Midnight Temptation

by L Ann

  One eyebrow arched up. “Are you sure about that? Because you’re acting like she is.”

  Gemma waited until she could no longer hear the roar of Deacon’s motorcycle before she retreated inside the house and closed the door. She knew he thought he was trying to help by wanting her to talk about her experiences at the hands of his cousin, but he didn’t understand what that would do to her.

  He didn’t understand how hard it was to keep the darkness from overwhelming her, and the only way she could function was by burying the memories deep. By pretending it hadn’t happened, and behaving like she was normal.

  You’re not normal, you know that. You’ll never be normal again.

  She bowed her head, finding herself beneath the shower again, with no memory of getting there.

  How’s that denial method working out for you?

  The voice whispering the question inside her head wasn’t hers.

  “Get out of my head,” she whispered.

  Gemma’s first shift back at the diner was exactly what she needed. The place was busy, and she barely had a moment to stop and think about anything other than taking orders, cleaning spills, processing payments. She certainly wasn’t thinking about Deacon and what he might have been doing.

  When she first arrived, she had been engulfed in the arms of Chef – their volatile cook – hugged like she had been away for years instead of days. From there, Chef had spun her into Jamie’s embrace – Chef’s husband and self-proclaimed nemesis, depending on the time of day – who kissed her cheeks, and carefully set her back from him when she tensed and pulled away.

  Neither man had had the chance to question her absence before Corinne arrived waving the first of the dinner-time orders. Gemma had donned her apron, grabbed her order pad and went to work.

  By the time midnight arrived and it was time to shut down, Gemma was exhausted.

  “Didn’t you spend any of your vacation time relaxing?” Chef asked, as she pressed her hand over her mouth to cover another yawn. “You seem more exhausted now than you did before.”

  “I wasn’t really relaxing. Cassie was in hospital, and then …” the sentence faded away, and she shrugged. “It’s been a difficult few weeks,” she said.

  “Does he have anything to do with your tiredness?” Jamie joined them, nodding toward the shadow just outside the window. “Because tall, dark and dangerous out there looks like he could be a handful.”

  Gemma followed the direction of his nod. At first, all she could make out was a vague shape, so she stepped closer to the window.

  The shape became clearer. A large black motorcycle, with an equally large wolf shifter straddling it. Gemma sighed, stiffening when an arm draped across her shoulders.

  “Now there’s a fine looking specimen,” Jamie continued. “Does he always look so intimidating?”

  She cast a sharp look at Jamie, and looked through the window at Deacon, who turned his head as if aware she was there and scowled.

  “No,” she said, softly. “But this past week has been difficult for a lot of us.”

  In fact, she thought to herself, until Damien showed up she had never seen Deacon without a permanent grin.

  “I’ve seen him around town,” Chef offered, a clear question in his voice.

  “Cassie is dating his brother.”

  “Is that what you’re doing with him?”

  “No. Deacon and I are definitely not dating. We’re … friends.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh, sugar, friends don’t look at each other with that kind of hunger.”

  He could have waited for Gemma at her house, but he didn’t.

  He could have phoned the diner and offered to pick her up, but he didn’t do that either.

  He could have gone inside to let Gemma know he was there, but that didn’t suit his plans, at all.

  Instead, he parked on the far side of the parking lot, under a streetlight where he could be seen from the windows, and waited. He knew she’d see him eventually.

  Before he left the Sanctuary, Isabella had sought him out and asked whether he had made any progress. When he’d snarled at her, irritated by her meddling, the other woman had reached up to pat his cheek.

  “Why, Deacon,” she had murmured. “All that snarling and snapping you’re doing is going to make people think you care for the girl. I’ve never seen you put so much effort into a conquest before.”

  “She’s not a fucking conquest.” He hadn’t been able to stop the retort and Isabella had smiled at him.

  He drummed his fingers on the hand grip.

  What was she doing in there?

  The place had closed almost twenty minutes ago. He turned his head to scowl at the window – and there she was, standing beside some blond, lanky guy. A guy who threw his arm around Gemma’s shoulders in a casually intimate gesture.

  He counted to three beneath his breath – and there it was. A minute tensing of her shoulders, completely unnoticeable if you weren’t watching for it.

  When was this fucking charade going to end?

  He raked a hand through his hair and straightened as the main doors to the diner slid open. The scent of vanilla and coconut hit him before he saw her.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Irritation. Good, he could work with that.

  “Well, let’s see,” he drawled, and leaned forward to rest his arms across the bike’s handlebars, looking like he hadn’t spent the last hour obsessively checking her movements. “It’s almost one in the morning. There’s a psychotic asshole on the loose and you didn’t fucking drive here.”

  “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to my house from here.”

  “It was a zero-minute walk from the safety of our Sanctuary and yet you still ended up in a fucking cage. Or have you buried that memory, too?” Deacon knew he hit his mark when the colour drained from her face. He would not feel guilty for that. “Tell them you’re done for the night and let’s get out of here.”

