“You’re right. She told me you were the devil,” she said. Despite her obvious turmoil, she snorted.
He grinned and put his hand on her leg. Rayka tensed beneath his touch. Unsure of how to react, he was sure. He hated that. Hated that her once trusting and calm ways around him had shifted. Now they were like most women’s reaction to him. Wary but attracted.
“She may be right,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. What if you just said fuck it? Take the risk. Just this once, on her. On Rayka.
But he knew it would never work, and he let the desperate thought flow through his head without giving it any more notice. His cell phone rang and the display showed SIMON’S SECURITY.
“Shit. Sorry, I have to take this.” He flipped the cell open and listened to the employee. “Okay, no problem. I’ll go right over.”
“Problem?” Rayka asked when he blew out a big sigh.
“Yeah. Probably Chiquita.”
“Who?”
“Chiquita, Gideon’s obscenely obese, ridiculously violent kitty cat. She lives in the shop. In the back, actually. The Health Department would shit a brick if they knew she was there at all. She never goes out near the food. She lives in the office part of the store. And she hates me. She triggers the alarm about twice a week and I swear to Christ she does it on purpose.”
“Oh, come on. You demonize everyone don’t you? Me. A cat. Why would you think that?”
Deacon turned left onto Jefferson and squeezed her leg. “First of all, I don’t demonize you. Not wanting a white picket fence with you is not demonizing. Secondly, I think that because Barbara at the security place told me that it used to happen once a month or so—max. Now it happens at least twice a week. Sometimes more. She hates me.”
“Maybe you need to learn to be a nicer guy,” Rayka said quietly. Somehow, Deacon didn’t think she meant to Chiquita.
* * * *
Rayka followed Deacon to the front door of the candy store. The internal alarm was whooping in a pitch that set her teeth on edge. He opened the door, vaulted over the low end of the counter, and punched in the security code. The whooping stopped, leaving a heavy silence in its place. Rayka heard a door squeak and then saw a streak of smoke gray shoot past and behind the high end of the display case.
“Chiquita!” Deacon roared and took off after the feline. Rayka couldn’t help it—it made her extremely happy to see him frustrated. At least some female was getting the better of him, even if she was just a cat.
Rayka wandered back to the office while he chased Gideon’s pet. The office was done in the same colors as the shop. Gideon had a small, private bistro set to the side. Probably where he entertained clients or had his coffee. The shelves were full of cartons of different sized bags and candy boxes. There were rolls of ribbons and small packages of gift cards. Register tape, tissue paper, and various kinds of wrapping paper. A large antique desk dominated the room, and next to it was a basket with a hot pink cushion. Chiquita’s domain. Rayka checked her food and water. She was good to go. Deacon might hate her, but he clearly took care of Chiquita.
“Did she come in here?” he barked from the doorway. He glared at her when she giggled.
“Nope. I haven’t seen her.”
“Damn!” he said, and then his head disappeared and he was off again.
There was a tremendous crash, lots of profanity, and Deacon came into the office handling the long-haired cat by her scruff.
“Don’t hurt her!” Rayka said, knowing full well that carrying the cat by her scruff wouldn’t harm her at all.
“She’s lucky I’m not making her into a shish kebob,” Deacon said. He unceremoniously dumped the cat onto the last bit of furniture, an ornate sofa with pale pink cushions and gold scrollwork. “Damn vermin.”
“You take good care of her.”
“It’s on the list,” he grunted.
“What list?”
“Whoever’s running the shop takes care of her before they go. Like they wipe down the restroom. There are only three of us. Sarah, Charlie, and me. Chiquita knows them better than she knows me. Likes them better too. Charlie didn’t yank the door shut hard enough, obviously.”
“It’s a nice office,” she said, running her hand over the pile of ribbons in the middle of the desk.
“Those were Gideon’s. He was choosing a new color instead of pink. I like the plain black,” he said. “And the office? Not my style. In fact, the whole store is a bit over the top for me.”
