Caged (Mastered 4)

A beat passed. “I thought you might say that.”

When she tried to retreat, he trapped her face in his hands. “Don’t think for a second it’s because I don’t want to fuck you until you can’t move this sexy body without thinking of me on you and in you. Because that’s what will happen the next time we’re naked together. You really wanna be limping, sore, and covered in my marks on the day you bury your grandma?”

She blinked at him, then shook her head.

“Understand this. Tonight is the only night I’ll say no to you.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I hope you have ideas on how we can keep ourselves occupied.”

“Funny you should mention that. Get your workout clothes on. We’re going for a run.”

“Funny.” When he didn’t crack a smile, she said, “You’re serious.”

“Yep. Not the way I envisioned getting sweaty with you, but I need cardio.”

“So go without me.”

He shook his head.

“You’re not my teacher anymore. You can’t make me.”

Deacon laughed. “You really wanna test that theory?”

“You’re mean. Maybe I’ll lag behind and yell insults at you.”

“You cursing at me will be the highlight of the run, babe.”

CHAPTER TEN

DEACON had been her rock, holding her up when she’d been weighted down with sorrow. She’d needed him to take charge. Forcing her to run, to eat, to sleep.

Amery had correctly assumed that in Molly’s rush to leave Denver, she hadn’t packed funeral attire. She’d found three outfits in storage at her loft and had sent them with Deacon.

At first Molly refused to try the clothes on. But after Deacon threatened to strip her and dress her in them himself, she’d locked herself in the bathroom. No surprise neither of the first two outfits fit. The third option, a long-sleeved black knit dress with a modest neckline, was snug, but it worked. Not that anyone would be looking at her. They’d all be too busy gawking at Deacon.

His suit was obviously custom-tailored, since the black pinstripes managed to both camouflage his big body and accentuate his amazing build. The high-necked white shirt covered his tattoos. The pale blue patterned silk tie matched his eyes. The man looked just as good dressed up as he did completely naked.

Deacon caught her staring. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you in a suit before.”

“So?”

“So you look spectacular.”

He brushed aside her compliment and jiggled the keys. “Let’s go.”

Uncle Bob, Jennifer, and Brandi were already in the family room when she and Deacon arrived at the church.

No one broke the somber mood with idle chatter. Then the funeral director escorted them into the front pews of the church and the organist began to play. Grams would’ve been happy to see all the people who’d come to pay their respects.

Deacon held her hand and supplied her with fresh tissues during the service. The reverend’s words were fitting, but Molly doubted she’d remember specifics. Deacon stood beside her during the internment.

Afterward, during the repast in the church basement, he never ventured more than four feet from her side, supporting her as people she’d known her whole life offered condolences. Although her cousins were on their best behavior, Deacon kept an eye on them too.

Finally, the day had ended.

Molly barely remembered getting into Deacon’s rental car and driving to the motel. Inside the room, he slipped off her shoes, forced her to drink three shots of scotch, and tucked her into bed.

At first when she’d awoken, she’d hoped it’d all been a bad dream. But Deacon’s scent on the pillow next to her and the taste of booze on her tongue reminded her that the day’s events were all too real.

After using the bathroom and brushing her teeth, she sought him out.

He’d settled on the sofa. His eyes were closed. His head was back. Light and shadows from the television flickered over his angular face. He’d removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. His black dress shoes were off, and he’d propped his bare feet on the coffee table. His arm hung over the edge of the couch, a tumbler dangling from his fingers.

He sensed her and lifted his head. “You get some sleep?”

“Of course I did—after you dosed me with scotch.”

“You needed it.” Deacon shifted, setting his feet on the floor and moving the glass to the table.

“Did I catch the unflappable Deacon McConnell napping?”

His lips twitched. “Just resting my eyes.”