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He didn’t even glance at me.

His face was a mask of ice, his jaw locked into a terrifying, unyielding line as he tracked back to the cupboard to gather more of his gear.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, my voice trembling as I took a tentative step toward him.

Not one single syllable left his lips.

He yanked a steel zipper shut with a loud snap, then pinned me with a glare so laced with silent fury that it lanced through my core.

What was happening?

I moved closer and raised my hand to cradle his handsome face.

He swatted my hands away.

‘Move! Please,’ he clipped, his tone flat, empty of its recent affection for me.

Pain, confusion, and panic swamped my thoughts.

What had I done wrong?

I tried to stay calm, but desperate for reassurance, I reached for him again, trying to slide my embrace around his waist.

He pushed me off, then crossed his arms over his chest, creating a barrier between us.

‘Don’t freakin’ touch me,’ he growled with such vehemence I jolted and trembled.

The rejection sliced through my heart, in an agonizing lurch that left me gasping.

His eyes held a freezing glare that sent dread through me.

‘Deacon, please, just tell me what happened,’ I pleaded, my utterance cracking under the strain.

He let out a short, bitter scoff, without real mirth.

‘Get out of my way,’ he rumbled when I blocked his path to the closet. ‘Stop talking to me.’

I realized then with sickening clarity that he must have seen my ex grabbing me through the rooftop bar windows, misinterpreting the entire encounter.

‘No, don’t do this, please,’ I begged, my hands extended in desperation. ‘Listen to me, Max assaulted me.’

That got his attention, and Deacon froze as a lethal calm settled over him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and dipped his face toward me, his eyes cold as ice.

‘He fucking what?’

‘He forced a kiss on me.’

‘You’re saying the kiss was an assault?’

‘Yes, I never asked for it, or wanted it.’

His eyes raked over me, narrowing with concern as his hand instinctively found my forearm to comfort me.

I drew hope from the gesture.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his tone dropping into a guarded, dangerous register.