Bittersweet (9 page)

“You look a little angry,” she said, softly. “Did I do something?”

“What? No!” But he was angry. Angry at losing everything he had once had and cherished. At being afraid to let himself have anything worth having. Like Rayka.

Deacon wasn’t a little angry. He was pissed. But he would not let his heart stray. Keep it simple. Keep it clean. Rayka was a temporary diversion. Some company and some sex. It was how it had to be. It was what was best.

For both of them

* * * *

“Well, it’s nice to meet the man behind the voice!” Mrs. Shapiro gushed. Dressed head to toe in electric lime green, she was one scary broad, Deacon thought. Eccentric and nice, but scary. Her lipstick was the color of cranberries and her shoes were zebra print. Rayka had been right. Not a good mix at all.

Rayka caught his look of surprise at the outfit and grinned as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He watched her work the room. Watched her confidence and grace and how she had just the right amount of professionalism and humor. He was proud of her.

“Nice to meet you, too. You have a lovely home. Lovelier I’m sure once Rayka gets a hold of that master suite.”

“Absolutely. You are lucky to be wooing her. I think she’ll end up like one of those TV decorators on Oprah and such. You know, giving people’s houses makeovers. Improving their taste.”

His eyes went to her outfit of their own accord when she said “taste.” She wrapped one thin arm around his and started to guide him to the board. The board was front and center. Deacon was surprised she didn’t have a spotlight on it. The thought made his mind stray back to the front porch. Plunging his fingers into Rayka’s wet, moist heat until she came for him. Until she cried out for him, forgetting where she was. Forgetting herself. Letting go.

“... right?”

“I’m sorry?” he said. He redirected his attention to the board Rayka had dropped off earlier in the day. A large white board on an easel. She had put up a watercolor rendering of the old lady’s bedroom and some swatches of the fabric she would use. Deacon was surprised out how artistic the “blueprint” was.

“I said you obviously have impeccable taste if you are with Rayka. Tell me, are there wedding bells in the future? Baby booties?”

“No,” he growled before he could temper himself. He watched the old woman recoil and then slowly let go of his arm as if she were afraid.

“Oh,” she stammered, clearly frightened. “Very well, then. Enjoy the party. Thank you for coming.”

Deacon hung his head and clenched his fists. Godammit. Why hadn’t he stifled that anger? Now Mrs. Shapiro eyed him with uncertainty and more than a bit of trepidation.

“What did you say?” She leaned in and put her head on his shoulder. It was a familiar gesture. An affectionate gesture. And he wanted to return it. He liked it. Which churned up all of that anger again. His stomach contracted and his ears buzzed with the force of his emotions.

“I told her I wouldn’t marry you or have a family with you,” he blurted.

She turned her eyes to his and straightened her back. She looked hurt but proud. He had caught her off-guard. Marriage and kids and a future hadn’t even been a part of their conversation. Her deep, electric-blue eyes flashed with the pain.

“No one asked you to. I mean, well of course not. We’re just dating.”

He knew he shouldn’t say it. He knew it was cruel. But he could not fall for this woman. That was unacceptable. He would never go back to the hell he had already been through. He would never feel that again. He had promised himself that much. He had to stop any of that insanity before it started, so he did say it.

“Actually, we’re just fucking.”

Chapter 15

Wow. She had no idea why that hurt as bad as it did. How in the world could she feel such a surge of pain hearing that from a man she had
just
met? It wasn’t as if they had been dating for ages and she had plotted out their wedding and the lives to follow. This was sex. Right? Despite what he had said the night before about being around, she had forced herself to take it with a grain of salt. Men said stupid things after sex, and she was wise enough to know that. This was nothing more than a nice dating relationship where she was learning a bit about herself. She liked to be in charge all the time except in the bedroom. She could relinquish her power there and it was all good. And she liked to be spanked. And finger-fucked on the front porch. And...Rayka stopped the thoughts right there and sucked in a breath. Her face was burning hot with embarrassment and her heart hurt. It just hurt. She didn’t know why it hurt that bad.

“Of course. You’re right. We just met. Mrs. Shapiro doesn’t know that. She just got the wrong idea is all. Plus, there’s her age. Women of her generation expected a proposal if they let you pull out their dinner chair.” She forced a laugh and it sounded horrid. Uncomfortable and false.

“Rayka,” he said. He reached out and took her arm. Something that looked like regret but couldn’t be washed over his sharp features.

“Yes?” Her stomach twisted and she set her wine down on a marble table. She almost felt like she could be sick. Rayka forced herself to take another deep breath.

“I...never mind. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings but you have to understand. I don’t want anything. No entanglements. No drama.” His words were clipped. Almost like he was forcing them. His face didn’t just look intense, he looked nearly enraged. Something more than her, she thought. But what?

“Of course not. Neither do I.” She said it out loud but it was a lie and Rayka knew it as soon as the words tumbled over her lips. If she was telling Deacon the truth, why did her stomach knot up like that? Because already she had grown attached to him. And she felt something with him she never knew she craved. Security. She felt secure with Deacon. Until he threw her under the emotional bus, that is.

She really had to get control of her emotions. She was just being silly. Sex did not make a relationship. Attraction didn’t guarantee anything.

“Hey, there’s the guest of honor,” came another voice.

Rayka felt almost grateful for the intrusion until she turned to see the voice. Ted Davidson. Ted Davidson the creep. Not just the creep. Creepy. He always had something smarmy to say and he always read way too much into every comment that slid past a set of female lips.

