I again got nothing out.
He moved into me and I was forced to move back.
The thing was, he kept moving. He didn’t stop, grunt something, and hand me my key then exit the premises immediately (this being what I imagined Deacon’s form of good-bye would be).
I turned to watch him move and saw he had a brown paper bag, the top rolled over and clenched in his fist, and he was heading to my kitchen.
Stunned silent by this, I closed the door and followed him.
I stopped two feet into my kitchen to see him at the table, the table where he’d fucked me.
Seeing him standing there, the sun coming in the windows subdued by the trees around my house, and doing it like he’d done it thousands of times before, I remained stunned silent.
So did he (though without the stunned part) but he didn’t do it immobile. He was unrolling the top of the bag he’d put on my table.
I watched him wondering what was going on.
Did he buy groceries?
His head turned slightly, not fully, so it was really just his eyes that slid to me.
“Cassidy. Here.”
Here?
Was he summoning me?
I was too dazed by what was happening to retort. Instead, my feet moved slowly and I went there. I stopped two feet away. He was reaching into the bag.
He came out with a black can that looked like insect repellant but with a much bigger trigger.
“Pepper spray,” he stated and my eyes shot to his. “Keep it somewhere out of the way but somewhere you can get to it. Shake it to make it live. Aim. Shoot. Do not do that in an enclosed space or against the wind. It will not incapacitate somebody but it will slow them down. Shoot it, get the fuck away.”
I stared at him but he didn’t stare at me. I heard the can hit the table and he was back to digging in the bag.
My eyes drifted down and I saw him come out with three smaller canisters that were silver with black tops. He lined them up on the table by the big black can.
“Same thing,” he stated and I looked back to him. “Smaller. One for your nightstand. One for your purse. One for somewhere around the house. These expire in a year. When they do, dispose of them carefully and replace them.”
“I…uh…” I stammered. “Okay.”
He dipped his chin sharply to acknowledge my agreement and went back to the bag.
He came out with a box.
“Taser,” he said. “Keep it charged. Keep it in easy reach but also out of the way. Two prongs will release, both will give a jolt but if only one reaches your target, it might take him down but it won’t take him out. You get him, keep your finger on the trigger three seconds then drop the gun and haul ass.”
I said not a word as he tossed the box to the table, went back to the bag, and came out with another box, holding it up like the last one and turning again to me.
“Stun gun. Taser won’t do long range but you got range. A few feet. This is short range. By that I mean, the guy’s close enough to reach. Activate it and touch it to him, again, three seconds. This will take him down. Then you go. You have a situation, you take the spray, the stun gun, the Taser, and your phone. Your phone is most important. When you slow them down or incapacitate them, you haul ass back to the house and you do it calling the police.”
“Right,” I whispered, not entirely clear on what was happening except for the fact Deacon really, really wanted me to be prepared should another situation happen at my cabins.
I didn’t have a chance to share with him that in six years, I’d only had two and only one of them I was involved in (and I would never share with him that that didn’t mean I didn’t have annoying, loud, rude, or dishonest people who attempted a variety of scenarios to bamboozle me).
I didn’t have this chance when he tossed the stun gun box on the table, his hand shot out and wrapped tight around mine.
I also didn’t have the chance to process the feel of his big mitt wrapped around my hand, as in, how marvelous it felt. This was due to the fact I was following him out of the kitchen mostly because he was dragging me.
We went right to the study, right to my computer where he stopped us and let me go. He then shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a scrap piece of paper. He smoothed it out perfunctorily and tossed it on my desk as he rolled my chair out of the way and leaned over my PC.
I watched with some fascination as he pulled up my web browser and started typing.
Not surprisingly, he typed by jabbing just his two beefy forefingers on the keys.
What was surprising was that this wasn’t hunt and peck. He went fast.
He hit enter and straightened.
“Called them,” he declared, pointing toward the computer screen. “Closest breeder that’s got a litter coming. Expected about two weeks until delivery, you gotta wait six weeks after that. They had three people who already put a deposit down but I convinced them to give you first pick. Tomorrow, we drive out there and give them what I promised in order to convince them to let you have that.”
I blinked at the website that was for a breeder of German Shepherds, Deacon’s words blasting through me because he said we had to drive out tomorrow to put a deposit down on a dog.
And the part of that that blasted hardest was the word we.
Okay…
What was happening?
Stiltedly, my gaze lifted to his and he continued to shock me by continuing to speak.
“Thought about a Rottie or a Doberman. Your business, you don’t need a dog around that’ll freak the clientele. They’re great dogs, great company, but might not be good for business. Shepherds are loyal, protective, but also friendly and less threatening. So you’re getting a Shepherd. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter, both are strong, smart, and affectionate and both can be fierce. If you need to find someone to look after the place tomorrow, find them. The breeders are seventy-five miles away, country roads, it’ll take time.”
I opened my mouth and shut it.
I opened it again and shut it.
