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I’m too distracted by the heaving of her chest and the little smile toying at the corners of her mouth. She doesn’t seem upset like she was when we finished riding earlier, but I still plan to tread lightly.
“You cooked?”
“Spaghetti carbonara,” she whispers as if she thinks I’m going to be upset with her taking over my kitchen.
Maybe I have been too much of an asshole to her, letting our past bleed into the present when I discovered long ago that she isn’t the same girl she was back then.
“Smells delicious.”
Her grin is electric. “Get cleaned up.”
She turns back to the stove, and I only spend maybe another minute looking at her curves and the way the ceiling fan blows the loose strands of her hair against her neck before I haul ass up the stairs for a quick shower.
***
“None?” she asks as she brings the glass of whiskey to her lips.
God, she’s fucking distracting. Dinner was amazing, tasting even better than it smelled if that’s possible. We ate at the table, chatting like old friends before I insisted on cleaning.
We’re sitting on the front porch, where I found her after the kitchen was put back together, as the sun fades over the horizon.
“Deacon?” She uses the tip of her bare foot to nudge my leg from her rocking chair.
“Huh?” I look away, realizing that I just got caught staring at her.
“No college?”
I scrape my hand down my face before looking into my nearly empty whiskey glass. When did I drink most of it? How long have we been drinking? There’s a buzz in my head, a flitter of what feels like wings against my skin, but I’m certain it has more to do with her than the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed this evening.
“No,” I manage to finally answer with a shrug. “I mean, I’ve taken a couple online classes, but formal education was never my thing.”
“You made good grades in high school.”
I frown, rolling my head on the back of my rocking chair and looking in her direction. “I said it wasn’t my thing. I never said I was stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Her frown matches mine, but then her lips turn up into a grin.
“What?”
“So, commando school is more your style?”
“Commando school?” I laugh.
“Yeah.” She waves her hand in a sweeping motion to indicate my body.
I want to bite my lip and flirt with her, but I vowed during my second shower of the day, which sadly ended much like the first with me grunting her name and coming into the drain, that I’d be an idiot to pursue anything with her. There are too many women in the world that wouldn’t bring the trouble and baggage that Anna would. I wish my body would listen and take heed of that information.
“You’re all buff and badass.”
It’s even harder when she says shit like that.
“I imagine you and your guys whacking each other in the stomach with sticks to see who loses by grunting in pain first.”
“Fists,” I tell her with a lazy smile. “We used fists in basic training not sticks. God, we were idiots.”
Her laugh fills the country air around us. “So, you like pain?”
“Naw. It just felt necessary at the time.”
“I understand necessary pain. Even though it hurts, I still show up for my waxing appointments like clockwork.”
I cough on my sip of whiskey, but when I look over at her, she’s focused on the hills across the pasture. She didn’t just lay that information down at my feet in an attempt to entice me. She was just stating a fact, but now I can’t keep my eyes from roaming up her body and pausing midway up.
Waxing appointments? Jesus, is she trying to kill my restraint?
She may not be, but fuck if she isn’t.
“Life is strange, isn’t it?”
“How so?” I ask.
“Never in a million years did I think I’d be sitting on Deacon Black’s front porch in the country drinking whiskey while rocking to the sound of crickets.” I smile when she does. “I didn’t even think commandos liked peace and quiet.”
“We can’t always be running from a hail of bullets.” She chuckles. “What?”
Her eyes sparkle, the light coming from inside the house hitting them perfectly. “I don’t see you running from bullets. You shot that guy before he could get to my room.”
I was between him and the room.
We haven’t mentioned Dani or what happened back at the Four Seasons. I thought we had an unspoken agreement to just leave it alone, but it seems to be fading with each sip she takes from her glass. I know she wants to know. I also know that telling her the truth will frighten her even more. I guess it’s a good thing I’m here in case she needs me. I struggle for a moment, torn between telling her the full truth or only giving her enough to satisfy her curiosity. If I were in her shoes, I’d want all of it, so that’s what I decide to give her. The sooner she faces it and works through it, the better.
