The timing sucked. She’d rather have this conversation any other time—when he wasn’t hot, hard, and between her legs—but fine, if her stubborn Superman needed to hear this now, then this was where it would happen. She just hoped they could get to the good stuff after.
“Second off…” She tugged on his hold on her wrists, getting his attention. “I’m not the dainty little flower you think I am. You’ve had me on a pedestal since we were kids, Deke, and I love you for it, but you’ve got to know that’s not real, right? No one deserves that kind of reverence. Yes, I had a speech impediment, and yes, that and a host of other things made me a target for the jerkoffs in our school. Yes, I took a ginormous risk by saying hello to the new kid and bringing him home to meet my parents. But Deacon…you took just as big a risk that day by saying yes, too.”
Turmoil raged in his eyes, and Hannah knew this wasn’t something that could be toppled with one conversation. Their dynamic was twenty-five years of abandonment issues—and ten years of Saint Hannah canonizing—in the making. But there was one final point that she needed to make.
“I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves, Deke.” Lowering her head, she met his eyes so he could see the sincerity shining in hers. “When you look at me, I want you to see me as your equal. Your partner. I want passion and excitement in my life, just like anybody else, and hell yes, that means being mauled on the street if the mood strikes. You better believe it includes being groped in a swanky limo. What in the hell’s hotter than that?”
Deacon’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply. He just kept staring at her as the seconds ticked and the world zoomed past outside their window in a fuzzy blur. His strong chest rose and fell, and his eyes shifted between hers.
Finally, he said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nodded, and the final piece of the wall he’d built between them crumbled at her feet. As his gaze darkened with desire, Hannah released the breath she’d been holding.
“My woman wants passion?” he asked her, loosening his grip around her wrists. He pressed a kiss on the sensitive underside of each, sending an electric shock straight to her core, then placed her hands on the center of his chest. “I’ll give her passion.”
With a sly grin, Deacon curved his hands around her ass and gave a sharp tug, sending her hips crashing into his. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
Before Hannah could wonder what that meant, buttons were flying. With one fierce yank, Deacon ripped open his shirt, finishing the job, and she jumped to help him spread it wide, sliding the torn fabric from his shoulders.
A whimper caught in her throat. “So damn sexy.”
Broad shoulders gave way to a sculpted, lean chest, and the most perfect abs on God’s green earth. Hannah wanted to weep, but instead molded her hands to the hard bulges and raked her fingernails over the clean ripples of his stomach. Fondling was a much better use of her time.
By his sharp hiss of breath, Deacon agreed. He sat up, crushing their torsos together, and the heat from his body seeped through the satin and lace of her dress. He stared straight into her eyes and said, “So are you, Cherry.”
The sincerity drowning his words made her heart clench. This man found her—quiet, awkward, stuttering Hannah Fisher—sexy. The revelation was almost as overwhelming as the feel of his hands on her body. But then those same hands cradled either side of her face, and his darkened gaze dropped to her lips, and overwhelmed made way for light-headed because, oh my God, he was going to kiss her. For real this time. With intent. And with no alcohol in her veins to dull her senses.
Her mouth parted and her tongue swept along the lower rim. Deacon’s eyes darkened as his eyes followed the movement…and then, he kissed her.
Hot damn, did he kiss her.
Fireworks burst behind Hannah’s eyelids. Full lips closed over the bottom of hers, sucking it into his mouth and giving a sharp pull before switching to the top, biting gently and soothing the nip with his tongue. Her stomach clenched low as tingles raced down her spine and returned in a series of flutters deep in her belly.
Hannah opened her mouth under his, needing more—so much more—and he gave it, sliding his tongue between her lips. Deacon’s head slanted as their tongues dueled, and after wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he fell back against the leather seat, taking her with him with a gasped oomph. Without lifting her head, she adjusted her legs on either side of his lap, and when her hips ground down on the hard, unmistakable proof of just how much he wanted her…well, she admittedly went a little crazy.
