Deacon (Starkis Family #1)

by Cheryl Douglas

  I’d been the one preaching about trust, and I was the one who’d given him reason to doubt me. “Tell me what I can do—”

  “I did. Now do it. I won’t ask you again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Deacon

  I heard the shower turn off upstairs as I fixated on the flames dancing in front of me. I’d never thought I could feel pain like that at a woman’s hands. Watching her kiss another man, watching him put his hands on her, and knowing I was helpless to stop it had nearly sent me over the edge.

  I’d been drinking ever since Barry emailed me the video he’d shot with his cell phone, but I still felt sober. The alcohol wasn’t doing its job. It wasn’t masking the pain. The only thing that could help was sinking into her hot body. Making her cry my name. Hearing her tell me she loved me. Making her beg for my forgiveness.

  I heard soft footsteps on the hardwood behind me before the sound became muted by the Persian rug. I didn’t turn to face her. I couldn’t. My emotions were still so close to the surface. I didn’t know what I might say or do if she uttered the wrong word or tried to leave me again. I hated feeling so out of control. Somehow, some way, I had to rein it back in.

  “The clothes,” she whispered, holding out the pile.

  I turned slowly and took them without allowing my skin to brush hers. At the fireplace, I opened the screen and tossed them in. I stoked the flame with the poker as I watched the dress I despised turn to ash. She’d looked gorgeous in it, and I knew she must have caught the attention of every man in the club.

  “The shoes,” she said, looking toward the front entrance.

  “I disposed of those.”

  “Deacon, those were Gucci. Couldn’t you—”

  “I’ll write you a check to cover your loss!” My voice echoed off the high ceilings, making her jump back in surprise.

  “I have nothing to wear home,” she said, sounding meeker than before.

  “You’re not going home, at least not tonight.”

  “I’m not?” She waited, obviously expecting me to fill her in on what I had planned.

  “Did you do as I asked?” I knew it would take more than a little mouthwash and toothpaste to wash another man’s taste out of her mouth though.

  “Yes.”

  “Upstairs.” Curling my hand into a fist, I pointed at the winding staircase with the other. “Now!”

  She scrambled up the stairs, and I followed her. I watched her cross the hall to the master bedroom while I took a moment to collect myself.

  I found her sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. Her eyes darted up to meet mine when I closed and locked the door. Locking the door was a signal to her that there was no escape. She was stuck with me until I chose to let her go.

  “Deacon…” She scrambled back on the bed. “You’re scaring me.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, forcing the words past my lips. “You cheated on me. No one has ever cheated on me.” Mainly because I’d never been stupid enough to let a woman get so close to me. I’d never been so vulnerable before.

  “I said I’m sorry. I was upset about—”

  “Stop talking.” I tore my clothes off as I walked toward the bed. I snapped my belt in my hand, making her tremble.

  “Deacon, please. Don’t—”

  All I had ever wanted was to love her—to shower her with love, attention, affection, and the spoils she deserved. The only thing I had asked for in return was fidelity—the one thing she apparently couldn’t give me. My mind told me it was only a kiss, but the predatory beast in me told me it would have led to more had Barry not been there to intervene.

  “Stand up and bend over the bed. Now!”

  “No!”

  “Then you’re free to go.”

  She looked at me, her eyes wide and frantic. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s over between us. I never want to see you again.” Saying those words, calling her bluff, was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I refused to let her think complacency in trust and fidelity was an option. If she was going to be my wife, the mother of my children, she had to understand she was mine.

  “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, looking stunned. “You can’t. You said you loved me.”

  “You claimed to love me,” I said, reaching for my shirt on the floor. “But you stuck your tongue down another man’s throat tonight. Is that how you prove your love to me?”

  She dropped her head. “I’m sorry. I was jealous. Hearing about you with other women, believing you’d lied to me was torture. I reacted without thinking.”

  It tore out my heart to see the tears on her cheeks, the misery in her eyes. I knew she was remorseful, but it wasn’t enough. I needed her to know it could never happen again. “You have a choice, Mia: do as I ask or leave.”

  “I don’t have any clothes.”

  So that was her choice. She wanted to leave. My gut twisted painfully as I reached into a drawer and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts with a drawstring waist and a T-shirt. I was desperate for her to stay, for her to prove that she wanted to make this work in spite of what had happened tonight, but she had to stay because she wanted to, not because she felt she had to.

  “This means I’m fired?”

  That was what she was thinking about—her job?

  I walked to the French doors leading to the balcony and threw them open, needing some fresh air. “No, you’re not fired. Leave. Now.”

  “I don’t want to,” she sobbed. “Please, Deacon, I’m sorry. So sorry. I love you. Can’t we work this out?”

  I turned to face her. She was kneeling, her damp hair tousled, and looking every bit the cover girl she was. She was telling me she loved me, begging for forgiveness, and every part of me wanted to forgive her, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

  “You have two choices: do as I ask or leave.”

  “Fine.” She sounded bitter and resentful. “Fine, you want to beat me with that belt? Do it!” She leaned over the bed, turning her perfect, round ass up, her head falling forward as her hair masked her face.

