Midnight Temptation

by L Ann

  His eyes narrowed into a sharp look, as though he could hear her thoughts, and she swallowed, fighting the urge to drop her gaze and flee from the room … from him.

  “Do you keep running from me because you want me to chase you?” he told her, his voice casual. “Or because I scare you?”

  “I’m not running from you.” She forced the denial through dry lips.

  “No?”

  “Why would I be running from you?”

  Deacon shrugged, the movement stretching the t-shirt across his shoulders. “You tell me.”

  “I’m not running from you!”

  “Okay.” His tone made it clear he didn’t believe her.

  Gemma pressed her palm to her forehead. Her head was throbbing.

  “What do you want, Deacon?” she asked.

  “I don’t want anything. It’s what you want.”

  Gemma licked her lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Deacon sighed. His plan had seemed simple when he’d thought about it. The one thing he hadn’t factored into the plan was Gemma herself. That might have been a mistake, he conceded now, as she scowled at him.

  “Cassie told me you took self-defence lessons a few years ago,” he began. “But they were designed for protecting against other humans. They won’t help against shifters.”

  Her body stiffened and, although she tried to hide it, he could smell the sudden spike of fear.

  “You’re not a victim,” he continued. “You said it yourself, but–”

  “But nothing! I’m responsible for what happened,” she snapped.

  “Are you?”

  “You know I am!” She lurched upright, eyes darting toward the door.

  “I know nothing of the sort.” Deacon rose to his feet, his own movements far more fluid than hers. “Are you going to run from me again?” His frustration added an extra bite to his words and she stopped in her tracks as she bolted for the door.

  She slowly turned to face him. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

  “If you are planning to run, I should tell you I’ve locked the front door, so unless you’re planning on climbing out of a window …”

  “I’m not running,” she denied, and Deacon raised an eyebrow at the blatant lie.

  “Are you sure?” He prowled toward her, and she backed away, hands raised in front of her.

  “I’m sure.”

  “What are you doing then? Speed-walking backwards out of the door?” He let a smirk cross his face, hoping to taunt her into standing up to him.

  “No, I … I need to …” Her head twisted, seeking the exit. “I need to shower.”

  “Another one?” His grin dropped away. “What will that be? Your fourth today?” He kept moving closer, determined to continue with the plan he’d formed on his ride to town. One he knew would be effective in breaking through the barriers she’d raised against him.

  Gemma took another step backwards, and her back hit the wall next to the door. Her panicked expression told him she’d meant to aim for the door, but Deacon wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass him by. His palms hit the wall either side of her shoulders, trapping her in place. He could hear her heartbeat picking up speed, knew she was battling the desire to flee, and braced himself, preparing to give chase if she ducked and ran again.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, allowing his wolf to overlay his voice, giving it an extra growl. Had he used that tone on any lower-ranking Pack member, they would have been unable to deny it.

  Her eyelids flickered, and her fingers clenched into fists, as she fought against the compulsion to comply.

  “Gemma, look at me,” he repeated, and she slowly raised her lids. He masked a smile at the hint of defiance in her eyes. Come on, Starshine, fight me.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she told him, her voice shaking.

  “Do you?” He leaned closer, reducing the space between them, letting her scent tease his nose. “What am I doing?”

  “You’re trying to scare me so I’ll go back to The Lodge.”

  “I don’t need to scare you to make that happen, Starshine.” His teeth flashed in cocky grin. “If I wanted you back at The Lodge, you’d be there.”

  “Stop it,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed.

  Her attempt to defy his instruction impressed him, gave him hope, but Deacon knew it wouldn’t be enough. She needed to do more.

  “Look at me.” Alpha dominance threaded through his voice and her eyes shot open again. He bent his head and placed his lips against her ear. “Think about this. If I can make you look at me with a few simple commands, what else could I force you to do?”

  “Please stop …”

  His wolf snarled inside his head, sensing her weakness. Deacon ignored its demands for him to force her submission. “Make me stop.” He leaned back, let his nose brush against hers and licked his lips. “What can I make you do for me, Gemma?”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “All you have to do is stop me.” His lips touched her cheek. “Offer me your mouth, Gemma.”

  “Stop,” she pleaded, her mouth lifting in response to his command.

  His mouth hovered above hers, his eyes bleeding gold around the pupils. Just another centimetre and he would be able to taste her. “Break my hold, Starshine,” he whispered, then louder, stronger. “Unbutton your jeans for me.”

  Her hands moved, and he growled. He dropped his hand and caught her wrist, stalling her movement. “You’re not even trying to fight me, sweetheart.”

  “Tr-trying to what?” Tears spilled down her cheeks and she dashed them away angrily.. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you. Your self-defence classes won’t help you against shifters. Especially those more dominant than you.” He released her wrist and lifted his hand, using his thumb to brush away the tears on her cheeks.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Humans use physical strength to force weaker humans to comply to their will. Some of them have evolved enough to understand that domination can be achieved mentally as well as physically, but it takes work. Weaker humans take self-defence classes or cluster together in groups so they are safe from those more dominant or inclined to use violence against them.

