Deacon
Paige Notaro
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE Kiara
CHAPTER TWO Deacon
CHAPTER THREE Kiara
CHAPTER FOUR Deacon
CHAPTER FIVE Kiara
CHAPTER SIX Deacon
CHAPTER SEVEN Kiara
CHAPTER EIGHT Deacon
CHAPTER NINE Kiara
CHAPTER TEN Deacon
CHAPTER ELEVEN Kiara
CHAPTER TWELVE Deacon
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Kiara
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Deacon
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Kiara
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Deacon
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Kiara
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Deacon
CHAPTER NINETEEN Kiara
CHAPTER TWENTY Deacon
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Kiara
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Deacon
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Epilogue
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Copyright
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without the express written consent of the author. This book is licensed for personal use only.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book was also published under the title “POWER PLAY”
©2015
Paige Notaro
Cover Design:
©2015
SilverLight
Also by Paige Notaro
Storm’s Soldiers MC:
Black and White
Grey
Clear
Big White Lie
Little Dark Secret
Stand Alone:
Uncaged
Black and Blue
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to my loving family who suffer through my long silences and then sudden bursts of excitement as I’m about to publish.
It is dedicated to my friends and fellow authors without whom I would have never gotten half as far in twice as much time
Most of all it is dedicated to my fans. Your support and sweet messages have given me more joy and pleasure than you can ever know. Thank you!
CHAPTER ONE
Kiara
Even before I saw him, my night was already going off course.
I was sitting at my departure gate in the airport, facing the wide halls. My laptop sat open on my jeans, but I’d long since stopped working. Some part of me probably knew that worrying wouldn’t change the weather. It sure didn’t stop me from trying.
Across the hall, the tall windows lay dark and squiggling under the heavy rain. The airport lights seemed to be on extra bright, and a nervous tremor filled the concourse.
On good days, I loved people-watching at airports once my work was done - just imagining which end of the earth someone was flying off to. But no one was going anywhere now.
Most of the other flights were delayed or outright cancelled. People looked at the departure screens over my head like they were seeing the Rapture. I kinda wished I still had someone to pray to myself.
A cute Asian guy in rolled-up sleeves literally groaned as he read his flight off the monitor. He jammed at his smartphone and wandered off tilling his hair.
“Hey, Josh. It’s Henry here from Chicago. I’m really sorry, but…” he trailed off.
Other business people made similar noises nearby. I’d already texted Phil and sent him a link to the weather radar here, so he’d know I wasn’t BSing if things got worse.
I glanced over my shoulder. For now, Houston was still On Time. A queue snaked out from the counter - probably people on other flights trying to see if they could book a seat in the overhead compartment.
I took deep breaths. It would be fine if I didn’t get back tonight. I could finish my report remotely. Phil could even debrief me remotely. No reason not to be calm.
I looked around for any inspiration. Across the hall, an older Indian woman with long braided hair sat serenely on the carpet. It looked like she was meditating. I studied her, entranced by her dimmed, sightless eyes and the utter calm on her face.
Was it a religious thing? It didn't seem so. She had a freedom beyond what even this place could offer. Maybe I should check out a meditation center when I had time. But I’d spent plenty of my life sitting in silence, and that hadn’t set me free one bit.
A roar set off from the Irish pub just a bit down the hall. A whole table of tough looking white and Latino guys was falling off their chairs laughing.
Now that was a far more attainable form of freedom. They looked friendly and earnest. I wasn’t going to go introduce myself or anything. But I bet if I did, they would pull over a chair, cull the swearing a tad and shove a beer in my face. The thought cheered me a little.
Maybe now was the time to practice drinking. Alcohol relaxed people, but I still didn’t like the taste. I hadn’t drunk much even in my last two years of college. As it was, I could barely handle the fruity cosmopolitans Mira ordered for me whenever we went out.
Speaking of which, I better let her know that she was watching Snowflake a bit longer.
I texted her: Might be stuck in Chicago another night. Pay you back in hugs and drinks?
Mira shot back right away: Sure, as long as I get to see you drinking said drinks. Deal?
I sighed. Deal.
I watched one of the big guys at the table shake his friend amiably. The two were flabby and kinda wrinkled, wearing ugly t-shirts and withered jeans, but their ease made them more attractive. Where did they come from? They looked like oil workers, maybe on layover from North Dakota. I'd worked for some companies in Houston that did projects there.
The guy whose back I’d been learning so much about stood and stretched noisily. I jerked my head back to my screen. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea if he saw me.
My perfect little flight was showing signs of distress now. The departure time had inched up ten minutes. There was a good chance it wouldn’t end there. I began searching hotel rooms. Bad weather might be an act of God, but sleeping in a roach-ridden motel was entirely avoidable.
