She lifted her open hand in front of his face and squeezed it into a tight fist. “I would like to crush something on that asshole that has nothing to do with hopes and dreams.”
Deacon grimaced and fought pinning his thighs together. “Yeah, well. This plan might work if you don’t do anythin’ stupid.” He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t do anything stupid, Reese. Let me handle that motherfucker, not you. Don’t make me regret allowin’ you to stay here.”
Her spine snapped straight. “Allowing me.”
“Yeah, you heard me.”
“You allowed me to stay in my own house. You’re almost as generous as my fucking ex by allowing me to keep the house I fucking paid for.”
As she spoke, her voice had risen and the last part was shouted loud enough he swore he heard it echoed back at him from the woods. If there was any wildlife nearby, they probably all scrambled for cover.
“I’m going to bed.” She headed toward the door, but hesitated with her hand on the door handle. “Oh wait. Am I allowed to do that?”
Without waiting for his response, she went inside, slamming the door shut. He remained outside, where he figured it was a bit safer for the moment. He tracked her as she went into the kitchen, snagged a bottle of wine and a wineglass, and hoofed it across the great room to a door on the other side of the house. From his exploring earlier when she wasn’t home, he knew it was the master bedroom.
He heard that door slam, too.
Then he allowed himself to grin.
He was getting a taste of that, if it was the last thing he did. Having a night with her would be a good use of his balls one last time before she ripped them off.
Chapter Seven
Reese froze as she raised the coffee mug to her lips. She swallowed hard and, keeping her head locked forward, she followed Deacon with only her eyes as he entered the kitchen, wearing black boxer briefs.
Just boxer briefs.
Snug. Very snug. Boxer briefs.
The stretchy cotton hugged his early morning erection as he moved toward the side door, letting Justice outside. He left the door open a gap, turned and headed toward her next.
She lowered the mug a little more, made sure her mouth wasn’t gaping open and then lifted her eyes, because...
Because that was the right thing to do.
Breathe, Reese, breathe.
Breathe.
Almost every inch of his muscular arms were covered in tattoos. That wasn’t the surprising part since she had seen him with sleeves pushed to his elbows. But he had more tattoos covering the skin across his upper chest.
All in black and grey.
She already knew his nipples were pierced but knowing and seeing it in technicolor were two different things.
Very, very different.
Especially since the kitchen lights reflected off the shiny metal barbells. The fact that he let someone—most likely a stranger—drive a needle through the tips of both nipples was both fascinating and disturbing at the same time.
But seeing them now, in the flesh, made a few things on her body flutter. Like her heart, her stomach and... elsewhere.
His hair wasn’t in its normal Viking-like braid. This morning it was pulled back into a sort of messy man-bun to keep it out of his face.
Without a word, he moved past her, where she leaned back against the island counter, and headed toward the coffeemaker tucked into the corner.
Since she normally lived by herself, out of habit she only made enough for herself. And she was on her second mugful.
He reminded her of a zombie as he pulled the empty pot from the coffeemaker, stared at it for a second, then slid it back into place. But as he did so, she got a good view of his back. But only for a couple of seconds before he turned and headed directly toward her.
She could only imagine her eyes were as big as saucers as he approached.
Before she could spit out, “What are you doing?” he’d pulled the mug from her frozen fingers and sucked down half of her fresh coffee. After he was done, he blinked once and handed it back.
She scrambled to grab it before it could fall to the tile floor and smash to pieces.
She stared into her now half-empty mug, wondering if she should finish the rest or dump it down the drain. Before she could decide, he reached down and scratched his balls.
Yes.
That was what he did.
In front of a complete stranger. Scratched his nuts like he had a bug infestation or something.
“Really?” She cleared her throat when her question came out more like a squeak.
He shrugged. “Told me to make myself at home.”
Holy shit, his voice was rough from being unused and it made things she didn’t want to identify skitter through every part of her body.
“I guess I should’ve been more specific.” She shoved the mug into his chest and he grabbed it. “You can finish that. I don’t take my coffee with someone else’s backwash.”