  “I don’t finish for another forty minutes.” She spun on her heel and stalked toward the diner. “And Jamie said he’d drive me home,” she threw over her shoulder.

  Deacon ground his teeth, refused to demand to know who Jamie was. “You’re finishing now and coming home with me,” he called after her. “You have five minutes. If you’re not back out here, I will come in and get you.”

  “Go home.”

  “Five minutes, Starshine, then I’m coming for you.”

  Gemma turned back, eyes flashing with an anger he hadn’t seen since before Damien had taken her. A few quick steps and she was in his face. It took all his willpower not to haul her across his bike.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Deacon Jacobs,” she hissed.

  Deacon smirked. “Don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t.” She twisted away again.

  Deacon waited until she was almost at the doors, then called her name. Gemma stiffened and her head turned, eyes flashing angrily, telling him she had felt the thread of Alpha dominance in his voice.

  “Five minutes,” he repeated, and smiled at the look of fury that passed over her face. “If you’re not here by my side in five minutes, I’ll come and carry you out.”

  Four minutes and thirty seconds later, she reappeared.

  “Get on,” he told her.

  “I thought you went back to The Lodge.” She didn’t move from where she stood a foot or two away from him.

  “Sanctuary,” he corrected. “And I did.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Never said I was staying there, Starshine. Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “I’ll walk.” She took off toward the main road at a rapid pace.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, even as part of him delighted in the attitude she was showing. He fired the engine and followed her at a slow crawl. “Get on the fucking bike.”

  When she ignored him, he growled.

  Fucking stubborn female … Wait! What had she s
aid? Something about not telling her what to do?

  “Will you please get on the bike, Gemma?” He snarled between gritted teeth.

  Gemma stopped and half-turned to watch as Deacon’s motorcycle rolled to a stop beside her. She could feel the irritation coming off him in waves as he glared at her through narrowed eyes.

  “Fine!” she said. “But only because it’s late and I’ve been on my feet for hours.” She ignored the hand he held out and attempted to climb onto the seat behind him without touching him.

  Deacon said nothing, waiting as she first tried to hold onto the small handle at the back while swinging her leg across, then balancing her palm on the seat just behind Deacon and trying that way. After a few minutes, he let loose a volley of curses, grabbed her hand and placed it onto his shoulder.

  “Just hold onto me, for chrissake,” he snapped. “Otherwise we’ll still be here when the sun rises.”

  She glared at him in response but tightened her grip and swung onto the seat. She spent another couple of minutes wriggling in an attempt to get comfortable, then gasped when she felt his hands curve under her knees and yank her forwards, until her legs were almost wrapped around his hips.

  “Put your arms around my waist,” he told her, and she slid her arms gingerly around his torso. “Hold on like you mean it,” he warned. “I don’t want you falling off.” And the bike took off down the road.

  Gemma shrieked, her arms tightening around him at the unexpected speed and she felt his body shake in a laugh.

  “You’re such an asshole,” she yelled against his back, and he laughed harder.

  Although the journey to her house didn’t take long, by the time they reached it her fingers had turned white from the death-grip she had on the front of his t-shirt. As he eased the bike to a standstill, he twisted his head to look at her over his shoulder.

  “Are you insane?” she shouted, furious with him for making her heart race as he’d sped down the dark streets. With jerky movements, she untangled her fingers from the material of his shirt and punched his back. “You could have killed us both! We’re in a town … a town, Deacon! You can’t drive like a lunatic!” Her voice rose.

  “Stop yelling,” he said, still laughing. “You were never in any danger.”

  “Danger? Jesus Christ, Deacon. You went through three red lights! What if a car had been coming from the other way?” She dismounted from the bike on shaky legs and stumbled. Deacon’s hand flashed out to catch her arm and steady her. “What kind of idiot are you?”

  “You’re going to wake your neighbours,” he cautioned with a grin, swinging his leg across the seat and standing on the path. “Do you want to give them something to talk about?”

  “Wake my neighbours?” She wrenched her arm from his grip. “You nearly killed me!”

  “Gemma, stop shouting. I’m right here, not half a mile away.”

  “I wish you were half a mile away!” she snapped in response and stormed up the path to her front door.

  “If I was, you wouldn’t be able to crawl all over me in your sleep.” His voice whispered close to her ear as she unlocked her door. She felt his breath on the back of her neck and couldn’t withhold a shiver.

  Gemma pushed the door open and went inside. “I don’t crawl all over you!” she told him heatedly, refusing to turn around and find out how close he was.

  “You don’t?” He closed the door behind him and locked it, then followed her into the kitchen. “I distinctly remember waking up with you pinning me to the mattress this morning.”

  “I think you’ll find that was your ego,” Gemma muttered, filling the kettle with water and placing it on the stove-top.

  “No, I’m pretty sure it was you. My ego doesn’t smell like vanilla and coconut.”

  “You’re right. It smells of arrogance and bullshit.”

  “Wow, Starshine, that was cold. I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle such harsh words.”

  Gemma took a mug out of the cupboard and dumped a sachet of instant coffee into it.