Teeth clashed as she surged against him. Gasps and hisses rang out as she clawed his arms and his shoulders, wanting to be closer. Needing to feel him everywhere. As she sucked the salty skin of his neck into her mouth, she tunneled her fingers through his hair and fisted the longer, silken strands on top. She gave a firm tug, and Deacon growled as he rolled his hips against her. Tiny convulsions rippled her core.
Deacon was a master kisser. Like, he should teach classes…but then, the lessons he’d have to give would drive her insane with jealousy, so nix that. Alternating between tender and fierce, sweet and frantic, he made love to her mouth while his hands and hips did the same to her body, making her feel cherished and adored and practically combustible. He rimmed the outer shell of her ear with his tongue, sending chill bumps across her skin, and then he caught the delicate lobe between his teeth. Hannah’s thighs clenched around his hips.
This was what her favorite books always talked about. Kisses that stopped time and heat that burned from the inside out. Trails blazed down her throat as her hands kneaded the muscles in his arms. Hannah’s thoughts were a swirl, flittering and fluttering too fast to hold on to, and fire licked her insides. This was passion. This was everything.
As she tried to catch her breath, Deacon adjusted their position. Strong hands locked around her shoulders and guided her back, giving him room to glide his tongue along the sweetheart neckline of her gown. Her hands gripped his forearms as he inhaled a breath.
“Damn.” His warm breath across her damp skin sent her eyes rolling back in her head. “You always smell so damn good.”
Deacon laved the swell of her chest, lifted high over her fitted, sleeveless gown, and his hands slid around to cradle her ribs. As his thumbs grazed the soft underbelly of her breasts through the fabric, his lips nudged her neckline lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along every inch of newly exposed skin. Hannah gasped, and Deacon looked up, locking his eyes with hers.
A slow, devilish smile curved his lips. Then he bent his head and suckled her through the silk and lace.
“Ahh!” Hannah grabbed his head and held him against her, and Deacon chuckled as he scraped his teeth over the sensitive tip, sparking a deep, delicious pull within her.
She was seconds, nanoseconds, away from ripping off her dress and suggesting they turn “groping in the limo” into “sexing in the limo” when they rolled to an abrupt, dizzying stop.
Disoriented and confused, Hannah stared at the ceiling of the car. Breaths sawed in and out of both their chests, and the heat from Deacon’s exhale against the damp fabric of her dress had her wiggling in his lap. Slowly, he raised his head, and she lifted her eyes, and together, they looked out the window.
They’d made it to The Hermitage.
Hannah blinked, feeling a lot like Alice waking up in another world, and when she turned to stare at Deacon, she was half afraid she’d find regret or second thoughts in his eyes. Instead, her favorite fiddler gave a sexy, lopsided grin. “Ready for round two?”
She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.
Chapter Twelve
“You know, Superman, if you wanted more muffins, all you had to do was say so.”
Hannah shot him a flirty grin over her shoulder as she added blueberries to the mixing bowl, and Deacon lifted a shoulder. “That’s what I did.”
“No, what you did was pout and give me puppy dog eyes,” she corrected with an a
mused shake of her head. “You do realize Sherry’s eating for two, right? It’s not her fault Bagel Bite loves my muffins. Clearly, she’s growing a future genius in there.”
Up until that last part, he’d been prepared to deliver a speech on the importance of sharing baked goods, even when one of your roommates was six months pregnant…but instead, he abandoned that topic for an entirely new one. “Bagel Bite?”
Hannah blinked innocently and pulled out her mama’s old muffin pan.
“You seriously nicknamed Tyler’s future son or daughter Bagel Bite?”
“Yep,” she answered with an unapologetic grin. “Sherry told me that up until the tour started, she could only hold down pizza. Apparently, the same thing happened the first time, only with burgers, so they nicknamed Lizzie, Whopper. I think Bagel Bite’s a lot cuter than Pizza Roll, don’t you?”
