by Megan Hart
"Doesn't know what?" Deacon's grip wasn't painful, but it was tight. If she tugged, he might let her go, but Lisa stayed where she was. "That we dated? Or that we were going back to my house to make love for the first time that night?"
"He doesn't know that." She could smell him, the light scent of soap and musk. Of sexual attraction. She felt her own tongue sweep her lips and was rewarded by the sight of his gaze riveted on her mouth. "I never told him. He knows we dated, yes, but he thinks it was just casual. That we only went out a few times. That...that I didn't like you very much."
"And is that true?" Deacon asked.
"No," Lisa replied.
"No?"
She wanted to answer him. Wanted to tell him the truth. She had never told him that she loved him. To tell him now, three years after her love had been snuffed out like a flame in the wind, would be foolish. More than foolish, idiotic. If she hadn't told him when she'd been willing to give him her body, why on earth would she do so now?
So, instead, she just repeated her answer. "No."
"And now?"
Thinking of Terry had broken the spell. Lisa pulled away and Deacon let her go. She bent to the soggy paper bag and tossed it into the trash pail.
"There is no now," she said. "Whatever we had ended three years ago. I need to get back to the office."
Without waiting to see if he'd join her, Lisa turned and went back to her car.
* * * *
Having Lisa avoid him was worse than having her jump when he spoke to her, but having to watch her get pawed by that blue-suited monkey made Deacon want to puke. If turning around and walking the other way wouldn't have been so obvious, he'd have done it. Instead, he was stuck trying to squeeze past them into the tiny lunch room.
"Hey, Campbell," Hewitt said, with a grin the size of Montana. He draped his arm across Lisa's shoulders, rubbing the bare skin with his fingers.
"Terry," Deacon said with a nod. He headed for the pop machine, jingling the coins in his pocket. With any luck, they'd be gone by the time he finished microwaving his leftover meatloaf.
He heard the scrape of chairs on the linoleum floor. So much for them leaving. Deacon grabbed the can of pop out of the machine and popped the button on the microwave. He could put his plastic food container inside and manipulate all the buttons without turning around, but he couldn't stay facing the wall forever.
Since their last conversation at the park, the only communication he'd had with Lisa was through inter-office memo, email and an occasional voice mail message which she was always certain to leave after she knew he'd gone for the day. Three weeks was a long time for partners on a project to go without physically seeing each other, especially in a work area as close as The Garden Shadd. In fact, he wasn't quite certain how Lisa had managed it, except with perseverance and dogged stubbornness. She was deliberately avoiding him without compromising the project.
"Here, babe," he heard Hewitt say. Lisa murmured something in reply, and Terry laughed. "So? We'll ask him to join us."
Bastard. Deacon gritted his teeth, knowing Hewitt had it in for him. The microwave dinged and he pulled out the steaming meatloaf, then slipped in the small container of mashed potatoes. One more task to keep him busy while they talked about him behind his back. Of course, he could turn around and they could talk about him to his face, but that wasn't an attractive option.
For the past three weeks, he'd had a lot of time to think. Knowing Lisa was in the same building, even if he never saw her, meant a lot of his thinking was about her. It was a waste of time. She'd made her feelings, or lack of them, clear enough. Surprisingly, Deacon found accepting what they'd had was in the past also left him with one other feeling toward her–forgiveness.
"So, Campbell," Hewitt said, loudly enough Deacon couldn't pretend not to hear him even over the noisy microwave. "What's for lunch today?"
"Meatloaf," Deacon said, turning just enough to show the other man the container. "And mashed potatoes."
"Sounds great," Lisa's boyfriend said with false heartiness. "You must be quite a cook."
Deacon could see where this was going, all right. "My mom made it."
"Your mom?" Hewitt's voice sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Oh, that's right. You still live at home."
Like he was some adolescent boy, Deacon thought, his annoyance growing. "Yeah. For now. Mom likes the company."
"Sure," Hewitt said.
