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* * * *
Mariah was filled with piss and vinegar as she fixed the vegetables and then started getting things ready for the salad. Deacon came in and started offering her some help.
“I’ve got it,” she snapped at him. The second she felt his hand on her shoulder, she froze in place. Her pussy clenched, igniting an instant flame she always got whenever one of them touched her. She was stupid. They didn’t see her that way.
“Are you okay? Is something bothering you?” he asked. She turned her head to look up at him. They just stared at one another and damn it she could tell that Deacon felt something too. Why were they continuously denying it? She glanced at his hand, where it sat on her shoulder, and he lowered it. Now he leaned against the counter.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem agitated.”
“Just annoyed.”
“At what?”
“Who,” she replied.
“Okay, at who?”
“Just forget it. I’m fine.”
She was so frustrated. These men had done this to her. They made her breasts feel full, her nipples hard, her hopes heighten, and every fucking time, they said or did something to shatter those responses. She was tired of playing it safe.
“You can tell me anything, Mariah,” he whispered. Sweet, kind, and compassionate Deacon. Maybe if she told him how she really felt, he would accept it, and without regret or a fight.
“I care about you, and about the others.” She could see the change in his eyes, and the way they almost glazed over.
“We care about you.”
This was harder than she thought.
“I think I really care about you. I’ve missed you,” she said, and then reached up and placed her hand against his cheek. Deacon immediately took her wrist and placed her hand back down and away from him.
“There are a lot of emotions going on right now. You’ve missed this house, memories of Michael, and the fact that we’ve all been here and are part of those memories.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she started to say, shaking her head.
“Mariah, you need to make smart choices.”
Her temper began to flare. The guy didn’t get it.
She stared at him.
“I do make smart choices. Every day of my life.”
* * * *
Quentin was trying his hardest to forget about the kiss and the way Mariah had felt in his arms today. Here he was in her uncle’s house, eating dinner and chatting along with the others, and he felt different, on edge.
He knew if the others knew what had happened that they would be bent at him. They all felt that they couldn’t give Mariah what she needed and deserved. However, when he was holding her on his lap, kissing her and feeling her with his hands, none of that mattered. He felt capable of being so much more. She did that to him. One fucking kiss as he copped a feel and he was becoming obsessed with wanting more.
She purposely avoided any conversation with him and, of course, sat as far from him as she could.
“That sauce you made over the pasta was fantastic, Mariah. Did you learn to make that while in Italy?” Deacon asked her, as they all sat around the kitchen, after cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Jeb looked tired and uncomfortable sitting there in his cast. He also looked about ready to pass out.
Mariah turned toward Deacon, giving him her full attention as she spoke.
“I learned to make a lot of things while there
