Hold Me Down (The Deacons of Bourbon Street #3)

by Jackie Ashenden

  There were lights behind his eyes. The scent of sex and her, musk and flowers, in his head. He was shaking, and it seemed to take for-fucking-ever for the aftershocks to dissipate. Even longer before he could actually move.

  First sex in ten years, and it had to be with Alice. The friend he left behind.

  The traitor.

  Holy shit. What the hell had he been thinking? Okay, so he hadn’t been thinking. Or at least, it hadn’t been his brain making the decisions. Christ, he hadn’t blindly taken a woman like that since he’d been sixteen and a Deacons prospect.

  What do you expect after ten years of using your own hand?

  Actually, he’d expected to be able to turn away. To let her go. But he hadn’t.

  It had been so long since he’d held a woman. So long since he’d been near softness and heat and the smell of flowers. Yet even more than that, it had been so long since a woman had challenged him, tested him. Had looked at him and hadn’t been afraid.

  He hadn’t counted on that being such a damn turn-on. Or that the combination of anger and lust would be quite so potent.

  After a long moment, he lifted his head.

  She had her head against the back of the couch, russet hair spread out and tangled all to hell. Her eyes were closed, coppery lashes resting still on her cheeks. Her milky pale skin was flushed. A bruise was darkening on her neck.

  A familiar face. One he’d tried not to think about while he’d been away, because what would have been the point? He’d left everything behind him when Priest told him to leave and he had, including her. But he’d always expected to return; he just hadn’t thought it would take him ten years to do so.

  She’d changed in those ten years. She’d become much harder, much tougher, though shit, was that any wonder?

  Her lashes fluttered, then lifted, her eyes still dark with the aftereffects of pleasure, meeting his gaze.

  Alice. His friend. Who he’d just screwed hard and fast on the couch as if his life depended on it.

  Who you want to screw again.

  Blue pushed himself abruptly off her, hauling up his jeans as he got to his feet. No. No screwing again. Definitely not. Besides their history, she was also a Deacons traitor, and screwing traitors was not what he wanted to be doing, friends or otherwise.

  He didn’t say anything to her, turning away and leaving the room, stalking down the hallway to the bathroom, where he dealt with the condom. After that, he bent over the sink and ran some water into his hands, splashing it over his face.

  Fuck. That had been…intense, and already his dick was revving for another round. But no way. He’d been able to control himself for ten goddamn years, and just because he’d broken his drought didn’t mean he was going to go back for more. Even before he’d left New Orleans, he’d liked to keep his liaisons short and sweet, and very definitely uncomplicated.

  Nothing about Alice was uncomplicated, not with their history.

  Christ, he was stupid.

  He wiped the water from his face, staring sightlessly at his reflection in the mirror.

  Regardless of what had just happened between them, the most important thing now was to figure out how to protect her. Because Ajax was going to be majorly pissed about her defection. Especially once he saw that tattoo on her arm…

  Blue let out a breath. He wouldn’t let Ajax or any other fucker hurt her, that was for damn sure. He would protect her. But he also needed her to understand that she was still a Deacon and always would be. She was part of his family and that didn’t change, no matter that she’d apparently chosen a new loyalty.

  She’s yours.

  Yeah, she was. And perhaps that was the key to protecting her. Making her his. Shit, if she wore a property patch that would do it. Ajax respected another brother’s property and if Blue stood surety for her, that would help too.

  She won’t like it.

  Hell, no. That was the biggest fucking understatement of the year. But then she wouldn’t get a choice. It was either she become his old lady, and wear a property vest, or answer to Ajax. And he wasn’t going to let her answer to Ajax, because he was pretty certain she wouldn’t come out of that alive. Which was so not happening.

  Shoving himself away from the sink, Blue strode back to the lounge.

  Alice was sitting on the couch, panties and jeans back on, doing up her boots. She didn’t look at him as he entered, long red hair falling over one shoulder, gleaming in the light.

  His cock started hardening, stupid fuck that it was.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked curtly as she rose to her feet.

  She turned. There were stains on her tank top, dark stains. His blood from where he’d held her against him after he’d walked onto her knife. Well, she’d always known how to look after herself.

  “None of your damn business.” She strode past him, aiming for the door, but he caught her by the arm as she passed, halting her.

  “It’s exactly my damn business.” Her skin was warm. Silky and smooth.

  She didn’t try to pull away, but her head snapped around, blue eyes flashing sapphire sparks of anger. “Haven’t we already had this conversation? Get your fucking hands off—”

  “If Ajax finds out you’ve changed sides, he’ll kill you.”

  Her gaze flickered. “He hasn’t found out so far. No reason he would now.”

  “He’ll find out.” Blue tightened his fingers on her arm. “He’s already got his sights on the Deacons traitors in the Ministry ranks, and what with all the intel pointing to Ministry killing Priest, he’s ready to rain down hell.” He paused. “You really want to get caught in that shit?”

  Her mouth hardened. “Like I said, the Ministry has got nothing to do with Priest’s death.”

  “Do you know that for certain?”