At last the food was hot, and Deacon had no more excuses for not facing them. He gathered his lunch and headed for the door. Hewitt stopped him with an invitation.
"There's plenty of room here," Hewitt said, indicating the table. "I'm sure Lisa wouldn't mind sharing."
Lisa gave Hewitt a glare of such heat and magnitude Deacon was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it. Hewitt, though, seemed too dense to know when he was treading on thin ice with her. Deacon hoped the man found the games he was playing with Deacon worth the price he'd have to pay with Lisa.
"Not at all," Lisa said, her eyes flashing. "Deacon, sit down."
It wasn't a request. It was a command. Deacon sat, bemused, his anger toward Hewitt turning into pity. The man had no clue. It didn't make watching him touch Lisa any easier to stomach, but at least Deacon might have the chance to see her cut the other man down. If she got angry enough, and if Terry kept picking at her, she was going to blow up.
Hewitt popped open a clear container of strawberries and laid them out on a paper plate. He picked one up and offered it to Lisa, who reached to take it. Hewitt shook his head and popped it into her mouth for her.
Lisa's cheeks turned nearly the same color as the fruit. "Thank you," she said in a strangled voice.
"How's the new project coming along?" Hewitt asked. "Lisa tells me the children's garden is going to be great. She says your designs are perfect."
Ah. So Hewitt is jealous. Deacon gave Lisa a glance, but she was concentrating on her salad. She'd said his designs were perfect? "Without Lisa's input, the garden wouldn't be half as good."
She looked up at him. "But it's Deacon's idea for the water garden and interactive fountain that'll really make it something spectacular."
Now Hewitt was looking from Deacon to Lisa and he didn't look happy. Apparently, Officer Friendly didn't like not being in control of the situation. "Yeah?"
"It's pretty amazing how much you can accomplish on paper," Deacon said. "Lisa's great about leaving a paper trail. Heck, I don't think I've actually seen her in three weeks, but she keeps coming up with fantastic ideas."
She had the good grace to blush again. "Sometimes it's easier for partners to work together if they're not breathing down each other's necks."
Deacon sat back in his chair. "Eventually what's on the paper has to go in the ground."
She forked her salad, but didn't bite it. "Then the project will be over, and we can put it in the past. We'll never have to think about it again."
"Are you kidding?" Deacon asked her. "We'll think about it every time we see it. It'll never be in the past."
"Once something is over, it's over," Lisa said firmly, stabbing at her lunch again.
Her boyfriend kept looking at her, then Deacon. He might not be the brightest crayon in the box when it came to Lisa's moods, Deacon thought, but he was smart enough to see the conversation was about more than just the children's garden. Terry's face darkened into a scowl.
"Just because something ended," Deacon said quietly, "doesn't mean you can't ever think about it again."
Her fork clattered against the side of her bowl. This time Lisa managed to get the food into her mouth. She chewed furiously.
"Sometimes thinking too much about the past means you don't spend enough time thinking about the future." Hewitt was good at sounding menacing, but Deacon wasn't scared.
Was the man talking to him or to Lisa? Lisa seemed to think the words were directed at her because she swallowed heavily. She took a drink before answering, a tactic even Deacon could see was meant to delay her
reply.
"And sometimes," she said darkly, "people get so caught up with worrying about the future, they don't bother to appreciate the present!"
It was like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone or some French farce. Nobody was saying what they really meant, yet they were all talking about the same thing. The weirdness of it all made Deacon want to laugh.
"Yeah," he said around a mouthful of meatloaf. "Sometimes you have one of those projects that just feels right, you know? And other times, no matter how much you work at it, the damn thing won't come together."
Now Lisa and Hewitt both glared at him. The temperature in the lunch room seemed to rise a few degrees. Deacon just grinned.
"Sometimes you appreciate things more if you have to work harder at them," Hewitt's voice was ice.
Deacon couldn't stop the cocky grin from spreading across his face. "Sometimes. Myself, I prefer the easier way." He pinned Lisa with his gaze. "I like spreading the butter when it's already soft. Hard chunks of butter just tear up the bread. How about you, Lisa? Which way do you like it better?"