  “For shifters, it’s less about physical strength and more about dominance. Dominance is power. The more dominant we are, the higher we rank within the Pack. Our dominance level dictates where we rank within a Pack, and the more power we have over lower-ranking members. For those outside of Pack life, it’s a little more complicated, but Alpha dominance will always outrank others.” His fingers slid under her chin and he tilted her head back. “Those weaker need to find ways to distract a more dominant shifter from using those powers of dominance to force them into actions they don’t want.”

  He studied her face. Did she understand what he was telling her? He couldn’t tell from her expression, but her scent told him her primary emotion was fear. With a pensive sigh, he decided to try a different approach.

  “I’m not Damien.” Gemma tensed at his cousin’s name.

  “I know that.” Her gaze dropped from his, and her fingers clenched into fists at her sides.

  “I don’t think you do. I think you see Damien in all of us, simply because of what we are.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure how I can get you past that, if I’m honest. But I can make sure you’re not taken unawares again.”

  “You think he’s going to come back, don’t you?” Her fear spiked, mixed with guilt, and Deacon bit back a growl of annoyance.

  She was stronger than this. How didn’t she know that?

  “I know he’s going to come back.” Deacon didn’t see the point in lying about it. “He has unfinished business with the pack and, no, that’s not your fault.” The hand cupping her chin tightened. “I reacted badly when you told me how you felt. I’m sorry about that. I need you to listen and understand what I’m going to tell you, so look at me, Gemma.”

  Gemma blinked and he saw h
er throat move in a swallow. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

  “Are you listening?”

  Gemma nodded.

  “I need words, Starshine.”

  “I … I’m listening.”

  “You are not responsible for what Damien did.”

  “But–”

  His hand slid from her chin and he covered her lips with a finger. “I’m not done. I don’t know what other lies he fed you while you were with him, but I’m sure he told you often that if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have been able to get into the Sanctuary. You know that’s not true. A set of gates would not have kept him out. You simply made it quicker and easier.”

  “I should have told someone.”

  “Told them what? Did you have any reason to think he would do anything other than what he’d said to you? Did you know he was planning on taking Shaun? Were you aware of the history between them?”

  She shook her head.

  “No, exactly. What would you have said? How would you have warned us?”

  “I should have told you he was in town. I should have admitted I knew what you all are.”

  “We wouldn’t have believed it was Damien. We thought he was dead. Somehow he found a way to mask his scent. Nothing would have changed. Damien would still have taken Shaun. There’s a high chance he would still have taken Cassie and Scarlet. He might have kept Isabella and Roxie. More of them might have died, including Shaun. He might have killed you.”

  He dropped his head until his forehead rested against hers. “Do you hear all those mights, Gemma? One guarantee I can give you – opening the gates and letting him in didn’t change his plan. He would have done it all, regardless. You are not to blame. We don’t hold you accountable for Damien’s actions.”

  “I hold myself accountable!” she cried.

  “Is Cassie to blame for her crash?”

  “What? No!”

  “But if she’d stayed with Shaun, it wouldn’t have happened. If she’d let him drive her home, Damien would have waited for a better moment.” He lifted his other hand and cupped her cheek. “We can stand here and look at every decision each of us made, going right back to the first time they captured Shaun, if you need to. It won’t change anything. It won’t even make you feel better. Good or bad, every action has brought us to here, to right now. What point is there in dwelling on what can’t be changed? Our focus needs to be on what’s coming.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Isn’t it? I know what he did to you, Gemma.” She jerked out of his grasp at his words and pushed past him. Deacon caught her arm and turned her back to face him. “I don’t know the specifics, but I can make a damn good guess. I know Damien. I know what he enjoys.”

  The colour drained from Gemma’s face and, for a moment, Deacon considered the possibility he’d pushed her too far.

  No, she needs this, he decided.

  “But, and it’s really important you understand this, Starshine,” he continued. “I’m not him.”

  I’m not him.

  Deacon had let her go after that statement. Maybe he had sensed she was hanging onto her self-control by a thread, maybe he had just said everything he wanted to say. Either way, his hand had loosened its grip, he had taken a step back, and Gemma had fled from the kitchen and he hadn’t followed her.

  She stood under the shower, letting the steady stream of hot water flow over her. She didn’t really need the shower – like Deacon said, this would be the fourth one she’d taken since getting out of bed … well, crawling off the couch that morning. She couldn’t seem to help it. Whenever memories of her time with Damien grew too close to the surface of her memory, she felt dirty.

  Who was she trying to fool?

  Admit it – the showers don’t help in the slightest. It’s an excuse to lock yourself away, out of the reach of everyone so they can’t see just how broken you are.

  That was the real reason you ran from The Lodge. They were all looking at you and you couldn’t stand seeing the pity in their eyes. The way the whispers stopped when you walked into the room.

