His Invitation

by Tanya Gallagher

  Emma lifted her hand from the water and chucked the vibrator at his face.

  Deacon ducked, and the toy sailed by his head. “Okay, I’m taking the hint.” He gave her an amused smile. “House rule number three: if you want to have privacy when you’re getting busy, lock the damn door.”

  He turned and walked out the door, leaving it slightly ajar behind him. Emma rushed across the tiles to close it, leaving puddles in her wake.

  Deacon’s back was just disappearing into the living room as she reached the door. “Just be glad I don’t have better aim!” she yelled at his back, slamming the door between them.

  Emma pulled the steaming tray of lasagna from her oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Then she slammed the oven door closed and returned her oven mitts to the kitchen drawer.

  “You know the reason I was over at Noah’s house today?”

  She looked over her shoulder at Deacon, who had entered the room. He wore a pair of black jeans and a tight green T-shirt. A tiny sliver of skin peeked through a hole in the big toe of his sock.

  She blew a wayward strand of hair from her face. “To do guy things?”

  “To finish your bookshelf.”

  “Oh.”

  He grinned at her, and his eyes danced with amusement. “Want to see it?”

  Emma sighed. She needed to get over her embarrassment about earlier. He was trying to be nice. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Follow me.” He led her to her bedroom, and she gasped. The mahogany-stained bookshelf perfectly matched the bed frame Deacon had made, and he’d already pulled one of her romance novels from her desk to display on the shelf.

  “How did you get it in here without me knowing?” she asked.

  “You just spent the last two hours layering lasagna noodles like you were getting graded on it. You were distracted.”

  Emma pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank you, Deacon.”

  “That’s all I get?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Thank you very much.”

  God, why was she being such a bitch? She couldn’t bring herself to gush over the bookshelf, even though the craftsmanship was unparalleled. He’d spent a hell of a lot of time on this. For her.

  Deacon eyed her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were grumpy.”

  “I am grumpy. But it’s not the bookshelf’s fault. It really is beautiful.”

  He smirked. “So why are you cranky then?”

  “I think you know why.” Her clothes pulled tight over her still-swollen skin, reminding her of unfinished business.

  “Because I interrupted your solo sex session?”

  She glared at him. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

  “Sass, I didn’t tell you that you had to stop.”

  He hadn’t, but the idea of him out there, knowing what she was doing as she brought herself to climax, was too much. So she’d drained the water in the tub, empty and unsatisfied herself.

  Deacon smiled at her. “On the other hand, I could have finished you off.”

  Her cheeks burned, and she shook her head at him. “You’re like a cat with a bird, Deacon. If you caught me, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

  He gave her a dark, heated gaze, and stalked across the room toward her. Emma gulped but stood her ground as he approached, her skin tightening and her heart slamming in her chest.

  Deacon leaned his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders, so hot and in her space. She was trapped by his broad, strong body, with the wall at her back and his heat and muscle so close to her that her clit throbbed.

  The air sucked out of the room, and Emma’s body trembled. From here, she could see the tiniest hint of green in his eyes. Deacon’s voice came out so low she had to lean forward to hear him, which was probably his plan all along. “I know exactly what I’d do with you.”

  Her eyes widened, and she pressed her thighs together. “Not going to happen,” she whispered. Her protest sounded flimsy in her own ears.

  Deacon leaned forward, and his lips grazed her ear. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She shivered in anticipation, but before she could even turn her head to meet him, Deacon pushed away from the wall. He sauntered back across the room and out the door, leaving her gasping and bereft for the second time today.

  Chapter 10

  The sound of the Bleeding Hearts, a rock band who’d shot to popularity five years ago, assaulted Deacon’s ears as he cracked open his bedroom door on Sunday morning. A steady drumbeat backed a wailing guitar and the lead singer belting out the lyrics of their most famous song. “Live your life to be true and find love in all you do, and know that I’m with you even when I cannot stay.”

  Deacon padded down the hall in his boxers, his shoulders tense.

  Not this song.

  Not today.

  He found Emma in the living room, her bright pink yoga mat unrolled in front of the wall of windows. She’d slid open the glass doors to the balcony just enough to let in a swirl of air, though it carried the scent of hot asphalt, cigarettes, and fried food.

  Emma wore only a strappy sports bra and a pair of capri yoga pants that hugged her curves as she moved on the mat. Her pert ass was lifted in the sky while her hands and feet pressed against the ground, and her body formed an inverted triangle. She breathed in and raised a leg high into the air, then stepped it forward between her hands. She lifted her chest and brought her body into a wide-legged stance, her gaze trained over her right fingertips. A tiny bead of sweat glistened on her chest, and Deacon licked his lips as it rolled between her ample breasts.

  “When I’m gone this will be your song to help you carry on and on and on,” the lead singer of The Bleeding Hearts sang, and Deacon snapped to his senses. He reached for the cell phone that Emma had left on the table and turned off the music with trembling hands.

  “Hey,” Emma protested, plopping onto her butt. “Why’d you do that?”

  Deacon dropped the phone back onto the table. “I thought yoga was supposed to be meditative. Silent.”

