by Sable Hunter
Taz ran her hands across his chest, then up his neck to cup his jaw. She couldn’t get enough of him. She inhaled his kiss, making up for all the lost time when she’d had no one–nothing. And when he pushed her gently from him, she moaned the loss. “Deacon.”
“Taz, no,” he whispered. She was staring at him as if he was the only thing she could see. And God Almighty, how he wanted to believe her.
“No? Why?” Her low husky voice vibrated through Deacon’s body.
“It’s just not a good idea.” He gently eased her off his lap. “I’ll clean up the kitchen while you go get ready for bed. I’m sure you could use a shower.”
Taz didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So much for her seduction skills.
* * *
After she was gone, Deacon made a fist and hit one of the cabinet doors so hard it came off its hinges. How was he supposed to survive this? She was in his house, sleeping wrapped in his sheets, even now she was naked in his shower. Holding his abused hand, he rested his head against the coolness of the stainless steel refrigerator. Just the thought of the water running over every inch of her beautiful body made him weak. “Fuck me,” he groaned.
In the second bedroom, Taz was miserable. He wanted her. His body couldn’t lie. She’d felt how hard he was beneath her hips. She’d felt him shiver beneath her touch. She’d tasted his passion. So why was he pushing her away?
She’d showered and was now staring out the window tracing her name in the condensation on the glass. Something else was going on…but what? As a lover of mystery, she began trying to objectively analyze the situation. What would make a man pull her close with one hand and push her away with the other? Was it her? Was he attracted to her as a person or did he resent who she was? Was it something about his past? His wife? The war? “Deacon!” she breathed in frustration, watching her breath make a little cloud on the pane in front of her.
Turning from the window, she went to sit on the bed. Reaching for the remote she flipped on the TV and channel surfed until she came to one of the movie stations. When she’d first arrived in America, she’d watched the game show network and CNN to help herself learn to speak properly. But what she’d absolutely fell in love with was old movies. Pulling a pillow down to the foot of the bed, she laid on her stomach with her chin propped up on the soft mass. Her attention wasn’t fully on the film playing before her eyes, but more on what happened with Deacon earlier. Until…she abruptly sat up watching a woman sneaking into a man’s bedroom window and tiptoeing up to his bed. He was facing the other direction and wasn’t aware of her until she picked up the covers and eased between them. Taz sat up in the bed, fully engrossed in the unfolding story. Holding her breath, she placed a hand over her heart as the actress touched her lover’s shoulder and he turned, surprised. What would he do? To her relief, the man opened his arms and welcomed the woman, pulling her down for a kiss. This was her answer. Did she have the courage? Standing, she looked toward the door and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.
In his bed, Deacon rubbed his knee, making broad sweeps down to the stump just a couple of inches below. Even before he looked outside, the pain in his phantom limb told him a storm was moving in. He turned toward the window and watched the play of lightning across the night sky. The only thing aching more than his leg was his swollen cock. How had he walked away from her again? There was a special kind of hell reserved for idiots like him. Tomorrow he’d go through the motions of an interview, then send his own personal temptress down the road.
Outside his room…Taz hesitated, garnering courage. The way her fortunes usually ran, Deacon would shoot her before she was able to entice him to welcome her to his bed. Murmuring a quick prayer to St. Jude, the patron of lost causes, she opened the door as silently as she could. The wind had picked up and rain was blowing against the house, perhaps the noise would mask her entry.
She held her breath, waiting on either an angry yell or a gun blast. When there was neither, she pushed the door wide enough to slip through. The first thing she noticed was a shaft of light shining across the room from the attached bath. She followed the beam’s path and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. Like the scene in the movie that inspired this possibly perilous venture, Deacon was lying on his side facing away from her. But what she could see of him almost stopped her heart. He was unclothed and the muscles of his bare back and shoulder beckoned her touch. The sheet lay low across his hips, his body looked chiseled, ripped and absolutely kissable. Wanting to feel skin on skin, she pulled the T-shirt she’d slipped on up and over her head. Knowing what he might do to her if she took him completely by surprise, Taz thought it best to call his name.
A smile played on her lips. One American movie she’d enjoyed was Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the story of two spies who enjoyed a tumultuous relationship. Right now, she felt like Angelina Jolie creeping up on Brad Pitt. “Deacon?”
Deacon’s eyes were closed. His hand lazily stroking his dick–remembering. Damn, he could almost hear her voice.
“Deacon?” Taz tentatively put one knee on the bed as she touched his shoulder. As in the film, he jerked to his back, his eyes wide with surprise. But unlike the star of the movie, Deacon didn’t smile. Emotions played over his face faster than Taz could define them.
Raw unadulterated need throbbed through him. One moment he’d been alone and the next what he’d been craving was leaning over him, her full breasts swaying in front of his face like luscious ripe fruit. “Taz?” he whispered, still not sure if the vision before him was real or a figment of his wishful imagination. His eyes roved over her, the curtain of silky hair hanging on either side of her face, delicate shoulders, and the rest of her centerfold body completely nude and there for the taking.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
As before, a hint of her original accent could be heard–melodious and warm. Waves of conflicting emotion crashed over him. He needed to open his arms in welcome, yet at the same time he wanted to push her away before she discovered he wasn’t the man she thought she knew. Mere seconds passed as his heart and mind struggled–until she took the decision out of his hands, coming to him, stretching her beautiful body next to his, her hands finding his chest, her mouth seeking his and Deacon lost the ability to think–he could only feel.
