Caged

  other hip. Knox said something that caused her to smirk.

  Asshole.

  “Hey, Deacon. Hey, Molly. I thought your kickboxing classes were on this floor.”

  “They are. Tomorrow night. What are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m teaching the advanced black belt class tonight,” Shiori answered, “since Beck has requested I fill in more often.”

  Molly ditched him and stopped in front of Shiori. “Gimme the precious.”

  “Our poor, neglected baby. No one ever wants to hold her.” Shiori passed Nuri over, and Molly kissed the baby’s head. Then she started walking around with her, pointing out stuff that Nuri was too young to understand.

  Her nurturing instinct with Nuri gave Deacon a funny feeling.

  “Never gonna do it in the dojo, huh?” Knox teased.

  Shiori cocked her head. “His usual snarl does look much less pronounced. So I’m curious. Where did you nail her? I’m betting the locker room. What say you, Knox?”

  “Nah. Too many kids running around. I’m betting—”

  “It’s not up for discussion. Ever. So fucking drop it.”

  “Hell no. What goes around comes around, my friend.”

  “What did you say to me the time you caught Knox and me sneaking out of the Crow’s Nest?” Shiori asked.

  “He said you had that high-pro glow,” Knox answered. “Who’s the dog now?”

  Shi-Shi howled and Knox laughed.

  Everyone was a fucking comedian. “I was a dick, okay?”

  “Was a dick? You’re still a dick, Yondan. Even when you’re smitten and acting all embarrassed about it, we owe you massive amounts of payback.”

  “Look, I had a shit day and she made it better by just walking in the damn building. The rest between her and me is just a bonus. A private bonus.”

  “Damn. He does have it bad,” Shiori said to Knox.

  “Told ya.”

  “Bring her over for dinner one night next week. Knox will cook. We’ll play charades. We’ll show you vacation photos from our week in Japan.”

  “So it’d be like a couples’ dinner-party thing?” he said with mock horror.

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Cool. Sounds fun.”

  Shiori tried to get in his face. But at five feet nothing it was a stretch for her. “Knox, get Riggins. I think Deacon sustained a serious blow to the head today.”

  “Ha-ha, Shi-Shi. This is me bein’ all mature and in a relationship and shit.” He kissed her forehead. “Get used to it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MOLLY doubted Deacon liked surprises.

  But here she was, dressed to the nines, cursing Tag Westerman and his southern charm, because she was about to horn in on a family dinner.

  When Deacon’s cousin called to ask if the lawyer he’d recommended in Nebraska was working out, she’d thanked him because the house and land sale had turned into a big mess. Having a lawyer looking out for her interests had saved her sanity.

  After some small talk, Tag casually mentioned being in Denver and then he’d invited her to dinner as a surprise for Deacon.

  For some bizarre reason, she’d justified saying yes by reminding herself that Deacon had shown up in Nebraska without warning. And he’d handled her relatives just fine. Since she knew Tag was the one cousin Deacon got along with . . . well, how bad could it be?

  She approached the hostess stand inside Ocean Prime. “I’m meeting the Westerman party.”

  The hostess typed on her computer. Then she frowned. “Could it be under another name?”

  “Look under Bishop,” a deep male voice drawled behind her.

  Molly turned.

  The tall, slender man offered his hand and a smile. “Molly? I’m Tag Westerman.”

  Tag had dark blond hair and pale green eyes. He’d dressed casually in a button-down shirt the color of celery, khaki slacks, and a pair of tan cowboy boots. Once her gaze returned to his handsome, almost pretty face, she returned his smile. “Yes, I’m Molly.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but, darlin’, you’re lovely.”

  “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind me saying that I don’t think you have a reservation here. Did you maybe make it at Oceanlandia instead? Easy to get the two places mixed up.”

  “Ah, here it is,” the hostess said triumphantly. “Under the name Bishop.”

  Confused, Molly asked, “Bishop is a family name?”

  “No. It’s a joke. A bishop outranks a deacon in the religious hierarchy, and since I’m older than him . . .” He grinned. “I’ll admit I sometimes use Cardinal and Pope just to keep my cousin on his toes.”

  The hostess said, “If you’ll follow me.”

  They headed up a staircase and down a hallway. Then a tuxedoed waiter opened the door to a private room.

