Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (33 page)

“Better every day?” I whispered, my voice
husky and replete.

He pressed into my ass.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to,
baby.”

I smiled lazily.

Deacon slid out gently.

He cleaned me tied, untied me, let me work
out the kinks then positioned me tucked to his side.

“You sleep okay?” he asked quietly, stroking
the skin at my hip with his fingertips.

“Definitely.”

He said nothing for a moment before he asked,
“You like it?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Okay, Cassie, then it sucks, but I
didn’t.”

I blinked at his chest.

“It’ll happen again ’cause I liked wakin’,
ready to take you bound,” he stated. “But I prefer you free to
nestle into me.”

I
so
loved this man.

“Then we won’t do it again,” I said.

“We’ll do it, but like this. I give that to
you for a while, then I fuck you, then you give me this.”

Another badass compromise.

I pressed closer. “Works for me.”

His stopped stroking my skin, slid his hand
over the cheek of my ass and in the cleft, where his middle finger
rested light against me.

“This okay?”

“Yes, baby,” I whispered.

“Harder and rougher or gentler and
slower?”

I closed my eyes, loving the feel of Deacon
giving me anything.

I opened my eyes. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m up your ass, Cassie, it has to be what
you want.”

I sighed and replied, “We could try harder
and rougher, but I’d also like to try gentler and slower.”

He slid his hand back to my hip, murmuring,
“You got it.”

“Deacon?” I called.

“Yeah, Cassie.”

“Thanks for letting me be me.”

His body tensed and his arm squeezed.

“I, some guys would think that I…” I stopped,
swallowed, and continued. “In bed and out, bossy, independent,
ornery, and what I like done to me, they’d think—”

He saved me by cutting me off. “Then good you
didn’t get some guy, Cassidy. Good you found me.”

He was
so
right.

I turned my head and kissed his chest.

He slid his hand into my hair. “You know that
goes both ways.”

I turned my head back and rested my cheek to
his warm skin. “Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

That got me his body tense again and his
fingers in my hair pressed into my scalp.

I felt him relax before he said, ‘You know
that goes both ways, too.”

I loved him. God, I loved him. And I wanted
to tell him. I was aching to tell him.

I didn’t tell him.

I bossed, “Got to sleep, Deacon.”

“Only if you go there with me, Cassidy.”

I smiled at his chest.

He slid his hand out of my hair, taking his
time, then wrapped his arm around me.

And together, we fell asleep.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, I shut down my computer
after dealing with bills, e-mails, bookings, and trolling websites
to see if there were more travel sites where I should register
Glacier Lily.

I got up, went to the kitchen, and looked out
the windows to see Deacon on the porch, feet up on the railing.

I went to the door, opened it, and Bossy, who
was allowed on the porch since the slats in the railings weren’t
big enough for her to push through, came bounding to me.

I bent and scratched my dog, calling, “You
need a drink, honey?”

“Got one,” Deacon replied.

I looked to Bossy and shoved her back a bit,
saying, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I closed the door, got my cold drink, then
went out to join Deacon on the porch.

I stopped dead behind his chair, seeing he
had a spiral notebook he’d purloined from my desk pressed to his
thigh, a pencil in his hand, and he was sketching a gazebo.

He felt my presence. I knew when he asked,
“You want one like this?” He flipped the page to another sketch of
gazebo. “Or like this?”

“I…uh…” For once in my life, I was at a loss
for words. This was because the proof was right in front of me that
Deacon could sketch and he was good at it. This was also because
both gazebos were beautiful. Far more spectacular than anything I’d
dreamed up in my head. One was round with gorgeous carved slats in
the railings and woodwork around the edge of the roof. The other
was octagon, with different but still gorgeous carved slats and
roof edges.

Both would be beautiful at Glacier Lily.

Amazing.

I went to my chair, rested my booty on the
arm, and looked at him.

He was looking to the notepad.

“Can you build those?” I asked.

His eyes came to me. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Not that tough, woman.”

