Bittersweet (11 page)

“It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me,” she sniffled. She threw her head back and her eyes were guarded. He didn’t blame her. Not one bit. She looked at him defiantly. “Really. It’s okay. I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out. In the heat of the moment. I know, I know. We’re just fucking.”

Deacon reached behind her and undid the ribbon. She had gathered her clothes and left before he even stood. The bells over the shop door jangled when she left. She only lived two blocks away. A lot could happen in two blocks, but she was a big girl and she would never forgive him if he followed. Not when she was full of embarrassment and anger and hurt.

“I love you, too, Rayka,” he said, and Chiquita answered with a meow. At least someone heard him say it because it had taken all of the courage he had.

Chapter 18

My God. What an idiot. Rayka could not believe she had said that. No matter what you are feeling on the inside, you don’t say that to a man. And you most certainly do not say it first. Then, to add insult to injury, he had tried to comfort her, and she had made it worse by acting like she’d never said it. Like she hadn’t meant it!

“Jesus Christ. I am stupid. Stupid, stupid,” she said, her voice cracking. She could hear it even over the angry smack of her heels on the pavement. What she needed was to get home, take a shower, put on some sweats, and try to forget what she had done. What she had said. Jesus. It would take a bottle of hooch to do that. She’d have to drink a bottle of wine and eat a pint of ice cream to erase her memory. Or stick her head in the microwave and turn it on. That was an option.

A car came up, slowed, and seemed to hover close to her. Rayka turned, hoping somewhere in her that it was Deacon. As dumb as it sounded, she hoped that he had followed to say he was sorry and that he loved her. That he didn’t understand it either, that it didn’t make any sense but that he felt it. A connection, a protective nature, an attraction, and yes—love. They could call it that. That he felt
something
. For her.

She turned. A police car. Probably trying to figure out if she was a hooker looking for tricks. It cruised by, but slowly. Trying to see if she was peddling ass.

She waved and the police cruiser’s lights lit up. The cop waved as he passed and she couldn’t help but laugh. Nice. Mistaken for a hooker—it didn’t get much better.

One thing was for sure, there was no way she was going to the renaming party. He was on his own with that. She’d had enough humiliation. She would skip the party. She would not answer the phone. She was done with Deacon James. For good.

* * * *

“Call me, Rayka. Just call me—”

Rayka sipped her tea and stared at the machine as it spit Deacon’s voice out. It was like an illusion. A flat black box emitting a voice that turned her inside out. Made her hot and liquid and crazy.
And sad
—
don’t forget sad.

Right. Sad. No way. She would not go tonight. It didn’t matter that he called. It didn’t matter that he had called for the past few days. No matter how much she listened to him, she would not go.

Yes, you will. You’ll go. You can’t
not
go.

Her hand hovered right above the receiver as he sighed into the phone and continued. “I really hope you’ll come tonight. If not as my...well...as my friend. I thought maybe you would come as my friend.” Even apologetic his voice was gruff. Used to getting his way. Rough around the edges.

“Yes. Because we are so suited as friends, Deacon,” she said and sipped her tea. She was going for caustic but the slight sob in her tone ruined the effect. It was downright embarrassing. Even if she was the only one to hear it.

“Your friend Ted will be here. You don’t want to throw Ted to the dogs, do you? You don’t want Ted to start hitting me up to redo this place. Because I am. I want to. But I might either give Ted the job or I might kill Ted. I haven’t decided. Ted makes me ambivalent that way.”

Shit. She had forgotten about Ted. Ted was a pain in the ass but he would be thrilled to be there and he’d be looking for her. Ted was a pig, but he wasn’t a
bad
pig per se, just a pig. And what would Deacon do? He wouldn’t hurt the pig. Surely, Ted would be safe. Annoying and up everyone’s ass sideways, but harmless and innocent.

“Okay. It’s up to you. Ted’s fate rests in your hands, Rayka. I hope you’ll come. I...I’d like to see you,” he finished swiftly and hung up.

