Crashed (Entangled Indulgence) (14 page)

“Yeah?” The raw emotion in his voice had not diminished, not even a fraction.

She moved closer to him, her own anger sailing over pissed and landing somewhere in the vicinity of rage. Deacon wasn’t the only one hurting. His opinion of her, as it turned out, wasn’t much better than that bastard downstairs. But despite her desire to lash out, to rail on him, she kept her voice controlled, even. “You get that in my line of work.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she moved in, so close her breasts brushed his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Whore, Deacon.” He visibly flinched, mouth opening, then closing. “Your friend downstairs wanted to know my hourly rate.”

A flush crept up from his neck, and he gritted his teeth. “What did you just say?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out? Here, maybe I should show you.” She yanked on his belt, pulling the leather free, unbuckling it to shove her hand inside. She was surprised when she found him hard as iron, cock pulsing in her hand.

“What are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly in his.

“I would have thought that was obvious. Services rendered and all that. Maybe you’d prefer my mouth?” She tried to drop to her knees in front of him, but he released her hands and gripped her upper arms, holding her immobile. “I thought you loved it when I sucked your cock?”

His nostrils flared, and the heat in his gaze sent her up in flames, but he didn’t release his hold, nor did the anger causing his body to shake diminish.

She tried to fight him, tried to drop down in front of him again. “Suddenly you’ve grown a conscience? What, don’t tell me you
care
for your little whore, Deacon?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Still her pulse raced, wanting to hear it, to hear that he actually gave a shit.

Instead he stood there like a damn robot, confusion and God only knew what else in his gaze, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. Oh, yeah, he knew the ugly truth as well as she did. They could never be together. They were from different worlds now. She’d momentarily forgotten that, had let her emotions cloud her better judgment. Convinced herself their feelings for each other would be enough to overcome their differences, that they were so much more than what they were.

What she was.

But even if Deacon had considered more, some kind of future together that didn’t include sneaking around—well, the reality of his neighbor soliciting sex from her would have knocked any stupid ideas from his head.

Having a girlfriend who could pass as a streetwalker? Not a good look for a corporate CEO.

She pulled out of his arms, and he let her. Let her pace to the other side of the room, away from him. Pain more acute than she thought possible gripped her heart.

“Alex…” He took a step toward her, then slammed on the brakes, shoved his fingers through his hair, and bit off several more curses.

I am such an idiot.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Goddammit, she would not fall apart in front of him. She darted through the closest door, into the bathroom, and shut herself in. Sucking down several deep breaths, she fought to keep her emotions in check.
You knew this would happen, but you still opened your heart. This is your own damn fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Head bent, she stared at the floor, then her gaze landed on the trash basket. A shirt had been dumped in there, and she could see something pink smudged on it. Without thinking, she lifted it out and held it up.

Lipstick stained the front pocket and one side of the collar.
Oh, God.
She stood frozen. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. But it didn’t take a mind like Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the owner of the lipstick was, either.

Had he kept Emily on the sidelines all along?

She shook her head. If she believed that, she was no better than Deke, with his mistrust and accusations. There had to be a reasonable explanation, didn’t there?

God, she wanted to believe that, so much, but that old fear—the sting of his rejection when he’d left her for Emily—lurked below the surface, making it hard to think clearly.

All of a sudden she was suffocating. Every breath seemed to scald her throat, her lungs shrinking in her chest with each painful breath. She threw the shirt back in the trash and bolted from the bathroom.

“Alex?” Deacon called after her.

“I need to get back to work.” He came after her, grabbed her arms, and stupid hope fluttered through her belly. She turned to face him but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Don’t run away from me, Alex. Not again.”

“I have to go.” She tried to pull free, but he held on tight. “Let me go.” She barely recognized her own voice, so broken, so damn pathetic.

He winced a second before his expression closed down completely.

Then he did what she asked—he released her, stepped back, and let her walk out the door.