She put her fork down and wiped her mouth. "I don't use butter."
"Oh." Deacon shrugged. Then he clapped his hands against his knees. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to work. I'll look for your next email, Lisa. See you later, Terry."
He really did feel badly for the guy who obviously was in love with Lisa. Deacon knew that feeling. It made a man do crazy things. Like their entire conversation just now.
"Do...do you think you'll be working on a lot of projects when you're done with this one?" Hewitt asked, trying to sound casual and failing.
Deacon shrugged. "We make a good team."
His statement hung in the air like smoke. At least, the words made Hewitt cough like he'd inhaled a lungful of something foul. Deacon ignored him, watching Lisa. She set down her fork and nodded.
"Yes," she said. "We do."
Now Hewitt looked panicked and annoyed all at the same time. The game was slipping out of his hands. "Can't wait to see it finished," he said lamely.
"We should meet after lunch," Deacon told her. "To go over the rest of the plans."
Lisa nodded again. Her cheeks were still pink, but she smiled at him. "Yes. My office?"
Deacon gathered his food and drink and got up from the table. "I'll see you then."
He winked at Hewitt as he left.
* * * *
Allegra twirled around on Lisa's chair. "Have a nice lunch?"
"It was fine, thank you." Even now, Lisa wasn't quite sure what had happened. One minute she was furious with Deacon for his underhanded, out-of-thin-air conversation; the next she was actually forgiving him. After adding Terry's none too subtle comments to the mix, and she felt a lot like she'd just been wacked on the head with a big piece of wood.
"How's Ter-Bear?"
"His name's Terry," Lisa said, in no mood for Allegra's cute games. "Or Terrence. Or Officer Hewitt."
"Is that what you call him when you're doing it?" Allegra asked with a snort that indicated she already knew the answer. "Does he whip out his handcuffs? Does he strip search you?"
"Do you have any sense of decency at all?" Lisa cried. "For God's sake, Allegra, that's none of your business! What is the matter with you?"
Allegra got out of Lisa's chair and minced over to the filing cabinet. "He's that bad in the sack, huh?"
"Allegra!" Lisa tossed her purse on top of the printer table and slid into her chair. Then she started to laugh. The chuckle turned into a full-out guffaw that had tears streaming from her eyes.
The truth was, she'd never been "in the sack" with Terry. The farthest they'd gone was a few listless kisses and some hand-holding. Terry was always a complete gentleman and that was something Lisa appreciated. Thus far, she'd found it easy to ignore the look he had sometimes at the end of their dates. The look that meant he was willing to go further if she was. She wasn't.
"You're a freak," Allegra said, though not unkindly. "A sex-starved freak."
"Oh, Al." Lisa wiped her eyes.
"I knew it!" Allegra banged her hand on the filing cabinet. "You and him are scrogging like monkeys! Admit it, Lisa. You and the Ter-meister have been getting it on. I can't believe you wouldn't tell me, your only sister!"
Lisa was laughing so hard she couldn't speak. Did Al really believe she and Terry were involved in a mad, passionate affair? On the rare occasions they were at Lisa's house, Allegra was invariably underfoot. When did she think they had time?
"I can't believe you," Allegra muttered, and Lisa saw her younger sister was truly upset.
"Oh, Al," she repeated, but the sound of a throat clearing from the doorway stopped her from saying more.
Deacon. She'd forgotten all about him. How much of the conversation had he heard? By the stony look on his face, Lisa guessed he'd heard enough. She quickly sobered. Now they both thought she and Terry were a pair of sex-crazed weasels. Why did Allegra thinking that make Lisa laugh, but Deacon thinking it made her want to deny it out loud?
"C'mon in." Incredibly, Allegra walked over to the door and kissed the air by both his cheeks. She made a face at Lisa over her shoulder, then left.
Deacon peered after her. "That was weird."
"My sister is weird," Lisa said.