I looked down at the website, taking in a big picture on the home page of a gaggle of utterly adorable German Shepherd puppies that I wanted to scoop up and cuddle. All five of them. At the same time.
I looked back to Deacon, opened my mouth again, and asked, “What’s happening?”
His brows drew together (slightly) and he stated, “I’m gettin’ you a dog.”
I shook my head and repeated, “What’s happening?”
Something shifted across his face so fast I didn’t catch it before he declared, “We’ve changed.”
He said no more.
So I pushed, “How have we changed?”
“Don’t know. Reckon we’ll find out.”
Was he crazy?
“You don’t know? You reckon we’ll just find out?”
“That’s what I said.”
My voice was pitching higher when I asked, “What does that mean?”
“After last night, we changed,” he responded immediately. “And that change can go two ways. Either I drive away and we never see each other again or I don’t and we find out what that change is gonna mean. Read down to your bones, woman, and do it now. Which way do you want that change to be?”
I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn’t blurt out which way I wanted that change to be.
That being him never driving away so I wouldn’t see him again and we find out what it was going to be.
Then he again threw me when he asked suddenly, “How many men have you had?”
“What?” I breathed.
“How many men have you taken?”
I knew what he meant but I asked for clarification anyway.
“You mean lovers?”
“Yep,” he confirmed indifferently.
“I…you…uh…” I stammered then got myself together. “Why are you asking?”
“Just answer.”
I straightened my shoulders and asked, “How many women have you had?”
&n
bsp; “Thirty-eight.”
I blinked.
“Back at me,” he ordered.
“Five,” I whispered.
He nodded like he already knew the answer. “Right. Five. Just five. That means a woman like you would not spread your legs for a man like me if she didn’t want the cock she was taking. By that I mean a woman like you would not spread her legs for a man like me if she didn’t want to find out what bein’ with that man might mean. And you spread your legs for me.”
My eyes dropped to his throat as I muttered, “Actually, you kind of were the one doing the spreading.”
“You didn’t fight me.”
I looked back at him and agreed softly, “No.”
“So, down to your bones, Cassidy, which way do you want that change to be?”
I backtracked necessarily. “What do you mean by a man like you?”
“You know precisely what I mean.”
Okay, I had to admit, he was right. I knew exactly what that meant.
Well, not exactly exactly but I got the gist.
I clamped my mouth shut again.
He stared down at me, expressionless, distant, and not just the three feet that separated us physically.
That didn’t mean I didn’t feel his intensity.
I so totally did.
My insides squeezed when his voice came at me again, not businesslike, not casual, not commanding, but quiet and full of meaning.
“You want me to leave, I’m gone.”
He didn’t mean gone.
He meant gone.
So that was when I blurted, “Don’t. Please.”
And that was when I really felt his intensity, the force of it bearing down on me, making it hard to breathe.
And his voice was still quiet and full of meaning when he asked, “We puttin’ a deposit down on a dog tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I stated immediately, crazily, and down to my bones I knew foolishly, hopefully, and last…inevitably.
Because I knew down to my bones that the feeling I’d been damming all morning would eventually break free and eviscerate me. Just as I knew down to my bones I couldn’t bear a life of longing for him, wondering how it could have been if he gave me what he was offering right at that moment.
The chance to get in.
These thoughts were fleeting and that was good because I only had time for fleeting thoughts.
I barely finished my “yes” before his hands were at my jaw like they were earlier that morning, tipping my head back. But the change was that his mouth slammed down on mine.
I parted my lips and his tongue slid inside.
That was when a moan drifted up my throat and into his mouth as I lifted my hands and curled them into his shirt at the sides of his waist, holding on as he kissed me with a ferocity that made me dizzy.
I tried to kiss him back the same way but I wasn’t sure I succeeded before he tore his mouth from mine but didn’t let go. He didn’t step back. He didn’t retreat.
He stayed right there, my eyes opening to see his burning into me, and he kept hold of my gaze as he rested his forehead against mine.
That was sweet. Unbelievably sweet. Unbearably sweet from John Priest/Deacon Whoever, and being me, I processed it at once. I allowed myself to feel the fullness of that sweetness, that affection, that beauty he was giving to me because I knew down to my bones he didn’t give it elsewhere. I knew down to my bones he didn’t have it in him to give it unless it meant something. And I knew down to my bones that nothing meant anything to John Priest/Deacon Whoever.
Except me.
“Do you want lunch?” I whispered.
And instantly, he gave me more.
I watched up close as his eyes started smiling.
I’d been right all those years ago. His eyes had the power to make you feel what he was feeling. Cold to your soul. Or warm in a way you’d never again feel a chill.
And that was how I felt right then with Deacon’s eyes smiling into mine.
Like I’d never feel cold again.
Like I’d feel warm and right and whole and connected and safe.
Forever.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
I pushed my forehead into his, forcing him to allow me to slide it to the side, down his cheek so I could roll up on my toes and shove my face in his neck.
He moved his hands as I did this, one going to curl around the back of my neck, the other one sifting into my hair to cup the back of my head.
