His Invitation (X Enterprises Book 3)

by Tanya Gallagher

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

  “Another nightmare?” she whispered, dismayed.

  “Looks that way.”

  She sat up and pressed a hand to her chest, her heart thumping under her palm to confirm Deacon’s words. “What time is it?”

  “Four in the morning.”

  She winced. “I didn’t hear you get home.”

  “I made it back around midnight. After you left me, I spent the last five hours of my shift worried that you made it home okay. Wondering just how mad at me you were.”

  Her mouth dropped open at his confession. “I didn’t think—”

  “I know.” Deacon’s face pinched in the glow of her bedside lamp. “We’ve gotta stop fighting, Sass. I don’t want to be the cause of your nightmares.”

  She couldn’t bear it if he thought about himself that way. “This isn’t your fault, Deacon. This is on me.” She forced herself to smile. “And anyway, I thought you liked fighting. Didn’t you tell me it was foreplay?”

  Deacon groaned. “I don’t like it if this is going to be the consequence.” He rubbed a hand over his face, the muscles in his torso and arms flexing. “Generally when a woman’s screaming in my presence in the middle of the night, it’s for a very different reason.”

  Emma blushed at the suggestion in his voice. “Well, thank you for coming to rescue me. Sorry I keep doing this to you. And, once again, sorry I was such a bitch at the pool today.”

  “You weren’t being a bitch. It was actually kind of hot that you got so worked up.”

  She huffed a laugh, and he stepped forward to brush a hair back from her cheek. His lime and cedar smell enveloped her, and she leaned into his touch.

  “You should go back to bed,” she whispered. “I don’t want to keep you from getting your rest.”

  His features crumpled with concern. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?”

  She shrugged. “Unlikely.”

  “Even if I hold you?”

  Her body warmed at the thought, but she gave him a sad smile. “Not tonight. My heart’s racing like a greyhound.”

  “Like the bus?” he teased.

  “Like the dog.” She rolled her eyes, so grateful he was making her smile. “Cut me some slack—I can’t think straight.”

  Deacon stroked a hand through her hair. “Tell you what, stay here a minute. I know how to make you feel better.”

  “If this involves you doing a striptease, I’ll pass.”

  He grinned. “I’ll save that for next time.” Deacon slipped away from the bed and through her bedroom door. “Wait here.”

  Emma pulled her hair into a ponytail and willed her heart to calm down while she waited.

  Yoga breaths.

  In.

  Out.

  After a few beats, Deacon called, “Okay, I’m ready for you.”

  She padded down the hallway toward the sound of his voice. She gasped and froze at the edge of the living room.

  Candlelight flickered from every surface of the living room, highlighting Deacon’s golden skin and the muscles that stretched underneath, from his biceps to his pecs and his abs.

  He looked at her, his face soft and vulnerable. “It might have been a little overkill, lighting them all at once. The room doesn’t know what it wants to smell like. A bakery or the beach?”

  “No, Deacon.” Emma’s heart skipped, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. “This is perfect.” She crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his body. This time, she wasn’t an ounce sad that he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  Oh god. What would it be like to give in to him? To let herself stroke her hands over his stomach, to taste his mouth?

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her lips an inch from his chest. She leaned back to catch his eye. “You are a good man.”

  “I just did what I thought would make you happy, Sass.”

  Her stomach growled, breaking the moment. She stepped out of his arms, but Deacon just laughed. “At least your appetite is consistent,” he said.

  She grinned and rubbed her right hand up and down her left arm. “The day I can’t eat is the day I know I’m in trouble.”

  “Let’s hope that day never comes.” His eyes lit. “Go sit on the couch. I’ve got a plan.”

  “You are just full of good ideas.”

  “That’s what I keep saying, Sass. One of these days you’re going to give in to one of those good ideas and prove me right.”

  Emma couldn’t turn quickly enough to hide her heated cheeks. She flopped back onto the couch and pulled a blanket over her body.

