Crashed (Entangled Indulgence)

by Sherilee Gray

  She blinked hard when her eyes started to sting and swallowed against the lump in her throat when it threatened to escape in a painful sob.

  Damn you, Deacon. Damn you for making me love you.

  …

  Alex miraculously found a parking spot right outside Deacon’s apartment building. Probably because the sun was barely up.

  She’d gotten up early—they had another busy day ahead, and she wanted to talk to him before it was time to open the garage.

  Nerves flipped around in her belly. This was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? Maybe she’d lost her mind.

  She hadn’t been thinking straight, not since Deacon had carried her upstairs and tucked her in bed after making love to her.

  I hate leaving you, Alex. I know I’ll see you in a few hours, but I already miss you.

  He’d whispered the words against her hair, kissed her, then left. She’d hated it, too. But it was too risky for him to stay, and they both knew it. Still, when she’d watched him walk out the door, she’d had to bite her lip so she didn’t beg him to stay.

  Last night she realized she wanted to be more than his fuck buddy, more than an arrangement. A man didn’t look at a woman like Deacon looked at her, didn’t make slow, sweet love to a woman like he had her, and not care about that woman, right?

  Only you make me feel this way, Alex, this hungry, this possessive.

  She shivered at the memory. He’d claimed her last night. She’d felt it in every fiber of her being. Everything had changed, everything. She had no idea what it meant going forward. Deacon had made it clear at the beginning he didn’t want a relationship, that what they had going on had a use-by date. Did he still feel that way after last night?

  No. She couldn’t believe it. He made sure she felt wanted, desired…important.

  Alex was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. There was too much at stake—her heart, for one. Her friendship with his sisters and their garage for another. If there was a chance for them, if he wanted the same thing she did, they needed to forget about their arrangement and just…be together.

  Was she really going to do this? What choice did she have? She couldn’t go on like this. She’d been stupid, naive to think she could.

  Blowing out a deep breath, she reached over and grabbed the coffees she’d bought on the way, climbed out of her Viper, and headed into the building. The doorman was already at his post and gave her a warm smile when he opened up for her. “Hey, Harold.”

  He tipped his hat and smiled. “Morning, miss.”

  Blood was pounding through her veins, and her knees felt weak and shaky as she crossed the floor. This was a huge risk. God, what if she was wrong? What if he didn’t feel the same way she did? She shook her head, fought the self-doubt back. Deke had changed over the years. No, he wasn’t the same boy she’d first fallen for. He was a man. The type of man who went after what he wanted ruthlessly. He didn’t let anyone get in his way. Well, she could learn a thing or two from him in that respect.

  And despite it all, despite the suits, the flashy cars, and the expensive apartment, he was still her Deke. He was still in there. He’d shown himself time and again over the last couple weeks. That tender, caring, protective side was still in there under the hard exterior, and she had to believe he couldn’t do what they were doing and not feel something for her other than lust.

  The elevator door opened, and a guy strode out. It was the same guy from the first night she’d been here, the night she’d bolted from Deacon’s apartment as soon as he’d fallen asleep. Sitting in the foyer, barefoot and more than likely looking like a woman who’d recently been screwing her brains out.

  Averting her gaze, she tried to slip past, but he touched her arm. “Hey, I know you, right? You were here a couple weeks ago? I remember the ink.” His gaze darted to her arm, to the rose tattoo poking out from under her sleeve.

  She tensed. “And?”

  “And you were hard to miss.” The guy moved in close, and she had no choice but to take a step back or he’d be all up in her personal space. “I was hoping I’d see you again. Can I have a word?”

  “Nope. I have somewhere to be.” She went to move past again, but he took the drinks from her hands and placed them on the unmanned reception desk near the elevator. “What the hell?”

  He straightened his tie and gave her a lopsided grin. “I think you might be interested in what I have to say. I’ve been looking for someone in your line of business, actually, but haven’t found the right fit, so to speak. I think you and I might get on just fine.”

  Unease turned to relief, then excitement. Deacon must have told him about West Restoration, which meant he obviously knew the guy. She shrugged off the way her creep-o-meter was wailing and joined him by the reception desk. “Look, I know the competition in this city is fierce, but I promise you won’t be disappointed. I’ve never had a dissatisfied customer. In fact, they always come back.” She was no Rusty when it came to this stuff—that woman had the gift of gab—but she was no slouch.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she automatically crossed her arms. Maybe he just liked Iron Maiden? The T-shirt was old and fitted. She glanced down and her face heated when she realized crossing her arms caused the fabric to cling and show off the outline of her barbell.

  “God, that’s so sexy. Damn.” He moved closer. “What’s your rate, sweetheart?”

  Her ease vanished, and her empty stomach churned. “It depends on what you want done,” she answered cautiously.

  “I want a whole night. Maybe a regular thing? I get the feeling one night with you wouldn’t be enough. Deacon West keeps coming back for more, so you must be worth whatever your fee is.”