  “Coffee? If you drink that at this hour, you’ll never get to sleep.”

  She swung around to face him and jerked back in surprise. He was closer than she expected him to be. Leaning past her, he dumped the mug in the sink and switched off the stove.

  “I don’t want to sleep.”

  “Why not? You slept well enough last night.” A smile tugged his lips up, and her eyes narrowed. She knew something infuriating was about to come out of his mouth. “You know – when you were pinning me to the bed.”

  He stepped forward, crowding closer to her, forcing Gemma to take a step back until she hit the cupboards along the wall.

  “Get out of the way,” she snapped, and his head canted to the side, his smile widening.

  “Make me.”

  “You’re such a child.” Gemma planted one hand against his chest and pushed.

  Deacon didn’t move, smirking down at her, and she lifted her other hand to join the first and shoved harder in an attempt to make him step away.

  “Wolf,” he said.

  “What about them?”

  “I’m a wolf, not a child.”

  “You’re being an ass.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” He bent slightly, and her palms slid upwards over his t-shirt. “You’re the one groping me. I’m wondering whether I should learn to purr.”

  Gemma snatched her hands away. “I’m not groping you. You’re in my space.”

  “I wasn’t.” Deacon took another step forward, bringing his chest flush against hers. “But now I am.”

  With every breath Gemma took, she could feel her body brush against his. A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eyes had her head turning to watch as he slowly placed his hands against the worktop either side of her hips.

  “Tell me something?” he murmured, and her eyes darted back up to meet his. “How many showers have you taken today?”

  “T-two.”She answered, feeling her heart begin to pound.

  “Do you need to take another?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been working. I smell of food and grease.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “I …” She stopped in surprise when she realised that was the only reason. “Yes.”

  His head canted sideways, the brown of his eyes slowly being swallowed by the gold, and she heard him take in a deep breath through his nose.

  “You smell of vanilla and coconut,” he said, softly. His head dipped closer, the movement slow enough that she could have moved if she wanted to, and she felt his nose run up the side of her throat. “Of hard work. You smell of fear and defiance, of strength and …” he paused.

  Was that his tongue she felt against the pulse beating rapidly in her throat?

  “You taste like temptation.”

  Deacon lifted his head, heard Gemma’s sharp intake of breath, and knew his eyes were more wolf than man. He could feel his wolf prowling around the confines of his mind, growling restlessly. Its presence had been suspiciously absent during quite a few of his interactions with Gemma recently, but now it was back, stronger than ever, driving his actions.

  His wolf wanted this woman, had wanted her from the first time they met, had almost had her at that fateful barbecue, only to be thwarted by Jaden’s interruption. And now it wanted what it felt it was owed. This woman.. in his arms, in his bed, beneath him.

  Don’t blame the wolf. You want her, too. You had a taste and it wasn’t enough.

  It didn’t help that the entire ride back from the diner, he could feel her body pressed against his back. Her legs wrapped around his thighs, and it hadn’t been much of a leap to imagine them around his waist – not with the way her hands gripped at him.

  Every time he upped the speed of his bike, she had held tighter, inched closer and, asshole that he was, it only incited him to push further.

  “Deacon?” His name, little more than a whisper, drew his attention back
to the present and to the woman trapped between him and the kitchen cupboards.

  He studied her face while he examined her scent. Curiosity was the strongest emotion, tiredness, irritation – which made him want to grin – and the faint tang of fear which was always present, at least since Damien. More importantly, to him anyway, she smelled of desire.

  “Did he kiss you?” he asked abruptly.

  “Who?” The scent of her fear rose, overtaking all those other emotions, and Deacon heard his wolf growl low inside his head.

  “You know who.” He didn’t want to pretend anymore, was tired of being told he had to make allowances.

  She wouldn’t break, she could take anything he chose to give out.

  “Deacon, I don’t want–”

  “Tell me. It’s a simple answer. I don’t want details. Just yes or no. Did he kiss you?” he demanded.

  Why are you tormenting yourself with the thought of another man’s mouth on hers?

  Her eyes shifted past him to look at a point somewhere over his shoulder.

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Not to me.” He knew she didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure how to explain that he wanted to wipe away what Damien had done with better memories, better experiences. All he could do was take the course of action that made the most sense to him.

  “I’m going to kiss you.”

  I’m going to kiss you.

  At his softly spoken words, the air left her lungs, it might even have left the room..

  I’m going to kiss you.

  It wasn’t a request, a warning, or even a demand. It was a statement of fact, of intent. And no sooner had he uttered it, his mouth was on hers, giving her no opportunity to argue or refuse. It wasn’t a gentle exploration of her lips, but demanding and insistent, and it obliterated every thought, every fear inside Gemma’s head.

  His tongue licked across the seam of her lips, traced the outline of both, before he pressed a kiss against them. He repeated the action – lick, trace, kiss … lick, trace, kiss – until she couldn’t do anything other than respond. The moment her lips parted, his tongue invaded, stroked against hers and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through her. She gasped, wrenching her mouth free form his, her eyes popping open.