Taz sighed with total relief as he pulled her down to the bed, his arms wrapping around her, his body bending to curl against her. His eyes were wild, his large frame dwarfing hers as his trembling body held her tight. Her hands came up to touch his face, to slide over his jaw, the rough texture of his scruff tickling her palm. “I want you, Deacon.”
Distress warred with desire. Here she was–in his arms, in his bed–just like he’d dreamed. Should he push her away again or could he take her, make love to her without her knowing? Should he tell her now and risk her walking away or wait until after, then watch her face morph from satiation to disgust? This was not a choice he wanted to make. “You’re tearing me apart,” he confessed raggedly.
Taz lifted up, joining her lips to his for a gentle kiss. “Tell me what to do,” she whispered, wanting only to assuage the look of torment in his eyes. “Do I not please you?”
Deacon groaned, a savage roar of anguish. “You please me too well.” He closed his eyes and faced his demons. Now was the time to end this one way or the other. Rip away the bandage and expose not only the flaw in his body but the wound in his soul. “I have hidden something from you,” he began with stilted words.
Taz strained to see his face clearly in the insufficient light. “Do you love another?” the question tore from her lips as the possibility seared through her brain.
He closed his eyes as if in pain. “No.” He threw back the cover. “I was injured in Afghanistan. I came back half a man.”
His act didn’t make any sense for a moment. How can someone be half a man? She didn’t understand his allusion until her eyes moved over his perfectly sculpted chest, defined abs, his erect manhood,
strong thighs and…only one leg below the knees. “Oh, Deacon,” she whispered, pain for him piercing her very soul.
During his time as a SEAL, his intelligence quotient had been measured. He wasn’t Einstein smart, but he wasn’t dumb as dirt either. He had no trouble reading Natasha, it didn’t take a genius to see and hear the stunned pity on her face or in her voice. Deacon felt like he was trapped beneath a slow lava flow as hot molten shame rolled over him. “Yea, poor Deacon.” He rolled over, giving her his back. “Shut the door on your way out.” This was worse than he’d let himself imagine, far worse. Having this strong woman see him as less tore gaping holes in his spirit. Tensed, he waited for the sound of the door.
Sometimes time stands still. A revelation so unexpected jerks the foundation from beneath your feet. Taz reeled from the knowledge that Deacon was injured, part of his body violently ripped away. How he must have suffered! As she processed this humbling information, the realization that he expected her to reject him hit Taz so hard she lost her ability to breathe. “No, no,” she eliminated the distance between them, pressing her body to his strong back, running her hand over his chest, sealing her lips to a spot between his shoulder blades. “I will not leave you.”
Deacon stilled, afraid to breathe, afraid to think–afraid to hope. He couldn’t misinterpret her actions. “I don’t need a pity fuck, Levin. I’m not whole, I have a disgusting stump where my leg used to be. Don’t pretend this doesn’t turn your stomach. My wife couldn’t even bring herself to look at it, much less touch me or allow me to touch her.”
Tender protective feelings filled Natasha’s chest. Her desire for him only grew. She’d placed him on a pedestal, a war-like god unmoved and unaffected by what went on around him. But that wasn’t true–everything she’d learned recently confirmed he was warm, he was real and he could be hurt. But never by her. She understood much better than he realized. “I find nothing undesirable about you. Our imperfections only prove we are real, we are alive. Nothing and no one is perfect.”
“You are.” He remained facing away from her, but he didn’t pull away.
“Far from it.” She kissed him where his shoulder met his neck. “I have scars too.”
“I don’t think a smattering of freckles constitutes an imperfection,” he grumbled, his skin breaking out in frissons of excitement as her hand ran over his hip and down his thigh. Before she could go lower, he flipped over, looking her in the eye. “What else you got? A beauty mark? More tattoos?”
“I’ll show you.”
To Deacon’s surprise, she rose from the bed and flipped on the bright overhead light. His first instinctual move was to shut his eyes and the second was to make sure the sheet covered his stump. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Baring my soul to you.”
And then he looked up…and stared. God, she was beautiful. But the closer she came, and she came right up to the bed and then on top of it, coming to kneel next to him–the better he could see the web of scars on her body. They were faded, faint white to pale pink lines crisscrossing her upper arms, her abdomen and lower. Some were ridged and some were flat, but all were visible and a testimony to her suffering. “My God, Natasha. What did they do to you?”
“He cut me, he called it a ‘death by a thousand cuts’. To have all of these removed, I would have to endure many hours of surgery, but I choose not to. These scars prove how much I loved my father. Their ugliness doesn’t define me, my unwillingness to betray my loved one does.”
Deacon looked away, unable to fathom the pain and fear she’d withstood and the amazing woman she was now. “No one should have to…” he couldn’t say more, he felt like he was being choked.