  As much as she had tried to play off the nightmare as not a big deal, it scared her. Deacon was right—she needed to stop fighting with him. Except something about him got under her skin. He shouldn’t affect her so much, but he did.

  “What are you making me?” she called over her shoulder. With her back to him, she couldn’t see what he was doing. She could only hear the tiny click as he twisted the knob on the toaster.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  “I didn’t know you could cook.” Emma had eaten with him, sure, but she’d never seen him prepare any real food. Frozen waffles didn’t count.

  “Some things.” Something slammed into one of the cabinets, and Deacon let out a muffled groan.

  She bit back a laugh. “You all right in there, Emril?”

  “I’m fine. Just a stubbed toe.”

  “And here you’re calling me a klutz.”

  “I’m running on three hours of sleep, Sass.”

  She felt a pang of regret. He was up because of her. Again. “You sure I can’t help?”

  “Sit tight.”

  The fridge door opened and closed, and when the toaster went off, a knife scraped over whatever Deacon had pulled from the hot appliance. He walked into the living room and slid a plate onto the coffee table.

  Emma’s eyes widened as the smell of butter, sugar, and cinnamon drifted toward her. “Cinnamon toast?”

  He gave her a proud smile. “It’s too early for a donut run, but I thought this might help.”

  She swung her legs off the couch and leaned over the table to take a taste of the toast. Tiny granules of sugar clung to her lips as she swallowed the first heavenly bite. “I haven’t had this in years.”

  Deacon dropped onto the couch next to her, his huge, hard thigh pressing against hers. He was only wearing boxers, and she forced her eyes away from his lap. His…ego…was just inches away, covered by the thinnest fabric.

  Deep breaths.

  Deacon sighed. “My mom used to make me cinnamon toast whenever I was sick or had a bad day.”

  Emma kept her voice quiet. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

  A shadow passed over his face, and then he shrugged it off again. “We only talk, like, once a year. We’re not really close.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. They’re still in Bryn Mawr, so it’s not like I would see them that much anyway.”

  She needed to break the heavy mood. “Well, either way, this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.” For as much as he claimed not to be sweet, he sure was being accommodating.

  Deacon nudged her again with his leg, and heat rolled through her body. “You deserve it, Sass.” He yawned, and she squeezed his shoulder.

  “You still haven’t slept enough,” Emma said. “Why don’t you lie down while I finish my food?”

  “Hmm,” Deacon murmured, stretching his body across the couch. He lay on his back with one hand behind his head and the other on her hip. Emma stilled as his touch sent her pulse skyrocketing.

  Yeah.

  She definitely wasn’t going to be able to sleep again tonight.

  Emma forced herself to take another bite of food, the bread and butter and cinnamon-sugar melting on her tongue. This was what Deacon’s version of comfort tasted like, and it satisfied her more than d
onuts or Fruit Loops ever could.

  Still, her body ached, restless, as the heat of his palm branded her.

  Beside her, Deacon’s body relaxed, and his breathing evened out. At least one of them might be able to get some rest.

  Emma set the toast back on its plate, then shrugged the blanket from her shoulders and turned to him. She leaned over his body to drape the blanket over his frame, and as she tucked the blanket around his shoulders, she inched closer to him, her mouth by his ear.

  She breathed him in, the woodsy, fresh scent, the tequila still clinging to his skin.

  And then, quietly, she pressed a kiss on his cheek.

  Deacon’s eyes flashed open, and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. They were just inches away from each other. Nose to nose. Eye to eye. Mouth to mouth.

  He reached for her and framed her face with the hand that wasn’t trapped behind his head. Emma’s whole body sang, her core tightening and her heart thumping along, not with fear now, but with excitement. Her traitorous body, complicit.

  Deacon’s eyes scanned her face, dropped to her lips. His voice came out thick with lust. “Not when you’re still upset, Sass.”

  But they both knew what he meant.

  Later.

