His Invitation

by Tanya Gallagher

  “No!”

  She struggled as the hands caressed her face, but her attacker was too strong. Everything was black and close as she forced her eyes open against the darkness. She bucked her hips, trying to throw the man to no avail. His body wouldn’t budge, and the sheets trapped her arms.

  Emma’s chest heaved, and a clammy sweat rose on her skin.

  “Help!” she shouted, her skin crawling with panic, a tight white fear zipping through her like lightning. “Please!”

  She bit down and her mouth filled with the taste of blood.

  “It’s okay.”

  A voice came to her through the darkness, and her attacker paused just long enough for Emma to wiggle her hands free.

  “I’m here.”

  She thrashed wildly, the need to escape clawing at her. She sent her arms swinging, and her hand connected with bone.

  Her attacker fell back with a soft “oomph,” and a groan.

  Emma sat up and scrambled for her bedside lamp. She flicked it on, and the dim glow highlighted the man at the foot of her bed.

  “Deacon!”

  He stood in his boxers, rubbing his jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She pressed a hand over her racing heart. “It was a nightmare. It was just a bad dream.” She needed to hear the words out loud to make them real. She forced herself to breathe.

  “I figured as much.” He winced as his fingers found a tender spot. “Hell of a right hook, Sass.”

  She scooted back until her shoulder blades connected with the headboard, then pulled the comforter up to her chin. “I told you I have a brother.”

  He worked his jaw, testing it. “He was a good teacher.”

  Emma cringed. “I’m so sorry, Deacon. For scaring you. For hitting you. All of it.”

  “I know.” He stepped toward the bed and sat on the edge. Then he reached for her and cupped one strong hand under her chin. “You were screaming.” His gorgeous face twisted in concern, those kissable lips, his eyes filled with shadows. He stroked a thumb over her cheek, and she leaned into it.

  “It was a nightmare,” she whispered again.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Her lips were numb around the words, and the familiar dread dripped down her back like ice water. But sometimes talking took away the power of that night.

  Emma opened her mouth, and her stomach roiled. “I went to college at Arizona State University, and I thought I was so invincible. But sophomore year I shared a room with a girl whose boyfriend was always kind of sketchy. Into drugs, that kind of thing.”

  Deacon’s hands tensed on her skin.

  “Anyway, one night my roommate left the door unlocked so her boyfriend could come in later that night. She was going to be out at a sorority thing, so she sent him back to the room without her. I found this all out after…” Her voice drifted off, and Deacon’s face tightened, turning to steel.

  “After what, Sass?”

  She took a shuddering breath. “I was already asleep when he crawled into bed with me. I woke up with a stranger on top of me. The whole world was dark.”

  “Did he—?”

  She shook her head, and her mouth tasted like metal. “No. He was too out of his mind to do much more than laugh, and thank god the RA was home when I screamed bloody murder. But I couldn’t sleep with the light off for the rest of the year.”

  “That bastard.”

  She huffed a bitter laugh. “Pretty much. He got expelled from school. Zero tolerance policy and all that. But roommate relations were not at a high after that night. She blamed me for the incident—said it was my fault for standing out too much.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Emma bit her lip, her voice still trembling. “It wasn’t my fault, and I know it was a fluke. A one-time thing. But it didn’t feel that way. And it’s still so hard to forget sometimes. It’s part of why I hate living alone. I need to know I’m safe and protected.”

  Deacon snatched his hand from her cheek and jumped off the bed.

  Her heart squeezed a bloody first inside her body. “Where are you going?” Please don’t let her scare him away.

  “I’m making it worse.” His voice shook. “I jumped into bed with you and just did the thing you were screaming about.” He raked a hand through his hair and paced the floor beside her bed. “All I want to do right now is hold you, Emma. But I’m not going to touch you unless you give the word.”

  “You’re okay. Deacon, stop. Please come back.”

  She lay down and patted the mattress beside her. The bed dipped as he climbed in next to her. His hands reached for her hips and dragged his body against his. Deacon’s breath ghosted out when he touched her skin.

  “You’re barely wearing any clothes,” he groaned.

  Emma tugged at her bralette and underwear. At least she had a top on. Sort of.

  “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Deacon settled back against her body, his chest against hers and one hand stroking up and down her back. She closed her eyes as a wash of pleasure loosened her muscles.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I already told you, you don’t need to apologize.”

  “No. I’m sorry about this weekend.” She opened her eyes to look him in the face. “The dreams come when I’m stressed or unsettled. This was my fault.”

  “The only person at fault is the asshole who attacked you.”

  “I know, Deacon. But I’m sorry I pushed you at Bex’s house on Sunday. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  He grinned. “No? I thought you liked it at least a little since you fight with me an awful lot. It’s like your foreplay.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” His eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Forget I said that.”

  “You’ve been talking about me, Sass?”

  “Only about your ego.”

  “Fair enough. It is pretty big.”

  But it wasn’t the only big thing. Emma’s body jumped to awareness as Deacon’s erection pressed hard against her belly. God, she could feel how much he wanted her, and it was tempting and dangerous and stupid.