The other cancelled flights had already gobbled up many of the rooms, but there were still a handful left. Just as I got to the confirm screen for a Sheraton, a stray worry hit me. Was this a reasonable business expense? Probably, but I didn't want my record tarnished by something stupid, so I texted Phil a message of my screen.
I drummed the touchpad and waited, but minutes ticked past. My departure time jumped a full half hour. Suddenly, the room I was looking at showed an error message.
Should I call Phil? No, he might be at dinner. Or what if his silence was the response? Ugh, I never should have texted him to begin with. I should have earned to right to take a hotel room when I needed one.
The Irish pub table erupted again, offering a welcome distraction. A guy at the far end was holding up a glass and mumbling something. Other hands rose with frosty mugs. They clacked them wetly and started guzzling.
Maybe they planned on passing out here. I could too, theoretically. It was probably going to be crowded, but at least the terminal was clean and safe.
My phone vibrated. I snapped to it, but it was blank, just in my head. I sighed.
I glanced back at the table, hoping to borrow some more of their cheer.
I got way more than that.
A man was
standing up from their table, addressing them. He was as tall as any of the other guys, but the similarities ended there.
The man had the sort of face that could hold people rapt even without words. His jaw was wide and cleft, dotted with a raze of dark stubble that made every move of his mouth drip with purpose. His cheeks were high and solid, like cliffs. Dark hair coated his head like jungle ferns - thick, with just a hint of disorder.
His eyes were alive as he spoke, a light grey that swirled like the storm clouds outside the windows. He wore a stone-color button down shirt tucked into tan slacks, a sharp blue sports jacket and an easy smile that did nothing to diminish his aura of power.
He glanced at each of the men, and I watched his lips move, brusque and confident. The other guys worked for him, no question. They were lumps of clay, and he was the finished product.
Suddenly his eyes lifted and landed directly on me. His gaze pierced me, ran down my spine. His lips gathered in a soft frown. I tore myself away.
Oh, god, how long was I staring?
I shivered. He had only spotted me a second, but the way he had looked at me, it was like he had grabbed me.
I was the one drooling over him. Why in the world was I feeling violated?
Maybe cause I wanted to be.
No, that was nonsense. Fine, he was hot. But airports were liberating precisely because crushes couldn’t go anywhere. Even if we shared a flight, it didn’t mean we were heading to the same final destination.
But there was a storm overhead now.
We could be spending the night here together.
I knuckled the sides of my head until the thought died.
What gotten into me? I wasn’t that type of girl. I hadn’t been on more than a second date since starting work. College had made me a bit wild, yes, but I’d had boyfriends not booty calls. And neither of my exes could hold a candle to this man.
I chanced another look at the table. The hunk had disappeared. Only the sea of fat remained. Maybe he wasn’t even with the other men. That could have just been the manager coming over to get their names on the wall for beating some drinking record.
I sighed. He was too much, anyway. Maybe I'd get one last look to hold me before I boarded the plane.
The intercom chimed.
“Ladies and Gentleman, American Flight 343, service to Houston has been cancelled due to the weather situation. We do dearly apologize for the situation, and are here to assist in any way we can. However, we are not able to provide accommodations for our passengers at this time. For more information about rescheduling, please line up at the counter.”
A literal stampede set off around me. What they were hoping to find, I could not imagine. The line, or what passed for it, collected around me as dense as a furball.
My phone trembled.
My boss had finally texted back: Go 4 it.
4 what, exactly? I wanted to write back. The '4' annoyed me the most. I'd waited so long for that?
A last sorry refresh of my search screen showed all rooms nearby as full. I'd be spending the night at Hotel O'Hare.
I really wanted to keep this spot next to the pillar. Thanks to the queue, though, the stench of all the bodies was growing into a weather system of its own. Even the woman who’d been meditating looked around bewildered.
Maybe other gates would be more habitable. Or maybe I should head to the Irish Bar and get something to nibble on. Maybe I’d see something to distract me for a little.
Just the thought made me blush. Nope, I was just going to find an emptier gate.
I packed my stuff into my roll-on and twisted my way out of the crowd. I broke free of the thick of it, then turned around. Every damn passenger seemed to be waiting for the counter.
Could everybody really be so unoriginal? Or maybe I was the one who'd missed something in the announcement.
A man’s voice rumbled overhead.
“God damn lemmings, huh?”
Was it at me? Probably not. I stood on my tiptoes trying to see the counter.
“You best not be heading in there,” the man said, even closer. “Tell me you're better than them.”
“Who are you talk-” I said, turning around.
I forgot the rest.
Mr. Grey-eyes stood erect before me. He looked even more impressive up close. His sports jacket hid a muscular chest, one that bulged nearly into my face. His legs were thick and powerful even for his height.
It would be so easy for him to carry me away from here.