Chapter Eighteen

Deacon gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make it groan as he pulled into the parking garage under his apartment building. After an afternoon spent explaining to his goddamn lawyer why he’d broken that bastard’s nose, his shitty mood still hadn’t improved. The asshole would more than likely sue.

It was worth it.

At the end of the day, it was only money. And that bastard more than deserved what he’d gotten.

He still didn’t know what had come over him. He’d lost it. In his surprise at seeing Alex there, then the way the guy had crowded her, put his hands on her. Like an idiot, he’d immediately thought the worst. His default after Emily’s deceit, her cheating. The way his mother had done the same to his father.

Trusting another person, even Alex, didn’t come easily. But she hadn’t deserved his rancor, his accusations.

Don’t tell me you
care
for your little whore, Deacon?

Jesus. He’d frozen when she’d fired those pain-filled words at him. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d accused her of when he knew better, knew she would never do that to him, had hit hard.

She’d called herself a whore.
He’d
made her feel that way. She doubted his feelings for her. Had no clue how he felt. That knowledge had rendered him speechless. And so fucking ashamed of the way he’d treated her, the things he’d said. Buried in his own petty jealousy, he had struggled with what he could possibly do or say to make it right.

So he’d done fucking nothing.

He’d messed up.

God, her face—he’d literally seen her pulling away from him, shutting down, and he’d imploded. Too many emotions warring to take front and center. In the end, he’d been unable to convey anything but anger. Furious with that asshole, and furious with himself for causing her to doubt her feelings for him, feelings she hadn’t been able to hide the night before when he’d made love to her.

But what pissed him off most of all was that he’d allowed his past to get in the way of what he could have with Alex. Instead of helping her work through her fears, he’d allowed his own, his fear of losing her, to take over. He’d messed things up. Again.

So much so, he’d managed to obliterate any progress he’d made with her, the trust he’d worked so hard to gain.

And she’d run from him.

He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and shoved the door open. Screw it. He was supposed to attend a business meeting tonight with Alex, but he’d cancel. He needed time with her alone, to try to repair the damage he’d done.

Did she truly believe he saw her as nothing but a whore? Jesus, the idea made him ill. Yeah, he’d told her the agreement between them would only ever be physical, but that was so he could make her accept the truth, accept the way they felt about each other. Without expectations, without letting her fear of attachment get in the way. He shoved his hands in his hair. But it wasn’t her issues threatening to destroy their relationship before it began. It was him. His petty jealousy. His possessiveness. His inability to trust.

The two women in his life he should have been able to count on most, his mother and his wife, had lied and cheated. And he was now realizing the full effect those betrayals had had on him. How it had messed him up. That because of it, he didn’t trust his own damn judgment, when he
knew
Alex would never do that to him.

If he didn’t sort his shit out, he’d ruin everything. He’d lose Alex for good.

He shouldn’t have let her walk out his apartment door. He should have held on to her and made her understand.

“Deacon?”

He turned to find Emily standing by her car. So preoccupied with Alex, he hadn’t even seen it when he drove in. “What are you doing here?”

Her lip quivered. “I—I need to talk to you. Please don’t tell me to go.”

“We have nothing to discuss. Not a damned thing.”

He turned away, but she rushed after him and grabbed his arm. “Please. I’m not doing so well, Deacon. I—I think I might do something stupid.” A tear streaked down her perfectly made-up face. “I miss you so much. Seeing you with…” Her face twisted. “With
her
.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear it.”

“What do you think you might do, Emily?” She shook her head again, and he grabbed her upper arms. “Answer me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face against his chest.

He had no choice but to hold her while she cried, when all he wanted to do was shake the shit out of her, beg her to leave him the fuck alone. This woman had screwed with his life, made him fucking miserable, and he was trapped, chained to her in a way that had him waking up at night in a cold sweat. He sure as hell wouldn’t let her kill herself over him. That was something he could never live with. But no matter how many doctors and psychiatrists she saw, it always came back to this. Her obsession with him.

“Why aren’t you with Steve?”

“He’s away on business.” She brushed her tears away.