Who had a party and didn’t even know the new name of the store? Who threatened to possibly kill an invited guest? Who stooped to that kind of blackmail? Deacon. That was who.

“Fine. You win, big, bad, and berserk. I’ll come. I’ll dress up and come and save Ted and find out what ridiculous name you have given your shop.” Rayka tore through her closet and settled on jet black slacks, black ankle boots, and a hot pink top with a scrollwork of black. She’d match the store. “And piss you off,” she muttered.

She glanced at the clock. Two hours before the renaming. She had time to shower, do her hair and makeup, take a shot of something, maybe espresso vodka, and pray. Pray that she could make it through the night making him miserable and sparing herself the same fate.

When she walked into
The Good, the Bad and the Yummy,
the usual suspects were there. Neighborhood folks, reporters for small newspapers and community magazines, and a local news crew. She pushed in and looked around for familiar faces. Deacon was in the corner pushing samples like a crack dealer hocking his wares. His eyes found her and his gaze locked with hers. Her stomach did a low, lazy flip and Rayka sucked in air, trying to breathe. Then a hand clamped down on her shoulder and she damn near hyperventilated.

“There you are! The candy is spectacular but the party is a bore. Beyond a bore,” Ted said and feigned a yawn.

“Sorry, you knew it was a local biz,” she said.

“Hey there, girly girl,” Mrs. Shapiro said and hugged her. She nibbled a petit four and took a sip of what looked like champagne out of a fancy plastic glass.

“Mrs. S! What are you doing here?”

“I was worried. That man isn’t all there,” Mrs. Shapiro said and then twirled her bejeweled finger near her temple. “You deserve better. Even though he did attempt a ham-handed apology. But still, much better is what you should have. Isn’t that right, Petunia?” She tucked a finger inside her oversized purse. Rayka heard snuffling like a truffle-seeking pig. Dear God. The dog was in the bag.

Petunia pushed her smooshed up face over the side of the bag and snuffled her agreement.

“Thanks, but I’m here as a designer. Strictly professional. I decided against dating Deacon the other night.”

“Excellent,” Ted interjected and sidled a bit closer. Rayka couldn’t help but think of a snake’s sibilant hiss when he said the word. Predator. That’s what he felt like breathing on her and standing so close. She took a small step to the side and smiled.

“It was for the best. But he did invite me and you know darn well when you work for yourself, any social event can turn into a possible job.”

“True. True. Now let me get you a drink. It’ll loosen you up,” he said and darted off.

Yes. She was sure that was Ted’s goal. Loosen her up and then relieve her of her clothes. She could feel Deacon’s eyes on her, burning into her skin. Rayka turned her attention to Mrs. S and her intrusive canine.

“So, once we’re all done with your bedroom, are you done with the house?” Honestly, she really didn’t care—she just wanted to focus her attention.

“No, honey, I’ve been meaning to tell you I want to do the sitting room next. That’s where Petunia’s bed is. She loves red. Red and green. Like Christmas.”

Oh shit. Like Christmas. But she nodded dumbly until Ted nearly knocked her over handing her a drink. “Here you go, pretty lady. Have some bubbly.” Then he did the unthinkable. He put his arm around her and none too subtly brushed his right hand up the side swell of her breast.

Without thinking, Rayka glanced at Deacon and her hand tightened on the plastic stem of the glass. An immovable obstruction had blossomed in her throat, and she swallowed hard to dislodge it with no success. Time seemed to slow as she saw Deacon set down the tray, glower at them, and then round the counter with what could only be described as malicious intent.

“Ted—”Rayka started but by then, it was too late.

Deacon had Ted’s arm behind his back as Ted stuttered a loud protest. It didn’t matter, though, Deacon’s expression was primal. There were no thought processes going on in there, she thought, as Deacon gave Ted the traditional bum’s rush.

Chapter 19

Deacon propelled the slime ball out the front door. He was completely aware that all eyes were on him, including reporters, and he was powerless to control it. When Ted had touched Rayka, rage had shot through him, a swift and fierce presence.