  Molly was so busy checking out the ambience of the space—glass windows, candlelight, sheer curtains—that she didn’t notice the man sitting in the corner at first.

  “Punctual as usual, Mr. Bishop,” Deacon drawled.

  “Thought I’d beat you here, Deacon,” Tag returned in an equally thick drawl.

  Deacon stood and crossed over to Molly.

  “Your cousin called and asked me to come. If it’s not okay, I can go.”

  “Stay.” He curled his hands around her face and planted a very possessive kiss on her. “Looks like someone blew off class tonight.”

  “Says the teacher who isn’t barking orders at his students cowering in the dojo right now.”

  “Luckily, I’ve got very explicit makeup requirements for you for missing class.” Then he pulled out a chair. “This seat has the best view. I planned to let Tag sit there, but he can lord over us from the corner.”

  “Relegated to the naughty corner within the first two minutes. Usually that’s you, Deacon.”

  Deacon grunted and sat next to Molly.

  Before additional conversation started, the cocktail server popped in and pointed out the specialized handcrafted cocktails. Molly chose a blackberry-and-blueberry-infused sparkling wine.

  Deacon ordered a light beer, which caused his cousin to snort. “Some things never change.”

  The menu boasted fabulous food. She settled on the gorgonzola-and-pine-nut-encrusted tenderloin, with a side of lemon-finished asparagus. Deacon didn’t deviate from his training diet of lean protein and vegetables.

  After the waiter departed, an uncomfortable silence filled the room, and Molly wished they had the noise and conversations from other diners as a distraction.

  Deacon reached for her hand underneath the table. “So, Tag, what brings you to Denver?”

  “Short answer? I need to talk to you face-to-face. We’ll have a breakfast meeting in the morning to discuss the particulars.” He smiled. “I wanted to enjoy a leisurely meal with you and your lady tonight.”

  “You assume a lot.”

  Tag shook his head. “You’ve known this was coming for months.”

  Molly hated cryptic conversations. If they had business to discuss—which was none of her business—Tag shouldn’t have invited her. “Deacon hasn’t told me much about you, Tag.”

  “That’s where we have a commonality; I was shocked—and delighted, of course—to hear my cousin has a girlfriend. So how about you tell me all about yourself?”

  “That will kill two minutes of the evening.”

  Tag laughed. “Indulge me.”

  Molly gave him the basics.

  “How did you meet Deacon?”

  “I started with a self-defense class at Black Arts and moved on to kickboxing, which Yondan teaches. He tortured me endlessly.”

  “So you’re a masochist to his sadist?” Tag mused.

  “Something like that.”

  Deacon squeezed her knee.

  “You’ve seen him fight?”

  “Twice. I haven’t decided if I can stomach seeing him exchanging blows with his opponent next month.”

  Deacon looked at her crossly
. “Fine time to spring that on me, babe.”

  Molly shrugged. “It’s not the same thing to see my instructor fighting as it is to see my boyfriend in a cage with a guy who’s determined to cause him maximum physical damage. And it shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Ronin never let Amery see him fight. And Knox had to leave when Shiori fought.” She sipped her cocktail. “Dealing with the aftermath of injuries is hard enough without seeing how those injuries were received.”

  “It ain’t a picnic to get hammered on and after the fight is done to realize there’s no one in your corner. So you will be there.”

  That caused a pang of guilt and hurt her heart a little.

  “Even if Molly can’t be there, your dad will be,” Tag said diplomatically.

  “I didn’t know anyone in your family came to your fights. Have they ever come to the after-party?”

  He snorted. “My dad is the only one who comes to anything. But the smokers don’t count. Real fights, like the one next month, he’ll show up. Look for the white-knuckled man in the back row.”

  “Maybe I’ll sit back there too. We can hold hands.”

  Deacon leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek. “I’d like that.”

  She lowered her eyes, basking in her man’s sweetness.

  When Molly looked up, she noticed Tag watching them with undisguised interest. “Now it’s your turn, Tag. How did you get your name? Was it confusing when you were a kid to hear, Tag, you’re it.”

  Tag let out an amused laugh. “Damn, Deacon. If I lived in Denver, I’d be pulling out all stops to lure this woman away from you.”