“How would he feel if he knew you were here?”

She sucked in a breath and looked away. “I doubt he’d care.” Her eyes, round and liquid, stared up at him. “He’s not you.”

Jesus Christ.
“Come upstairs.” She gave him a wobbly smile and clutched his hand like a lifeline. The thought made him want to throw up.

Emily had been doing great for the last eighteen months. It seemed like she’d finally moved on. Could he trust this? This sudden relapse? She’d manipulated him more times than he could remember. But then, how could he risk not believing her?

If he ignored her cry for help and something happened…

Shit.

He took her up to his apartment and let her in. “Take a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

So fucking polite, so normal.
Have some nice, soothing tea while you emotionally blackmail me, while you keep me away from the only woman I’ve ever loved.

He leaned against the counter and took several steadying breaths. Jesus, could he be any more of an asshole? For all he knew, Emily was suffering some kind of emotional breakdown. It wouldn’t be the first he’d ridden out with her—but it sure as hell needed to be the last. He couldn’t be her crutch, not anymore. He needed to talk her into getting help.

He pulled out the cups and glanced at his watch.
Dammit.

There was no way he’d make his dinner meeting tonight, but more frustrating, he doubted he’d get to see Alex. He quickly called about dinner, made his apologies, and rescheduled, then scrolled down to Alex’s name. The phone rang for so long he started to think she wouldn’t answer.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice went a long way to soothing the stress and anxiety he always felt when Emily was like this. “Hey.”

The pause before she spoke, that hint of wariness, fucking twisted him up inside. “Worried I’m not coming?”

“No, I—”

“We have a deal, right?”

Deal.
It wasn’t a fucking deal, not to him. And as much as she tried to deny it, she knew it, too. “Alex…”

“We still have a deal, don’t we, Deacon?” There was an acerbic bite to her voice—her tone damn near gave him frostbite. He knew she was still angry after the way he’d behaved this morning—she had every right to be—but he got the feeling this was something more.

He held the phone tighter to his ear. “Talk to me, Alex. I know I—”

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll head over to your place when I’m ready.”

Her voice was still cold, but she’d dropped the quietly controlled anger. Now she just sounded emotionless, distant. Fuck. She was holding back, keeping her feelings locked down, and he hated it.

“Deacon?” Emily’s voice drifted in from the hall and, he was positive, bounced off the kitchen cabinets and right down the goddamn receiver to Alex.

“You still at work?” Alex asked.

“Look, something’s come up. I, ah…I have to cancel our plans for tonight.” He wanted to say more, so much more, but Emily chose that moment to walk into the kitchen.

Alex was silent for several seconds, then she laughed, the sound forced, distant. “Jesus. You’re so damn predictable.”

Goddammit.
“No. Listen to me—”

Emily’s face crumpled. “Are you…are you talking to her?”

After the way things had been left between them, this was the last thing he needed. Alex barely trusted him as it was. With the scratches and the confrontation in the store… She’d jump to the wrong conclusion without doubt. His little viper would use it as another way to protect herself, an excuse to push him away, and he couldn’t have that. He was doing a good enough job of that on his own.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell her about Emily—all of it, the lies, the betrayal—but the memory of his ex sitting in the bathtub the day after he’d found her in bed with another man, a blade to her wrist and swearing she’d cut her vein wide open if he exposed her, if he told her family and friends what she’d done to keep him—stopped him cold. She couldn’t bear the humiliation. All she had left was her position in society. She’d lost him, if she lost that, too…

He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk telling anyone, not even Alex.

Alex cleared her throat. “Yeah, sure.”

Dread slammed him hard. “This morning, I…” He glanced up at Emily, and those cold blue eyes were locked on him. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Forget it, Deacon. I have,” Alex said, then hung up.

…

Alex rolled an old tire around the side of the garage to stash behind the building. Really, this job could wait till later, but she needed a minute. Rusty had been watching her all damn day, and Piper just flat-out wouldn’t leave her alone. They weren’t blind. They knew something was up. Something she could never tell them.