“What’s the name gonna be?” Rayka asked. She twirled a ribbon around her finger and then released it. Twirled. Released. She was nervous around him all of a sudden, uncertain of how she should act. Angry, aloof, pissed, self-assured?
“I haven’t a clue.”
“What! You only have a few days,” she said, winding the ribbon faster and higher. She wrapped it up around her finger, then her hand, then her wrist. Then she unfurled the whole thing and listened to it whisper against her skin.
“What?” Deacon wasn’t listening. He was watching her work the ribbon.
“You’re running out of time. What will you name it?”
“I really don’t care right now,” he said, and he started toward her.
Chapter 17
Jesus. She kept doing it over and over. Wrapping that black silk over her skin. She would pull it tight enough so that it bit into her pale white flesh. It was a way to stifle her nerves, he knew. And he didn’t care. The sight tugged at his cock and that place in him that only Rayka Sinclair seemed to touch. Warmth spread through his chest even as his cock grew harder and his want grew stronger.
He had his mouth over hers after three big steps, and he had her breasts crushed against his chest a second after that.
“Sit in the chair. Sit in the chair,” he chanted and walked her back to the dining set in the corner. He never broke the kiss. Never let her go. He kissed her down into the seat and took the ribbon from her grasp. It whispered conspiratorially to him.
Chiquita meowed and climbed onto the arm of the sofa to watch. He picked her up and tossed her out, kicking the door shut with his boot. He pulled the tie on her blouse and the front sagged, allowing him to paw it open until it hung in two halves. Her small lacy black bra barely contained her breasts. That was a matter of a moment with the front hook. He took each item off and dropped it to the floor.
“Put your hands behind your back, sweetheart.” Deacon wasn’t sure how he got the words out. His throat felt tight and dry. His cock throbbed and his mind was trying to interject. Trying to tell him no, tell him what a horrible idea it would be not to just walk away. Right this minute, walk away for good.
She did it. Christ almighty—she did it. Even after he’d been such a prick. Even after he had hurt her, because he knew he had. He could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. That trepidation that comes with being stung once and not wanting it to happen again. But Deacon shut out the logic and thought with his body, with the hum of need that seemed to flow like a current right under his skin.
He tied her arms, binding her to the chair and to herself. He liked the look of the black ribbon pressing into her pale skin. His zipper hissed and he watched her eyes. He watched her watching him and how she tried to pull her gaze away and couldn’t make it happen. That made whatever small beast that was stirring in his chest stir a bit more. He pushed the feeling back. Instead of thinking, he ran the head of his cock along the seam of her lips. No words were needed because she parted them for him after a moment and let him in.
Deacon slid into the crowded warmth of her mouth and let his head fall back. That was what he needed. Not to think about Rayka, but feel Rayka. Another flutter from his chest and he knew he was fucked. Mentally, emotionally, he was done for. All he had to do now was ignore it. That should be easy, like ignoring a flesh wound or a hurricane.
He slid deeper into her throat, and she took him easily. He watched her strain forward to take him deeper, and he thought he would lose his mind from the sight. �
�Jesus.” He tugged handfuls of hair as he fucked her mouth, watched her face. Watched the now peaceful look on her face. The shadow of her dark lashes against her pale cheeks as she sighed around his cock and sucked harder.
“Stop.” The last thing he wanted to say, but he did. “Spread, spread,” he said, shoving her knees apart with one of his. He knelt before her and shoved the black silk above her thighs and hooked his finger in her stockings and tugged. Next the tiny panties. It was a race with himself to get her bare and get his mouth on her pussy. Right now getting the taste of her on his tongue was crucial.
She still smelled sweet and musky from earlier. The smell of her had been on his fingers all night. When he sipped his drink, when he wiped his mouth. When he had been stupid enough to let some guy gape down her top while he pretended he didn’t care. The whole time he could smell her. Her scent that he had provoked by making her come. He was an idiot.