“Ted! Good to see you,” she said, faking enthusiasm. “I didn’t know Mrs. S. invited other designers.”

“We ran into each other at the big sale over at Smith Brothers. I was looking for a new leather coat, she was looking for a new pair of pajamas. She told me she was trying to match your color scheme. Actually,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, glancing down her blouse as he leaned in, “she was going to wear the pajamas this evening if she could find them.”

“Thank God she didn’t,” Rayka said more to herself than to him, but he nodded. Her eyes darted to Deacon, who was watching Ted watch her breasts. His jaw was clenched so hard, the lean muscles in his face stood out in taut relief.

“I know. I know. Anyway, one thing led to another, she told me about your fabulous design and the rest was history. I wrangled an invitation.”

Rayka had no doubt that ‘wrangle’ was the appropriate word. Ted Davidson was an anomaly. Of all the students in design school, he was one of four straight men. Whereas the other men were just highly artistic and there to learn, Ted took the school as his own personal hunting ground for busy female students in a sea of gay men. Pig. But a pig who was helping her keep her uncaring façade.

“Of course you did. So, what do you think of the design?”

Rayka knew from experience he’d either gush and kiss her ass or he would rip her design plan to shreds.

“Genius, sheer genius. You’ve led her right into the classy French design without her knowing it.” Ted said all of this to her chest.

“Thank you, Ted,” she said. Rayka knew she shouldn’t be relishing the apparent rage on Deacon’s face. She most certainly should not revel in the fact that he was clenching his fists with each tour that Ted’s eyes took of her body. But she was. She wanted him to be pissed. Hurt, even. She wanted him to feel something in the same neighborhood as the excruciating twist in her gut. “I know you appreciate how to...finesse a woman.”

“Oh, yeah, Rayka.” Somehow Ted seemed oblivious of the large angry man watching him. He had a one-track mind, always had. Women. Scoring. Could he get the woman he had his sights set on into his bed? Rayka was sure that the house could fall down around them all and if Ted thought there was any hope of getting laid, he wouldn’t notice at all.

Deacon cleared his throat and stepped forward. His appearance on Ted’s radar was comical to watch. The tall but lean Ted took in the much bulkier man and blinked rapidly with confusion.

“Problem?” Rayka asked, keeping her voice cool. Now that the painful sting of his rejection was fading, she felt a cool wave of spite wash over her.

“No. No, not at all. It’s a bit noisy. I wanted to hear what good old Ted had to say about your design.” Deacon took another step forward, and his bulk seemed to overwhelm the small space they shared. Which was his intention. Rayka wasn’t stupid.

“Oh, I...um. Hi, there. Ted. Ted Davidson.” Ted did the right thing and put his hand out, offering to shake.

Deacon glanced at it coolly and shrugged. “Yeah, Ted. I heard. It’s a pleasure and all that crap. Now, about your opinion. What do you think of the design?”

Rayka felt a spark of anger all her own. How
dare
he? How dare he use her and embarrass her and hurt her and then belittle her colleagues. What nerve he had. Deacon thought he owned the world. Owned her. But only until he had decided he was done with his toy. Then he felt entitled to toss her away as if she had a busted spring.

“Yes, I’m curious to hear your opinion,” she said and then, God help her, she leaned in and touched Ted’s arm. She trailed her fingers slowly down his forearm. An innocent and yet suggestive move.

“I think it’s just, um...” Ted trailed off and watched her hand on his shirt. He seemed completely confused that Rayka was touching him instead of vice versa.

Deacon made an odd sound in his chest. Like an ape about to attack. Jerk.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Rayka asked.

Deacon didn’t answer. He yanked her away from the other man. “Sorry, Teddy, I just need to borrow her for one moment. We’ll be right back.”

Ted nodded dumbly, still staring at his arm.

Deacon spun her into a quiet corner, but not into private. “Stop it,” he said. He said it loud enough that a couple Rayka didn’t know turned to the stark sounding voice.

“Stop what? And get off of me. I told you. Never in public. Not that it matters. I’m just a—”

He dropped her arm but cut her off. “Stop messing with that guy. You’re just doing it to get under my skin. And he’s a sleaze anyway.”

“No sleazier than a man who informs me in a room full of people that we’re just fucking. And I’ve known Ted way longer than you. And,” she hissed in his ear, “Ted is a perfectly nice looking man with a career that I can relate to. I’m not even flirting, anyway. You are simply pissed because I haven’t kneeled at your feet for the world to see. You have the problem. Not me.”

“No problem,” he said. His voice was so low she could barely hear him. His anger was palpable, his struggle to control himself even more so.

Deacon flinched. It was just for a split second and she would never swear in a court of law that she had really seen it. Maybe she was hallucinating. That one-second flinch, though, made her feel sorrow. And regret. Then it passed like a shadow and she saw the same stubborn, angry, clenched face from a few moments ago.

“She’s right,” Deacon said.

Her belly ached and her heart hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain that felt like loss. Rayka did her best to keep her face neutral. He could not know how his words made her feel.

“I don’t—” Ted started.

“No really. Let me prove it to you. Why don’t you come to my shop this Tuesday night? We’re doing the name change. Both of you. Together. Separate. However you want.”

Deacon faced her and that look returned. A flinch. Shame? She wasn’t sure. She made fists of her hands to keep from touching his face. That glimmer of regret made her want to comfort him. Made her want to fix it. And that was stupid. She had to swallow those feelings.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I’m about partied out.”

Honestly, she was ready too. The evening had gone so fast. She had schmoozed and boozed and been shattered. She was pretty much wiped.