Branded

by Laura Wright

  “I’m up for seeing what happens,” James said cautiously. “But that one with the heels is off-limits.”

  Deacon tossed him a curious grin. “I thought you said you didn’t know her.”

  “That’s right,” James returned dryly, his ocean-colored eyes once again impassive.

  Cole snorted, clearly done with the subject. “Whatever, Shakespeare.” He turned and winked at Deacon, grinned like a cat over a canary. “Deac, that redhead with the blue dress and fine ass over at the far table has been fucking you with her eyes since we got here.”

  Not even remotely compelled to look, Deacon pulled back his chair and stood up. “Have fun, boys. But not too much fun.”

  “What? Where you going?” Cole demanded. “This is a Cavanaugh brothers moment.”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “Well, shit, boy, of course we don’t, but we’d like you.” Cole reclined back in his chair and stared innocently up at Deacon. “I’ll give you my portion of the Triple C if you stay.”

  “He’s lying,” James said dryly.

  “’Course I am,” Cole said with a laugh. “What’s up, Deac? You need to get yer beauty rest or somethin’?”

  “Or somethin’,” Deacon answered.

  Cole laughed while James studied him. “I think he’s going home to Mackenzie,” he said.

  That brought Cole out of his Cheshire cat mood and nearly out of his chair. “What?” he said, looking between the pair.

  Deacon’s eyes narrowed on James. How the hell could he know that? Or even suspect that? The man wasn’t even staying in the house.

  “Damn, brother,” Cole said, his expression serious, maybe even a little pissed off. “You got a thing for Mac?”

  “It’s not a thing,” Deacon muttered dryly. It was more like a potential obsession. A driving hunger he couldn’t seem to satiate. But he needed to keep trying. Goddamn, he needed to keep trying.

  “I know you two were talking about her earlier,” Cole said, his tone threaded with warning. “James saying she was beautiful and tough. But that’s just talk. She’s got to be off-limits.” He eyed Deacon. “You feel me, Deac? She was Cass’s best friend. She’s family—”

  “She’s not family,” Deacon said again, this time with a decidedly sharp edge to his tone. He leaned over the table, so only the two men could hear him. “If she were family, she’d not only be carrying scars; she’d be wearing them.” He turned to Cole. “You feel me, Cole?”

  Both men just stared at him.

  Deacon inhaled deeply, then let it out. “Have a lovely evening, gentlemen.” He didn’t wait for them to respond. Just turned and walked away, out into the night, to his truck.

  On the way back to the Triple C, he tried to push his brothers out of his mind and concentrate on both the plans he had when he gained control over the Triple C and all the work he had coming down the pike at Cavanaugh Group. Including his upcoming dinner with Angus Breyer. But none of it took root. As the warm night air rushed in from the open windows of his truck, all his mind wanted to think about was Mackenzie. What was she doing tonight? Was she hanging out with Blue? Comforting him? Talking things over with him?

  His lips pressed together. Were they discussing Deacon? His offer, and his terrible, unexplainable need to ruin the Triple C? Was Blue warning her to steer clear of him, that he was nothing but trouble? And could Deacon blame the man if he had?

  The house was quiet when he walked through the door twenty minutes later. The kitchen light was off, and Deacon wondered if Blue was even around or if he was still avoiding his mother. Sleeping out under the stars for the second night in a row.

  Bypassing the door to his own room, Deacon headed for Mac’s. He knew this was just another check mark in a laundry list of asinine moves lately, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to see her. After what had gone down in the kitchen earlier, after they’d gotten the results of Blue’s DNA test and Deacon had offered him the five million to walk away, he needed to know that she didn’t hate his guts. Pissed off at him was fine, but hate . . .

  He knocked softly on her door. He wondered if she was already asleep. He hadn’t glanced at the clock in the truck, but it couldn’t be later than nine thirty. When she didn’t answer, he tried one more time. Last night had been a late, drunken, stressful one, so maybe she’d dropped off early?

  “She’s not there,” came a female voice to his right.

