Caged

  He rested his chin on top of her head and closed his eyes. “I heard that my dad had a heart attack. By the time I’d found out—I don’t remember how that crossed my radar—it’d been a couple of months, so I knew he wasn’t dead. I showed up at his office. With the extreme change in my appearance, the receptionist refused to believe I was Bing Westerman’s son. We argued, and he came out of his office to see what the commotion was about.”

  Deacon paused, letting the memory from that day solidify. His father had run toward him. Run. In his three-piece suit. And he’d wept. Openly. Repeatedly.

  “What happened?”

  “He hugged me. I . . . It’d been a long time since I’d had anyone touch me not out of anger, so I balked. Then he said, ‘Lemme have a look at you, son.’ I’d grown two inches, packed on forty pounds—mostly muscle—shorn my hair, and inked my skin. I honestly hadn’t expected him to recognize me.”

  “What did he say when he finished inspecting you?”

  “‘You erased all traces of him, didn’t you?’”

  “Whoa. Did he mean you’d erased the old you? Or that you’d erased any resemblance to Dante?”

  “Both, probably. I didn’t ask. Then, before it got even more awkward, he asked me to lunch. He took me to a chain barbecue joint, not the hole-in-the-wall place by his office he’d always taken us to before.” Us. God. He’d forgotten how much Dante had loved barbecue. “Anyway, I figured he’d taken me someplace where no one knew him because I embarrassed him. I made up my mind to leave right after lunch. He sensed my intention to bolt and told me he brought me there because after not seeing me for almost five years he doubted he’d taste the food anyway, so he might as well eat crap.”

  “He sounds like a sweet man.”

  “He can be at times.” And that did mark a big shift in their relationship. “We stayed in that booth for four hours and talked. I refused to see my mother, although I agreed he could tell her that I was all right.” Deacon’s throat felt scratchy. “Molly, darlin’, I need to get a drink.”

  “I wondered if you needed one. I’ve never heard you talk so much.”

  He retreated to the break room and drank a full glass of water. Then he stared at the empty cup for several long moments. How much more did she need to know?

  His brother offered advice. All of it. No sense in giving her the CliffsNotes version now.

  Dammit, Dante. Talking about you makes me miss you.

  Well, I was the cooler twin, so I can see why. But you have the chance to let her fill part of that void I left. Figure this shit out, bro, so you can move on.

  But if I move on, will you too?

  No answer.

  Deacon returned to the reception area and resumed his place in front of the windows.

  “Better?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you want keep going?”

  “There’s not that much left. By the end of our lunch, Dad asked me to come to work in the family business. He offered to hire a trainer to help me advance to the next level in cage fighting.”

  “What did you say?”

  “No, thanks. I didn’t need him or his money, and I’d do it on my own like I’d done everything else in my life.” That’s when Dante’s voice had overtaken his thoughts. Telling him that their father shouldn’t have to pay forever for their mother’s words, which had driven him away. “It fucking killed me to watch every bit of happiness drain from his face. So I agreed to work part-time. I found a gym and a dojo. The guy running the gym also promoted legitimate fights. I gradually shifted my focus fully to my training.”

  “Is that when you fought Ronin?”

  “He told you that, huh?”

  Molly moved in to stand next to him. “He mentioned it was an underground and unsanctioned fight.”

  “I’d started doing both and participated in enough amateur bouts to qualify as a professional fighter. After I returned to Texas, I reached second-degree black belt level and became a certified kickboxing instructor at the gym. I also added Muay Thai to my training regimen.”

  “So Ronin snapped you up for Black Arts?”

  Deacon turned toward her. He touched her sweet face before he tucked an escaped tendril behind her ear. “More or less. I agreed to Ronin’s six-month trial period, and I’ve been there ever since.”

  Then Molly wrapped herself around him.

  He closed his eyes. He wanted this—a life with her—more than anything in the world.

  “Thank you for telling me. Not just what happened when you were fifteen, but all the choices you made in the aftermath.”

  “How do we move on from this?” Deacon swallowed the fear crawling up his throat when Molly didn’t immediately answer.

  Then she chased all those shadows and fears away by simply laying her hands on his chest, over his heart. “We promise to be open with each other about everything. Big and small.” She offered him a watery smile. “I know you claim you don’t like to talk about shit.”

  “Claim? Babe. I don’t like dissecting every damn thing.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Shit. “Well, except the important stuff.”