  Deacon buried his hands in her hair and kissed her forehead. Heat and desire rolled through her, but he made no move to push things.

  “Go to sleep, Sass. I’ll make sure you’re safe until morning.”

  Chapter 12

  Deacon cracked his eyes against the pale light in Emma’s room. He’d left the bedside lamp on for her while they slept, and everything looked the same as when he’d closed his eyes, except somehow everything was different.

  Emma had spent the night in his arms, her body curled into his like he was a safe haven. Could he actually be that safe place for someone? Emma, at least, seemed to believe it, and maybe her faith in him would be enough to carry him through.

  She rolled over in his arms, and her ass brushed against his crotch. A hundred fresh fantasies surged through his brain, sending blood to his cock. He had this strange feeling of timelessness—like it could be the middle of the night or the middle of the day. Like it could be any season at all.

  Maybe this was what it felt like to wake up in the middle of a dream.

  But Deacon was awake. And if Emma woke up to his hard-on, he was going to scare her away.

  He slipped from her arms, and she muttered a soft protest at the disturbance.

  “Where are you going?”

  Busted.

  He dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned back to her. “Figured you might have to get ready for work.”

  She groaned. “Adulting sucks sometimes.” She stifled a yawn and sat up in bed, and the sheets fell from her body to reveal the flimsy bra-top she’d worn to bed and a whole ocean of skin. Trying not to look was like trying not to come when you were already on the edge of climax.

  Impossible.

  Inconceivable.

  God help him.

  His pounding heart almost drowned out
Emma’s quiet voice. “Hey, thank you for last night.” She looked so soft and vulnerable. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

  “No, don’t be.” Deacon picked around the words, avoiding the mention of the song, of the way it had started an avalanche of anger inside him. “I was a prickly ass the other day.”

  “Like a fucking cactus.”

  “Ouch.” He dropped his eyes and rubbed a hand over the back of his head.

  Emma laughed, and he glanced up sharply. Her eyes glinted with amusement, and she fell back against the bed. “Good thing I love succulents.”

  He raised an eyebrow at the teasing note in her voice. “You do, huh?”

  She held his eyes like a challenge. “Don’t let your ego get any bigger,” she said in this breathy little moan. “It seemed pretty damn big when I felt it last night.” His eyes widened at the implication, but she just kept going. “Then again, some people crave size.”

  He was so fucking screwed.

  This girl was going to kill him.

  Keys clanked into the bowl Deacon and Emma kept on the kitchen counter, and he walked out of his room to inspect the noise, shrugging on a T-shirt.

  Emma had her ass sticking out as she peered into the freezer, and a puff of cold air wisped around her head. She pulled out a pint of Mint Moose Tracks ice cream and closed the freezer door behind her.

  “There you are,” she cooed to the ice cream. She reached for a spoon, and Deacon cleared his throat.

  She whirled to face him, guilty.

  “Put down the spoon, Sass. Ice cream at five p.m. is a little premature, even for you.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down, and she sighed. “Why do you have to be right?” She returned the ice cream to the freezer and sank into a kitchen chair. “Bad day.” She dropped her chin into her hands.

  Deacon leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What happened?”

  “I got a call from Avery in PR yesterday. She wants to do a feature on my toy design.”

  His hands tightened on the edge of the counter. “You mean that little purple number from the other night?” She nodded. “I assume that was yours based on how…concerned you were with the mechanics.”

  Emma’s cheeks flushed.

  “Don’t be embarrassed that you were using it.”

  “I’m not embarrassed that I was seeking pleasure. My whole career revolves around helping people get off.” He laughed, and she shot him a look. “Hey, I didn’t say I was a hooker or something. Anyway, I was just embarrassed that you caught me in a compromising position.”

  “If it helps, it was the highlight of my day.”

  She cracked a smile. “Yes, but you lead a boring life.”

  “Just accept the compliment, Sass.”

  It was a pleasure to see her squirm. “Fine. But it doesn’t change the fact that Bex is our lead toy designer. She found out that they want to do a feature on me for Sexational Magazine, and now she’s gone all quiet on me. She deserves the credit, and getting the article feels like snatching it away.”

  “Bex doesn’t strike me as the jealous type.”

  “She’s not. But I feel guilty taking anything away from her.”

  “You’re a good friend, Sass, and I’m sure she’d be happy to have you get some recognition as well.” Emma frowned, and he wanted to go back to that safe haven feeling again. To being the guy who was going to get her through the tough things. “Tell you what, I know how to make you feel better.”

  “If you’re about to suggest a ménage à trois with you, me, and my vibrator, that’s a hard no.”

  “I mean, you said it first.” Deacon grinned. “Why don’t you come with me to the Renegade Hotel pool? Get a little sun and relax. I’m on my way over right now.”

  Hesitation flashed on her face. “Me joining you on the job didn’t work out so well for us last time.”

  He bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “It’s a free country. I’m willing to try again if you are.”

  Emma put her hands on her hips and gave him a skeptical look. “You sure you’re not just trying to get me in a bikini?”

  After last night, hell yes he was. “Could you blame me if I was?”

  She laughed, and her eyes lit up in that way that was so hard to turn away from. “Fine. I’ll throw myself together and meet you there.”