  Chapter 14

  Deacon paced the floor in Noah’s garage, dodging motor oil stains on the ground while Noah drilled holes into a board on his workbench.

  The electric drill screamed as it spun through the wood, sending a fine powder of sawdust into the air and chills down Deacon’s back.

  “Deacon, stop pacing,” Noah called. “You’re going to make me put this drill bit through my hand instead of the board.” He cut the power to the drill, and silence filled the garage. Noah eyed him through his safety goggles. “You going to tell me why you’re anxious enough to shit bricks?”

  Deacon stopped and leaned against Noah’s dilapidated car. “It’s Emma.”

  Noah nodded like a sage. “I’ve never seen you get this worked up over a girl.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve never had this particular girl in my life before.” Somehow Deacon’s feisty roommate had become the first thing he thought about each morning and the last thing he thought about each night. He’d turned into a fucking poster boy for the lovesick, a sappy Instagram quote.

  Noah flashed him a knowing smile. “Deacon, my friend, you are screwed.”

  “Not yet. But I want to be.” God, did he ever.

  Noah laughed and raised his drill in a salute.

  A text message from Deacon’s boss, Brad, pinged through on his phone, interrupting his next sentence. Call me about tonight’s event.

  Deacon excused himself and stepped into Noah’s kitchen to make the call. “Hey, Brad, what’s up?”

  Brad sounded weary on his end of the phone. “I show you were planning to hit the XS Nightclub for a tasting event with Maggie.”

  It wasn’t exactly a question, but Deacon answered anyway. “That’s right. What are you getting at?”

  “I’m going to keep Maggie on the schedule but send Rachel in your place.”

  “Excuse me?” Deacon froze on his end of the line. What the hell was going on here?

  “The guests at the club are going to be mostly male. I want to keep the female ambassadors there tonight.”

  Deacon’s shoulders tensed. “So you’re cutting my hours?”

  “I’m shuffling everyone for the short term.”

  What a load of bull. Deacon rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s reverse sexism, Brad.”

  “It’s called funneling my money into the channels that are making me the most profit.”

  It would have been a decent excuse if it wasn’t a lie. “Your numbers are wrong, Brad. Out of everyone on the team, I’m still converting the largest amount of customers.” Deacon didn’t just say it to cover his ass—he also said it because it was true. But Brad didn’t seem to care.

  His boss made a dismissive sound on the other end of the line. “Great. You can prove that to me at the next event. You’re sitting this one out, champ.”

  Mother. Fucker.

  Deacon balled his hands into fists as Brad signed off the phone. Then he reached into Noah’s fridge, pulled out two beers, and slammed back into the garage.

  “Change of plans,” he called over the whine of Noah’s drill. He pointed a bottle in Noah’s direction. “There might be time for a drink before I go.”

  Deacon swung open his apartment door, and a blast of heat scorched his face. He scanned the living area for Emma, and his shoulders relaxed as he spotted her bare feet hanging off the armrest of the couch.

  “What the hell happened in here?”

  “AC went out,” she called.

  He tossed his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter and walked into the living room. He stopped short at the foot of the couch and almost stopped breathing.

  Emma lay on her back on the couch, wearing the tiniest bra and boy short underwear known to man. She’d nestled an ice cube on her chest, and a trail of melted water dripped suggestively over her breasts before disappearing into her bra.

  Deacon wanted to follow the line of that water with his tongue, taste every curve.

  “What’s the matter, Tater Tot?” She eyed him over the top of the People Magazine she’d been reading. “Don’t be offended by the lack of clothes.”

  “Only an idiot would be offended when you’re wearing an outfit like that. You look…”

  “Hot?” she supplied.

  “Like a teenager’s wet dream.”

  “I meant hot hot,” she laughed, but a small, pleased smile stretched her lips.

  “I’m definitely enjoying the situation. But I don’t know, Sass. For someone who complained about me having sex on this couch, that’s a whole lot of ass getting comfortable with the cushions right now.”