  Molly banged her forehead into his chest in mock frustration.

  Deacon kissed the top of her head, drawing strength from the fact Molly was here. Touching her, holding her, breathing her in . . . gave him the push he needed to do this. No matter how hard his heart raced. He slowly moved his hands up her back, tugging on her hair to get her to look at him. Those beautiful brown eyes locked on his and provided the courage for him to say what he needed to. Curling his right hand beneath her jaw, he whispered, “I love you.”

  If he hadn’t been holding on to her jaw, it would’ve dropped.

  “I never understood what that meant. Now every time I look at you, I know.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “Deacon.”

  “I didn’t say it because I’m trying to manipulate you into forgiving me faster. I’m telling you because I feel it. Fuck, do I ever feel it for you. Even though I let you in more than I’ve ever let anyone else, I still held back.” He swept his thumb across her trembling lower lip. “No more holding back with you. I wanna be the man to give you everything you need. I say that and I know how goddamn selfish it sounds, because you’re so fucking perfect and you deserve more than a broken man like me. But dammit, when I’m with you I feel . . . whole again.”

  Molly was so freaking beautiful with that light glowing from within her reflecting back at him. “Was that hard to say?” she asked so softly he barely heard it.

  “Terrifying.”

  “I can tell. You’re shaking.”

  “I spent the last five days worried that I’d lost you. I’m standing here, touching you, and I’m still freaked the fuck out that it’s too little, too late.”

  “It’s not. I hurt for you. I know that sympathy or empathy pisses you off, but I ache thinking about how closed off you’ve been when you’ve got so much to give. So much more than you’re even aware of. And that of all the people in the world you could’ve fallen for, you chose me.”

  “My heart chose you, babe.”

  Molly cried harder. “I’ve never had anyone love me, Deacon. I’m as scared as you are. I don’t know how to do this—how to give it back either.”

  That admission floored him—which just proved they had a lot to learn about each other. “So we’re both kind of a mess, huh?”

  She sniffled. “I guess that makes us a good match.”

  “It makes us a perfect match.” Deacon gently wiped her tears. Then he kissed her, just a soft press of his lips to hers, more promise than passion.

  “Come home with me.” He slid his hand back to run his fingers through her hair. “I need you in my bed.”

  “Just to sleep?”

  Fuck no. “For tonight? Yeah. If that’s what you want.”

  “And then tomorrow?”

  Deacon pulled her hair hard enough to get her attention and see heat flare in her eyes. “Tomo
rrow morning you wake up with my face between your thighs. After I make you come twice, then I’ll fuck you as many times and in as many ways as it takes for you to believe I am the only man you’ll ever need.”

  “You are that man. I just hope I’m enough for you.”

  “You already are.” This time Deacon let his kiss linger. “Leave your car here and ride with me. I don’t want to be away from you for even the length of the drive.”

  “I’ll leave my car at my apartment. We’ll need to stop at my place anyway so I can get my stuff.” Molly poked him in the chest when he started to argue. “And before you give me the typical Deacon you don’t need to wear clothes when you’re around me, babe, I assure you, I do need my bathroom stuff.”

  She was so freakin’ cute when she got bossy. “I have bathroom stuff for you.”

  Her gaze moved over his bare head. “Says the man with no hair, so he has no need for shampoo or conditioner. And I doubt you’ll let me use your razor.”

  “Hilarious. But I bought you all the same shit you have in your bathroom and stocked it in mine.”

  “When?”

  “After you went to work I took a picture of all the makeup crap you left out on the counter and the bottles in your shower. Then I went to CVS. The chick who helped me even offered a few suggestions for other things you’d probably want.” When Molly continued to stare at him, he bristled. “What? It wasn’t like I used any of it. All that junk is still in the bags, so if you wanna return it—”

  She placed her fingers over his lips. “Shut up, you sweet, babbling man—which is not something I ever thought I’d say to Deacon McConnell.”

  He lifted his eyebrows.

  “I love that you did that for me. You pay attention to me. I’ve never had that either.” She bit her lip when it started to wobble. “Thank you.”

  Molly hadn’t moved her hand, allowing him to talk, so he puckered his lips to kiss her fingers.

  Her eyes softened. “So you cleaned out a drawer for me. That’s a pretty big step.”

  Not as big a step as saying I love you. “I’d hire a moving company and move all your stuff into my house tonight if I could. But you’d accuse me of bein’ high-handed.”