I simply continued to clutch his shirt.
And standing there, holding each other like that, nonverbally, as Deacon was prone to be, we sealed a deal that elated and terrified me.
On that thought, a knock came at the door and Deacon’s body tensed as my hands gripped his shirt tighter.
Now, that could be Milagros, but only if she felt like taking a break.
He didn’t move his hands even as he let me tip my head back to catch his gaze.
“That might be Milagros, the lady that helps me.”
If I had a guess, I would have guessed that he would nod and step away, stay in the study or absent himself in some way. Keep to the shadows even on a sunny day.
He did not do this.
In fact, he so did not do this he let me go and walked right out of the study.
I followed him and saw him going to the door.
It was then I felt him, the alertness coming off him and filling the foyer, and my eyes went from his back that was twisting, to his face that was turned to me.
“It’s not your girl,” he murmured and I looked quickly to the door to see it appeared there were a number of people standing out on my porch.
“Oh man,” I muttered.
Deacon opened the door.
I hurried to his side and my stomach pitched when I saw who was there.
Two of the people were Annabelle and Peyton. One was a young man older than Annabelle but definitely related to her. And rounding out the lot were two adults that could be no one other than Annabelle’s parents.
None of them looked happy.
“Can we help you?” Deacon asked.
“Are you Mr. Swallow?” the father asked back.
“I’m Mr. Priest. This is Ms. Swallow,” Deacon answered, his head tilting to indicate me, his resuming the name Priest throwing me for a second that I didn’t have a chance to process before he kept going. “Now, can we help you?”
“You were both there last night,” the father stated.
I swallowed and looked to Peyton and Annabelle.
Both had red eyes like they’d been crying but they didn’t look scared.
I glanced at the mom.
She looked like her world had ended.
I turned my attention to the young man.
He looked ravaged.
No one looked angry. The dad didn’t seem happy, but he wasn’t pissed.
What was going on?
“We were,” Deacon confirmed.
The father turned to what I was guessing was his son. “Duck,” he began. “Now.”
The kid stepped forward, his gaze going to Deacon’s.
“It was me. I was supposed to look after my sister and Peyton. We met some kids. Mom and Dad said we could hang with them. I let the girls drink. Then I met someone and I didn’t look after my sister. She made her decisions but I promised I’d take care of her. I didn’t.” He stopped abruptly, his throat convulsing, and his voice was thick when he went on, “I’m sorry what happened to them. And I’m sorry you had to do what you had to do last night. But I’m glad you were around to do it.”
Whoa.
That wasn’t what I expected.
It was a whole lot better.
“It’s our fault, Jayden,” Annabelle called out meekly. “We shouldn’t have gone with them and not told you where we were going.”
The boy turned to her. “Was supposed to look out for you, Belly.”
I sucked in my lips because that was sweet.
“We’re here on v
acation,” the dad stated and I looked to him. “The kids have their own unit, we have ours. My son is in college and has demonstrated a certain level of maturity so we trusted them to that and their own vehicle so they could do their thing. We thought they were old enough to have some fun without their mom and dad hanging around. We also trusted Jayden to look after his sister. He didn’t. My suspicion is, if he gets the chance again, he will. But we wanted you to know Annabelle shared with her mother what happened last night. We’ve talked with Annabelle and Peyton. We’ve talked with Jayden. And now we wanted to come to apologize for you having to get involved and to express our gratitude that you did.”
I opened my mouth to say something, ask them in for a coffee, but Deacon got there before me.
“Don’t ever do that again.” At his firm tone, a tone so firm it was granite, my eyes shot to him to see his gaze locked on Jayden. “Your sister, her friends, your mother, the woman you’re gonna claim, nothin’s more important. Not one thing. You know that now. Don’t ever forget it.”
My heart was beating funny as I tore my gaze from Deacon and watched the boy shake his head and swallow before saying, “I won’t.”
I looked back at Deacon to see him jerk his chin to the kid.
That was when I jumped in.
“Do you all wanna come in for a drink or something?”
“I think we’ve had our share of your kindness, Ms. Swallow,” the mother replied.
“If there’s any damage done, we’re willing to pay,” the father put in.
I shook my head. “Not necessary. The renters have been charged for the damage.”
The man nodded his head jerkily. He was upset about what happened and disappointed in his children.
And I suspected he wanted to move on.
“We appreciate you coming,” I said in order to let them know they were off the hook.
“And we appreciate you being responsible for our girls when we were not,” the man declared curtly and I knew he was also kicking himself, which made me feel sad for him but happy that Annabelle had a father that seemed a lot like mine.
“It’s done now and all’s well,” I said quietly.
I got another jerky head nod from the dad then he used his head to indicate to the others they needed to move out.
The mom smiled at Deacon but stopped at me, looked in my eyes, communicating everything that needed to be said (and there was a lot) as she took my hand and gave it a squeeze before she moved away.
Deacon (Unfinished Heroes #4) Page 9