  Her forehead pinched in frustration. “They’re not the same thing.”

  “Fine, then it’s too early for that song.”

  He stalked into the kitchen and grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge. He uncapped it and brought it to his lips, despite the way Emma’s eyes widened in horror. Her skin was probably crawling about the idea of germs, right now, but she let it go. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You have a thing against Carry On?”

  He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm and set the carton on the counter. “Actually, I kinda do.”

  She trailed him into the kitchen and reached for his hand. “Is it because of that thing with the drummer?”

  Deacon flinched. “Did you ever think that the song’s only famous because the person who wrote it died?”

  Emma shrugged. “I mean, it’s not the first time in history something like that has happened. But no, I think it’s famous because it’s a good song. Kind of a life anthem.” She hummed a few bars of the song, and he pulled his hands from hers.

  “Emma, stop.”

  Deacon shoved the juice carton back into the fridge so she wouldn’t have to see the way his face crumpled.

  “Hey. You okay?” she asked. He turned to see her peering up at him, her pretty features softened with concern.

  “Yeah.”

  No.

  That scene with Emma in the bath last night was the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed, and now he couldn’t get the sight of her out of his mind. But even having the woman he wanted standing half naked in front of him right now couldn’t drive away the lyrics that echoed in his mind.

  It was a fucking catchy song.

  Simon would have been proud.

  “Okay,” Emma said quietly. “House rule number four: no playing Carry On.”

  Deacon squeezed his eyes shut, hating the way his heart pounded in his chest. “Thank you.”

  She looked at him, still confused but with
all this light in her eyes like she saw something in front of her worth caring about.

  He looked away, out the window, at anything but her.

  He was going to fail her.

  What was he even doing here?

  Emma laced her fingers together like she wanted to touch him but was afraid of reaching out. “I know we were going to head to Bex’s house for Sunday lunch, but it’s okay if you’re not up to it. I can go by myself.”

  “No.” He shook his head. Maybe getting out of this apartment would help. “I’ll come with you.”

  It was fucking selfish of him. He was going to ruin her, but he couldn’t stay away.

  Emma shoved an enormous can of whipped cream into Deacon’s hands and prodded him toward the front door of Bex’s house. “I was on whipped cream duty today, but we’re going to pretend it was your idea, okay?”

  The midday sun already beat down on Deacon’s shoulders, the temperature inching toward ninety, and the can felt cool under his palm.

  The liquid inside the can sloshed. “Sounds good to me. But the house better have AC.”

  “We live in Vegas. Is it even a question?”

  Emma pressed the doorbell, and after a minute Bex swung open the door.

  “Hey, you made it!” She pulled Emma into a hug, then caught sight of Deacon over her shoulder. She swept her eyes over his face like she was deciding something and broke into a knowing smile. “Deacon, hi.”

  He lifted a hand. “Howdy.”

  Bex held the door open. “Come on in.”

  The house was small but cozy, and the whole place smelled like bacon and waffles. Deacon followed Bex into her dining room, where Gabe sat next to what appeared to be a couple a few years older than Bex. A big-eyed baby sat between the parents, a spill of milk cascading from the corner of his lips all the way down to his bib.

  “Deacon, this is my brother Sam, his wife Aderyn, and the handsome fellow with the big cheeks is Weston. And, of course, you know Gabe.”

  Deacon raised his hand in greeting, and everyone murmured their hellos.

  “Make yourself at home, okay?”

  He nodded at Bex and handed her the whipped cream before dropping into a chair next to Emma. “Thank you.”

  Bex took her seat next to Gabe and waved her hands at the table. “That’s everyone,” she said. “So dive in.”

  Deacon forked a waffle onto his plate and covered it with maple syrup.

  “Actually, I’m glad you guys are here,” Bex said. “Maybe you can help us settle an argument. We were just discussing the perfect kind of bacon. As much as I love the real kind, I’m in favor of turkey bacon for the simple fact that you can eat more of it. Sam, however, is in favor of as many pieces of the legit stuff as he can consume before his arteries clog.” She waved her fork at her brother. “Maybe it’s a sibling thing.” She shrugged and turned to Emma. “Do you and your brother fight about stupid shit?”

  Emma grinned. “We do. I think it comes with the territory. My latest scheme is to get him to actually air uncut video footage on the next episode of My Sister’s Mister instead of all the edited, fake parts. He insists it shouldn’t be done.”

  Bex groaned. “What about you, Deacon? Are you an only child?”

  “I am.” He swallowed a bite of waffle, and it stuck in his throat like a stone. He spoke around the knot in his chest. “For the record, I’m with Sam on Team Real Bacon.” He held up his fork, which dangled a piece of meat. “Whatever this is, it’s delicious.”

  Emma grinned at him, and the pain loosened its grip on his chest. Her eyes gleamed, and she licked a spot of whipped cream from her lips.

  Deacon wanted to lick them, too.

  This woman and food.

  Before he could whisper a suggestion in her ear, Emma turned to the table. “I never thought I’d say these words, but enough about bacon. I don’t know if I told you, but Deacon’s got his own creative thing going on.”

  What the hell was she getting at?