Now they were back to being uncomfortable. It wouldn't help to tell him she and Terry weren't even having sex, much less doing it with handcuffs. And it wasn't any of his business anyway.
"I brought the latest design sketches and the plant suggestions," Deacon said finally. He set down a pile of papers on top of the printer table. "And I have them on disk."
Lisa pushed the smaller office chair toward him and he sat next to her in front of the computer. She could smell him. Not cologne. Her face heated as she thought about sex. Not with Terry. With Deacon.
"Let's take a look." She barely recognized her own voice.
"Should I just slip it in?"
Lisa nearly groaned. The disk, she told herself. He meant the damn disk! "Sure."
He did, and a few brief clicks of the mouse brought up the plans. She'd seen them before, but with Deacon sitting so close to her and thoughts of bodies intertwining filling her mind, Lisa couldn't concentrate on the project at all.
"I thought sunflowers would be great right here." Deacon leaned across her to point at the screen.
His elbow grazed the side of her breast and Lisa shivered. "Delicious! I mean, delightful."
He pulled away to look at her. "Are you all right?"
She could not go on like this. Lisa decided to plunge into the truth. "Not really."
His look of concern was incredibly genuine. "What's wrong?"
"Deacon," she began and couldn't continue. She sighed. "I'm not really sure what to say."
"Uh-huh." He sat back, looking suddenly and impossibly huge in the tiny chair.
"About lunch today," she said.
"Uh-huh?"
He wasn't making things any easier. Lisa took a deep, deep breath and blew it out making her bangs wave. "Were we talking about the same thing?"
"I don't know," Deacon said with a lazy grin that made her heart pound. "What were you talking about?"
As much as his flirting made her palms sweat, Lisa couldn't afford to keep getting swept away by unexpected erotic feelings. It was interfering with her job and her relationship, such as it was, with Terry. She and Deacon had to clear the air between them. Right now.
"Us," she answered him firmly.
Maybe he'd been expecting some more double talk because her frank answer seemed to set him back. "I thought there wasn't any us."
"There isn't any us," she corrected his tense. "But there was. And we can't keep pretending it didn't matter."
Deacon crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a look so stern it almost made her change her mind. "Did it?"
"Yes." Admitting it finally was like having an entire circus' worth of elephants lifted from her chest. "It meant very much to me."
She pushed her chair slowly back so it rolled farther away from him. She needed a clear head. "I have to talk about this. It's been eating away at me for three years."
He nodded slowly as though he understood. But he didn't speak. Lisa nearly froze again beneath the weight of his gaze, but she forced herself to continue.
"That night changed my entire life."
"No kidding," Deacon said wryly. "Mine, too."
She was relieved that instead of anger he was choosing to react with humor. "I wanted it to change my life. I was expecting it to change my life. I just thought, given the circumstances, it would be a change for the better and not for the worse."
"Your life seems pretty good," Deacon told her.
Lisa pinned him with a heavy gaze of her own. "I'm not complaining about my life. But I want you to know that the decisions I made three years ago were not made lightly. Not the decision to make love to you, and not the one to testify as I did either."
"I know." Deacon ran his hands through his hair, rumpling it.
"I can't take back that second choice," she continued. "I can't change the past three years. But I had to tell you that in all this time, I've never stopped wondering what that night would've been like."
"Me neither."
The admission hovered between them. Where would it go from here? The possibilities seemed endless.
"There's something else I've always wondered," Deacon said. "If you trusted me enough to go to bed with me, why couldn't you trust me enough to believe me when I said I wasn't the thief?"
She didn't know how to answer that. His question was valid. It was a question she'd asked herself a thousand times since that night. And she still had no answer.
"My eyes told me it was you," she said.
"And what about your heart?" he asked softly. He reached out and pressed his palm flat against her chest. The gesture was sexual in only the faintest and most distant of ways.
She started to protest, and he took his hand from her heart to place his fingers across her lips. "What about your heart, Lisa?" he asked her again.