  I heard the fear in her voice, and it triggered something in me—empathy. I walked to the bed and grabbed her arm. The depth of pain in her eyes stunned me. “I wasn’t going to hit you with the belt.”

  She collapsed against my chest, sobbing. “I’d heard you were… into that stuff.” She was sobbing uncontrollably, barely able to catch her breath. “I used to get punished with a belt. I was so scared. It hurt so much. I couldn’t stop it. I tried, but no matter how hard I cried, he wouldn’t stop. He said I had to be punished, that—”

  “Sssh.” I kissed the top of her head as my arms encircled her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you.” I’d wanted to take her hard and fast to remind her that she belonged to me, but I had no desire to cause her physical pain. The fact that I’d triggered painful memories made me wish I were a different kind of man, more reasonable, more understanding. “Your father did this to you?”

  She nodded, barely able to look at me. “My mother said it wasn’t her place to intervene.” She wrapped her arms around my waist, laying her head on my chest. “How could it not have been her place to protect her own child?”

  “It’s my job to protect you now,” I whispered as I tipped her face up to meet mine. “Can’t you see that’s why I was so angry tonight? You walked into that bar, wearing that dress and those shoes, capturing the attention of every man in the place, drinking recklessly, getting mixed up with some asshole you didn’t know—”

  “I’m so sorry.” She stood on her tippy toes to kiss my lips. “I made a mistake. It was a bad judgment call, but please, don’t break up with me because of it. I need you. I love you.” She rested her hands against my chest. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. It scares me, but it’s exciting at the same time.”

  “I have no intention of ending this.” If I had let her leave, I feared I would have been on the phone or sitting outside of her apartment
building before daybreak. She had crawled under my skin. She was a part of me. “But we have to set some ground rules about acceptable behavior.” I eased her back on the bed, lying beside her.

  “I know what happened tonight shouldn’t have happened,” she said, curling into me as soon as I lay down.

  “It wasn’t just the kiss, though that was certainly the thing that infuriated me the most.” I tightened my grip on her. “It was everything from your choice of attire to the drinking to dancing with strange men. I’m not okay with any of it.”

  She smiled as she tipped her head back to look at me. “You’re being overprotective.”

  “No, I’m not.” My anger was starting to dissipate, and I wanted to have an open and honest conversation with her, but it wasn’t easy when she dismissed my concerns. “You’re a target—not only because you’re a beautiful woman but because you’re a lingerie and swimsuit model. Men become obsessed with girls like you.”

  “Kind of like you did?” she asked, tracing a fingertip over my stomach.

  I gripped her hand. “That’s not funny. I’m serious. A guy sees you in a club, recognizes you, and becomes infatuated. He wants to take you home, to take you to bed, and he won’t let anything or anyone stop him. That could have easily happened tonight if Barry hadn’t been there to protect you.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She kissed my chest. “I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. I just wanted to go out and have a little fun—”

  “You can’t have fun like that anymore. Not only because you’re my girlfriend but because of who you are. Your face is easily recognizable now.”

  She sighed softly. “Okay, I understand. I’ll be more careful from now on.” She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Deacon, do you…”

  I could tell something was troubling her. “Do I what?” I propped my head in my hand as I rolled over to face her.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to give up that lifestyle? I mean, do you think it’s realistic for you?”

  “You’re asking me if I intend to cheat on you?” I asked, placing my hand on her flat stomach. “No. The answer is no.”

  “But you could have any woman you want.” A tear glided down her cheek into her hairline. “And I just wonder whether we’re sexually compatible. Maybe you’d be better suited to someone more adventurous. I haven’t experimented very much. I’ve only had one lover, and sex for me has always been pretty… vanilla.” The shadows on her beautiful face told me how difficult it was for her to admit that.

  I kissed away her tears, my anger melting at her display of vulnerability. “I love that you haven’t slept around. Sex means something to you, as it should. It’s something that should be reserved for someone special, someone you love.” I smirked when she quirked an eyebrow at me. “Obviously I haven’t practiced what I’m preaching, but I knew when the time came and I was ready to settle down that I wouldn’t want to marry one of those girls.”

  “Those girls?” she asked, lacing her hand with mine. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” I did know, but I couldn’t find the words to express it without sounding like a hypocrite. “There are girls you have fun with and girls you marry. Girls like Mel and Christie fall into the former category. You fall into the latter.”

  “If I had been promiscuous, you wouldn’t have been interested in me?”

  “Probably not.” I chuckled. “I realize how bad that sounds, but I’m kind of old-fashioned, I guess. I want my woman to be… I don’t know, innocent.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Innocent? Come on.”

  I laughed, kissing the top of her head. “Okay, maybe that’s not the right choice of words. I just want to know she hasn’t slept with every man who’s asked.”

  She slapped my chest. Hard. “If I were you, I’d quit while I was ahead!”

  “You’re right.” I loved that she challenged me when most would concede defeat. I admired strong women, which meant we had to clear up her misconceptions about me. “You asked me before if I was a Dom. Is that why you thought I was going to spank you or use the belt to punish you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, indicating she’d rather not acknowledge her fears.