  “I don’t know why you keep—”

  “For certain, Ally?” He used her name deliberately and he could see the effect it had, another flicker in those baby blues of hers.

  “Don’t call me that.” Her voice was hard. Flat.

  Still pissed with him, clearly. Not that he could blame her. Then again, he was here now and he wanted to give her an explanation about why he’d had to leave. Why he’d had to stay silent. Then maybe he could start rebuilding the bridges he’d burned.

  But first they had to get this Ministry bullshit out of the way, not to mention sorting out the little problem of her defection. Which was only going to make her even more pissed than she was already.

  “We haven’t finished,” he said quietly. “And you’re not leaving until we have.”

  “Finished what? We screwed. What more do you want?”

  “You need protection.”

  “I can handle myself just fine.”

  “Like you did with me? With that stupid fucking thing you call a knife?”

  A dull flush had crept into her cheeks. She looked away from him, toward the door. “It’s been a hell of a night, Leon. I just want to go home.” The edge of sarcastic anger in her voice had faded, leaving behind it a hint of something more vulnerable. Something that caught at him far more painfully than her knife had done.

  He should let her go, should let her get on with her life. But it was too late now. Priest was dead and she’d allied herself with the Deacons’ enemies, Priest’s murderers. There was no coming back from that.

  “Go get in the shower,” he said. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

  She looked down instinctively, frowning at the stains on her top. “I can have a shower at home—”

  “You think I’m kidding about Ajax? I’m not. Besides, I’m not having you walking down Bourbon Street covered in blood. Not with that Ministry tattoo on your arm.”

  “Why? I thought you wanted a war.”

  “Not right now we don’t. Now go get in the goddamn shower before I put you in there myself.”

  She jerked her arm out of his grip and without a word, headed toward the doorway. He let her go, waiting as she left the roo
m, listening for the sound of the door that led onto the courtyard. But it wasn’t the courtyard door he heard but the door to the shower slamming shut.

  Blue allowed himself a satisfied grimace.

  Alice had always been stubborn, but she’d never been stupid.

  He gave her five minutes, then went back into the hallway, going down to the bathroom door. There was no lock on it, so he pushed it open and went in. She’d already gotten undressed and was in the shower, the sound of running water and hot steam filling the small space.

  Her clothes were on the floor so he went over and picked them up, frowning at the bloodstains on her top. It would need soaking.

  The years of abstinence in the bayou had enforced a rigorous discipline, and he’d found that focusing on little things like looking after himself and his property helped keep his head clear. Helped keep the faith when he’d thought that maybe his vows were crazy, that maybe he was crazy.

  Okay, so perhaps he had been a little crazy out there. Whatever. Now he was back, but those old habits died hard. And her fucking top still needed soaking.

  He left the bathroom with her clothes, dealing with the bloodstains in the laundry room, then throwing everything including her underwear into the washing machine. Then he detoured past his bedroom to grab her a T-shirt of his to wear before going back to the bathroom.

  As he laid the clean shirt down on the vanity, he found himself staring at the shower door, watching the movements of the woman behind it. He couldn’t see much through the fogged-up glass, only hints of a curvaceous figure and pale skin, but his imagination was happy to fill in the blanks.

  Not that there were many blanks after what had happened on the couch.

  His dick was keen on the memory. In fact, his dick was more than happy to relive it.

  Fuck, he so did not need this.

  He started for the door, then stopped. Because, shit, he’d held out for ten years and now here he was, fifteen minutes after one screw, already panting for a second? Sure, he’d built up a head of steam over those ten years, but he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He could keep it in his pants if he wanted.

  Perhaps you’re more like your old man than you thought?

  He scowled as the snide voice echoed in his head. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t thought of his father, the cheating prick, in years. And no, he was nothing like that son of a bitch. Nothing.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Alice said after a moment, her figure pausing behind the glass.

  “I got you something to wear. Your top needed a wash.”

  There was a silence. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the glass.

  Maybe he needed to go out to the bar, find himself a woman. Get rid of this nagging ache once and for all. And perhaps, after he’d sorted out what he was going to do with Alice, he would.

  Her hand pressed against the glass door and slowly wiped away the fog. Suddenly he could see her, cheeks flushed with heat, hair like wet red silk plastered to her creamy white skin. She stared at him for a moment. “What?”

  “Your top had blood on it. I put it in the washing machine.”

  She blinked at him as if she’d never heard of anything so ridiculous. “You’re doing my laundry now?”

  “Yeah, I’m doing your laundry.” He curled his hands over the edge of the vanity and gripped it. Through the glass he could see the shape of soft breasts and the slightly darker pink of her nipples. Her skin would be slick with water and soap. Slippery…His jeans suddenly became almost unbearably tight.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I look after what’s mine.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Leon. We’ve had this discussion.”

  He ignored her. Pity he couldn’t seem to ignore the pain in his groin just as easily. “I have an idea how to protect you from Ajax. Except you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t like anything you suggest.”

  “You’re gonna have to be my old lady.”

  There was another silence, the only sound the running water of the shower.

  “But…I’m not your old lady,” she said at last.