And being a crabby bitch all day hadn’t helped, either.

I’ll talk to you soon, okay?

Those words kept running through her mind. If that wasn’t a kiss-off, she didn’t know what was. One minute he missed her, couldn’t get enough of her, the next, she was finding lipstick-stained shirts in his trash and he couldn’t get away fast enough. She shoved down the stab of pain. Her feelings didn’t matter in all this. He’d made that clear from the start.

All that mattered now was what this meant for West Restoration.

Lifting the tire, she stacked it on top of the others, then turned to leave and slammed up against a hard chest.

She opened her mouth to scream bloody murder, but a hand slapped over her mouth—and Deacon filled her vision. “It’s just me.”

She yanked his fingers away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Then without conscious thought, her gaze moved over him, ate up every inch of his body. It had only been a day, but it felt like forever. So many emotions pounded through her, making her dizzy. She didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss the living daylights out of him.

“I had to come and see you.” He moved in, crowded her, pressed her into the warm steel wall of the garage at her back. “Last night…something came up.”

His back muscles tensed under her hands, and she realized she’d wrapped herself around him instinctively. That brought her up short.

Wise the hell up, Alex.

His dark gaze zeroed in on her mouth. If he kissed her right now, she’d be lost. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You’ve been busy with your suit buddies, whatever.” She shoved at his chest to get some space and shrugged. “Hey, I get it. Whores and five-star restaurants don’t mix, right?”

Suddenly his hands were on her ass, and she was up against the wall. He shoved her higher, so they were eye level, and that big hard body pressed into hers. His solid thighs were wedged between hers, forcing her to open for him, and he ground the hard ridge of his erection against her center. The delicious pressure had her crying out. Then he stepped back from the wall suddenly, taking her with him. Just long enough for one of those big hands to leave her butt and come down again on the same cheek with a loud
smack
.

Heat hit her face, anger and—dammit—lust firing her blood. She fought to get free, but he just pressed into her harder.

“You’re not going anywhere. You are not running away. You will listen to me.” She turned away, but he grabbed her chin, using his hips to hold her where he wanted her, and made her look at him. “I didn’t go to the dinner meeting…something else came up. Something that kept me from you.” He cursed under his breath. “I don’t give a damn about five-star restaurants, and if you call yourself a whore once more, just once, I’ll put you over my knee.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She tried to shove him back, but he didn’t budge.

Heat flashed behind his eyes. “Try me.”

Her lower belly clenched at his words, remembering the way he’d spanked her over her kitchen table, and she barely resisted rubbing up against that scorching-hot flesh still pressed between her thighs. “So what? We’re still doing this?” She bit her lip, hated the strain in her voice, the need he had to have heard.
Idiot.

He squeezed her ass. “I just need a couple days. That’s all. I have… There’s something I need to finalize, something that requires my entire focus. Believe me, no one will be happier than me when it’s over.”

She wanted to question him further, ask him about the shirt in his bathroom. Tell him what an asshole he’d been, that she didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But he chose that moment to bury his face against her throat and scrape his teeth against her skin, nipping then sucking away the sting, and the words got stuck in her throat.

“I’ve been going out of my mind, baby.”

He ground against her again, and she moaned, circling her hips, reaching for the release that was already so close just from having him pressed against her. God, she was pathetic, weak. She let her head fall back against the warm steel behind her in an attempt to ground herself, to regain some common sense. But her body didn’t give a flying fuck about common sense—it cried out to have him inside her again.

“Say you’ll wait, Alex. Say that you’ll give me a couple days.”

Right then, she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone the reasons this wasn’t a good idea. All her doubts were dissolving into a puddle at his feet. Then his mouth was on hers, and she was burning from the inside out. His tongue met hers, and she felt each sensual slide, each wild thrust between her quivering thighs. The world vanished around her. Her body didn’t want anything to do with logic, it wanted Deacon, his hands, his mouth, his cock inside her.