by Lili Valente
“I know this about you,” he says, making me blush for the third or fourth time today and reminding me that he’s still the man who tried to boss me off a dance floor. The fact that he ended up being right about the potential danger at the Raven Claw doesn’t excuse the fact that he barged in and started giving orders like I was a child in his care instead of another adult capable of calmly discussing his concerns.
“Maybe we could go dancing some time,” he says, throwing me for a loop all over again.
“You dance?” I arch a brow.
He inclines his head. “I do. Nothing to write home about, like you, but I move well with others.”
I bet you do, I think, even as another part of my brain blares out a warning that dancing is definitely a date activity, not something new friends would enjoy together on a free weekend.
But would that be so awful?
Just because Deacon and I have spent half of our time together so far fighting like cats and dogs doesn’t mean the trend has to continue. People can change. I believe that. I’ve seen it, both for the worse and for the better.
“Maybe we should go dancing, then,” I say breezily as I lean back against the truck, pretending my pulse isn’t already discoing in my throat at the thought of spending the evening swaying in Deacon’s arms. “But we should probably see if we can make it through lunch without wanting to kill each other first.”
His lips lilt into a sleepy smile that ramps up the flood of hormones rushing through my bloodstream. “I never want to kill you. Just strangle you a little. Gently. Until you stop fighting with me and let me kiss you again.”
I try to bite back a grin and fail. “The kissing is nice.”
“Nice isn’t the word I would use,” he says, the look in his eyes making every nerve ending in my body hum as he braces his arms on either side of my face.
“What word would you use?”
“Incredible.” He holds my gaze with an intensity that takes my breath away. “Amazing. Sweet.” He tips his head closer to mine. “I know I’m not your idea of a dream date, Violet. But we’d have fun together. And maybe I could help you forget about being lonely for a while.”
“I’m not lonely,” I lie, lifting my chin and fighting, with everything in me, the urge to press my lips to his. I will not make out with him in public in broad daylight. I know too many people in this town, and I’m not sure what will happen the next time his lips meet mine.
“Well, I am,” Deacon says, the unexpected vulnerability making my heart go soft and achy around the edges. “My boys are off at college, and the rest of my friends and family have lives they built while I was deployed on and off for twenty years. I spend a lot of my time feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. I could use some company. A friend. Or, maybe more than a friend…”
My hands drift to his chest, molding to his powerful muscles without my conscious permission. But he just feels so good, so oddly familiar, even though we’ve really only known each other—more than to say hello to—for less than a week. Still, chemistry isn’t a guarantee that we’d work as friends, let alone anything more. “What if we can’t find anything to talk about?”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. But if it is, then we don’t have to talk,” he whispers. And then he kisses me. His lips capture mine for a slow, deep, oh-so-sexy kiss that turns my bones to jelly and ratchets up the aching between my legs to an intensity that’s almost painful.
But sweet, too…
Painfully sweet.
I kiss him back with everything in me, fisting my fingers in his soft shirt and pulling him closer, even though my gut insists I’m going to regret this. Regret it like that third piece of birthday cake, the one that leaves you sick to your stomach and cursing yourself for taking too much of a good thing.
Deacon is too much of a good thing, and definitely way more than a woman who hasn’t dated since she was a teenager is prepared to handle.
But when he pulls away, leaving me trembling with wanting him after just one kiss, I nod my spinning head. “All right. Let’s do dinner. Tonight. My place. Six o’clock. But you have to be gone by eight when my daughter gets home.”
“Or we could go out,” he says. “I’d like to buy you a meal.”
“I don’t want you to buy me a meal, I want you to kiss me until all of my clothes come off,” I confess in a rush. “I haven’t been able to sleep for days. I can barely eat. All I can think about is touching you, kissing you. Doing more than kiss you…”
“Me, too,” he confesses, a haunted look on his face that I completely understand. “I was starting to think I’d have to sign up for an Iron Man Triathlon to get you out of my head.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, his lips curving. “You look pretty pleased with yourself, Ms. Boden. Do you enjoy torturing men with your insane sex vibe?”
I grin harder. “Well, you know what they say, misery loves company.”
“So does pleasure.” He winks. “I’ll be at your place at six sharp.”
“Good,” I say, a shiver of excitement whispering across my skin. “I’ll text you the address after lunch.”
“Yeah. Lunch. Let’s get to that. I’m starving. What are you in the mood for? Barbeque? A sandwich from Oakville Grocery?”
I arch a brow. “What if I said I wanted a tofu scramble from Vegan Voodoo? With a kale and kiwi smoothie?”
“I’d say that sounds disgusting,” he says without missing a beat, “but I’d give it a try. I’ll try anything once. Twice if there’s a beautiful woman involved.” He steps back, holding out a hand as he nods toward the town square. “You ready?”
Am I ready? Hell, no.
I’m not sure I’m ready for casual dating, let alone whatever this is Deacon and I are about to jump into. Enemies with benefits? Friends who rip each other’s clothes off every chance they get? Addicts mutually hooked on each other’s kiss?