  He thinks I’m a prostitute? He touched her hip, and she shoved him back. “You are way the hell out of line.”

  She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her arm, crowded her. “Don’t be like that. You want to be wined and dined first? I can do that. My money’s just as good as West’s.”

  Before she had the chance to knee him in the balls, he was being wrenched back, arms windmilling to prevent himself from falling on his ass. Deacon, looking like he was capable of murder, wrapped his hand around the other guy’s throat and shoved him against the nearest wall. “You touch her again, and I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  The guy screwed his face up. “You want the whore all to yourself, you can have her. Plenty more where she came from.”

  Murder flashed in Deacon’s eyes.

  “Deacon. No!”

  He completely ignored her, pulled back, and slammed his fist into the creep’s face. The crunch of bone shattering made her wince, as did the blood that splattered across Deacon’s white shirt.

  The guy howled and covered his nose. “Jesus Christ! You broke my nose!”

  Deacon ignored him and turned to her. “Elevator, now.”

  When she stood unmoving, still in shock, he grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him, pulling her in before the door closed. “What the hell, Deacon?”

  His jaw was granite, and when he looked down at her there was no warmth or affection in his hard gaze. He didn’t speak, not until they were in his apartment, after he’d dragged her into his bedroom. She stood on the opposite side while he tugged his shirt from his trousers, undid the first few buttons, and pulled it over his head, throwing it across the room.

  “One man not enough for you, Alex?”

  The emotion behind his words felt like a physical blow. Anger she could handle, though she sure as hell didn’t deserve it. But it wasn’t just anger radiating from him—no, there was pain as well. And the expression on his face twisted her up inside.

  “I come down to find you with that asshole…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “After last… After what we…” He growled, shook his head.

  After last night? Was that what he was going to say? She crossed her arms over her chest, more hurt and angry than she’d been in her life, which should be impossible, but there
you go. How could he still doubt her? “I was not with that asshole, he followed me.”

  “Yeah?” The raw emotion in his voice had not diminished, not even a fraction.

  She moved closer to him, her own anger sailing over pissed and landing somewhere in the vicinity of rage. Deacon wasn’t the only one hurting. His opinion of her, as it turned out, wasn’t much better than that bastard downstairs. But despite her desire to lash out, to rail on him, she kept her voice controlled, even. “You get that in my line of work.”

  His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she moved in, so close her breasts brushed his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Whore, Deacon.” He visibly flinched, mouth opening, then closing. “Your friend downstairs wanted to know my hourly rate.”

  A flush crept up from his neck, and he gritted his teeth. “What did you just say?”

  “Do you really need me to spell it out? Here, maybe I should show you.” She yanked on his belt, pulling the leather free, unbuckling it to shove her hand inside. She was surprised when she found him hard as iron, cock pulsing in her hand.

  “What are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly in his.

  “I would have thought that was obvious. Services rendered and all that. Maybe you’d prefer my mouth?” She tried to drop to her knees in front of him, but he released her hands and gripped her upper arms, holding her immobile. “I thought you loved it when I sucked your cock?”

  His nostrils flared, and the heat in his gaze sent her up in flames, but he didn’t release his hold, nor did the anger causing his body to shake diminish.

  She tried to fight him, tried to drop down in front of him again. “Suddenly you’ve grown a conscience? What, don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?”

  She hadn’t meant to say that. Still her pulse raced, wanting to hear it, to hear that he actually gave a shit.

  Instead he stood there like a damn robot, confusion and God only knew what else in his gaze, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. Oh, yeah, he knew the ugly truth as well as she did. They could never be together. They were from different worlds now. She’d momentarily forgotten that, had let her emotions cloud her better judgment. Convinced herself their feelings for each other would be enough to overcome their differences, that they were so much more than what they were.

  What she was.

  But even if Deacon had considered more, some kind of future together that didn’t include sneaking around—well, the reality of his neighbor soliciting sex from her would have knocked any stupid ideas from his head.

  Having a girlfriend who could pass as a streetwalker? Not a good look for a corporate CEO.

  She pulled out of his arms, and he let her. Let her pace to the other side of the room, away from him. Pain more acute than she thought possible gripped her heart.

  “Alex…” He took a step toward her, then slammed on the brakes, shoved his fingers through his hair, and bit off several more curses.

  I am such an idiot.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Goddammit, she would not fall apart in front of him. She darted through the closest door, into the bathroom, and shut herself in. Sucking down several deep breaths, she fought to keep her emotions in check. You knew this would happen, but you still opened your heart. This is your own damn fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  Head bent, she stared at the floor, then her gaze landed on the trash basket. A shirt had been dumped in there, and she could see something pink smudged on it. Without thinking, she lifted it out and held it up.

  Lipstick stained the front pocket and one side of the collar. Oh, God. She stood frozen. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. But it didn’t take a mind like Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the owner of the lipstick was, either.

  Had he kept Emily on the sidelines all along?