“Don’t fucking come back, Teddy boy,” he managed. “I’d hate to have to go to jail almost as much as I’d hate to send you to the emergency room.”

Ted stammered with blustery indignation and Deacon ignored him.

“Mr. James!” a reporter called. She was long and leggy with jet black hair to her waist. Those legs would probably wrap around a man’s waist during sex and lock him tight against her. Her name was Nora, and she had been hitting on him all night. Her camera man was rolling and he followed Deacon with a predatory interest.

Deacon held up his hand and shook his head. He grabbed Rayka by the arm and started to pull her toward the office. “You’re coming with me.”

Her face wasn’t fearful. It was more angry and stubborn. She started to shake her head, but they were both surprised by the old lady.

Mrs. Shapiro clutched at Rayka’s other arm and she squeaked. “No! No you won’t take her! Petunia and I won’t allow it.”

Petunia, who liked to amuse herself by peeing on Rayka’s shoes, stuck her head out and growled to protect her mistress’s friend. Deacon leaned in and growled back.

At first, she tugged against him, and he thought he’d have to flip her over his shoulder and drag her off like some caveman. That should work to ruin the store. In the end, she relented and allowed him to yank her across the store to the office. He pushed Chiquita out of the office and slammed the door, sliding the lock home.

The silence unfolded around them and all he could hear was his harsh breathing. Rayka’s seemed to be keeping tempo with his. “Deacon—”

He didn’t let her finish. He couldn’t. Over and over in his mind he saw it. Saw Ted put his arm around her. Saw his fingers play along the flare of her breast. Saw the surprise and anger cross her face and then it re-looped for him. The internal movie from hell.

He shoved her back against the wall, her shoulder hitting the edge of the shelving unit. He pushed the delicate black pants down over her hips. She struggled under him until he shoved her panties down too, snatched the whole mess free of her and pushed his finger into her cunt. Wet. She was wet. It was the only bit of information that seemed to matter.

“No,” she said. “Deacon, I will talk to you but I will not—” Her voice lost its clipped rhythm and bled into a moan as he shoved another finger deep and flexed them. He located her G-spot, swollen and eager, and pushed his fingers against it. His teeth found her nipple through her blouse and he bit without thinking. The only thing in his head was a single word, the soundtrack to the movie from hell.

Mine, mine, mine...

“No, no, no,” she said. But even as the words drifted from her lips, her leg came up and hooked around his waist. Her back arched and she let him bite her a little harder.

Deacon didn’t wait or ask. He slid down his zipper and pushed the head of his cock against her for just a moment and then slid home. Later he would explain and confess and woo. Right now he needed to fuck.

“Mine,” he said in her ear and yanked her up, seating her on his thrusting pelvis, pushing her against the wall as he fucked her. Her breath was wispy and fast. But the other sounds, the moans and sighs, reassured him that he would not suffocate her.

He squeezed, his fingers biting into the supple flesh of her ass. Her heat clenched around him. This sweet pussy was his. Only his. And he had to come so he could erase the homicidal feeling. He had to claim her and then he would be able to think like a man and not an animal.

He yanked the exaggerated V
of her blouse down, pushed aside her bra, and bit the other breast. Not on the nipple this time, but on the lush flesh above her heart.

“Oh, God.” She came around him, her long leg yanking him tighter, deeper. “Deacon.”

He was right behind her, keeping his teeth pressed into her soft skin while he came. “I love you,” he said as the last of him emptied deep into her. “There. I love you. I don’t know why. I don’t care. You are mine,” he said and let his head fall against her shoulder.

After a moment, she played her fingers through his hair. She shh-ed in his ear and rubbed his back softly, like he was a child. She kept her legs wrapped around his waist, her sex clenching every so often, soft echoes of her orgasm. “Shhhh,” she said and that was when he realized he was trembling. Not just from exertion but from emotion. “It will be okay,” she said.

Funny, but he believed her.

Chapter 20