Crashed (Entangled Indulgence)

by Sherilee Gray

  He didn’t waste time and took up the vacant space beside the man in question, who was currently propping up the bar and nursing what looked like a glass of whiskey. The main part of the evening was over. Deacon had played his part, schmoozed the main players and listened to the never-ending speeches. The cause was extremely important to him, and something he intended to contribute to for the foreseeable future, but after what had happened with Alex the day before, the way she’d looked at him, like he’d cut her heart out and ground it into the asphalt, this wasn’t where he wanted to be. He was anxious to get this over with, to go to her, to finally come clean.

  He turned to Steve. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

  The guy snorted. “I’ll bet.” He shook his head and swayed on his seat, quickly righting himself.

  How was he supposed to have a reasonable discussion with the man when he was shitfaced, or close to it, anyway. “I’ve tried to call you several times, but for some reason you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  He snorted again. “We have nothing to discuss.”

  Deacon tried not to grind his teeth. “Emily, for one.”

  “Don’t mention that bitch’s name to me.”

  “We need to—”

  “She told me you’d moved her back in.”

  The blood in his veins turned to ice. “What?”

  “I can’t believe you took her back.”

  Took her back? “I haven’t.”

  “That’s not what she’s saying.”

  “She convinced me she’d relapsed. That she might hurt herself.”

  Steve snorted. “Looks like she’s played us both for a fool.”

  When the hell would he learn? He’d lied to Alex, been forced to stay away from her. Forced to suffer Emily in his home the last couple days because she’d convinced him—and he’d stupidly believed her—that she had nowhere else to go. He’d sat with her for hours, doing his best to convince her to get more help. She’d played the victim so well, while she slept in his fucking spare room. And all the while, she’d been plotting. Some sick attempt to get him back.

  Steve took a sip of his drink. “I asked her to marry me. Did you know that? She turned me down. Apparently, I don’t make enough money.” He slammed the glass on the bar. “So fucking cold.”

  Deacon didn’t reply, too stunned, too damn angry at himself for letting her do this to him, again. Steve took his silence as an invitation to keep talking.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t tell you during your cozy dinner date.” Steve must have read the confusion on his face. “You two were plastered all over the society pages.”

  His first thought went to Alex, but he quickly brushed it aside. The only way she’d read the society pages was at gunpoint.

  “She’s made fools of us, both of us, right from the start.”

  Deacon turned to walk away. He needed to find Emily. He’d seen her when he’d walked in and had planned to avoid her all evening, but now he wanted to find her so he could wring her goddamn neck.

  Steve grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Do you know why she slept with me that first time? Why you caught us? Because she wanted to make you jealous.” He waved his hand around. “So you’d realize you loved her.” He snickered. “Of course you ended things, and when her father found out that she’d lied to you about a pregnancy and screwed around with me, he cut her off.”

  What? “She told you about the baby?”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. She wouldn’t risk scaring off her meal ticket. I heard her and Tammy talking. She was only with me until she could win you back, you see. Then you went and found someone else and blew Emily’s plan all to hell. She thought it was only a matter of time before you forgave her for her lies, and then she’d lure you back.”

  She’d been manipulating him all this time. “The counseling sessions I’ve been paying for? The emotional breakdowns?”

  “She never went to a session. The guy promised to keep his mouth shut if she…sorry, if you kept paying. The only thing wrong with Emily is that she’s a money-hungry, manipulative bitch.” He shook his head. “Nothing can fix that shit.”

  He spotted Emily across the room and pushed off the bar, determined to confront her. But then he noticed several people had stopped in their tracks, staring at something near the entrance.

  Deacon saw Jarrod Prescott standing near the main doors, and he watched as a grin spread across the other man’s face before he strode over to whoever was causing the commotion. Dread moved through him when he heard a very distinctive laugh. Rusty.

  Then he saw them, his sisters and Alex, break through the crowd. All three were dressed like they were out clubbing—in other words, practically naked. Alex had on the boots he’d bought her and a skirt so short he knew if she turned around and leaned forward, he’d see ass cheek. He wanted to drag her out of there and give her the scene she’d come for, but she was doing a good job of it on her own.

  Jarrod joined them, and the bastard slung his arm around Alex’s shoulders, grinned, and whispered something in her ear. She looked up at him, threw her head back, and laughed.

  He lost it.

  By the time he’d pushed through the growing crowd, Piper was sitting on the CEO of Tech Industries’s lap, and Rusty had pulled the president of the biggest finance company in Miami up to dance. The guy was close to eighty and looked like he might stroke out at any moment.

  He stopped in front of Alex, close to stroking out himself, especially if Prescott didn’t take his goddamn hands off her. “You have it, you’ve got my attention.”

  The woman completely ignored him, still chatting it up with Jarrod fucking Prescott. He didn’t care what others thought. He could never be anything but proud to be seen with Alex. It didn’t matter to him what she wore, he’d still be the luckiest man in the world. What pissed him off was the fact she thought this would embarrass him.

  “Alex.”