I blinked. A lot of time had passed in silence. If he noticed, he didn’t show. His light gaze simply studied me bottom to top. It was a look fit for a museum exhibit, not a person.
“Uh, hi?” I said.
“What’s your name?” he said.
“My name? Sorry, you came over here, called me a lemming and now you want my name? Do you know how conversations work?”
“No. Tell me.”
I had no words. His sentences were like thunderclaps, hard and sudden.
“Well, not like that,” I said.
“Perhaps with an introduction?” he said. “A name, for example.”
“It’s Kiara.”
I wasn’t sure I had even decided to tell him.
“I’m Deacon.”
He thrust out a hand. I looked at it and slowly offered my own. His grip was powerful but smooth, soothing and warm. He released my hand to the cold and stepped in. The noises outside us dimmed against his body.
“I didn’t call you a lemming,” he said. “I told you not to mingle with lemmings. Heading out of here was the right call.”
“I just wanted some fresh air. I don’t think there’s any right choice to make with all the flights cancelled.”
“I disagree.”
He stared at me with a flinch of a smile on his face. I would never strike a person, but I had the sudden urge to wipe it clean off.
God, why couldn’t he speak straight instead of making me beg for answers?
Maybe cause he knew I would.
“Fine, I said. “What should I do?”
He dipped in until his breath singed my ear. His voice sank down as a whisper, a spell:
“Spend the night with me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Deacon
When it comes to meat markets, give me an airport over a club any day.
Club girls are just there for the plucking when a guy looking like me comes around. Add in my name, and you got even the high-maintenance debutantes lining up. They're thinking, Maybe this is the night Deacon Stone whisks me off to his castle.
I took plenty in my college years, enough to know that I’d end the night not truly fulfilled. Party girls were like pretty balloons, irritating to have around once they popped.
Now a girl who looked good coming out of a long-haul or security scan? That’s something special. You know she’s got a story to tell. One that can leave you both heaving and satisfied as she moans it out her lips. Getting there, that’s half the fun of the game.
This girl in front of me was a beautiful puzzle. She had on jeans, a purple sweater and a dark ponytail. Her skin was a soft, shimmering brown, but her expression was all business. It’d be a true pleasure getting to see that sweet, round face cascade with lust.
“Spend the night with you?” she said. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Her gorgeous eyes were wide in disbelief, just pools of molasses. I couldn’t unstick myself from them.
“Oh, I understand your confusion,” I said, gathering myself. “You’re worried I just mean you sleep on my bed and I’ll crash on a couch or something. No, darlin', we’ll be stacked on top of each other for as long as we can keep our balance.”
Her lips parted wider. God they were such luscious things, deep red and full. I could already picture myself occupying the space they now formed.
“You’re crazy,” she said, finally.
“That word doesn’t even register anymore,” I said. “All I’m hearing is a distin
ct absence of a ‘no.’”
“No! Of course, no.”
“Uh-uh. That’s why you were eye-banging me all night?”
Her face seemed to glow even hotter. “I was not.”
“Oh, no? My mistake then. Who were you looking at? Caleb? Hey, I can call him over. I’m always happy to hook up one of my boys.”
The girl looked mortified. Her arms crossed her chest now. But fear had a messed up way of looking close to arousal. Which meant I was enjoying this way too much.
I glanced over my shoulder at the table, where the rig hands sat buried in their mugs and crass conversations.
I cupped my hands and yelled, “Hey, Caleb!”
A dozen heads snapped my way. Damn, did I enjoy that. Take everything away from me, but leave me my voice, if it made grown men forget their own names.
Caleb looked up from the table, a fry hanging from his pudgy mouth.
Oh this should be rich.
I beckoned him over. The guy shoved through the crowd in a hurry. Little miss innocent hadn’t budged an inch.
“Hey buddy,” I said, looping a hand around Caleb’s meaty red neck. “I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Name’s, uh, what was it, sweetheart?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her luggage handle. “I’m leaving.”
Guess she had a little fire in her after all. “Oh, right. It’s Kiara,” I said.
She glanced back, then continued to head her way. I yanked poor, confused Caleb and followed her along through the thin crowd.
“Now, Kiara is quite taken with you,” I told Caleb.
“Is that right?” Caleb said.
His dull little pulse wound up. Hope he caught on. I didn’t want him getting too excited and hurting himself.
“It’s not,” Kiara yelled over her shoulder.
She kept walking. It just gave me the chance to admire the lush, curvy bombshell of her figure from the rear. Her thick, dark ponytail bounced which each step. I could just imagine the things I could make our bodies do together once I had that in my grip.
“I counted the minutes, sweetheart,” I said. “You spent a good dozen of them eyeing my buddy here.”
Deacon: A BWWM Billionaire Romance Page 1
