Caged

by Lorelei James

  his hands curled around her upper arms. “You hungry?”

  “I’m never hungry after class. But I could sit with you while you’re eating.”

  “I ate. So I was offering to sit with you.”

  Molly laughed. “Walk me to my car before we get into trouble.”

  “I think it’s way too late for that.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE sun glinted off Molly’s shiny brown hair as she waited in front of her apartment complex, looking as perky and fresh as a sunflower.

  You are gone for her, man, and you haven’t even fucked her.

  Yet.

  She climbed in before he could jump out to help her. “Hey, I didn’t recognize—”

  Deacon’s need to take the kiss he’d been craving for four long days overruled any warring thoughts about acting cool.

  After sating himself on her taste, he rested his forehead to hers. “New rule. You gimme this mouth first thing.”

  “Even before we say hello?”

  “Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips and murmured, “Hello.”

  “You are high-handed. I can’t believe I like that about you . . . sometimes.” She buckled her seat belt. “Where’s your Mercedes?”

  “In the parking garage.”

  “So you have two vehicles?”

  “Define vehicles.”

  Molly held up her phone, and he watched her flick past screens.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Opening my dictionary app.”

  “I didn’t mean to literally define it.”

  “Live and learn that I’m always literal.” Her thumbs moved fast. “Aha. Here it is. Vehicle: a means or machine used to carry or transport people or goods from one place to another.” She gave him a haughty look.

  “Sometimes I fucking hate smartphones.”

  “Answer the question.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “No, I don’t have two vehicles.”

  “You have more than two vehicles.”

  “Yep.”

  “How many total vehicles do you own, and what kinds?”

  Deacon swept her hair over her shoulder. “We playing twenty questions?”

  “With your one-word answers, it’d take two hundred questions,” she grumbled. “So just tell me what you’ve got, since I prefer to be direct.”

  So much for Knox’s assumption that women played coy. “I have a Mercedes, this SUV, a Jap bike, a Harley, a four-wheeler, and a dirt bike.”

  “You drive all of them regularly?”

  “My bikes are for warm weather. This and the Mercedes get the most drive time.” He squinted at her. “Why? You secretly a car chick?”

  “I don’t have the money to be a car chick. But you don’t seem like a car guy.”

  “I’m not. I drove this because I wasn’t sure how far back into the mountains we’d have to drive. Hit me with the address for the GPS.”

  “There’s no street address, city slicker. I’m your copilot. I’ll give you directions, and you’ll follow them.”

  He stared at her.

  “What?”

  “I hate getting lost.”

  “We won’t get lost! Get on C-470 south. I’ll tell you when we get close to the exit.”

  “I ain’t the only bossy one, babe.”

  “Aw. You say the sweetest things.” She pecked him on the mouth.

  He checked his mirrors before pulling into traffic.

  “If we need to pick up water, there’s a convenience store about a mile up.”

  Inside the convenience store, Deacon grabbed a twelve-pack of water bottles. It would’ve taken him a minute to get in and out. But Molly had wandered to the snack aisle.

  Deacon pressed the front of his body to the back of hers and rested his chin on her shoulder. He noticed the packages in her hands. “Trail mix? Seriously?”

  “There’s a reason it’s called trail mix, Deacon.”

  “Is there a rule we have to take it on the trail?”

  “Smarty.” She grabbed four packages. “Just for that comment, I’m not sharing with you. You can eat squirrel poop, gnaw on tree bark, and forage for nuts, for all I care.”

  “I’d rather you foraged for my nuts, darlin’.”

  A beat passed. Then she laughed.

  Why was it so damn easy to tease her and flirt with her? He’d never been so comfortable with a woman. A sense of happiness had Deacon impulsively spinning her around and kissing her thoroughly.

  “Fine,” she said a little breathlessly. “I’ll share.”

  Back in the car, Molly pulled a paperback out of her purse and flipped to the page marked with an owl-shaped sticky note. “The Hayden/Green Mountain Trail is closest to Denver. It’s where the Front Range meets the plains. It’s a three-mile loop. The difficulty level for the hike ranges from easy to moderate.”

  “Show me that map.”

  “It’s not a map. It’s a trail guide.”

  Three miles after Deacon turned onto 470, he said, “What exit?”

  “It’s a ways up yet.”

  “Is ‘a ways’ an actual measurement of distance?”

  “It’s between ‘as the crow flies’ and ‘down the road a piece,’” she said sweetly.

  “Funny, farm girl.”

  “Take the Morrison Road exit, cowboy.”

  He shot her a look. “Not all Texans are cowboys.”

  “Not all Nebraskans are farmers either,” she retorted.

  “But weren’t you raised on a farm?”

  “Yes. And don’t you have at least one pair of cowboy boots, a hat, and Wranglers?”

  Deacon laughed. “I give.”

  After they’d parked, Molly rummaged in her bag. “Did you put on sunscreen?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re in luck, because I brought some.”

  “I don’t need any.”

  She looked at him—studied him really. “Deacon, you don’t have any hair. You’ll fry your head.”

  “That’s why I’m wearing a hat.”

  “But it won’t shade your neck.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Men who kick ass for a living are too tough to get skin cancer?”

  “You’re a real laugh riot, babe.”

  “Suit yourself.” Molly squeezed the plastic and a white splotch landed on the upper curve of her breast. On the next squeeze, a dozen white dots spattered on her chest.

  Did she know what those white spots and that milky trail looked like?

  She caught him staring and said, “What?”

  Offhandedly, he said, “Reminds me that I’d planned on giving you a pearl necklace, but not so early in our relationship.”

  Molly’s face went bright red. Then she said, “You can finish coating me outside. It’ll give you a better angle to squirt all over my back.”