  “I know. Which means we’ll have to pretend that you are.”

  She reached up suddenly and the water switched off. Then she pushed open the shower door and grabbed for one of the white towels on the nearby rail, wrapping it around her. She did it quickly, but not quickly enough that he didn’t get an eyeful of her gloriously naked body. And it was glorious. Shit, how had he never noticed before?

  She wasn’t tall, but she had curves enough to make a man’s mouth water. Full breasts, nicely indented waist, beautifully shaped hips and rounded thighs. And that gorgeous little pussy he’d seen just before with its thatch of copper curls.

  “Say that again,” she demanded.

  He shifted against the vanity, suddenly famished, and not for food. “You’re gonna have to be my old lady,” he repeated. “That’s the only thing that’ll protect you from Ajax.”

  “And why the hell would being your old lady do that?”

  “Because of Sophie. Because he respects a brother’s property. Especially if I take responsibility for you, guarantee your loyalty.”

  Anger glittered in her eyes. “No. No fucking way.”

  His own anger, ever present, rose in response. “You don’t have a choice. It’s either that or you deal with Ajax. And believe me, no one ‘deals’ with Ajax.”

  She was holding the towel tightly around her, fury in her expression. “I can’t,” she said flatly. “I’m with the Ministry now, which means I can’t just waltz back into my garage with your patch on my back.”

  For some reason the thought of her doing just that gave him an immense amount of satisfaction. “You’re not going to be waltzing anywhere. You’re staying in Deacons territory, and yeah, you’ll do it with my patch on your back if that’s what it takes to protect you.”

  The fury in her eyes leapt higher. “I’m not yours, Leon.”

  And he felt it rise in himself again, inevitable, unstoppable. He didn’t quite understand why this was so important to him, but maybe it was the fact that she was important to him. And she’d been the one to turn her back. He’d kept the faith for ten years while she’d moved on. That it was irrational to expect her to remain loyal, especially when he hadn’t spoken one word to her in all the years since he’d left, he knew. But that didn’t stop him from feeling this way.

  He pushed away from the vanity, taking a step toward her. “I don’t care,” he said tautly. “I’ll protect you however I goddamn please.”

  “My hero.” Her voice was sharp and edged with sarcasm. “Well, if you’re expecting me to be grateful, you’re shit out of luck. Especially when you’re the reason I had to change my loyalties in the first place.”

  “Bullshit, Ally. That’s fucking bullshit.” He took another step toward her, meeting the fire in her eyes.

  “No, it’s not. And if you hadn’t come back, I would still be in my garage. There wouldn’t be any stupid damn war and Ajax wouldn’t know anything.”

  “Yeah, and Priest would still be dead and the Ministry would still have killed him.”

  “I’m not going to be your old lady, Leon. I’m not.”

  “I don’t care what you want.” He took that last step, so they were only inches apart. “All I care about is you staying alive.”

  She stared up at him, her skin slick with water, her hair plastered to her neck and shoulders. He could smell the soap she’d used—his soap—which meant she had his scent on her, and the animal in him liked that very much. Too much.

  She’s yours. She’s always been yours.

  Right from the moment he’d first seen her, the day her mother had come to work for the Delacroix as a housekeeper, Alice tagging along to help her out, a leggy fourteen-year-old with a sunny smile and an infectious laugh. She’d been fascinating to him back then, wilder and freer than the girls he was used to, the society belles with the
ir ironclad manners, coached diligently to be perfect wives by their mothers.

  Alice had had no manners at all and didn’t seem to give a shit about the fact. She’d been a breath of fresh air, doing exactly what she wanted when she wanted to. Unlike himself, she wasn’t bound by his parents’ rigid rules for how a proper Delacroix should act, and he’d liked her for that. Admired the hell out of it.

  He still did. Except when she wouldn’t do what he wanted her to.

  Blue reached out and pulled hard on her towel. She held onto it for a moment, the cotton pulling taut. Then, unexpectedly, she lifted her arms and it fell away from her body, revealing gently flushed pink skin. Tight, hard nipples. Red curls.

  What the fuck are you doing now?

  Good question. Hadn’t he told himself that this situation with Alice was far too complicated to add more sex into the mix? So what the hell was he doing now? His fucking dick was doing his thinking for him again.

  Alice lifted her chin, proud as a queen despite her nakedness, the anger in her eyes sparking. “I see you’re thinking of me as your property already. Typical fucking Delacroix.”

  They were goading words. Hurtful words. And he knew she’d done it deliberately, because the knowledge was right there in her gaze.

  Like father, like son.

  That was the day it had all gone to shit. The day Blue had caught his father and Alice’s mother having sex in his father’s study. Two families destroyed because his father, far from being the upstanding pillar of the community he’d made himself out to be, was a cheating fuck and had no remorse about it whatsoever.

  Alice’s mother had left her father the next day, and then left New Orleans the day after that.

  Alice was wrong, though. He wasn’t like his old man. He didn’t take what wasn’t his, without giving a shit about the consequences. His father had been a selfish old prick, and Blue had modeled his life around not being him. That was one brush she couldn’t tar him with.