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His brow knotted. “Okay, what happened while I was gone? Because when I left, I felt like you and I were on the same page. But if something’s changed…”
“What question?”
He studied her for a moment before speaking. “Do you want to be my woman, Olivia Harrington?”
Nash’s warning dissolved beneath the hard ka-whack of her heart. Trying to control her budding happiness, she adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Oh. That question.” She smiled. “I guess so.”
He tipped up her chin. “You guess so?”
A smile spread over her face. “Okay, yes. I’ll be your woman.”
The growl he gave was caveman possessive. He picked her up and spun her around until she giggled. Then he gave her another melting kiss before setting her on her feet. “You’ll need to pack an overnight bag.”
“An overnight bag? Where are we going?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” He swatted her on the bottom. “Now hurry up, woman. We’re on a schedule. Because in business and pleasure, timing is everything.”
This wasn’t taking things slow. This was taking things fast and furious. But as Olivia packed, she discovered she didn’t care. She wanted to be with Deacon, and if that meant she’d have to deal with a broken heart later, then so be it.
Deacon drove the way he did everything—fast, capably, and with a focus that Olivia envied. Not that she had trouble focusing. When Deacon was near, he became the center of her universe. She spent the ride completely captivated by the man in the aviators next to her. He’d put the top down, and the wind ruffled his thick, dark hair. There were crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and since he wasn’t much of a laugher, she figured they had come from all that eye-narrowing. It looked like he had forgotten to shave that morning because dark stubble covered his angular jaw and looked extremely sexy.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” he asked, as he took a corner like a Formula One racer.
She studied his hand on the gearshift, his forearm muscles flexing as he shifted to a higher gear. “I’m wondering why you’re being so secretive,” she said. “Especially if we’re just scoping out some settings for catalog photo shoots.”
He glanced over. “You aren’t very patient, are you? I bet you were one of those kids who tried to find their Christmas presents before their parents even got them wrapped.”
“My parents didn’t wrap presents. They had them wrapped.” She grinned wickedly. “Although I did unwrap a few one year. I thought I’d rewrapped them perfectly, but my dad figured it out.”
“Michael?”
She shook her head. “My biological father.” She glanced out the window, searching for another topic of conversation. Before she could find one, Deacon reached out and took her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.
“So tell me about your dad.”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing much to tell. He and my mom got a divorce when I was nine, and he disappeared from my life.”
“Disappeared? You mean you haven’t seen him since you were nine?”
She shook her head. “He had some kind of a mental breakdown and took off for parts unknown. If you know my mother, it’s understandable. If it hadn’t been for Michael, I would’ve run for the hills after I graduated from high school.”
Deacon let go of her hand to downshift. Once he had, he took her hand again and stared out the windshield as if in deep thought. No doubt worried about the genes she’d inherited.
“I was kidding,” she said. “I’m not much of a runner.”
He glanced over at her. “It’s not understandable, Olivia. I don’t care what your mother did. That doesn’t excuse your father from leaving his only daughter and never once trying to get in touch with her. Donny John wasn’t the best dad, but at least he stuck around. And if he hadn’t, I would’ve been pissed.”
“What good would that do? Getting mad wouldn’t have brought him back.”
“No, but sometimes it just feels good to let off some steam. To confront the injustices of the world and yell out your anger about them. Or is keeping your emotions in check something else my uncle taught you?”
“We all can’t be like you, Deacon, someone who has no trouble letting people know exactly how you feel.”
“And why not? If you let someone know how you feel, then there are no surprises—everything’s out on the table.” He pulled into a parking lot, and she realized they were at the private airport where they kept French Kiss’s jet. He drove straight onto the tarmac, where a man was waiting to open Olivia’s door. He helped her out with a smile and then rounded the car to accept the keys from Deacon.
“When can we expect you back, sir?” he asked as Deacon discreetly handed him a tip.
“Not until Tuesday night.”