Deacon fought a smile. She said it so straightforward, like it was obvious they’d name the baby after something that was delivered in a box, that he wanted to laugh. God, she was adorable. “Here’s a wild idea. Maybe we don’t name it after food at all. That could work, too.”
A delighted trill of giggles met his response, and the sound seeped into his chest, warming his insides. Hannah sprayed the individual wells of the pan with canola oil, then stuck out her tongue and teased, “You’re no fun.”
It was temping to remind her of just how much fun he could be—and put that pretty pink tongue to better use, while he was at it—but Max was seated across from him. Holding what looked like a Bingo marker in his tiny hand, he planted dot after dot after dot on a single piece of computer paper. He claimed it was a picture of space, and when Deacon squinted and turned his head just right, it could totally pass.
Obviously, his kid was the genius around here.
Hannah began humming under her breath as she filled the muffin tray, and as Max happily dotted his paper, he nodded along to the beat. Watching the two of them so easily find a rhythm together, Deacon wondered again if they were doing the right thing.
Max didn’t know that things had changed. For the last week, he’d seen his dad and nanny acting like friends like they always had. It wasn’t that Deacon regretted what had happened in the hotel; if anything, he was thrilled as hell. But his number one priority would always be his son.
Max was already incredibly attached to “his Hannah.” While Deacon knew Hannah would never hurt his son, he also knew he had to tread lightly. Everything was so new between them. If Max started thinking of her as anything more than his nanny, and something happened later to change that, he would be crushed. Deacon couldn’t let that happen.
Their friends knew the truth. It’d been obvious when they didn’t return to the bus, and neither he nor Hannah had tried to hide it when they shuffled in the next morning. It’d felt too good having her lean into him, too right holding her hand. Sherry and Arabella had lit up like Christmas trees, and the guys had exchanged nods with Charlie suggesting Red Lobster for lunch. Luckily, the reference had flown right over the girls’ heads.
But, even with the band, Deacon felt himself holding back. Case in point: he still hadn’t asked Hannah to stay. They had two months until the international leg kicked off, so he had plenty of time to bring it up, and when he did, he wanted her to say yes for the right reasons. Because she genuinely wanted to stay, not because they were sleeping together and he’d trapped her into it.
The honest truth was, he was scared. After all, this was him they were dealing with. A world-class screwup. Deacon couldn’t help looking around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If and when that happened, he wanted to be prepared for the fallout.
Hannah shut the oven with her hip, then spun around to face him. “Twenty-eight minutes and counting, Mr. Latrell.”
Deacon made a production out of setting the timer on his watch, and she grinned happily. She made it so easy.
Walking over, she ruffled Max’s hair and peeked to see how he was doing on his picture. “Dude, this is awesome! I can tell you put a lot of thought into where you wanted to put each dot. Way to go!”
Max beamed with pride and nodded his cute, oversized head, and Deacon stole another glance at the picture. Huh. Now that he knew what to look for, he guessed there was a bit of method to his son’s dotting madness. Yep, boy’s a genius.
“I’m so proud of you, monkey.” Hannah kissed Max’s chubby cheek, and his son’s smile grew even bigger. “Why don’t I put this masterpiece in your folder so it doesn’t get wrinkled, and you head on back to the bathroom to wash up, okay?”
“’Kay!” Quick as a flash, his son got on his knees, crawled out of the booth, and shot to his feet. Soap was not Max’s thing, but splashing in water? Yeah, that ranked right up there.
Hannah waited until the tiny tornado disappeared down the hall before she swung her gaze to him. “All right, let’s talk birthday.”
Resting her elbows on the top of the bench seat, she leaned over and gave Deacon an excellent view down her shirt. Green lace today. Nice.
“So, the trains we ordered are already wrapped and hidden in my bunk, but I’m still waiting on that cute rodeo set. Tracking shows it should arrive before we head out in the morning.” Her chest heaved with a breath, and Deacon forced his gaze to her face.