  Deacon turned to see Elena Perez down at the end of the hallway. She was in a nice set of deep purple pajamas. Her feet were bare, her hair was piled on top of her head, and she hugged a white stone mug to her chest.

  “Is she out?” he asked, his tone as calm as he could make it. “Working late?” He refused to say the words “On a date?” Shit, he didn’t even want to contemplate that idea.

  “She left,” Elena said softly.

  Deacon felt the breath leave his body and icy-cold fingers dig into his spine. “She left town?” he asked.

  “No,” Elena said, her gaze watchful, curious. “She left the house. She didn’t want to stay here anymore.” She sighed heavily. “Seems that’s how everyone’s feeling these days.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Elena nodded. “But she doesn’t want you to know.”

  His chest tightened like someone had a vise to it. “Blue staying with her?”

  She shook her head, her eyes dropping to the steaming cup in her hands. “No. Blue’s staying in town. Farthest he can get from me without actually movin’ to another city.”

  The last thing in this goddamn world Deacon wanted to feel was sorry for his father’s mistress. But in truth, they’d all been screwed by Everett. Who the hell knew what had really gone down between them.

  He started down the hall toward her. He knew Mackenzie was on Triple C land. She was foreman. She wasn’t going to live off-site. Just wasn’t done. And if she was on Cavanaugh land, Deacon would find her. Find her and apologize. He stopped in front of the housekeeper. “You make those brownies Mackenzie brought in her lunch today?”

  The blatant grief in Elena’s eyes lifted a touch, and she nodded. “You liked them?”

  “Best I ever had,” he said in all honesty. He raised a brow at her. “There any more? I’m fixin’ to have me a little late-night snack.”

  • • •

  What did she need TV, electricity, or hot water for? She had her books, plenty of candles, and the breeze off the river.

  Lying on the porch swing, listening to the water move over and through the rocks, Mac tried to get lost in the mystery novel propped on her chest, but it wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. She didn’t have any guilty feelings or worries about leaving the main house. In fact, she’d promised Elena she’d be back for breakfast and to get her sack lunch. But there was a very big part of her that wanted to be as close to Deacon as possible. Even after his prickish behavior toward her and his ugly and impulsive five-million-dollar offer to Blue.

  She placed the book down on her chest with a sigh and stared up at the sky. The moon was at half-mast, and the stars winked something fierce at her. The lusting for Deacon Cavanaugh she couldn’t fight—not after that kiss or all he’d said at the lake while he was feeding her a chocolate brownie—but his plan to destroy the Triple C, that she could.

  And would.

  But how? Her feelings, his brothers’ feelings, none of it seemed to matter to him. He still had a care for the land he’d grown up on, but it hadn’t changed his goal any. The object of his anger seemed to be, not the land itself, but Everett. She had to get him to tell her why.

  Her stomach twisted painfully. There was a small part of her that didn’t want to know. After what she’d learned about Everett’s affair with Elena, she worried that whatever it was Deacon was holding on to was worse. Everett had been like a father to her after her own father had given his life over to alcohol. She didn’t want to hate him.

  The sound of a horse and rider barreling across the meadow broke through her
thoughts, and she scrambled off the swing and to her feet. Wearing just a tank and loose-fitting pajama bottoms, she thought about running inside and grabbing the robe off the hook in the bathroom. But there wasn’t time. Whoever it was, was coming up fast.

  She was just getting to the other side of the porch when the very man she’d been thinking about came riding into view.

  Trouble riding Trouble.

  Why had he come? she wondered, her heart pounding inside her ribs. Had something happened up at the house? Was Blue okay? He’d told Mac he was staying in town for a spell while he figured things out.

  Bringing the horse to a quick stop, his gaze cutting to the house, Deacon spotted her at once. Under the glow of the moonlight, his green eyes blazed with the heat of a treasure hunter who’d found gold.

  “Don’t blame Elena, okay?” he said, jumping off the horse’s back and pulling the bridle over her head. “She told me you were gone, but she didn’t tell me where you were.”

