected. “Deacon, your mother—”

  “Don’t wanna hear it,” Deacon said curtly. “Are we eating or what? Because if you’re gonna drag this damn dinner out another couple of hours, we’ll leave now and hit McDonald’s on the way back to the hotel.”

  “McDonald’s?” His mother sniffed. “You still go for the low blow. But by all means, if you’d rather eat processed garbage than the food prepared by our chef, feel free to leave.”

  Deacon looked at his father. “I tried. But I’m done.” He pushed his chair back. After he stood, he pulled Molly’s chair out and offered his hand to help her to her feet.

  Molly didn’t make eye contact with anyone as they left the dining room. She just clutched Deacon’s hand as he dragged her through the maze of hallways and out the front door.

  Deacon didn’t say a word for fifteen minutes after they left his parents’ house.

  They didn’t hit the McDonald’s drive-thru.

  They didn’t return to the hotel.

  He just drove.

  When her stomach growled, she’d had enough of suffering in his oppressive silence. “Deacon.”

  “Not now.”

  “Yes, now. I know you’re upset—”

  “I’m beyond fucking upset, Molly.”

  “Which is why you need to stop this NASCAR speed drive through the Texas countryside and take us back to the hotel.”

  The muscle on the right side of his jaw ticced. His knuckles glowed white in the bluish lights of the dashboard.

  At the last second, he took the next exit. He pulled into the gravel parking lot of an abandoned gas station. As soon as he’d killed the engine, he bailed out and sprinted up the rise of a small hill.

  Molly quietly climbed out of the car, keeping her arms folded over her chest to ward off the sudden chill that owed nothing to the weather. As her leisurely stroll brought her closer to him, her eyes drank in everything that was Deacon. The tight T-shirt that showcased the tattoos on his arms. The jeans that molded to his perfect ass and long legs. The shiny top of his bald head, which reflected the sun’s fading rays. Given his spoiling-for-a-fight body language—booted feet braced wide, hands on his hips, shoulders thrown back—she should’ve retreated.

  But she couldn’t let him revert to this closed-down behavior after dealing with his family. And she wasn’t about to stand ten paces behind him, waiting for his acknowledgment.

  Molly marched forward and planted herself in front of him.

  His volatile blue eyes met hers.

  “Talk to me.”

  The wind kicked up, blowing her hair all over her face. Before she could bat it aside, Deacon trapped the strands against her head, cradling her face in his hands. “I hate it here. I don’t know why the hell I agreed to come. Nothing any of them can say tonight—or tomorrow—will change my mind.”

  “So this wasn’t just a social visit?”

  “No. There’s a JFW board meeting tomorrow.”

  Why hadn’t he told her about the meeting? Or the upcoming fight? Hadn’t he promised he’d be open about everything? Instead it seemed he’d kept her in the dark. On purpose?

  “I usually skip the board meetings. I’m a token anyway, unless there’s something to vote on. That’s why Tag flew to Denver. To try to convince me in person.”

  “Convince you to do what?”

  “To side with him and force a vote in the very near future about the future of JFW. Tag and two shareholders want to sell the company. Our fathers and Clive don’t.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  Deacon shook his head. “It’s really complicated, which is why I’ve avoided it.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She paused. “Can you talk about it?”

  “I don’t know what good it would do.” He closed his eyes. “Dammit. This is the kind of stuff I’m supposed to share with you and open up about, isn’t it?”

  At least he recognized he’d screwed up. “Not if it’s against the corporate rules. I don’t need to know specifics. But I had no idea you had this turmoil on your mind in addition to all the fight stuff.”

  “That’s because I’m a shitty boyfriend.”

  “No, you’re used to going it alone. But you don’t have to do that anymore, Deacon. It’s up to me to remind you that I’m here for you. Just like you reminded me in Nebraska.”

  Deacon kissed her, except not with the raw passion she expected. But that didn’t mean the kiss didn’t pack a wallop. He rested his forehead to hers. “And it’s up to me to take care of my woman. Feed you.”