I have no idea, but it’s too late to turn back now. I couldn’t resist this man if I tried, and I don’t want to even attempt to say no.
I reach out, taking his hand, twining my fingers through his much larger ones with a nod. “Ready.”
Or not. But here we go…
CHAPTER 11
From the texts of Deacon Hunter
and Tristan Hunter
Tristan: Just heard from Don. He’s going to need the rest of the week to sort this out, find a specialist, etc. So we’re in a holding pattern for now. Sorry again. I hate that you drove all the way out to Healdsburg for nothing.
* * *
Deacon: It’s fine. We’re past peak fire season. We don’t have to rush, and I’ve got nothing but time.
* * *
Tristan: What about the fire department? I thought you were getting ready to go two days on, three days off?
* * *
Deacon: I won’t know if I got the promotion for another week or two. Until then, I’m still part-time, working a couple afternoons here and there when they need management help.
* * *
Tristan: Sounds like a sweet gig to me. If I had your pension, I’d be fishing every morning. Let the rest of us suckers do the nine-to-five gig.
* * *
Deacon: Yeah, that was fun for the first few weeks. Now I’m bored out of my skull. With the boys gone and Dad and Dylan handling most everything at the farm, I’m ready to jump into something new.
* * *
Tristan: Speaking of something new… I wasn’t going to ask, but Zoey is dying to know how your date went with Violet.
* * *
Deacon: It wasn’t a date. It was lunch. But I’d say it went well. We’re going to have dinner together tonight.
* * *
Tristan: TWO MEALS IN A ROW! OMG, that’s so exciting!!! This is Zoey, by the way! I stole Tristan’s phone because I knew he wouldn’t use enough exclamation points to express how wonderful this is!! Isn’t Violet amazing?!
* * *
Deacon: She is. Very bea
utiful and very smart.
* * *
Tristan: And the sweetest person you’ll ever meet! And gorgeous and talented and funny and I just know you two are going to have so much fun together!!
* * *
Deacon: I hope so. Not sure we have much in common, but I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.
* * *
Tristan: What?! You two have loads in common! You both have grown kids, you’re both ridiculously good looking, you both think Tristan and I are too nice most of the time, you both have well-developed artistic sides, and you both love hard apple cider. That’s five things, right off the top of my head.
* * *
Deacon: I stand corrected.
* * *
Tristan: Good, because I like the two of you together. I know you’ll be nice to her, not like the other jerks she’s been dating since she and her ex-husband called it quits. Single men over forty sound like the absolute pits, Deacon. No offense.
* * *
Deacon: None taken. Though, I’ll add that single women over forty can be a handful, too. We’re all a little too set in our ways at this point to be very good company.
* * *
Tristan: Not true. You’re great company, and Violet is one of my favorite souls on earth. Some people get better with age. You’ll see. This is going to be epic!
But no pressure, of course.
So don’t be nervous.
Though, you should know that if you break her heart, I will be forced to put Ex-Lax in your birthday cake next year. Sisters before misters, even if the mister is a brother-in-law.
* * *
Deacon: Of course. Understood.
* * *
Tristan: You want me to hand the phone back to Tristan?
* * *
Deacon: No thanks, Zoey, I’m good.
* * *
Tristan: Are you sure? Tristan is happy to help.
* * *
Deacon: Really, I’m good. All good.
CHAPTER 12
DEACON
I’m not good. I’m not anything close to good.
Five times, I almost call Violet to cancel.
Yes, I’ve been fantasizing about having her naked and under me pretty much constantly since that first kiss on Halloween. But after texting with Zoey, it’s clear I’ve underestimated how close she and Violet are, and the last thing I want is to have my sister-in-law pissed at me for the rest of our lives because I did her best friend wrong.
Not that I plan on doing Violet wrong. Quite the contrary—I intend to do her oh-so-fucking-right—but relationships don’t always pan out as planned, especially relationships with sex involved.
If I were thinking clearly, I’d call Violet, explain the conflict, and move on.
But I don’t want to move on. I want to move in. I want my mouth on every inch of Violet Boden like I want peace in the Middle East.
Fine, more than I want peace in the Middle East. I deployed to Saudi Arabia enough times to know a lasting resolution to all the conflict brewing over there isn’t in the cards anytime soon, but Violet Boden is right around the corner. Just a ten-minute drive from my house and two right turns…
I pull up in front of her place—a two-story blue craftsman with stars painted across the front that’s as cute as she is—at ten ’til six with a growler of Pink Lady apple cider. And I swear, it’s all I can do not to jump out of the truck and take the steps to her front door two at a time. I’m not in any condition to play it cool with this woman. I want her too much. I’m feverish with it, my thoughts so cloudy it’s been hard to think of anything but her scent, her skin, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer to her mouth.
I’d be ashamed of myself if I weren’t pretty sure that she’s caught it, too, this mysterious lust sickness that’s laid me low.