  That didn’t answer the question of why Deacon followed her to town though. Before Damien had taken her, they had been heading toward something … sex, definitely. Good sex. She felt a smile pull her lips up.

  Why lie? You know it’d be great sex.

  Deacon was a little too wild, too restless, too untameable for it to have been anything but great. He enjoyed pushing buttons and poking at people, examining their reactions like they were an experiment put there for his amusement. She knew sex with him would have been no different.

  And yet …

  Would there have been the possibility of more? She didn’t think so. He had made it clear the night of the barbecue when he had found her wandering at the edge of the forest and laid out his intentions.

  She’d been staring at the back of the house, partly lost in a memory of being a child and running around the area where the barbecue was happening.

  “Hey.”

  So lost in her own thoughts, Gemma hadn’t heard Deacon creep up behind her and, before she could stop herself, she had spun around and punched him straight in the jaw.

  To his credit, he hadn’t reacted with anything more than a half-smile, while he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

  “I hope you fuck harder than you punch,” he said, and the rough timber of his voice had sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

  They had been skirting along the edges of flirtation since the first time they had met, hiding it behind barbed insults and pretend dislike. But she couldn’t fool him any more than he was fooling her. There was an attraction there, one that burned and sparked whenever they were close.

  It had only been a matter of time, Gemma knew, before one of them crossed the invisible line they’d drawn while Cassie had been in hospital.

  Now Cassie was safe at The Lodge with Shaun, and Deacon’s patience with their game of pretence had reached its end.

  She faced him, letting her gaze track over the black t-shirt that moulded itself to the hard lines of his chest. It hung loose at his hips, apart from a handful which had been absently tucked into the front of his jeans. Tattoos, swirling patterns, started at his elbows and worked their way up beneath the sleeves of his shirt. They didn’t flow down his forearms to his hands like his twin’s, and she wondered if they covered as much of his torso as Shaun’s did.

  Was this the day she would find out?

  “Do you have more tattoos?” she asked.

  “Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

  “When do you think that will be?”

  His smile had widened, eyes glittering gold in the twilight. “I think,” he drawled, “right about now.” He reached out a hand, curled it into the waistband of her jeans and tugged her toward him.

  Once she was close, he pressed a finger beneath her chin to tilt her head back to his desired angle and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. He stopped just before their lips met, and she could feel his warm breath fanning her face.

  “You smell of vanilla and coconut,” he whispered. “I’ve been wondering if you’ll taste as sweet as you smell.”

  When he still didn’t kiss her, she swayed forward.

  “Find out,” she invited, only for him to take a half-step back, staying just out of reach. Amusement gleamed in his eyes when she reached for him.

  “If you want me, you know there’s no turning back, no pretending it didn’t happen,” he told her. “I want to fuck you. I want you spread out beneath me, my face buried between your thighs, listening to you screaming my name when you come. I promise to give you the best night of your life. But I can’t make any promises beyond that, Gemma. It’s not in my nature.”

  “I don’t want your promises,” she replied, reaching for him. “I’m just in this for your body.”

  Deacon laughed, and then his mouth found hers and she lost the ability to breathe. Backing her up against the nearest tree, he caught the hand sliding u
p his chest and pinned it above her head.

  “Lift your other arm,” he instructed.

  “But I want to touch you.”

  “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way and I want your arms above your head.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Trust me, it’ll be worth your while.”

  She wanted to argue, should have argued but her arm rose of its own accord when his free hand slid under her top and curved over her breast.

  Gemma returned to the present with a start. There was a throbbing between her legs, and her breasts felt heavy, her nipples hard. After everything that had happened, how could her body still react to the memory of Deacon’s mouth and hands on her body?

  She cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Drying off, she pulled on the sleep shorts and vest she’d taken with her into the bathroom and headed back toward her bedroom. She opened the door and halted.

  Deacon sprawled across her bed, shirtless, one arm tucked behind his head while he held his phone in the other. His long legs, still clad in dark jeans, were crossed at the ankles and she frowned at his bare feet.

  “What are you doing in here?” she snapped at him.

  He glanced up from his phone. “That was one long-ass shower. What were you doing in there?”

  She ignored his question. “What are you doing on my bed?”

  “Playing pool.”

  “What?” Her brows pulled together into a confused frown.

  Deacon flipped his phone screen around to show her the app he was playing. “Pool … on my phone.”

  “Can’t you play that in your own bed?”

  Deacon reached out and dropped his phone on the bedside table, then rolled to his side and propped his head onto his hand.

  “Is this another round of ‘let’s pretend shit doesn’t happen’?” he asked gently.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

  “No? So, I’ve been imagining the past week, have I?” An eyebrow arched upwards. “You don’t start the night in my bed, while I crash on the couch in the games room? I don’t wake up on the couch to find you curled up at the foot of it? That all a figment of my imagination, is it?”