by Tia Louise
“So you think Beto is telling the truth?” It feels like a weight is sitting on my chest. “You think your grandfather shot mine?”
Deacon’s eyes drop to his hands. “I think I found a motive…”
Honor… Loyalty to your family… Our father died a broken man…
My brother’s angry words are in my brain, squeezing my heart and twisting my insides. Shaking my head, I don’t want to think about these events that have nothing to do with us.
“I understand if you want me to go.”
“No!” Crossing the room quickly, I climb onto his lap in a straddle, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my chest to his. “I want you to stay.”
Strong arms are around me, holding me close. We’re breathing fast, our hearts beating quickly. We take several long moments, letting the truth of our family’s history settle in the spaces around us.
I want to cry. I want to crawl under the blankets with him and hide. I want to go back to the way things used to be. “Remember when it was only us?”
“It was never only us.” His voice is quiet.
“We could still pretend.” My arms are around him, and I hold on tight. I never want to let go.
He exhales and his arms relax. Sitting up, I find his beautiful face, sexy lips curl slightly. It’s the first hint of a smile he’s given me since he returned. It helps my muscles relax. It gives me the smallest bit of hope.
He slides a curl behind my ear with his fingers. “We can’t live our lives that way. We have to figure out what to do.”
“I don’t know…” I kiss his cheek, moving closer to his ear. “I can ignore them for a little while. Pretend this history isn’t ours… it’s not our problem.”
“We do have other things going on in our lives.”
Sitting up, I meet his gaze. “Really exciting things.”
That gets me a smile, the ghost of a dimple in his cheek, and my stomach warms. “Tell me about your week. I want to know more about this mysterious portrait commission.”
My stomach is tight, but I don’t want to let anything burst our bubble. “She’s a very rich old woman, very difficult. But I’m building a bridge.”
“Like Winona Judd?” He leans forward, tracing his lips along mine, tickling my insides with heat.
“It’s a popular name.”
“If anyone can do it, you can.”
We spend the next several minutes lost in a haze of lust and heat and kisses. Deacon slides his mouth into my hair, pulling on the shell of my ear. Whispering hot promises of what he wants to do to me. I’m lost in the sensation of his lips against mine, his hands, his touch.
His dick is hard on my thigh, and he groans roughly. “I left my car out front in plain sight of everyone.”
I stand, lowering the sweatpants I’m wearing and climbing him in a straddle. “Then we’d better make this quick.”
Rising onto my knees, I cover his mouth with mine, sliding my tongue along his as his long fingers thread in the side of my panties, gripping my ass. My center heats, and I move against him.
His fingers trace a line to the middle of my thighs, and I exhale a moan as he drags them up and down my clit, circling and massaging as I ride his hand.
My voice breaks with desire. “I need you now.”
Our hands fumble together, unfastening his pants, lowering them so his cock springs free, so I can line it up and drop, closing my eyes as he fills me, moaning so loud, his large hand fumbles to cover my mouth, thick fingers slipping between my teeth.
My pelvis rocks, and I’m grinding. His face is in my hair, close to my ear, so I can hear his rough breathing, his groans of desire.
“Angel…” It’s a hiss of need as his hips lift, driving his cock deeper into me.
His brow furrows, and he lies back on my bed. I lean forward on him, riding fast and hard, feeling the sensations as they whip me higher, tighter, twisting my insides. My breasts bounce, nipples tight, and I can’t get enough.
My thighs tighten, my insides tighten, the friction is more than I can bear. My brain is on fire, and I can’t slow the movements of my body. It’s primal, instinctive. I’m chasing the orgasm that’s so close… right there…
“Oh, God…” I gasp as it breaks. My legs shudder, and my back arches as the pleasure shoots through me like a shock. “Oh…” I can’t stop the release.
Deacon’s hands tighten on my ass, gripping me and moving me up and down on his cock as he breaks.
I feel him pulsing. His lips are at my ear as he comes. “Angel…” It’s half-prayer, half-groan, causing my core to squeeze.
We hold each other, not caring about the world around us, not worried about the hate or who might find us. We’re like we’ve always been, in our own place of love and desire and need and satisfaction.
Deacon holds me, rolling us to the side so I’m facing him on the bed. He kisses my nose, my cheek, my lips. “I love you so much.”
My heart warms, and I rise up to kiss him back. “I love you.”
“Little seductress.” He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “What will I do with you?”
“Stay with me forever.”
“If only.” He starts to rise, but I hold him.
“Deacon…”
“Angel…” He leans down again, resting his head against my breast. “You make it so hard for me.”
“Why should I make it easy?” I grin, holding him, loving how hard it is for him to leave me.
He starts to laugh. “Your brother threatened to shoot me if he caught me with you again.”
Everything inside me freezes, and my grip relaxes. “What did you say?”
I remember Beto’s gun, his anger, his hatred of everything Dring.
The teasing grin on Deacon’s face falters, and he seems to catch himself. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Yes, you should have.” I rise up beside him, straightening my clothes.
“We were all amped up. Everyone was pissed. He was talking out of his ass.”