  Emma laughed again. “Don’t be a perv. Go take a cold shower or something.”

  “Only if you join me.”

  Her tiny gasp made him grin wider. He was getting to her, day by day. Figuring out what made her tick. And she was leaning into this connection just as much as he was. It was just a matter of time before they took the next step.

  He could hardly wait.

  “Anyway.” Deacon cleared his throat. “Did you call the apartment manager?”

  “Yup. They know about the AC, but they can’t get anyone in to fix it until tomorrow morning.”

  He groaned. “That’s bullshit. It’s a hundred degrees outside.”

  “Yes, and a hundred and one inside. The eleventh-floor apartment seemed like such a good idea until you factor in that heat rises.”

  Overhead, the pipes clanked and groaned. Emma laughed and pointed at the ceiling. “See? Someone else is stealing my cold shower idea. I told you I’m brilliant.”

  “If you say so. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Emma pulled her feet off the couch to make room for him, but he walked back into the kitchen instead. If he sat next to her, he was going to touch her, and then he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  Deacon opened the freezer, assessing the options. A few trays of ice cubes, a frozen pizza. He really needed to stock this place better.

  “Mint chocolate chip ice cream for dinner?” he suggested.

  “Obviously.” Emma wiggled her way into a full sitting position and dropped the magazine onto the coffee table. Then she narrowed her eyes at him over the back of the couch. “What are you even doing here? It’s nighttime in Las Vegas. Shouldn’t you be working, tequila man?”

  His mouth twisted. “Unfortunate change of plans.”

  Emma’s wince made it worse. “Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose and brightened. “Well, I, for one, appreciate your drink-making skills. How about you serve that ice cream with a side of frozen margaritas?”

  Deacon laughed, and the knots in his shoulders loosened a little. “Really going for it tonight, aren’t you?”

  “I need something cold. Think inside of an igloo.”

  He rem
oved a tray of ice cubes from the freezer. “One blended margarita coming right up.”

  “I knew you’d come through.” She shot him a winning smile, and his heart leaped.

  Deacon pulled remaining margarita ingredients onto the counter and grinned at her. “Your faith in me is not misplaced. But maybe, in the spirit of independence and all, you should learn how to do this for yourself.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re going to make me work for my booze?”

  “I mean, if it’s not interrupting your very busy magazine-reading schedule.”

  She grinned and climbed to her feet, her body swaying seductively as she walked to the kitchen. She was wearing that tiny lingerie, and her hair was rumpled, and her lips were pouty and—god—she looked so inherently fuckable that he almost reached for her right there.

  “I am very busy,” she said. “According to People, the fate of the relationship between Mr. Eligible and his latest bimbo hangs in the balance. This week they’re having the dreaded ‘meet the parents’ episode.”

  Deacon groaned. “It’s not enough that you have to watch the show, you have to read about it too?”

  Emma shrugged, and her blue eyes sparkled at him. “Let a girl have her vices.” She leaned her forearms on the kitchen counter. “Okay. So what do I do?”

  He rubbed his hands together. “First we need some lime juice.” He pulled a juicer from one of the lower kitchen cabinets and set it on the counter. “About one and a quarter cups.”

  He rinsed a handful of limes and set them on a cutting board for Emma to slice. Then he leaned his back against the kitchen counter and watched her cut into the limes. Her tongue darted out to trace her bottom lip as she concentrated, and he couldn’t help but cross the kitchen toward her.

  His voice came out rough and low. “Next step, we juice them.”

  Deacon stepped up behind Emma and took a dare, hooking his chin over her shoulder. She stilled as he covered her hands with his, and he could feel her heartbeat against his chest. Every soft curve of hers fit against him, and her perfect ass molded into his lap. She leaned back into his touch, her cheek just skimming his, and the whole world spun. Deacon guided her touch, and together they picked up a lime and twisted it down onto the juicer, releasing a spurt of fragrant liquid.