Taz remained still a moment longer, before she began to back away. “I think you are…how do they say?” She swallowed hard. “A helluva man. Made more so because of what you’ve sacrificed.” She moved from the bed and bent to pick up her T-shirt to cover the body she’d been ready to share with him. “I understand you not wanting to be with me, but don’t cut yourself off from intimacy because your wife was unworthy of your love.”
Sometimes he was just slow on the uptake, but Deacon finally realized what she was saying and that she was about to walk away leaving him alone once more. “Stop, Levin! Don’t you move one damn muscle,” he barked. Taz obeyed, her arms already in the sleeves of the shirt. She lifted her head and gave him her eyes and he could see tears shining in their beautiful depths. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to the guest…the second bedroom.”
With a deep cleansing breath, he threw the sheet to the foot of the bed, exposing his stump, then slapped the mattress. “Get your beautiful ass over here and let me love on you.”
Taz felt her heart trip. “You want me?”
Deacon held her gaze. “More than you could ever know.” The smile she gave him in exchange for his words was worth a billion dollars.
“Okay, here I come.” She tossed the shirt and launched herself at him and he caught her, rolling her under him. His mouth was just an inch from hers, so close that their breaths mingled together. “Is this better?”
“Much better,” he breathed as his lips touched hers. This…this had been what he needed. He desired her completely–wildly–beyond reason. The kiss that started out soft became hard. She moaned as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, savoring her sweetness.
“My warrior,” she whispered as she caught him around the neck and pulled herself closer. Deacon felt something thaw around his heart. No woman had ever given him more pleasure than this. Weaving his fingers into her thick auburn hair, he allowed himself the illusion that this was more than just a night, that she would lay aside her ambitions and be content to let him care for her. He pretended this was where she belonged, that he would never again have to face another lonely night in this bed.
Deacon ran his palm lightly over her body, his sense of touch sensitive enough that he could sense the scars on her body. He caressed them–rubbed them–eased her as she kissed him with total enthusiasm free from artifice. Before he could stop it, visions of Sylvia intruded and in the comparison, his ex-wife came up far short.
As he worshiped her body, molding her breasts, kneading her hip–her hand was busy also. She reached down to his thigh and tugged his leg, his ravaged leg, on top of hers. And he knew what she was doing was simple–she was not just accepting him, she was welcoming him. When he would’ve pulled away to look once more on her beautiful face, she wouldn’t allow it, catching his lower lip between her teeth. Damn–his control slipped and his cock surged, bumping up against her. When he growled, she was the one who pulled back and with a little giggle, asked, “Did you like that?”
“Obviously…too damn much.” He needed to get control, slow down.
“Not possible,” she whispered, nibbling at his lower lip.
“Levin, listen to me.” He stroked a thumb across her passion-swollen lips.
“What?” She pulled back a bit, as if to see him better. Dreamy-eyed, she studied him, her face full of wonder. He’d never forget the way she looked at him if he lived to be a hundred. Trust, acceptance, passion–exactly what he’d been missing for so long.
“This isn’t going to change anything.” Even as he made his pronouncement, he knew he was wrong. This would change everything. For him.
She considered his words, trying to understand what he was telling her. Where moments ago her heart had been light, now it felt weighted down with regret for what might have been. If he was inferring that she would make demands, he didn’t know her very well. This was the only night she might ever have with him, but it would be a night she would remember. “Okay. I expect nothing. We’re living in the moment.”
“Good.” He wasn’t going to change his mind just because she–and God it was gospel–had given him an incredible gift. “Now, where were we?”
He was gazing at her with all the heat she could’ve desired. So what if he couldn’t offer more? Sh
e had no room in her life for anything permanent. Even as the logic played out in her brain, there was part of her that protested the assumption. “Here,” she said, her face so close to his. Deacon had the thickest lashes for a man, and the deepest blue eyes. Her warrior was haunted by the past. He might not want forever from her, but she could chase the shadows from his eyes.
“Good place to be.” He tightened his leg around hers and pulled her close enough so they were touching from top to bottom. “I love your body.”
Taz watched his lips form the words. “I love your body too.” His mouth was wide and full but completely masculine, which bespoke of confidence and power. She knew he possessed those things in abundance. The only place where his belief in himself had waned was here in bed where he hadn’t been confident of his desirability. This terrible misconception was something she could change.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“If you cannot believe my words, believe this.” She pushed on his shoulder until he was flat of his back, then she came to him, covering his body with kisses–caresses. Beginning at his neck, she bathed him with her tongue, tracing the intriguing dips and valleys of his muscles, taking small bites of his rippling washboard abs. Deacon groaned at the attention. She moved lower, kissing a path down the sexy trail of fur leading from his chest to the part of him that brought her so much pleasure.
Deacon held his breath, but she passed the place where he wanted her the most…to find the place where he needed her the most. With her lips, with her kiss, she set out to show him there was no part of his body she could not only look at, but touch. She held the place where his leg was blown off and she healed him with her kiss. “Taz…Natasha…” He placed a hand on her head, tangling his fingers in her hair.
