Caged (Mastered 4)

Once she’d stepped into the nearly deserted hallway, she could breathe normally again. She tucked her phone into her skirt pocket and turned in the direction opposite the main entrance. Since she seemed to have all the time in the world, she peeked in the windows of the other private banquet rooms. Some were occupied and some were not. Luckily, she’d checked the name of the room she’d just left or else she might’ve gotten lost. All the faces were unfamiliar, so she wouldn’t have known if she’d stumbled into the wrong party room.

It freaked her out that the people in the rooms looked exactly the same. Women smartly dressed, makeup understated—she knew it took a ton of effort and concealer to pull off the “natural” look. The men were in sport coats, beneath that, candy-colored polo shirts that didn’t look good on any man, let alone the senior set.

Deacon had grudgingly dressed in clothing other than jeans and a T-shirt. Several pairs of appreciative female eyes had checked him out when they’d walked in. He had epitomized cool, suave, and mysterious in a light gray polo, charcoal-toned dress pants, and a black linen sport coat. He looked nothing like the other country-club clones.

She saw a tiny sign that said LADIES’ POWDER ROOM—no gauche wording like bathroom at the Barclay Country Club. After she stepped inside, she stopped.

Oh wow. This place was straight out of the 1980s, with a mauve and gray color scheme. A long countertop held an assortment of beauty items. A cushioned stool had been tucked under the counter—possibly for a powder-room attendant?

She turned a corner and discovered a lounging area. With no mirrors or sinks, it seemed a waste of space. She lowered onto the chaise and almost bounced upright again. Talk about springy. She bounced a couple more times and grinned. This could be a fun place for a quickie. If she could ever find her wayward boyfriend.

Closing her eyes, she pictured them sneaking in here—hot and wild for each other. They’d undress only enough to serve their need for instant connection and release.

She’d push Deacon on his back on the chaise. The intensity in his eyes when she rode him always got to her. Would they be mouth-to-mouth, kissing frantically, swallowing each other’s groans? Would Deacon have his big hands around her hips, guiding her movements? Or would he twine her hair through his fingers, forcing her gaze to remain on his face as he manipulated her clit?

Need surged through her. When she and Deacon were body to body, he made her feel beautiful, sexy, wanted, and loved. How she wished they could return to the hotel and shut out the world like they had this afternoon. Another curl of heat unfurled as she remembered Deacon’s near desperation to be inside her and how thoroughly he’d reminded them both of their intimate connection.

The door swung open, and female voices sliced through her solitude.

Molly stayed put. She was here first. Maybe they wouldn’t stick around long and she could go back to brooding in silence.

“Love your shoes, Julianne,” a woman gushed.

Great. Of all the people it could be, it had to be Deacon’s mother.

“Thank you. Lola, my personal shopper at Neiman’s, is a godsend.”

“So what were you saying before?”

“Oh, just that I don’t understand why he brought her to this JFW dinner. It’s not like he’s paying any attention to her.”

“I’ve seen Bing herding Deacon around,” the other woman said. “What’s he up to?”

A faucet turned on and off.

“Bing wants to introduce him to key employees to drive home the point that their jobs would be in jeopardy if JFW is sold.”

“Smart. You’ve got to be happy that Deacon isn’t shirking his responsibilities for a change.”

Shirking his responsibilities? The man trained like a fiend seven days a week. He defined disciplined.

“He shouldn’t have any responsibilities in the first place. I don’t understand why his grandfather insisted Deacon have a seat on the board. He’s not exactly . . .”

Not exactly what, Mama Westerman? Bright? Or easily manipulated?

“Richard said Bing has offered Deacon his position at JFW if he verbally commits now to take over when he’s done fighting.”

A shiver zipped down Molly’s spine. Deacon’s words to Maddox yesterday—fighting for a living ain’t my only option—seemed more ominous.

“When being the operative word for him. Deacon. He won’t give up fighting. And then there’s . . . her.”

Her has a name, bitch.

“So it’s serious?”

“Bing says so.” Julianne sniffed. “Everyone is acting like I’m supposed to be happy that he has a girlfriend after all these years.”