  “Blame Elena?” she repeated. “Is everything okay?”

  He looked so good, black jeans molded to his powerful legs, black T-shirt molded to his sexy, broad chest. She prayed she wasn’t outwardly drooling.

  “Everything’s fine, except you leaving without saying good-bye.”

  Wait a sec. He’d come here for her? Her pounding heart dropped several feet to her stomach. “Well, if Elena didn’t tell you where I was, how’d you find me?”

  His gorgeous face split into a wide grin. “Come on, now, darlin’.” He walked over to a nearby tree and tied Trouble, affording Mac a perfect moonlit view of his stellar ass. “I grew up knowing this land. I could find every house, building, or barn blindfolded. This is my third stop.” He came back her way and looked up at the small cottage. “When James and I were little, maybe around seven and eight, we used to hide from our mother here.” Something moved across his face, something dark, and it wasn’t the shadows. “She’d never get mad, though.”

  Mac came to stand at the top of the porch steps. “What are you doing here, Deacon? It’s not just to get a good-bye from me, is it?”

  His eyes came to rest on her. They were filled with a pained need she’d never seen before. Not on him, not on anyone. “I’m sorry. I was a jerk at the lake and when I was making that offer to Blue.”

  An apology from Deacon Cavanaugh? That was a rarity indeed. She nodded. “Okay.”

  He pinned her with an intense stare. “You didn’t have to go, Mackenzie.”

  Her skin hummed with awareness. Why did he have to look at her like that? And dammit, why did his voice have to enter her bloodstream and turn it blisteringly hot?

  “Couldn’t stay there,” she said. “Not after last night, not after today.”

  He shook his head. “Are we talking about the kissing or the offer to Blue?”

  “Both. They both got me messed up.” She looked around herself for a moment. “You’re not going to be here for much longer. Not after you get what you want. You’ll be at that ranch of yours or in your fancy office in Dallas.” Her eyes found his and held. “I think it’s better if we stop this right here and now, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Deacon—”

  He bounded up the porch steps, had his arms around her in less than five seconds. “I don’t want to stop this. Shit, I don’t think I can.”

  Mac didn’t struggle, didn’t try to get away. In fact, her body instinctually drew closer to his. Her head dropped back, and she stared up into his eyes, her pulse racing, her skin prickling. “I need you to,” she uttered breathlessly.

  His eyes moved over her face. “That’s very different from wanting me to.”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to save this ranch.”

  “I know. And I’m going to destroy it.” His head dipped like he was going in for a kiss, but he caught himself right before their lips touched.

  She whimpered both in anticipation of the extraordinary feeling and in desperation to keep herself together. “I’ll fight you.”

  He nodded, his nose caressing hers. “Good.”

  Chills ran up and down her spine. “Dirty if I have to.”

  “The dirtier the better,” he whispered, nipping at her bottom lip. “I work well in the mud.”

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered back, her chin tipped up, her tone reed thin and desperate.

  “Why not? It’s the truth. I know what I am and so do you.” He ran his nose along her jawline and lapped at the shell of her right ear with his hot tongue. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, making her breath catch in her throat.

  “Have you ever asked any of the girls you’ve kissed for their permission?” she said with a groan.

  He laughed softly, making her breath catch once again, while making the muscles in her sex clench. “No. But you’re special. You’re extraordinary.”

  Her heart squeezed. They were standing on the porch of a remote cottage, under the moonlight, a soft breeze moving over and through them, and yet there was an empty place inside of Mac that worried, that questioned, that knew this would end badly because of the circumstances they were in.

  “Oh, Deacon. You kill me,” she whispered.

  He eased back, his eyes so black they looked like polished stones under the light of the moon. They possessed her with their intensity. “That’s the last thing I want to do to you, Mac.”

  “How’s this going to work?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes clinging to his. “Me on one side, you on the other. We can’t possibly come together . . .”

