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And if that’s the case, why can’t I stop looking in his direction, hoping to find him looking back at me? Why does the fact that there’s a room in the back make my skin heat with anticipation? Why does the sight of his jeans stretched across muscled thighs make me want to lick my lips and suggest dirty things? When did I turn into a sex-crazed animal?
Deacon is bent over his phone less than ten feet away, but we might as well be in different universes with all the attention he’s paid me since leaving the BBS office. He doesn’t want me here, doesn’t want me interfering in going to get Dani, and that makes me wonder what’ll happen when we get there.
He’s the love of my life. Dani’s words echo in my ear, a warning and red flag for the mistake he clearly thinks we made the other night. Eight years is a drop in time where soulmates are concerned, and I’m a fool to think he’s over her. He jumped at the opportunity to look for her. He can blame his chivalry to run to her aid all he wants, but deep down I know it’s obligation to the girl that got away that had him chartering this jet to the Maldives. He’s still linked to her, no matter the time and distance separating them, no matter that Dani goes through men like she’s determined to taste every flavor of the rainbow before she dies.
Just that thought has me swallowing against the ball of my own regret swimming up my throat. I don’t want her hurt or harmed in any way, but I saw the video Wren presented just like he did. Dani isn’t living in fear, hiding from the Russians like we thought. She’s drinking fruity cocktails and smiling at handsome cabana boys, charming her way through the good-looking men at her beck and call.
I didn’t miss the way Deacon’s jaw clenched at her on the computer screen. He’s jealous, pissed that she’s even entertaining the thought of other men. If we didn’t sleep together prior to him seeing her on that screen, I’d say he only did it to get back at her. But we did in fact have sex before this new information came to light, which means he was only sating a need. Men are sexual creatures, right? Keeping in mind the whole I have an erection, let’s solve this problem mentality, that means I could’ve been anyone and it would have made no difference.
“Fuck,” I grumble, my eyes still tilted to the ceiling.
“Try to get some sleep,” Flynn suggests, but that would be an impossibility.
I couldn’t sleep while in close proximity to Deacon Black right now without the help of chemical intervention, and I doubt any of the guys have the prescription pills it would require to keep my thoughts from spinning a mile a minute.
As I look around the plane, I have to wonder just how safe we are. If we were only going to the Maldives to get a woman who clearly doesn’t want to be found, why did Deacon insist on bringing more than half his guys? There are five other guys surrounding me, including a handsome ginger named Finnegan that has an Irish accent to die for. He winks every damn time I look over at him, but it no longer brings a smile to my face.
All of these commandos with serious attitudes should make me feel safe, but their presence makes me nervous instead. Deacon doesn’t seem like the type of guy to overstaff a job, so that means they’re here for a reason. It means there’s still trouble brewing.
Like a psycho, it scares me and thrills me at the same time. Deacon won’t leave a job incomplete, and from the way he’s protected me from the second I called him weeks ago, he won’t be done with me until he’s sure I’m safe. Trouble means more time with him, despite how much it kills me to be ignored.
Unless he’s planning to be done with me the second he meets back up with his old flame.
Damn it, why can’t I get out of my own head. All these thoughts swirl and contradict each other. I’m starting to hate myself already.
“What’s got you stressed, love?”
When I look over at Flynn, I take in his handsome face and the lines that speak of his own stress and battles crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Life,” I mutter.
“Well,” Flynn leans in closer, elbows on his knees, head tilting a little to let me know he doesn’t want others to hear our conversation.
Instinctively, I lean in closer to him too.
“You’re going to be fine,” he insists. “Hopefully, all of this will be over soon, and you can go back to your normal life.”