  “Since we’re in Texas, I expect you could find a Tex-Mex place to your liking.”

  “That I can do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  AFTER last night’s fiasco with his family, Deacon hadn’t been in the mood to do anything. He hadn’t wanted to talk. He’d barely eaten anything at the restaurant. When they’d returned to the hotel room, Molly started sawing logs as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  He’d been too full of restless energy and anger to sleep. Since he’d be fighting again in a week, he needed to do a full cardio workout and fit in as many conditioning exercises as he could—even without the proper equipment. So he’d hit the hotel workout room and spent the next few hours trying to quiet his head.

  Then, this morning, he’d woken Molly up in his favorite way, his face between her thighs. Afterward he’d made love to her slowly, sweetly, dragging it out as long as possible. Touching her everywhere. Being touched in return. Whispering promises and words of love. Feeling such a deep connection to her here in this place that he’d purposely disconnected from.

  Then he’d left her exhausted in bed, the keys to the rental car by her e-reader so she wasn’t stuck in the hotel all day.

  Deacon donned his workout gear and ran the ten miles to the JFW office complex. Showing up at the meeting sweating and looking like a fighter made the statement he’d wanted it to make.

  His dad and uncle hadn’t been happy about his unprofessional appearance.

  Tag just rolled his eyes.

  The opposing sides made their pitches, Tag for selling the company, breaking down the costs of doing business alongside the heavy losses sustained since the price of oil had started a downward spiral from lifetime highs. Deacon’s dad gave an impassioned speech about the long history of the oil business with the continual fluctuations in demand and not giving up during hard times.

  Currently B
ing, Clark, and Clive were against selling. Tag and a pair of board members were for selling. Deacon’s vote—when it came to that point—would be the swing vote.

  No pressure.

  During the late lunch, Deacon made it clear he wouldn’t be railroaded into making such a big decision on such short notice. At that point the tension in the room lessened. But Deacon’s agitation returned when his dad told him he’d scheduled a JFW soiree, with all the key employees, at the Barclay Country Club for this evening, and attendance was mandatory for all board members.

  The meeting adjourned. Running another ten miles might kill him, but at least Maddox couldn’t accuse him of slacking on his cardio training.

  Molly wasn’t in the room when he returned. The car keys were still on the dresser. He fought his instinct not to look out the seventh-story window, but he managed to hold off the resulting dizziness long enough to see her sitting poolside with her e-reader.

  He showered quickly and went to her.

  She looked up and welcomed him with a big smile that lit up his entire world. “So, how was the corporate world today, dear?”

  “Sucky.”

  “I’ve been lounging.” She stretched. “I slept in after a vivid dream that this hot, sexy muscleman completely ravaged me. His stamina was unreal. He fucked me for two hours, in four positions, and made me come six times.”

  Deacon picked up her bare foot and kissed her instep. “Babe. I fucked you for one hour, in two positions, and you came three times.”

  “Who said it was you? Maybe I found alternate entertainment.”

  He growled.

  “You did leave me to my own devices without much warning.” Molly leaned closer and nuzzled his whiskery cheeks. “No one’s hit on me today, if that worries you.”

  “I wasn’t worried, ’cause you’d hit back.”

  “I learned from the very best.”

  “And I left you to your own devices because I thought you’d rather fend for yourself than have me set up a shopping and lunch date with Julianne.”

  “I oughta blow you for that sweet consideration.”

  Deacon took her hands in his. “I wish I could say I’m not busy right now, but we need to talk.”

  Molly’s eyes turned wary.

  “There’s a JFW dinner and cocktail thing tonight at the country club. It’ll be boring as fuck. But I have to go.”

  “Do I have to go?”

  He sighed. “No. But because I’m a selfish bastard, I’d like it if you came along with me. You’ll be left to your own devices a lot tonight, so I’d understand if you skipped it.”

  “How long do we have to stay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What else?”

  Deacon hesitated and decided to just come right out with it. “Maddox called again.”