He was wrong. I knew nothing of carpentry,
but I knew he was wrong.

I changed the subject.

“You can sketch?”

“Anyone can sketch.”

“I can’t sketch.”

“It’s not Michelangelo.”

“It’s still awesome.”

His expression changed and I felt it. I felt
the glory of it right to the heart of me.

But he said nothing.

“We get to that time, I want you to build the
one you wanna build,” I said.

“Your cabins, Cassidy.”

I leaned in to him, holding his eyes,
repeating soft but firm, “When we get to that time, baby, I want
you to build the one you wanna build.”

He got me. I knew it. I knew it when the pad
was tossed to the deck, my drink taken out of my hand and set on
the deck, and my hand was seized so Deacon could tug me up, around,
and over him until I was in the seat, straddling him, ass to his
lap.

His hand was in my hair pulling me down,
other hand at my ass.

That time, he communicated through his kiss,
its depth, its gorgeousness, and its length.

In fact, we made out for ages, me in Deacon’s
lap in his Adirondack chair on my porch by a river in the Colorado
Mountains.

And again, I was reminded that I was finally
a woman who had everything she’d ever dreamed.

And I was gleefully happy.

* * * * *

Two days later, I stood next to the fancy new
grill (that I bought Deacon, payback, ha!) at the end of my porch,
eyes trained to the river.

Deacon was there, Araceli, Esteban, and
Gerardo all standing close, eyes rapt with attention, watching
Deacon teach them to bait a hook on a fishing pole. Araceli had
Bossy’s long lead in her hand and Bossy was nose to the grass,
discovering.

Silvia and Margarita were with their dad ten
feet away, all of them had poles in the water, but Silvia’s eyes
weren’t to her line. They were on Deacon.

“
Euw!
” Gerardo shrieked and I
grinned.

Milagros came up beside me. “My son is not a
fan of worms, so I did believe he’d appreciate seeing one tortured.
I guess I was wrong.”

I looked to her and grinned.

She looked to me and did not grin. “There was
something else I was wrong about.” Her gaze slid sideways and I
knew she was looking to Deacon.

I also knew what she was saying.

I looked back to Deacon and watched as he
gently moved the group away so he could show them how to cast a
line.

My man, he had many talents, all of the new
ones awaiting me I couldn’t wait to discover.

“I felt that, with Manuel, what’s in your
eyes,” she said softly.

I again knew what she was saying.

“I’m glad,” I replied softly, and I was. I
loved it that my friend had the splendor I was feeling.

“Feel it every time he looks at one of our
children like he can’t believe they’re real.”

I loved that she had that, too. She deserved
that. So did Manuel. So did the kids.

I felt tears sting my nose.

“Sometimes, he looks at me that way,” she
carried on. “To this day.”

I turned to her, reaching out to clasp her
hand.

She looked to me.

“I’m glad, honey,” I whispered.

“He gives you that,” she stated.

He did.

And him doing it gave me glee.

“Yes,” I replied.

Her lips tipped up. “I’m glad, Cassidy.”

I let her go but only to wrap my arms around
her to give her a hug.

She gave it back to me.

When we were done, we didn’t let each other
go. Not completely. We kept an arm around each other and turned to
the scene by the river, Deacon handing the pole to Gerardo while
Esteban and Araceli gathered close. He was bent to the boy and I
knew giving instruction.

He was going to be a great daddy.

Yes.

Deacon gave me glee.

And he did it in a way I never thought he’d
take it from me. I just believed he’d always give it, freely.

I guess I was stupid that way.

Say Something

I was upstairs in the bedroom.

Deacon was downstairs in the foyer with
Bossy. They were training. She’d mastered the commands of “sit” and
“down,” but she wasn’t real hip on “stay.”

Deacon was determined to make her that
way.

It was hilarious. It was also cute.

Badass versus Boss Lady Puppy.

I couldn’t predict a winner so I didn’t
try.

After his last awesome stay, Deacon had taken
a job and come back. It was three days before my family was going
to descend and there was a lot to do.