  Sexual heat flared in his eyes, and he pulled her even closer, up against his rock-hard chest and the now hard cock behind his zipper. “Oh, we’ll come together, darlin’. I promise you that.” His hands raked up her back to her shoulders, her neck, and into her hair. “But tonight,” he growled, “you’re the one who’s going to be coming . . .” He dropped his head and kissed one cheek. “And coming . . .” Then the other. “And coming . . .”

  As she arched in to him, Mac’s mind warned her that if she went one step further with this, accepted what her body was screaming for, she was going to end up hurt. That it would be a long road back to happiness and contentment. But when Deacon took her mouth, captured it so hungrily she gasped with unparalleled pleasure, she gave in to the possibility of pain. For the promise of the greatest pleasure she might ever know.

  He dragged his mouth from hers and his hand came around to cup her cheek. She saw that anguish swam in his incredible green eyes. “Beautiful, strong, fearless Mackenzie.” And then his mouth covered hers, and she lost all thought, all concern, all care.

  It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced or imagined. His lips worked hers in hungry, coaxing drags, feeding off her mouth and the soft moans that escaped her throat. He tasted wicked, like night and heat and maybe a touch of the beer he must’ve had earlier, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and ground her hips into his groin, letting him know how deeply he affected her. How much she wanted for him to take her, control her.

  She heard him curse, then drive his tongue deep into her mouth and out again. Her skin went hot and tight, and she whimpered for him to do it again. As he played her tongue with his, claimed and possessed her, Mac moaned and cocked her head to one side, then the other, trying to feel every inch of his heat. She stroked his tongue with her own, then suckled it hard, making him groan.

  “Holy hell, darlin’,” he hissed, dragging his hands from her hair and dropping them to her ass. He palmed both cheeks hard and yanked her forward, grinding himself against her, dry fucking her as he took her mouth with his tongue.

  Mac’s entire body burst into flames and her head felt dizzy, her breasts ached to be touched, and wet heat claimed her thighs. Her fingers dug into his hair as she kissed him back, primal and ravenous, wanting to drink him down, eat him up. Wanting to jump up, wrap her legs around his waist and thrust her core against his groin as she bit and sucked at his lips and tongue.

  “Oh, Christ, I hav
e to touch you,” he rasped. “Shit, Mac.” Holding tight to her ass, he lifted her a foot off the ground and headed for the screen door. “I have to get you naked, get my hands on your hot, tight skin before I lose my mind.”

  I’m already there, Mac thought blearily. Gone. Dead and alive at the same time. This was utter madness, and she was willingly participating in it. She reached behind herself like a madwoman for the door handle, but Deacon got there first. Gripping the door and pulling it back, he nearly tore the thing off its hinges.

  “Shit,” he said against her mouth, nipping her bottom lip as he stumbled inside. “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the bedroom.”

  “Don’t care,” she said breathlessly, kissing him again, her thighs drenched inside her thin cotton pajama bottoms.

  One hand abandoned her ass again and smacked at the wall. “No lights?”

  She licked his lips and laughed softly. “Just the moon and my bad sense of direction. I think we’re in the living room.”

  “Never fear, honey,” he growled, holding her tight as he carried her forward. “I have a great sense of direction. I found you, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned. Her legs were shaking, her breathing, too. Still in his arms, she released him and grabbed for the edges of her tank top. Off. She needed it off. She got the thing over her head and tossed it to the floor just as he eased her down on the long, wide leather couch.

  “Besides,” he said, looming over her, his fingers playing with the waistband of her pajamas as the moon’s light filtered into the room in splintered lines through gaps in the blinds. “I don’t need anything but my nose and my tongue to help me find the hot, wet places on your body.”

  She gasped as he yanked off her pajamas, tossed them onto the floor, then cursed darkly, hungrily, when he saw she wasn’t wearing underwear. His eyes moved over her, then lifted to connect with hers. His mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, darlin’ . . . Oh, honey . . .”

  Naked and anxious for him, her breath held captive inside her lungs, her heart slamming a rhythm of unbridled need, she stared up at him.