He tried to make good with his mouth. He lapped at her as if he were starving and she could stop it for him. Feed him. She did. Rayka fed something in him, but that was for another time. He could analyze it later. For now, he sucked at her swollen clit until she sobbed, her back bowing in the fancy chair as she tugged at her elegant restraints.
“Deacon,” she said, and that thing in his chest didn’t just stir, it sat up and beat its wings. It brazenly announced that it was there and that he was done for.
“Yes, baby. Quiet. Spread those thighs for me. I’m asking nice this time. See.”
She laughed softly as she did it. Her legs fell open further and all of her was visible. The colors of pale pink and deep rose and crimson made his cock that much harder. The inviting softness that gleamed with her juices. “You’re beautiful,” he said. He couldn’t remember the last time had even taken the time to look at a lover.
“Trying to be a nicer guy?”
“Something like that.” He gritted his teeth and ran his cock along her slit. He tortured himself by waiting. Feeling the insane heat of her cunt with only the head before sinking in.
Her head fell back and her hair tangled in the wrought iron scrollwork. She bumped her hips up to meet him and struggled against the ribbons that bound her. Deacon grabbed her hips in his hands and yanked. He yanked until her head banged the back of the chair and her body thrust up blindly. Until she was laughing and crying and then, ultimately, clutching around him and coming.
“Oh, Ray,” he said and tugged her up harder against him. Two more deep thrusts and despite his best efforts he came undone. He emptied into her with something that sounded like a sob.
“I love you,” she said. Her eyes grew wide and her face colored as he stared. It was all he could do. His throat had double clutched and his heart stopped. Fear shot through him before he could even identify the emotion.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes filling.
“It’s okay. It’s...um...”
He knew what he wanted. What that thing awakening inside of him wanted but he could only stare.
She dropped her head and her gaze. “Deacon, untie me. Please. Hurry, please, untie me,” and then she started to cry.
Instead of releasing her, he pulled her close, chair and all. He wrapped her in a hug and waited. Waited for the tears to pass and for his heart to stop trying to climb up his throat.
“Rayka, I...”
It was right there. Right in his throat. He tried to force the words out but they remained stubborn and stuck. The fear hummed beneath his skin. He was hot and felt like he might burst into flames. But he wanted her to know what was in there. Even if saying it made him sick and angry to some degree. Maybe he wasn’t broken. Maybe she could save him.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me,” she sniffled. She threw her head back and her eyes were guarded. He didn’t blame her. Not one bit. She looked at him defiantly. “Really. It’s okay. I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out. In the heat of the moment. I know, I know. We’re just fucking.”
Deacon reached behind her and undid the ribbon. She had gathered her clothes and left before he even stood. The bells over the shop door jangled when she left. She only lived two blocks away. A lot could happen in two blocks, but she was a big girl and she would never forgive him if he followed. Not when she was full of embarrassment and anger and hurt.
“I love you, too, Rayka,” he said, and Chiquita answered with a meow. At least someone heard him say it because it had taken all of the courage he had.
Chapter 18
My God. What an idiot. Rayka could not believe she had said that. No matter what you are feeling on the inside, you don’t say that to a man. And you most certainly do not say it first. Then, to add insult to injury, he had tried to comfort her, and she had made it worse by acting like she’d never said it. Like she hadn’t meant it!
“Jesus Christ. I am stupid. Stupid, stupid,” she said, her voice cracking. She could hear it even over the angry smack of her heels on the pavement. What she needed was to get home, take a shower, put on some sweats, and try to forget what she had done. What she had said. Jesus. It would take a bottle of hooch to do that. She’d have to drink a bottle of wine and eat a pint of ice cream to erase her memory. Or stick her head in the microwave and turn it on. That was an option.