  “Oh yeah?” Gabe asked. “What’s your medium?”

  Emma gave Deacon an encouraging look, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need everyone to sit around and stroke his ego. “Wood,” she said at last, and her cheeks grew pink. “He made all the furniture in our house.”

  “No kidding.” Gabe stabbed another bite of waffle. “Is that your job?”

  Emma kicked Deacon under the table, and he winced. “No,” he coughed. “I’m a brand ambassador for Pináculo Tequila.”

  Bex’s face brightened. “No kidding! Next time you should bring over a bottle, and we can have margaritas with lunch. It’s never too early for a Sunday cocktail.”

  “That’s what I keep trying to tell Emma.”

  At least this time Emma’s face cracked into a smile. “Whatever.” She turned to him. “I think Deacon could totally have his own business. His pieces are one-of-a-kind.”

  Talk about an ambush. His hands fisted around his fork, and his mouth snapped shut.

  Gabe lifted an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s great. If you ever get the business up and running, I’d be happy to take product photos for you. Give you the friend discount.”

  Deacon’s jaw was tight when he spoke. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing them.”

  Gabe shrugged. “Either way.”

  Emma kicked Deacon under the table again. “Can I see you privately?” she hissed. He offered her a salacious grin, but she just huffed a sigh. “Come on.”

  She excused them from the table, then steered him down the hall and into a guest bathroom. Yellow hand towels decorated the tiny room, along with a cross-stitched picture of a pile of poop and the words “Crap grows the best flowers,” on it.

  Sure does.

  Deacon wanted to roll his eyes, but Emma’s face was too tense to be playful. She closed the door behind them and wheeled on him.

  “What’s going on with you?” She waved her hands in his direction.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not being nice to my friends.”

  “Maybe I’m not a nice person.”

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Yes. You are. You saved me from Mr. Grabby Hands at the bar, and you’ve helped my klutzy ass every time I fell. You built me that bookshelf. And god, I’m sorry if I was too grumpy last night to say thank you properly. But it meant the world to me. You’re an amazing person, Deacon Whistler. So show it.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit, Emma.”

  He wanted to crush his lips against hers and drown in the taste of her. But he couldn’t. Noah was right—if Deacon acted on his feelings, he was going to fuck this up. Emma deserved more than one night, and he didn’t know how to give her that. He’d never done it before.

  “Why did you even come if you were going to act this way?” Her cheeks were red, and a crease furrowed her forehead.

  “I don’t know, Emma. Because I was trying.” Nothing he said was going to change reality, and it was easier to have her mad at him than to have her believe in him. “Clearly it was a mistake.” Her face fell, and he reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” she said, but by then he was already out the door.

  Chapter 11

  Emma adjusted her calipers, aligning the measuring tool to verify the length and girth of the silicone vibrator sitting on her office desk. She typed the measurements into a note on her computer, then checked them against the specs that Avery, the X Enterprises marketing and PR specialist, planned to publish.

  “Hmm.” She squinted at the numbers and frowned.

  Nope. They definitely didn’t match.

  She tapped out a quick email to Avery. Looks like your numbers are off. She attached the correct measurements, then copied Bex, who had just as much at stake since she’d designed the damn toy, and hit Send.

  Emma moved the vibrator to the back of her desk and returned the calipers to their case. Within five minutes, her computer chimed to alert her that an email response from Avery had come through.


  Glad you reached out. We’ll get the information corrected for publication. In the meantime, let’s set up ten minutes to talk about doing some promo for your vibrator in the next Sexational Magazine article.

  Emma cringed and started to type a reply, but Bex knocked on her door before she had a chance to send the message to Avery.

  Her friend entered the room, her face flushed. “What was that email about? I thought we were doing our annual toy roundup for Sexational. Did something change?”

  Emma twisted her hands together. “Avery reached out to me about doing a design spotlight on the award-winning vibrator. It’s not a big deal.” Bex took so much pride in her work, and Emma didn’t want this to come between them. She needed her friend more than she needed some stupid magazine article.

  Bex’s eyes flashed hurt, but she tried to pass it off with a shrug. “Oh, right.” She drew her arms around herself, and her eyes filled with doubt. “It was just an internal contest though. I didn’t know they were taking the story wide.”

  Emma shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. I came up with the concept for the toy, but you made it happen in real life. We both know that there wouldn’t even be a toy without you.” She frowned. The other day when she’d told Bex that she was a team player, she hadn’t been putting on a show. “I’ll try to get Avery to change the way the article’s being written so we can both get featured.”

  Bex gave her a tight smile. “Sure.”

  “I promise I’m not trying to step on your toes, Bex.”

  Bex blew out a breath and shook her head. “I know. I guess I was just surprised to see her email, after everything.”

  Emma tried to sound confident. “I’m going to make it right. Okay? I have no interest in standing in the spotlight alone.”

  “Sure,” Bex said. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  Strong hands pressed Emma against her bed, and stale breath puffed out of a mouth just inches away from her own. Her senses churned awake in time for her to feel the bed shake as her attacker straddled her on the mattress, one knee placed on either side of her body to keep the sheet pinned tight across her chest.