“You should go.” I’m off the bed, straightening my panties and going to the window. “We can meet at your apartment next time.”
“This is a switch.” He’s teasing, but I’m freaking out. “Please…”
He’s at the window, throwing a leg over the balustrade and sitting. “Come here.”
Stepping closer, I put my arms around his neck, my old friend Fear buzzing in my veins.
Dropping his chin, he kisses my lips. “I’m not afraid of your brother. I’ll see you tomorrow, and in the meantime, I’m working on this. You trust me?”
He’s so beautiful. He’s everything to me. If anything happens to him…
“Of course, I trust you.” My voice is a broken whisper, and I put my palm against his scruffy cheek.
He leans forward, kissing me longer, pulling my lips with his. I want to hold him, but I need him to go. I can’t take a chance on what he just told me.
“I’ll call you.” One last kiss, and he drops to the pavement, dashing across the back patio and off my brother’s property.
I’m breathing fast, terrified. I had no idea when he came here what my brother had threatened, how dangerous our love had become.
My brother is angry and unpredictable. Regardless of what Deacon thinks, I don’t know what Beto might do. Would he really shoot Deacon? He’s so obsessed with avenging the past…
Either way, I’m not taking a chance.
17
Deacon
The life-sized portrait of my aunt is unfinished, but I’m drawn by her eyes and the regal lift of her chin. “You look very elegant. Is that Boots?” Leaning closer, I see the old family cat is in her lap. “That’s a fun touch.”
“You think so?” Winnie grasps my upper arm, and I’ve never seen her so excited. “I took a little convincing.”
“Is that so?” I can’t imagine who my aunt would trust to disagree with her. “Who’s doing it?”
“A gifted new artist Angela Carmen, but I
don’t think that’s her real name.”
Slanting my eyes, I place my hand over hers. “Why not?”
“She doesn’t always respond when I say it.” My aunt releases my arm and does a wave. “No matter. I’ll pay her in cash.”
“That’s a lot of cash to hand someone.”
“She’ll know what to do with it. Those people prefer cash-only payments anyway. Avoids a lot of uncomfortable questions.”
“You’re assuming she’s illegal?”
“What does it matter, darling? She can’t help her circumstances.” Winnie motions to the life-sized painting. “Look how beautiful her work is. I’m thinking of being her patron, commissioning her to do your portrait.”
“That’s very big hearted of you.” I don’t bother hiding my sarcasm. “Speaking of portraits, why are there no pictures of my grandmother?”
Winnie’s spine stiffens. “That’s an odd question.”
“Is it? She was your mother.”
Winnie seems disturbed. “I think they’re in the attic with the rest of her things. Father put them away after she died.”
“We never talk about her. Why is that?” I confess, growing up, I took it for granted. Her death was overshadowed by the loss of my mother and my father’s withdrawal.
“Mother was not very happy.” She slips her hand in the crook of my arm as we stroll to the dining room. “Had she been alive today, I’m sure she would still be with us, but back then… people didn’t know how to deal with grief.”
“Grief?” I’m curious how much my aunt knows of the story, considering it all happened before she was born.
“She lost a child between your father and me. She was visiting a friend and went into premature labor. It was very sad. She never got over it, at least that’s what they said.”
“I see.” I hold her chair as she takes a seat at the table. “How old were you when she died?”
“I was about the same age you were when you lost your mother.” Empathy is in her eyes. “Let’s not talk about it. Our family has not been lucky in love.”
Servers appear with salad plates, and we drift to silence.
I think about her statement and her brief marriage. Winnie married one of my grandfather’s business associates, and I’m pretty sure it was not a love match.
I barely remember my uncle Clarke. My father once said he tried to tell Winnie what to do, and she walked out.
Angel is on my mind. We exchanged a few texts today, but she had to work, then she had her final art class. My aunt’s comment has me needing to see her again, to change my family’s luck, regardless of our history.
“Why do you suppose they do it?” She holds a heavy crystal goblet to her lips, sipping her red wine as the servers take away our salad plates, replacing them with steak and new potatoes.
“Do what?” I spear a small red spud and pop it into my mouth.
“This young woman described a beautiful childhood in Mexico. Why would she leave that to come here?”
“I think there are a lot of reasons people like us could never understand.” Slicing a bite of steak, I eat the perfectly cooked beef not expecting my aunt to understand the concept of privilege even while sitting in the midst of it. “Why does it matter to you?”
“I’d like to help her. She seems like an intelligent girl. Maybe she wants to go home.”
“Maybe you should stay out of it.” I take another bite of steak, and she tilts her head to the side.
“I’d say that was rude if I didn’t know you better.”
I’m not looking to fight with my aunt about the problems of a stranger. I’m more interested in what I’ve learned. “How much do you know about the way Grandfather acquired his land?”
She exhales, sliding her plate forward and leaning back in her chair. “We’ve discussed this, Deacon. I was a child, a girl. I was not included in those discussions. It’s ignorant and backwards by today’s standards, but that’s how it was in those days.”
“But you married one of his closest business partners. He never discussed it with you?”