  I knew we had to clear the air. “I won’t deny I like being in control. But when I ask you to refrain from doing the things you did tonight—dressing like that, drinking too much, dancing with random men—it’s not because I’m trying to control you. It’s because I’m trying to protect you because I love you. You see the difference, don’t you?”

  “I do now.”

  “When we’re in the bedroom and I ask you to do something, it’s because I want to maximize your pleasure. I will push you out of your comfort zone sometimes, ask you to do things in the name of experimentation that you’ve never done, but I’ll never insist you do anything you don’t want to do. You can always say no. You know that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” I tipped her head up so I could kiss her lips. “I don’t want a submissive woman. I want a strong, sexy lover who can give as good as she gets, a partner who isn’t afraid to challenge me and let me have it when I deserve it.”

  Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that.”

  “Having said that…” I tried to choose my words carefully, wanting to avoid any confusion. “I will expect certain things from you.”

  “What kind of things?” she asked, sounding hesitant.

  “What happened tonight can never happen again.”

  She cringed before burrowing deeper into my arms. “It won’t. I swear.”

  “When I ask you not to go somewhere I consider dangerous or wear something I consider too risqué, I’ll ask that you respect my wishes.”

  She sat up, her mouth hanging open. “You’re the king of sexy clothes! Just look at any of the Alabaster’s catalogues. Women wear those clothes with one intent: to look and feel sexy! Now you’re telling me you don’t want me to dress that way? That’s ridiculous!”

  She had a valid point. Women loved our clothes because they were risqué. They were perfect for a night on the town, but I didn’t want my woman parading around town looking as though she was on the prowl.

  “Our clothes appeal to a certain demographic,” I said, trying a different approach. “Single women who are looking to attract the opposite sex.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got news for you, Deacon. Even married women wear lingerie and bikinis.”

  “You’re right, and you’re more than welcome to wear lingerie for me or a bikini when I’m walking beside you on the beach, holding your hand.” I knew that would be a deal-breaker for many women, but I refused to let this point of contention destroy us. “I’ll gladly hire a stylist who can help you find clothes you love…” I cleared my throat. “That we both love.”

  “Let me get this straight.” She leaned forward as she used one hand to keep her thick waves off her face. “You want to take me shopping and approve my wardrobe choices?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s over the top, even for you.”

  “In my business, I have to attend a lot of events, even when I don’t want to,” I said, trying to explain my position without offending her. I’d never worked so hard to placate a woman. “Naturally, I’ll want you to accompany me. There are certain expectations at these galas. There’s a uniform, if you will. Women are expected to wear elegant evening gowns. Trashy cocktail dresses aren’t an option.” I winced when I realized how judgmental that sounded.

  “Trashy?” She sounded embarrassed. “You mean like the dress I wore tonight? I’ll have you know that wasn’t some cheap—”

  “I’m not implying it was. This isn’t about the price tag. It’s about the message it conveys. That dress screamed available, and you’re not. Can’t you see a problem with that?”

  “I suppose,” she said reluctantly, laying her head back on my shoulder.

&n
bsp; “Good. Then you’ll let me take you shopping?”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” she muttered.

  I laughed. “You always have a choice, sweetheart.” I brushed my hand through her silky hair. “You don’t have to act like it’s such an imposition. Most women would be thrilled their rich boyfriend was offering to take them on a shopping spree.”

  “I don’t want this relationship to be about money,” she said quietly. “I get that you’re rich, that you can buy anything you want, but I’m not for sale.”

  “Is that what you think?” I lifted her head until she was forced to look me in the eye. “That I’m doing all of this because I’m trying to impress you, to buy your love and affection?”

  “It’s not uncommon for rich older men to shower their young girlfriends with expensive gifts to keep them interested, is it?”

  “Ouch.” I grimaced. “I’m not that old, and I know I don’t have to buy you gifts to keep you interested. I know I’m man enough to keep any woman interested without the accoutrements.”

  “That you are,” she said, grinning. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. On this one point, I’ll concede. We’ll shop ‘til we find me a Deacon-approved wardrobe.”

  “There’s one more thing,” I said, knowing I was probably pushing my luck.

  “What’s that?”

  “Let’s talk about where all these new clothes will be delivered.”

  I heard the sharp intake of breath before she said, “They’ll be delivered to my apartment, of course.”

  “Theia, I want you to move in with me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mia

  After the night we’d had, I didn’t want to argue anymore, but I wasn’t ready to live with him. If my experience with Drew had taught me one thing, it was that living with a man changed the dynamic of the relationship. They went from being caring, attentive boyfriends to little boys who expected you to tend to their every need, from picking up their dirty underwear off the floor to cooking their meals and packing their lunches. Of course, Deacon had a staff to do those things for him, but he obviously had other expectations of me. Besides, I was looking forward to living on my own and being independent. If I got lonely, I could always take Eleni up on her offer to be roommates, but for the time being, I was content with things as they were.