As I turn off the ignition, her front door opens, revealing Violet in a little black dress, with her long hair wild around her shoulders and fire in her eyes. She’s clearly been waiting for me, but her feet are bare. So is her mouth, without a trace of lipstick in sight.
I slam out of the truck and start up the walk, watching her toes curl against the hardwood floor and her teeth dig into her bottom lip. Oh yeah, dinner is going to have to wait. Drinks, too.
Tonight, we’re skipping straight to dessert.
I jog up the front porch steps, she takes the cider and my keys from me without a word, setting them on a bright green table just inside the door with a relieved sound that echoes the emotion rushing through my chest. A beat later she’s in my arms, her lips hot on my mine as I bury my hands in her hair. We stumble into the room, kissing harder, deeper as Violet’s fingers get busy with the buttons on my flannel and my hands smooth up her thighs to grip her ass through her panties.
They’re as silky as her hair and held together with tiny strings of fabric on the side, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a heart attack when she moans into my mouth and rocks her hips forward, pressing against where my cock is straining against the seam of my zipper. I’m in the best shape of my life. I run almost every morning, lift weights, and swim at least three times a week. Hell, a few weeks ago I scaled Mount Whitney with some old climbing friends from the Air Force, beating our last ascent time by several hours, proving we’re not letting retirement slow us down.
But none of my training has prepared me for what Violet Boden does to me. For the way she makes my heart pound and my head spin and every cell in my body cry out for satisfaction. Liberation.
“It feels like I’m dying,” she pants, head falling back as I kiss my way down her neck and she drags my flannel off my shoulders. “Like I’m going to die if I don’t have you inside me.”
I growl my agreement as my hand dives further beneath her dress. I glide over the warm skin of her stomach, the delicate ridges of her ribs to cup her breast. “And you just might kill me,” I say, rubbing my thumb over her tight nipple, drawing a soft, hungry sound from her lips that makes me even hotter, hungrier. “If you keep running around without a bra on, looking so fucking sexy I want to tear your clothes off with my teeth.”
“Oh yes, do that,” she says, tugging my undershirt up to my chest. “Your teeth, your hands, whatever, just get them off.”
I lift my arms, bending my knees to make it easier for her to pull my shirt up the rest of the way. The moment my hands are free, I attack her dress, ripping it up and over her head, sending her hair flying around her shoulders as I fall to my knees in front of her, kissing and biting her stomach, her hip, as I rub my fingers over her clit through her panties with one hand and cup her bare breast with the other.
“Oh my God,” she murmurs as she leans back, bracing her arms on the counter behind her.
I don’t remember how we got into the kitchen. I couldn’t tell you what the rest of it looks like, I only know that her golden skin glows against the creamy white of the cabinet and I suddenly can’t think of a better place to feast on this woman who drives me out of my goddamned mind.
I press my face against her mound through the silk, inhaling the tart, salty scent of her arousal as I draw the crotch of her panties aside and glide two fingers into where she’s so hot and wet.
“I love this,” I breathe, voice tight with the effort it’s taking to restrain myself, at least a little bit. “I love how wet you get for me, Violet, how your body begs for this.” I push deeper, curling my fingers to rub against that place inside her that makes her knees go weak. “I can’t wait to taste you again.”
She calls my name, trembling as she grips handfuls of my hair. “No. You. Please, I want you inside me. So much. Please. Right now. Right fucking now.”
I’m hooking my fingers in the side-strings of her panties, about to rip them down her legs, lift her onto the counter, and give her exactly what she’s asking for, when a door slams and a high-pitched voice calls out, “Mom, come quick!”
Violet and I jerk apart so fast it’s like someone tossed a lit firecracker between us.<
br />
“Georgia hit a dog with her car on the way to get sandwiches,” the girl continues, moving deeper into the house as I reach for my shirt and Violet snatches her dress from the floor. “We tried to take him to the vet on College by the car wash, but they were already closed. Are you upstairs?”
“In the kitchen, honey,” Violet calls out in a surprisingly steady voice as we both hurry back into our recently-discarded clothes. “And don’t worry. Dr. Moshin doesn’t close until seven on weeknights. We’ve still got time.”
I barely have time to tug my flannel back on and run a quick hand through my hair when a mini Violet with pink streaks in her ponytail appears around the corner. “Seriously, it’s awful, Mom, the poor thing just—” Her words cut off and her eyes—blue instead of Violet’s brown—go wide as they land on me. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
“This is Deacon,” Violet says, nodding my way. “He’s with the handyman service. He’s here to fix the oven. Deacon, this is my daughter Adriana.”
I lift a hand. “Hello, Adriana.”
“Hi,” she says, her brows drawing together as she shifts her attention back to Violet. “I didn’t know the oven was broken.”
Violet shrugs. “Yeah, it wouldn’t get hot for some reason.”
“Wouldn’t get hot,” Adriana echoes, clearly still suspicious.
“No, it wouldn’t.” Violet reaches out, patting my shoulder. “But Deacon fixed it. Now it heats up just fine.”