  “I’m not ready for that step.” She brushed her lips across his. “Yet. And you’re not ready for the explosion of ‘floral vomit’ that composes my stuff either.”

  He smiled. “True dat.” He touched her cheek. “But I will push for you moving in with me, sooner rather than later.”

  “To prove that you’re serious about me.”

  “I already told you I love you. Doesn’t get a whole lot more serious for me, babe.”

  Molly retreated, and Deacon forced himself to let her.

  “We can go out the back.”

  She locked up, immediately noticing his motorcycle in the alley, and shook her head. “No way.”

  “Molly—”

  “No. I’ll follow you.” She paused. “Although I bet you drive this thing so fast my poor Subaru couldn’t keep up.”

  He shrugged and snagged his helmet. “It’s why I bought it. This model leaves Ronin’s bike in the dirt.”

  “Of course you guys race.”

  “I can’t beat the hell out of him in the ring, so I gotta beat him at something.” Letting the helmet dangle in his left hand, he set his right hand in the small of her back and said, “Where’d you park?”

  “Around the corner. I’ll be . . .” She looked up at him. “Oh, stop growling. I’ll be happy to have you escort me to my car so the boogeyman doesn’t get me.”

  “Good answer.” When they reached the sidewalk, he said, “I’m proud as hell that you can protect yourself, Molly, but I hope you never have to prove it.”

  “I know.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Really kissed him like he’d been dying for all fucking week. Although Molly hadn’t repeated the words back to him, Deacon had to have faith and patience that she would.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DEACON beat Molly to his place by ten minutes, giving him enough time to clean up the shithole he’d been wallowing in since Tuesday night.

  In an attempt to get things back to the way they were, maybe even back to normal, he ordered a healthy pizza and she picked out a movie on pay-per-view. They curled up together on the couch.

  He breathed a major sigh of relief that she hadn’t pushed him to talk more. Everything Tag had reamed him about over fucking voice mail the morning after the dinner was true—Deacon was emotionally stunted and he lacked the skills to move forward. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn those skills when so much was at stake. The change wouldn’t happen overnight. It’d take time for him to figure out how to open up to her. Something she seemed to understand.

  When bedtime rolled around, Molly insisted on putting away all her new stuff. The woman had actually teared up while holding a bottle of her shampoo.

  Fuck. He’d never understand women.

  Finally, after forty-five minutes passed, he’d had enough. Just as he was about to drag her ass into his bed, she wandered into the bedroom, rubbing lotion on her hands.

  “About damn time,” he groused.

  “After all the crying I’ve done this week, especially tonight, I had to put cold packs on my eyes or they’d be so puffy tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to see.”

  “Strip and get in here next to me.”

  “Deacon—”

  “I’m not gonna jump you. But sleeping naked together is our thing.”

  She smirked. “It is?”

  “Yeah, it is.” That wasn’t as hard to admit as he’d imagined.

  She clicked off the bedside lamp.

  He could barely see her getting undressed. “Babe. It’s a little late to be shy with me.”

  “Not after I consoled myself with ice cream this week. And then I didn’t go to class to work it off, so I’m feeling poochy.” Molly lifted the covers and dove in.

  Deacon immediately hauled her against him. “Tell me where you’re feeling poochy so I can feel you up and give you a second opinion.”

  “Omigod, no, I am not telling you that.” She tried to push him away. “Geez, Deacon, it’s embarrassing enough that I even told you I wallowed in sugar.”

  He rolled on top of her. “Don’t slam yourself. I hate that shit. You’re a fucking goddess.”

  “Get off me.”

  “She says as she clamps her hands on my ass, holding me in place,” he said with a grin.

  “I love your body.” Her hands glided up his back.

  Just the body? What about the man inside it?

  Deacon kissed her, trying to focus on what he could control. “You really want me to move off you?” he murmured against her lips. “Or do you want me to start moving on you and in you? Fast and hard. Or maybe slow and sweet.”

  “I’m holding out for the wake-up call you promised me.”

  He pressed an openmouthed kiss to his favorite spot on her neck. “Remind me again what that was?”

  “Your tongue on my pussy, making me come twice before you fuck me.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.” He nibbled on her earlobe. “Say something else.”

  “We’re supposed to be going to sleep, not making each other horny.”

  “I only have to look at you and I’m horny.”