  An even warier look darkened her eyes. “It must be a pretty important issue for him to interrupt your family time.”

  Family time. He snorted. “This last-minute fight with Watson concerns him.”

  “It concerns me too, because I didn’t know you were planning on fighting again so soon.” She paused. “Have you spoken to Riggins about the physical demands of back-to-back bouts? Especially since Ronin had concussion issues last year?”

  It was so fucking weird, talking to her about this stuff, because he never discussed his health and career issues with anyone. It’d always been easier to keep his own counsel on everything. “Riggins said since Needham didn’t put a mark on me I’m in better-than-average shape to fight again.”

  “So why the call from Maddox? He doesn’t want you to fight now?”

  “Maddox knows what’s at stake. He knows I have to fight. He wants to send me to training camp here in Texas with a trainer named Vasquez, who coached Watson up until last year. If there’s anyone who can give me an edge on how to beat Watson, it’s his former trainer.”

  “When would you go?”

  Deacon framed her face in his hands. “That’s the thing. I wouldn’t go back to Denver with you. I’d go to Laredo.”

  “Until the fight?”

  “Would you have a problem with that?”

  He watched her struggle with how to answer. “Just that I’ll miss you.”

  “You could come with me.”

  “Since I’ve been jet-setting to LA and Texas, I think you’ve forgotten I have a job. We’re gearing up to start three new major campaigns. I keep expecting my phone to ring when Amery actually looks at the schedule.”

  “This is the sucky part of life with a fighter, Molly. There will be times—”

  She pressed her lips to his. “I know. I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.”

  “Let’s go upstairs. Sounds like I left you wanting this morning. I have an hour, two positions, and three orgasms to make up for.”

  • • •

  MOLLY didn’t like that Deacon had sprung another surprise on her.

  Within a few minutes of their arrival at Barclay Country Club, Bing had whisked his son off, leaving her in a banquet room with strangers. Deacon’s mother hadn’t come over to say hello, even when she knew Molly wouldn’t know anyone.

  People looked at her curiously but didn’t offer a smile in greeting.

  Fuck it. She smiled at them anyway.

  The finger-food buffet didn’t look appetizing, so she opted to drink her dinner. At the bar, she ordered a shot of tequila and downed it. Then she ordered a rum and Diet Coke. Drink in hand, she looked around the space, trying not to feel like the unpopular girl in the junior high lunchroom, desperate for a place to sit.

  Face it. Life is like that. No matter how old you get.

  Thankfully, the room had windows. So Molly was able to focus her attention outward, as if she’d never seen such an impressive expanse of green for a golf course.

  Her thoughts bounced all over the place, but they always returned to her man. How he was faring since he hated this kind of social situation.

  You sure he hates it? He seemed pretty damn comfortable with it.

  No. Molly knew he’d rather be anywhere than here.

  A feeling she was very familiar with. Especially right now.

  After an hour passed, she wondered if Deacon would notice her absence if she hailed a cab and returned to the hotel.

  Tempting to try it.

  Needing a change of scenery, Molly slipped out the serving staff’s door. But she kept her cell phone in hand, in case she had to fake taking an important call.

  Once she’d stepped into the nearly deserted hallway, she could breathe normally again. She tucked her phone into her skirt pocket and turned in the direction opposite the main entrance. Since she seemed to have all the time in the world, she peeked in the windows of the other private banquet rooms. Some were occupied and some were not. Luckily, she’d checked the name of the room she’d just left or else she might’ve gotten lost. All the faces were unfamiliar, so she wouldn’t have known if she’d stumbled into the wrong party room.

  It freaked her out that the people in the rooms looked exactly the same. Women smartly dressed, makeup understated—she knew it took a ton of effort and concealer to pull off the “natural” look. The men were in sport coats, beneath that, candy-colored polo shirts that didn’t look good on any man, let alone the senior set.

  Deacon had grudgingly dressed in clothing other than jeans and a T-shirt. Several pairs of appreciative female eyes had checked him out when they’d walked in. He had epitomized cool, suave, and