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No matter how deep I snuggle into the blankets, the shivering doesn’t show any sign of vanishing.Chapter 23Deacon
“Fucking ridiculous,” I grunt as I turn over for the hundredth time since I climbed the stairs and threw myself on the bed.
Sleeping has never been an issue for me. Normally, it takes a few minutes of calm, relaxed breathing and I drift away.
Tonight, a million thoughts and questions infiltrate my head, making it impossible to settle enough to sleep.
I put Anna in the room furthest from mine for a purpose, and even though she’s a mere thirty feet from where I lie, it feels like a million miles. Will I be able to get to her in time if the Russians are craftier than I anticipate? Is she struggling to sleep like I am? I haven’t heard a peep from her since I climbed the stairs two hours ago, but that doesn’t mean that she’s sleeping.
I’m such an asshole. She had questions, and I refused to give her the answers she needed.
But what good would it do?
I could explain in detail how her friendship with Dani is what could’ve gotten her killed tonight. I also know that would make me look like a bitter ex, pointing fingers and assessing blame even though it’s the cold, hard truth. Dani is toxic, but there’s no way to make her best friend see it. Anna would just wave her hand, like the action relieves Dani from any responsibility, much the same way she did when Dani would stir shit up in high school.
Another long sigh of frustration escapes my lips as I turn over and punch the pillow under my head. I’m fucking exhausted, still having not slept much since I left over a week ago to head to New Mexico to meet up with Cerberus. My muscles literally ache from so much action without the proper recovery time, yet, my eyes just won’t close.
I refuse to think about Anna and the kiss we shared, but actively trying to ignore an issue only seems to make things worse. So instead of ignoring the fact that I pressed my mouth to the lips of my ex-wife’s best friend, I studiously try to ignore my hard dick when the memory floods my head.
What a damn mistake that was.
I don’t really regret the kiss, but I hate Anna a little more than I did because why would someone I hate, someone who has caused me nothing but grief have the softest lips I’ve ever touched?
Why did the little sigh that escaped her perfect mouth sound like the chiming bells at the gates of Heaven, like it was welcoming me home?
How is it even possible with our size differences that she fit against me like we were made to press into one another, her softness aligning perfectly to the rough planes of my own body?
What did I do in a past life to deserve such torture?
I grind my teeth, the frustration growing to the point that I’m seconds away from climbing out of the bed, redressing and heading to the barn. There’s always something that can be done on a ranch. The work is never done even though I have a pretty awesome crew that keeps things in tip-top shape around here.
Then the door to Anna’s room opens, the old hinges groaning their disapproval. I train my ears, focusing solely on the soft footsteps she’s taking down the hall, but instead of heading to the stairs like I expect, her footfalls cease right outside my bedroom door.
I ignore the soft rasp of her knuckles on the door. I can’t deal with more questions right now. It won’t take much more pressing from her for me to lay everything right at her feet, and I don’t imagine Anna would take that well. It’s after midnight, and I just don’t have the energy to argue with her when she tries to defend her friend’s actions.
Instead of walking away, going back to her own damn room or heading downstairs, Anna twists the doorknob to my room. The ranch house is old, built by my grandfather who passed it down to me in his will several years ago, and that means there are no locks on the inner doors. To my grandfather, a closed door yielded the people inside privacy, and he felt no need to enforce that privacy with a lock. When the door slowly creaks open, I’m regretting not having added deadbolts to my list when I was working through the renovations.
“Deacon,” Anna whispers, and I can tell by the tone in her voice that she really doesn’t want to wake me.
My back is to the door, but I close my eyes even though she can’t see my face. If something was truly wrong, she wouldn’t have bothered to knock. She would have shoved the door open or screamed for help from her room.