  He groaned. “How am I supposed to hike with a hard-on?”

  “You started it.”

  He’d worn camo cargo shorts—handy for holding water bottles and snacks. Molly had slipped on a wide-brimmed straw hat, which would’ve looked ridiculous on other women, but she looked so damn cute in it he wanted to just eat her up.

  After she tucked her cell phone in her pocket, she grinned at him, fairly bouncing in the toes of her hiking shoes. “You ready?”

  Just to fuck with her, he squinted at the trail ahead. “Not enough trees to hide bears, but rattlesnakes are thick out here. Glad I’m armed.”

  “You’re seriously carrying a gun right now?”

  “I’m always packing. Wanna see?” He grinned. “I have to keep it hidden out of sight in my pants because it scares most women . . . and some men.”

  She whapped him on the arm with the trail guide.

  As they ascended the first hill and dropped into a section of the trail shaded by rock formations, he was thankful for the mild temperatures.

  They didn’t talk much. Every time Molly wandered off the trail, Deacon went with her. She paid l
ittle attention to her surroundings besides searching for flowers, so he scoured the dense brush for snakes. He’d seen a few of these scraggly ground bushes around Texas.

  He’d expected they’d take breaks—not that they were exerting themselves—but they stopped only upon reaching the summit.

  A cool breeze blew up from the valley below. Molly took off her hat.

  With the wind blowing through her hair, the late-afternoon rays shining on her, and the happiness on her face, Deacon couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Gorgeous,” he managed.

  “It is pretty here.” She angled her head toward him. “But I’ll admit some disappointment.”

  “What?” Deacon moved in behind her and set his hands on her hips.

  “I thought there’d be meadows full of wildflowers. Like in the guidebook.”

  “Did you wanna run through a field of wildflowers? Or did you see us rolling around naked in a meadow?”

  Tilting her chin, she gazed at him coolly. “So what if I did?”

  Deacon nibbled on the side of her neck. “I’d ask if you brought a condom.” He caught the scent of her skin beneath the sunscreen, and his dick started to stir.

  “What if I told you I have one in my pocket right now?”

  “Since there’s no field of wildflowers, I’d take you down to that rock outcropping.” He pointed to the area about four hundred yards downhill. “Once we were in the shadows, I’d yank your pants to your ankles and eat your pussy until you came against my mouth.” He paused to nuzzle the hollow below her ear. “Would you come quietly? Or would you scream loud enough to be heard across the valley?”

  “I’ve never had a man make me come hard enough to scream.”

  “That’s about to change.”

  Molly wheeled around and kissed him with near brutality. Clawing at his chest. Rocking her pelvis into his.

  Voices on the trail brought a fast dose of reality. As much as Deacon hated the interruption, he needed it—they both did.

  But he wouldn’t let her break away from him. He kept his arm around her shoulder and whispered, “Soon,” into her hair.

  • • •

  SOON.

  What did that even mean?

  It hadn’t meant Deacon ravaging her in his SUV after they finished hiking. He said he needed to satisfy his appetite for food first. So did that mean he’d satisfy his other appetite as soon as they left the restaurant?

  “Babe.”

  She looked up at him. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “You okay?”

  “Just tired. The trailhead sign should’ve said six miles, not a three-mile loop. Not that it’s a big deal to you, since you run a billion miles a week—”

  “Running ain’t hiking. I’ll feel it tomorrow.”

  “Such a sweet lie.”

  The waitress returned and flirted with Deacon.

  “I brought the dessert menu.” She slid it in front of Molly. “I don’t eat dessert myself since modeling is so competitive I can’t afford to put on a single pound.” She turned her simpering smile on Molly. “But I’ve heard the chocolate gold-rush dessert is delicious.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “There’s also an apple streusel cake with caramel sauce.”

  Molly wanted to ask if it was restaurant policy to push desserts on women who weren’t skeletal clothes racks. But she just shook her head.

  Deacon said, “The check. Now.”

  She scrawled something inside and then slid the black vinyl ticket holder in front of Deacon. “I’ll be your cashier, whenever you’re ready.”

  Molly stirred the remnants of her rum and Diet Coke as Deacon got out his wallet.

  “Let’s go,” Deacon said tersely.

  “Don’t you have to wait for her to run your credit card?”

  “I paid cash.”

  “Did Miss I’m-a-Model leave her phone number?”

  Deacon’s eyes went flat.

  “She did!” Molly snatched the ticket holder and cracked it open. Sure enough. Arisol—seriously, her mom had named her after a spray can? And misspelled it—had written her number below her name, complete with a little heart.

  “Forget it.”

  “Nope.” Molly circled the digits with the girl’s hot-pink pen and added her own message. She slid out of the booth and headed toward the exit.

  When they passed the hostess stand where Spray Can stood, Deacon whispered, “He’s my dessert—eat your heart out. Nice one, babe.”

  “I couldn’t let her bitchiness slide.”

  “I expected to see something like, I took a dump bigger than you last week.”

  “Eww. I’d never say anything like that!”

  “I know you wouldn’t. You’re too fucking nice.”

  And so are you, because you didn’t do anything to discourage her.

  Okay. That wasn’t fair. Deacon was hot. Women didn’t care if he had a girlfriend. It’d be different if he’d somehow encouraged Spray Can, but he’d ignored her.

  Before Deacon opened the passenger door, he pulled her body against his. “You inviting me up when we get to your place?”

  “Well, you are my dessert.”

  A low growl emerged, and he kissed her.

  The ride to her apartment felt like the calm before the storm.

  As many times as she’d fantasized about getting naked and wild with Deacon, now that it was happening, her nerves kicked in. Then she remembered—with some embarrassment—Deacon’s horrified expression the first time he’d seen her apartment.