“Non-disclosure agreements. Your grandfather was very suspicious.” She rises from her chair and goes to the fireplace. “He only got worse as he got older, after Mother died. He didn’t trust anyone, least of all women.”
Knowing what I’ve learned, it’s like all these dots are just waiting to be connected. My eyes go to the clock, and I see it’s after nine. “I think I’ll call it a night.”
“Won’t you stay a little longer?” She puts her hand on my arm, and I cover it with mine.
“I’ll check on you in a few days.” We’re out in the hall when a door opens, the one leading to the side entrance the workers use.
Everything stops when Angel steps into the hallway.
“Oh!” Her voice rushes out on a breath, and my stomach tightens.
She’s beautiful in a tight navy tee and jeans that hug her cute little ass. Her curls are in a low ponytail over one shoulder, and when our eyes meet, I can’t help smiling. She blinks away fast, and my smile fades.
“Hello, Angela.” Winnie’s voice is formal. “This is my nephew Deacon. Deacon, this is the young woman I was telling you about.”
Angel’s family might hate me, but Winnie has no power over my decisions. I’m about to set things straight when Angel reaches forward quickly and shakes my hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Clarke?” She gives me a pointed look, and I stop.
“Deacon’s last name is Dring. He’s my late brother’s son.”
“My mistake.” Angel blinks away to my aunt. “I won’t be late tonight. I’d like to be home by ten-thirty.”
“Of course. You’ve been working very hard.” Winnie speaks to her like she’s the maid, and I don’t like it. “I was just telling Deacon what a wonderful job you’re doing. I think he agrees with me… Deacon? What’s wrong, darling?”
My eyes are on Angel avoiding my gaze, and I shake my head, returning to my aunt. “I have to go.” Leaning forward, I kiss Winnie’s cheek then turn to my girl. “Nice meeting you, Angela.”
Angel does a brief nod before heading into the room where she works.
We’re not doing this.
I’m not backing down from being together because things have gotten twisted.
Still, I’ll wait.
She’ll be home at ten thirty, and I’ll be ready for her explanation.
The backyard lights stream through the open window of Angel’s bedroom. I left my bike in the same place across the street as last week, and I’m sitting in the shadows waiting for her to walk through the door.
Before coming here, I rode through the night out to the tower where we used to meet. I thought about the story of the man who shot his wife and her lover here. As a child, I thought such stories were made up to scare us or to make places seem more interesting.
Now I’m not so sure.
Taking a slight detour, I rode out across my grandfather’s land, or the start of it. Our family owns hundreds of miles of forest and grasslands in northeast Texas, leading up to Oklahoma. Was it always ours?
Straddling my bike, I sat at the top of a small hill overlooking the property and shot a quick text to Richland. Need you to help me research the ownership history of some land.
He didn’t take long to reply. In El Paso for another week, but I’ll see what I can do. What land?
Mine.
The metallic taste of rain was on my tongue as I sped back towards Lakeside Estates. Now, sitting in Angel’s empty room, I listen to the thunder rolling in, making the night even darker. How will she get home? Does she ride the bus at this hour? Anger is rising in my chest when I feel my phone vibrate again.
Sounds like a story. It’s Rich.
You have no idea. I hit send just as her door cracks open, and the light from the hall filters into the room.
She doesn’t enter, standing in the doorway looking at me sitting in the beige wingback chair across from her.
“You’re h
ere.” Her voice is soft.
Mine is hard. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
We study each other a moment before she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Are you mad at me?”
“I haven’t decided.” My foot is crossed over my knee and thunder rolls low in the sky. “Why did you pretend like you didn’t know me?”
She closes the distance between us, dropping to her knees. I uncross my legs allowing her to scoot between them.
“I panicked.” Her hands slide up my thighs, and she looks up at me. “I didn’t want you to get me fired. I really want this job.”
“I wouldn’t let her fire you.”
“Maybe… but she won’t like us together.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I do… I’ve done so much work. It’s my art, Deacon.” Her voice is soft, eyes round. “Please.”
Her thumbs make small circles against my inner thighs, and it’s melting my annoyance.
I place my forearms on my knees, threading my fingers in her hair. “You won her over with your talent. That portrait is amazing.”
Her cute little nose wrinkles. “She criticizes me nonstop.”
“She bragged about you all through dinner… The brilliant young artist she discovered.”
That makes her laugh. “Thanks.”
“If I’d known it was you, I could’ve agreed… You’re so talented.”
Lifting her hands, she places them over mine. “Let me finish before we blow it all up. I want this for my portfolio, for the Arthaus application.”
I don’t like it, but I can’t make her sad. “Okay.”
Rising onto her knees, she kisses me. Our lips part, tongues sliding together, and her fingers fumble to my shoulders. My hands slide lower, pulling her waist closer to me, threading my fingers under her shirt to her soft skin.
We move faster, her fingers rise to my neck. She exhales a soft noise, and heat fills my stomach.
“I want to taste you.” It’s a rough whisper, and she stands slowly, looking down as a curl slips over her shoulder.
My hands are on her waist, fumbling with the button on her jeans. Her fingers are in my hair, and I kiss the skin below her navel. “Deacon…” she sighs in a tone I love.