  God bless the Renegade Hotel and its two Olympic-sized pools that stretched out under the sunlight like twin reflections of nirvana. With the spring inching into summer, the sun wouldn’t set until almost eight p.m., and there was plenty of time for Deacon to set up shop poolside. From his location, he was sure to catch both the happy hour crowd and a glimpse of Emma in her bathing suit.

  The air smelled like sunscreen, chlorine, and alcohol as he stood at his table in the back corner of the pool area and poured a row of tequila shots. Maggie, the shot girl he partnered up with every now and then, wove through the crowd and stepped up to the table in her bikini top that had the Pináculo Tequila logo on its right boob.

  “Good crowd today.” She reached for a fresh bottle of tequila and added it to her serving tray, along with a few shots, fresh cups, and cans of grapefruit soda. All the better for making Palomas. A bowl full of lime wedges finished off the tray.

  Deacon nodded. “Not bad.”

  A bathing suit-clad crowd swarmed the Renegade’s pool area, dancing to the beat mixed by a DJ at the far end of the space. Lounge chairs filled with a colorful assortment of bodies fringed the Renegade’s two side-by-side pools, and shady cabanas framed the pool area at either end. A row of hedges circled the whole venue, lending a lush, tropical vibe to the space. The ninety-degree weather helped maintain the illusion that you were trapped in a dream in an exotic locale.

  Deacon scanned the crowd, breaking into a grin when he spotted Emma draping a towel onto one of the lounge chairs. Her triangle-cut bikini top strained over her curves, and when she turned to lie on her stomach, he almost choked.

  Emma was wearing a fucking thong bikini, and the sight of her butt diverted all the blood right to his cock.

  Jesus.

  He nudged Maggie. “Hey, do me a favor. See that girl in the white bikini?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Which one of the fifty?”

  “Over on the lounge chair. Blond hair, blue eyes. Ass like a peach.”

  Maggie sighed. “Yeah, I see her.”

  “Go bring her a drink and tell her Deacon’s over in the corner.”

  “Okay, Casanova.”

  Maggie spun on her heel, dropping drinks with partiers as she made her way toward the lounge chairs. She touched a hand to Emma’s shoulder, and even from here, Deacon could see Emma’s smile.

  She accepted the Paloma that Maggie mixed for her, and then began making her way over to him.

  “Any chance I can get a shot?”

  Deacon snapped his eyes back to the busty brunette who had stepped to his table. He smiled at his guest. “Pick your poison. Classic, lime, or pineapple jalepeño.” Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked Emma’s progress as she approached.

  “Give me the pineapple jalepeño,” the brunette purred. “I like things spicy.” She reached out a manicured hand and traced a finger up his forearm. Then she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Do you like spicy, too?”

  He coughed and pulled away to fix her a shot, but it was too late.

  Over the brunette’s shoulder, Emma froze. Her face went red, but not that pretty blush red. Angry red.

  Shit.

  The brunette was still waiting for an answer.

  “Maybe,” he said, noncommittal.

  Behind the brunette, Emma swallowed the dregs of her drink and studied the scene with narrowed eyes.

  “Thanks again for the drinks,” the brunette said, pushing a napkin his way. “If you want spice, give me a call.” Just above the Pináculo Tequila logo, she’d written, “xo Brittany,” and a phone number.

  He gave her his most accommodating smile, but she needed to get ou
t of here. “Don’t mention it.”

  Brittany blew him an air kiss and giggled her way into the arms of her friends.

  “Hey,” Deacon said cautiously as Emma stepped forward. She set her empty cup on the edge of his table and eyed the napkin.

  “You get digits?” She didn’t wait for his response. She just arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Classy.”

  He frowned back at her. “Are you mad at me? This is part of my job.”

  “Getting numbers is your job? I thought you were a bartender, not an escort.” All the regular humor was gone from her voice, replaced by a flat, sour note.

  “Emma, seriously?” Deacon crumpled the napkin and dropped it into the tiny wastebasket by his table. “This doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “It’s fine, Deacon. I’m not mad.” But her shoulders were tensed up around her ears, and her pretty mouth was pulled into a pout.

  He cocked his head at her. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

  She pressed her lips in a line. “Jesus, Deacon. I don’t have some claim on you.”

  “Do you want one?”

  Emma flicked her eyes to his and then away. “It doesn’t even matter.” She shook her head and frowned. “I know I’m not your type.”

  “Hey.” He leaned forward, his voice low. “You’re exactly my type.”

  She laughed, a little bitter. “I’m not.”

  “Then what do you think my type is?”

  “Easy. Uncomplicated.” She shrugged. “You have to admit this is the most complicated possible situation we could be in.”

  “It’s not complicated. I like you. You like me.”

  “Also you drive me crazy. And we live together.”

  “Tell me what you want this to be, Emma. Because I didn’t just imagine the way I felt last night.”

  But she just shook her head and sighed. “Thanks for the drink, Deacon. I think I’m going to head home.”

  Chapter 13

  “Sass, wake up.” A gentle hand nudged Emma’s shoulder, and her eyes flew open.