A car came up, slowed, and seemed to hover close to her. Rayka turned, hoping somewhere in her that it was Deacon. As dumb as it sounded, she hoped that he had followed to say he was sorry and that he loved her. That he didn’t understand it either, that it didn’t make any sense but that he felt it. A connection, a protective nature, an attraction, and yes—love. They could call it that. That he felt something. For her.
She turned. A police car. Probably trying to figure out if she was a hooker looking for tricks. It cruised by, but slowly. Trying to see if she was peddling ass.
She waved and the police cruiser’s lights lit up. The cop waved as he passed and she couldn’t help but laugh. Nice. Mistaken for a hooker—it didn’t get much better.
One thing was for sure, there was no way she was going to the renaming party. He was on his own with that. She’d had enough humiliation. She would skip the party. She would not answer the phone. She was done with Deacon James. For good.
* * * *
“Call me, Rayka. Just call me—”
Rayka sipped her tea and stared at the machine as it spit Deacon’s voice out. It was like an illusion. A flat black box emitting a voice that turned her inside out. Made her hot and liquid and crazy. And sad—don’t forget sad.
Right. Sad. No way. She would not go tonight. It didn’t matter that he called. It didn’t matter that he had called for the past few days. No matter how much she listened to him, she would not go.
Yes, you will. You’ll go. You can’t not go.
Her hand hovered right above the receiver as he sighed into the phone and continued. “I really hope you’ll come tonight. If not as my...well...as my friend. I thought maybe you would come as my friend.” Even apologetic his voice was gruff. Used to getting his way. Rough around the edges.
“Yes. Because we are so suited as friends, Deacon,” she said and sipped her tea. She was going for caustic but the slight sob in her tone ruined the effect. It was downright embarrassing. Even if she was the only one to hear it.
“I know. That sounds fucking stupid.”
She nodded at the machine and waited.
“I agree, it’s stupid but I don’t know what else to say. I’d like to see you and I want you here and...don’t forget...”
There was a long pause and Rayka held her breath. What? Don’t forget what?
“Your friend Ted will be here. You don’t want to throw Ted to the dogs, do you? You don’t want Ted to start hitting me up to redo this place. Because I am. I want to. But I might either give Ted the job or I might kill Ted. I haven’t decided. Ted makes me ambivalent that way.”
Shit. She had forgotten about Ted. Ted was a pain in the ass but he would be thrilled to be there and he’d be looking for her. Ted wa
s a pig, but he wasn’t a bad pig per se, just a pig. And what would Deacon do? He wouldn’t hurt the pig. Surely, Ted would be safe. Annoying and up everyone’s ass sideways, but harmless and innocent.
“Okay. It’s up to you. Ted’s fate rests in your hands, Rayka. I hope you’ll come. I...I’d like to see you,” he finished swiftly and hung up.
Who had a party and didn’t even know the new name of the store? Who threatened to possibly kill an invited guest? Who stooped to that kind of blackmail? Deacon. That was who.
“Fine. You win, big, bad, and berserk. I’ll come. I’ll dress up and come and save Ted and find out what ridiculous name you have given your shop.” Rayka tore through her closet and settled on jet black slacks, black ankle boots, and a hot pink top with a scrollwork of black. She’d match the store. “And piss you off,” she muttered.
She glanced at the clock. Two hours before the renaming. She had time to shower, do her hair and makeup, take a shot of something, maybe espresso vodka, and pray. Pray that she could make it through the night making him miserable and sparing herself the same fate.
When she walked into The Good, the Bad and the Yummy, the usual suspects were there. Neighborhood folks, reporters for small newspapers and community magazines, and a local news crew. She pushed in and looked around for familiar faces. Deacon was in the corner pushing samples like a crack dealer hocking his wares. His eyes found her and his gaze locked with hers. Her stomach did a low, lazy flip and Rayka sucked in air, trying to breathe. Then a hand clamped down on her shoulder and she damn near hyperventilated.
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