“I was thinking on the day of, I’d make Max his favorite meal,” she told him. “Chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese are the healthiest combo in the world, by the way. Then for dessert we’ll do chocolate cake with presents. Sound good?”
“Well, actually…”
Deacon shifted sideways on the bench and listened for Max. When he heard his tiny voice trailing from the back, in the middle of telling Tyler every single detail about that morning’s episode of Jake and the Never Land Pirates, he bit back a laugh. At least his son’s short attention span was working for him.
“I thought we’d go out for dinner,” he told her. “Last night, I was too keyed up to sleep after the show, so I hopped online and found a Texas-themed restaurant only a couple miles from Paul Brown Stadium. From the pictures on the website, they make a big deal out of birthdays, putting kids on giant saddles with cowboy hats and singing songs. Max will go nuts over it.”
Just imagining the expression on his son’s face had Deacon feeling smug, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I know, I’m awesome. But, instead of praising his amazing Google skills, or even looking mildly impressed, Hannah made a face.
What the hell?
“Is there something wrong with my idea?”
Her eyes widened. “No! No, that sounds amazing. Really.”
Deacon craned an eyebrow. The fact that she had qualified that, paired with the uncertain look on her face, said otherwise.
Hannah hemmed and hawed, chewing on her thumbnail before she spit out, “It’s just…isn’t it a bit too much to handle? I mean, I checked the schedule. Blue doesn’t have a concert that night, but you do have a meet and greet. Arabella blocked out most of the afternoon and early evening for it. I’d already assumed we’d have to have a really late lunch, or really early dinner, just so everyone could make it.” She hesitated. “Wouldn’t a dinner out on top of everything else just add unnecessary stress?”
A small smile curved his mouth. It meant everything to know she had his back, but in this case, she didn’t need to worry. “For my son, I can handle a little stress, sweetheart. Besides, I thought about that already. If we don’t make the reservation until eight, that still leaves me plenty of time to do the event, get cleaned up, and have dinner.”
Hannah didn’t seem convinced. Unfolding himself from the booth, Deacon walked over to where she stood and stopped in front of her, linking his hands behind his neck.
“Cherry…I need to do this for him. He’s a good kid stuck living in a house on wheels with a different address every other day. I know he’s got you, and he’s got me, and he’s even got Lizzie, but that’s it. I owe him an awesome birthday, and I don’t care if it gives me a few dozen gray hairs, I�
��m gonna make sure that he gets it.”
“Deacon.”
The soft, understanding tone of her voice eased the guilt tightening his gut, and when she slipped her arms around his waist, he released a shuddered breath. He hugged her close, and she rested her head over his heart.
“I get what you’re saying,” she murmured. “And if you think you can swing doing the signing and the restaurant on the same day, then that’s what we’ll do. You know what you can handle better than I do, and Max will have an awesome birthday either way, because he’ll be surrounded by people who love him.” She lifted her head, and with the way she stared into his eyes, it was like she could see right to his soul.
“But you’ve got to stop with the incessant guilt. Deke, by living your dream, you’re teaching Max how to chase his. And you’re giving him an incredible opportunity. Every town is a new adventure. We have a blast together during the day, exploring new parks and museums, and while I know you hate missing it, don’t confuse that with the idea that he’s miserable. He’s not. He’s the happiest soon-to-be little three-year-old I know.”
Hannah squeezed him tighter, and Deacon soaked in her affection, needing it more than she realized. He kissed her hair, letting his lips linger in her floral-scented curls, and thought about what she’d said.
Tons of musicians made this life work. In the spring, back while they were still planning the tour, he and Tyler had spoken with Karen Fairchild and Jimi Westbrook from Little Big Town, and they’d assured them both that their kids loved the road. That it was normal for them, and that they were thriving.
Deacon seemed to be the only one struggling with it.
“Thank you.” Releasing a sigh, he slid his hands up her arms and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. He cradled her neck and said, “Max is happy, and a big reason for that is because he has you.”
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 15