  Those dark eyes moved to him, locked on, daring him to blow his stack, to walk away, to prove her low opinion of him. She placed her hand on his chest, and he sucked in a breath just from her touch. “There you are, Daddy,” she said looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes, a smirk on her face as she dragged a finger slowly down his abs to his belt buckle.

  Jesus. Some of these people might be ignorant enough to believe that’s what he was to her, a goddamn sugar daddy, but Alex—and his fucking sisters—should know him a hell of a lot better than that.

  Jarrod chuckled, and Deacon shot him a dark look. The guy wisely removed his arm from around her shoulders.

  Deacon grabbed Alex’s arm, intending to take her somewhere more private, but she shook him off. “Take your hands off me.” Her voice was deceptively calm, but he didn’t miss the way it shook. It damn near killed him.

  Those photos of him and Emily in the newspaper, Alex had seen them. He couldn’t think of any other reason for this. “We need to talk. Those pictures—”

  She crossed her arms, causing her barely covered breasts to almost pop out of her top. “The time for talk is over, Deke.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on. Now.” Every male in the room had his eyes on her, on his woman, and he wanted to tear their fucking eyes out.

  “Why? Are you ashamed to be seen with your whore? Afraid your wife will see us?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a wife, Alex. You know that.”

  Her beautiful face twisted—anger, hurt, it was all there to see. She hid nothing. She loved him. She loved him, and he’d hurt her. Badly. “Alex…sweetheart…”

  Her hand connected with the side of his face, the sound loud in the now near silent room. “Don’t call me that.”

  His sisters were at Alex’s side in an instant. Rusty scowled at him. “You fucked up, Deke, big-time.” Then she grabbed Alex’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Then Piper, his usually cool-headed, sweet sister, stepped up to him. “If you bring that skank�
�—she pointed over his shoulder, and he knew Emily was standing right behind him, making this ten times worse, and as usual, taking advantage of the situation for her own gain—“to my cottage, I’ll run the bitch down, then back over her for good measure.”

  Emily gasped, and he spun to face his ex-wife. “Walk away from me, now. Before I say something in front of all these people you sure as hell won’t want me to.”

  She grabbed his arm, and he shook her off. “I love you, Deacon.” She said it without an ounce of real emotion except desperation, desperation that had nothing to do with losing a man who was supposedly the love of her life.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate”—he turned back to the three pissed-off females still standing behind him—“because I’m in love with Alex.” Alex’s eyes widened, and his sisters’ mouths dropped open. “Are you really so shocked?” he rasped. He heard Emily’s broken sob behind him, heard her hasty retreat, but kept his gaze on Alex. “Baby?”

  Alex stumbled back a step and shook her head, a tear streaking down her cheek, then she spun on her heel and ran from the room.

  Rusty grabbed his arm when he started after her. “What about Emily, the photos?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.”

  Piper joined her older sister and crossed her arms. “Make time, or we’ll make sure you never get near her again.”

  He was on the verge of losing his mind. Every second Alex was getting farther away from him. “There’s nothing going on between me and Emily. She’s been playing me, manipulating situations, like she always has. I love Alex.”

  “Bitch,” Piper growled.

  “You better make this right. You better do everything in your power to make our girl listen to you.” Rusty’s fierce expression wobbled. “You made her cry, Deke. Alex never cries. Ever. Not since—”

  Not since she ran through a window at the cottage to avoid being taken back to her foster home. She’d gotten that wicked scar on her arm as a reminder. How could she ever forgive him? Alex had suffered more than her fair share of pain, and he’d done nothing but cause her more.

  He had to get to her, make her understand. He took off running flat out through the room and onto the street.

  But he was too late.

  Alex was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alex lay back on the couch and watched Richard Gere open a velvet-covered jewelry box, then snap it down on Julia Roberts’s fingers. It was supposed to be some iconic, funny, unscripted part of this scene. In her opinion, it just made Edward look like a major jerk. Here, desperate prostitute girl, look what I have for you.

  Snap.

  Sucker! Wouldn’t want you to forget your place now.

  What a complete and utter asshole.

  Her phone started up again. A picture of Deacon flashed on the screen. He was smiling. The one with his elusive dimple on display. Speaking of assholes. She hit end and cut off the call.

  Groaning, she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to make her mind shut the hell up. Nope, not working. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t get the look on his face out of her head, his words on constant loop, banging around her skull.

  I’m in love with Alex.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face. He didn’t mean it. How could he?

  Walking into that room, after seeing those pictures—the pain had been acute, so much so, she’d felt like she was floating outside her body, a bystander to her own pathetic life. But she’d refused to let him see how much his betrayal had broken her. Her only thought had been making him pay, humiliating him the way he had her. Making him hurt, too, the only way she knew how.

  And then he’d said it, said he loved her, and she’d freaked out.

  Deacon was probably still getting his balls served to him by his irate sisters. God, she hadn’t meant to tell them, but seeing those pictures broke something inside her, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d spilled her guts. The last thing she wanted was to mess up Piper and Rusty’s relationship with their brother.