  She shook her head. If she believed that, she was no better than Deke, with his mistrust and accusations. There had to be a reasonable explanation, didn’t there?

  God, she wanted to believe that, so much, but that old fear—the sting of his rejection when he’d left her for Emily—lurked below the surface, making it hard to think clearly.

  All of a sudden she was suffocating. Every breath seemed to scald her throat, her lungs shrinking in her chest with each painful breath. She threw the shirt back in the trash and bolted from the bathroom.

  “Alex?” Deacon called after her.

  “I need to get back to work.” He came after her, grabbed her arms, and stupid hope fluttered through her belly. She turned to face him but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  “Don’t run away from me, Alex. Not again.”

  “I have to go.” She tried to pull free, but he held on tight. “Let me go.” She barely recognized her own voice, so broken, so damn pathetic.

  He winced a second before his expression closed down completely.

  Then he did what she asked—he released her, stepped back, and let her walk out the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Deacon gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make it groan as he pulled into the parking garage under his apartment building. After an afternoon spent explaining to his goddamn lawyer why he’d broken that bastard’s nose, his shitty mood still hadn’t improved. The asshole would more than likely sue.

  It was worth it.

  At the end of the day, it was only money. And that bastard more than deserved what he’d gotten.

  He still didn’t know what had come over him. He’d lost it. In his surprise at seeing Alex there, then the way the guy had crowded her, put his hands on her. Like an idiot, he’d immediately thought the worst. His default after Emily’s deceit, her cheating. The way his mother had done the same to his father.

  Trusting another person, even Alex, didn’t come easily. But she hadn’t deserved his rancor, his accusations.

  Don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?

  Jesus. He’d frozen when she’d fired those pain-filled words at him. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d accused her of when he knew better, knew she would never do that to him, had hit hard.

  She’d called herself a whore. He’d made her feel that way. She doubted his feelings for her. Had no clue how he felt. That knowledge had rendered him speechless. And so fucking ashamed of the way he’d treated her, the things he’d said. Buried in his own petty jealousy, he had struggled with what he could possibly do or say to make it right.

  So he’d done fucking nothing.

  He’d messed up.

  God, her face—he’d literally seen her pulling away from him, shutting down, and he’d imploded. Too many emotions warring to take front and center. In the end, he’d been unable to convey anything but anger. Furious with that asshole, and furious with himself for causing her to doubt her feelings for him, feelings she hadn’t been able to hide the night before when he’d made love to her.

  But what pissed him off most of all was that he’d allowed his past to get in the way of what he could have with Alex. Instead of helping her work through her fears, he’d allowed his own, his fear of losing her, to take over. He’d messed things up. Again.

  So much so, he’d managed to obliterate any progress he’d made with her, the trust he’d worked so hard to gain.

  And she’d run from him.

  He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and shoved the door open. Screw it. He was supposed to attend a business meeting tonight with Alex, but he’d cancel. He needed time with her alone, to try to repair the damage he’d done.

  Did she truly believe he saw her as nothing but a whore? Jesus, the idea made him ill. Yeah, he’d told her the agreement between them would only ever be physical, but that was so he could make her accept the truth, accept the way they felt about each other. Without expectations, without letting her fear of attachment get in the way. He shoved his hands in his hair. But it wasn’t her issues threatening to destroy
their relationship before it began. It was him. His petty jealousy. His possessiveness. His inability to trust.

  The two women in his life he should have been able to count on most, his mother and his wife, had lied and cheated. And he was now realizing the full effect those betrayals had had on him. How it had messed him up. That because of it, he didn’t trust his own damn judgment, when he knew Alex would never do that to him.

  If he didn’t sort his shit out, he’d ruin everything. He’d lose Alex for good.

  He shouldn’t have let her walk out his apartment door. He should have held on to her and made her understand.

  “Deacon?”

  He turned to find Emily standing by her car. So preoccupied with Alex, he hadn’t even seen it when he drove in. “What are you doing here?”

  Her lip quivered. “I—I need to talk to you. Please don’t tell me to go.”

  “We have nothing to discuss. Not a damned thing.”

  He turned away, but she rushed after him and grabbed his arm. “Please. I’m not doing so well, Deacon. I—I think I might do something stupid.” A tear streaked down her perfectly made-up face. “I miss you so much. Seeing you with…” Her face twisted. “With her.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear it.”

  “What do you think you might do, Emily?” She shook her head again, and he grabbed her upper arms. “Answer me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face against his chest.

  He had no choice but to hold her while she cried, when all he wanted to do was shake the shit out of her, beg her to leave him the fuck alone. This woman had screwed with his life, made him fucking miserable, and he was trapped, chained to her in a way that had him waking up at night in a cold sweat. He sure as hell wouldn’t let her kill herself over him. That was something he could never live with. But no matter how many doctors and psychiatrists she saw, it always came back to this. Her obsession with him.

  “Why aren’t you with Steve?”