  “Be wise of you not to throw fightin’ words at a fighter, cuz.”

  “My first name is Taggart,” he said, ignoring Deacon’s snarling response. “It was my mother’s maiden name. Only time anyone used it was after I’d gotten in trouble.”

  “Which he’ll now loudly proclaim was rarely,” Deacon tossed out.

  Their ribbing seemed good-natured and not pure meanness like her cousins’ constant barbs.

  The salad course arrived and they dug in.

  After Deacon finished his beer, he switched to water. “Does Clive know you’re here?”

  “No. He’d have to show his rat face at the office more than twice a week to know anything.”

  “It’s not goin’ any better with him?”

  “Worse, actually. It was goddamn blackmail that our fathers agreed to give him a position in the company.”

  Blackmail sounded harsh.

  “They could’ve said no. Instead they both bent over for Aunt Suzette just like she wanted.”

  Tag’s posture went rigid. “Now we’ve got a chance to kick his worthless ass to the curb and cut him out, if you’d just—”

  “We’re not discussing this shit tonight, Tag, so fuckin’ drop it. Keep it up and we won’t be discussing nothin’ tomorrow neither.”

  Molly tugged her fingers out of Deacon’s death grip. As she debated on whether to excuse herself and head to the ladies’ room, the door opened and the food arrived.

  Every bite lived up to the hype. She moaned when the first bite of tender steak and sharp cheese hit her taste buds.

  Tag’s phone rang and he excused himself from the room.

  The second the door closed, Deacon placed a hot kiss on the side of her neck. “Word of advice.”

  Crap. Had she mistakenly used the appetizer plate instead of the bread plate? “What?”

  “That sexy little fucking moan you made when you were enjoying your food sounds awful damn close to the sexy little fucking moan you make right before you come.”

  That’s when she knew it was possible to blush from head to toe. “It is?”

  “Yep. And that noise belongs to me. Just me.” His soft lips feathered across her jawline. “So if you keep your nonverbal approval to yourself, you’ll save my cousin a bloody lip.”

  “God, Deacon. You are paranoid. I doubt Tag heard anything besides you thumping your chest every time he looked at me.”

  “Oh, he heard it, all right. I saw his face. That’s why I wanna punch him in the mouth. Fucker is probably in the bathroom right now, rubbing one out.”

  Ridiculous man.

  “And you are gonna make them noises with me later, and it won’t be because of food.”

  “I’ll do my best. But no promises if the chocolate crème brûlée with raspberry sauce tastes as orgasmic as it sounds.”

  Deacon’s mouth captured hers in a kiss more seductive than any decadent dessert, and she couldn’t help but moan. He murmured, “That’s what I’m talking about, babe. That noise is mine.”

  Tag returned and they finished the rest of the meal in silence.

  The plates were cleared and the waiter took dessert orders.

  “How long are you here for?” Molly asked Tag.

  “I’ll leave after the breakfast meeting with Deacon.”

  “Do you practice law outside of the family business?”

  “No. JFW began as an oil company, but we’ve diversified over the years. Plenty of legal scrabbles to keep me employed and I also handle investments.”

  “Oil?” She sent Deacon a sidelong glance. “Your family is in the oil business? I didn’t know that.”

  “Because that’s their business, not mine. Fighting is what I do.”

  “I’m a third generation oil man, as is Deacon and our cousin Clive. Granddad started the business in the 1950s.”

  “Jesus, Tag. Don’t bore her to fuckin’ death with a family history lesson.”

  Two sentences wasn’t exactly a history lesson. “The only experience I’ve had with multigenerational business is farming,” Molly said, trying to smooth things over. “And not much experience, since my grandmother sold most of the farmland after my grandfather died because she didn’t have anyone to pass it down to.”

  Tag lifted a brow. “You weren’t interested?”

  “In farming? No. I watched my friends struggle with not wanting to take over the family farm. But most of them ended up doing it anyway.”

  “That happens in a lot of family businesses—doesn’t it, Deacon?” Tag asked. “One person shirking responsibilities.”

  Deacon stiffened beside her.

  So much for smoothing things over. Tag seemed intent on riling Deacon.

  “Not everyone is cut out to be cutthroat, Tag.”

  “Says the man who beats up other men for a living.”

  Tag and Deacon glared at each other.