  Jesus, her head hurt.

  Rolling off the couch, she climbed to her feet and dusted potato chip crumbs off her shirt. Gah! What a mess. And she wasn’t just talking about the carpet. She looked down at herself, still in the ridiculous outfit Rusty had shoved her in the previous evening. “What was I thinking?”

  That was the problem—her brain hadn’t been in the driver’s seat.

  Dragging her feet to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. Mascara was smudged down her face, hair a tangled rat’s nest. She was rocking the whole Return of the Living Dead look. Nice.

  Clean yourself up, girl. Dust yourself off and keep moving forward. Jacob’s voice echoed in her mind. He’d helped her through some of the worst times of her life. Made sure she didn’t stumble and fall, no matter what obstacle was thrown in her way. It’s what she did. She didn’t know how to do anything else. If she stopped, let the pain take hold—stopped moving forward—she felt like she might turn to stone, might get back on the couch and never get off again.

  She couldn’t avoid her friends forever. Tomorrow morning cars would arrive at the garage, jobs that needed to be done. Time wouldn’t stop because her heart was broken. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life hiding from everyone.

  She needed to talk to Deke.

  He’d said he loved her, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t believe in it. Her feelings hadn’t mattered when he’d gone back to his ex. He’d played them both. No one wanted to be the other woman. And that’s what he’d made the both of them.

  She had no love for Deacon’s ex-wife, and she didn’t know the cause of his and Emily’s split, but the cold way he’d shut her down in front of that room full of people…no one deserved that, not even Emily.

  He’d lied and he’d cheated. She still found it hard to believe. She knew Deacon was ruthless in the boardroom, but she’d never dreamed he could be just as ruthless with the people around him, the people who cared for him. He had two sisters he loved and respected. His actions made no sense.

  Stop.

  She slammed the brakes on the direction her thoughts were taking. There was no excuse for it. No matter how out of character it seemed, the proof was in black and white in a crumpled heap in her recycle bin.

  After a long, hot shower, she pulled on her favorite baggy Led Zeppelin T-shirt and felt slightly more human. Finger combing her damp hair, she headed back to the living room. Sleep wasn’t an option, not yet. Right then she thought she might never sleep again, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Those intense green eyes, making her feel things she’d tried to deny—silently telling lies, making promises that meant nothing. Making her hope, making her believe in him.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Alex jumped and spun around at the sound of a fist connecting with her door.

  “Alex, get down to the workshop,” Rusty called through the door. “Quickly!” That was followed by the sound of her friend’s boots pounding back down the stairs. A surge of adrenaline shot though her veins. Was Piper hurt?

  She didn’t muck around, shoved her feet in her work boots, flung her door open, and ran down after her. When she pushed open the garage door the place was pitch-dark. Walking in, she groped for the lights. “Rusty? Piper? What’s going on?”

  The door banged shut behind her, followed by the sound of the lock engaging. “Hey!” She threw the switch, and the overhead lights blinked to life, making her squint against the harsh brightness. She tried the door. Locked. Those bitches had locked her in. She banged on the steel door. “Let me the hell out.”

  Nothing. Complete silence.

  The sound of a car door opening behind her had her freezing on the spot.

  No. They wouldn’t, would they?

  “Alex?”

  Bitches!

  Deacon’s usually smooth, deep voice was a hell of a lot deeper than usual, and not as steady. She couldn’t make herself turn around.

  “Look at me, Alex, please?”


  His voice was closer that time, but she remained rooted to the spot. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

  If I look at you, I’ll break.

  Then he was right behind her, his tight stomach, his chest, plastered against her back. She shivered as the heat of his body soaked through her thin T-shirt. His hands snaked around to rest on her belly, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “Please, Alex.” He nuzzled the side of her neck and sucked in a deep breath. “Please let me explain.”

  She rested her head against the cool steel in front of her, trying to fight the way her body reacted to his touch, how right it felt. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she removed his arms from around her waist and stepped away. “There’s nothing to say. Nothing that can change what’s happened.” She crossed her arms and shuffled a step to the side to get some much-needed space. “I saw the pictures, Deacon. I know about you and Emily. I know you’re sleeping with her.”

  He shoved a hand in his hair, making it stick up on one side. She took him in. He looked like shit. Stubble darkened his jaw, and his eyes were bloodshot, like he’d had about as much sleep as she had. He was wearing the same trousers and shirt he’d had on at the charity event, only he’d lost the jacket and tie and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

  “There is no me and Emily.” His eyes begged her to believe him, and God, she wanted to, but how could she? “I haven’t slept in the same bed with my ex-wife… I haven’t had sex with my ex-wife since we were married, and that side of our relationship fizzled out after the first few months.” He swallowed, throat working. “I’ll understand if you choose to walk away after the lies, the secrets, the fucked-up way I went about everything, but I need to explain. Will you let me?”

  Deacon had never talked about his marriage with Emily or the reason it fell apart, but she’d always wondered, had guessed it had to be something pretty bad for Deacon to be so closed off about it, especially with his sisters. “What happened?”