The house needed to be cleaned and we needed
to go to the grocery store. This was because we were having a big
spread the night they arrived. At Deacon’s request, my loaded
potato casserole (and because Dad liked it too) would be served and
Deacon was going to grill steaks (another talent I discovered, my
badass could man a grill).

The next night, we were having a big shindig.
More barbequing, hotdogs, hamburgers, brats, chicken breasts.
Milagros, Manuel, and the kids were coming, as well as few of my
friends from town.

Deacon had not hesitated to approve his
meeting of my friends. He did this over the phone while he was on
his job.

“Whatever you want, Cassie.”

Whatever I wanted.

I
so
loved Deacon Deacon.

And the last thing to do before my family
descended, according to my man, was teach our dog to stay.

So I was giving them time and was up in the
bedroom, determined to unpack Deacon’s bag. He’d said this stay
would be a month. He’d also said, “Gonna start cuttin’ ties,
Cassidy.”

He didn’t explain this fully.

He didn’t have to.

I got it.

He was preparing to be with me.

Always.

And I was preparing to have him, doing this
by making a point by unpacking his bag. I’d already cleared a
drawer and space in the closet. I did this as a statement but I
also did it because I was sick of tripping over his crap when I was
in the closet.

A win-win for me.

I was also going to corral Lacey into going
shopping with me. Deacon looked good in his tees, shirts, jeans,
and definitely his belts. He had kickass belts.

But he didn’t have many clothes.

I was going to rectify that. If he didn’t
want to take them on the road, that was okay. They could stay
home.

Home.

With me.

I grinned.

He’d tossed his dirty stuff in the laundry so
I dragged the bag out of the closet and put it on the bed. Tees,
socks, and boxer briefs in the drawer. Belts (two of them, he had
three, one he was wearing) on the hooks on the wall in the closet.
Extra pair of boots on the floor. Jeans (three pairs, all faded; as
hot as they were, definitely needed new) and shirts on hangers.
Dopp kit in the bathroom, unpacked and put in a drawer. Then there
were the three thick rolls of bills, the outside bills in
denominations ranging from twenty to one hundred held tight by
rubber bands that I found, ignored (but didn’t, since I had to
touch them), and put in with his socks and briefs.

And then it happened.

I was down to the bottom, feeling the loose
change, forgotten receipts, and lint brushing my fingers in the
bag, and I hit what felt like paper. Slick paper.

I closed my fingers around it and pulled it
out.

It was a white piece of photograph paper and
it was in a bad state. A corner ripped, the paper crumpled and
wrinkled like it took a battering but was consistently smoothed
out.

My brows drew together. I flipped it.

And stopped breathing.

The image on the paper burned into my eyes,
the pain immense, searing into my brain.

Deacon in a tux, a pretty blonde woman in the
curve his arm.

She was holding a bouquet of flowers and
wearing a wedding gown.

Both of them were smiling.

Smiling and happy.

Younger, much younger, the rugged had not yet
settled in Deacon’s face.

But it sure as fuck was Deacon.

Deacon married.

Married.

My lungs caught fire and I forced myself to
breathe.

I stared at the picture, unable to tear my
eyes away, thoughts crashing into my brain.

He worked jobs.

Jobs away from me.

The phone he used when he was around me was a
burner. I knew it, though never asked to confirm. A flip phone. No
one had flip phones anymore. It was cheap and had no features. Only
voicemail and text.

He had another phone. He had to. A
smartphone.

He’d said back when we had the situation with
those punks that he’d taken pictures and there was no way he went
to his cabin to go get a camera.

He took them on his phone.

A phone his wife had the number to, not me.
If I did, she might see me call. If I did, she might know about
me.

And he didn’t take my calls. He didn’t take
them unless he was in a place to take them or call me back, which
was infrequently.

I stared at her in the picture and it gave me
no comfort to see she was pretty. Very. But I knew with the exotic
features my parents gave me, I had that on her.