2. Brynlee
Isuck in a quick, shocked breath and accidentally inhale a cherry. The little fucker slips right down my throat and lodges there until I’m a coughing, choking mess. Deacon pounds my back like a baseball player excited for a teammate’s homerun until I manage to force up the cherry and spit it into a napkin, like the lady my mother raised me to be.
Scarlet Kingston-St. James would die if she saw what I just did.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe the tears from my eyes, pretty sure they’re there from the coughing and not the mortification. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself. “Could you repeat that?”
A slow, sexy smile stretches along Deacon’s full lips.
Why are guys always blessed with good lips and long lashes?
This man has had both since he was fifteen.
It wasn’t fair then, and it’s certainly not fair now.
“The back pounding?” That smile turns cocky and does things to me it absolutely should not. “I mean... if that’s what you’re into, I’m not gonna judge.”
Damn him, because suddenly that’s what I’d like to be into.
Any kind of pounding that involves this man sounds good to me.
I snicker to myself. Pounding. I have the sense of humor of a teenage boy.
Instead of admitting that, I cross my legs, going more for sexy and less for choking, and try to get control of my racing thoughts, like that’s possible. It may have worked, too, if Deacon’s eyes didn’t catch on my thighs while my shorts ride up on my legs. But there’s no missing the way those eyes darken as he takes in the view.
Some women may be body conscious, but I’m not one of them. I’ve trained at my father’s gym for what feels like every day of my life, and it’s given me a level of confidence that nothing else ever has. It doesn’t hurt that it’s also given me black belts in judo and Brazilian jiu jitsu. And I’m trained in Maui Thai. But I keep that to myself and gently tap him with the toe of my crossed foot. “My eyes are up here, Kane.”
“We going with last names, St. James?” He leans back against the bar, confident and relaxed and so damn sexy, as if I didn’t just hack up a cherry like a hair ball after he told me he was taking over my team two minutes ago.
My. Team.
The one I love.
The one I fought to be a respected part of.
The one I had to prove I deserved to work for.
He can’t be coaching my team.
I’d have heard about that. Wouldn’t I?
I think back to my conversation with Maddox.
Could this have anything to do with him thinking I’m being switched to the Philadelphia Kings? Maybe he misunderstood what he heard and really it was something about this.
I drag myself back to the conversation at hand and try to keep us at this teasing level before I lose my shit completely. “I don’t know. Should I be calling you Coach Kane?”
I remember watching him play when we were young.
The way he moved. Like he was one with the ice... He was beautiful.
He only got one year playing in the pros before he blew out his knee and never got back to the game. I remember reading that he took the job as an assistant coach at Boston University the following year. Thanks to poor choices by the existing head coach involving a coed, Deacon was promoted to head coach two years later. My best friends’ younger brother Nixon played for him. I guess he’s about to again.
I can’t believe my family just hired him.
Deacon has the decency to look uncomfortable for a flash of a moment before his smile slips back into place. “Not yet. It’s not official for a few more days.” He looks around us at the crowd of people. No one seems to be paying us any attention, but they’re there, and they’re definitely close enough to be hearing our conversation. “I probably shouldn’t have even mentioned it. Not here, at least.”
“Not exactly a great place to talk without getting caught,” I agree, just as a body knocks me forward. I reach out and steady myself with a hand against Deacon’s chest as a rowdy guy who smells like he’s had one too many beers spilled on him knocks into me again.
Deacon immediately shifts, pulling me against him. “Watch it, man. Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” he growls with a low, sexy voice that makes my knees weak and my panties damp.
But Deacon was always good at that.
When I was younger, I had such a crush on him.
He was big, broad, and filled out his board shorts so damn nicely. But holy hell... teenage Deacon doesn’t hold a candle to the man standing in front of me. And that voice... that growl... they just put my memories to shame because that was way hotter than it should have been.
But when the drunk guy steps up to Deacon and has to lift his head up, and up, and up a little further, just to look him in the eyes, well... yeah. I can’t control my laugh. Because Coach Kane is six six and this guy might be five eight. And where Deacon is broad with what I’d bet is very little fat on his body, this guy looks like he’s never met a beer he hasn’t slammed.
There’s no comparison.
“Whatever, asshole,” sloppy drunk mumbles loud enough for us to hear, and Deacon’s eyes go absolutely feral.
I grab the front of his shirt and stop him from taking a step toward the guy. “He’s not worth it, and you’re about to be way too high profile to be bothered by that man, Kane.”
He takes a step closer to me, essentially blocking me off from everyone else with his big body, and a chill skirts down my spine from our closeness. “He didn’t even apologize.” Deacon bends his knees to close the distance between us, bringing our faces inches apart. “He’s not a man. He’s a coward, Brynlee.”
I drop my hand and look away because suddenly this feels a little too intimate, with a man I barely know as I sit on a barstool in O’Malley’s.
I’m not sure what to do with that because I don’t think I want it to stop.
“Hey.” He lifts my chin, and the connection zings and zaps between us like an electric current. “Where’d you go there?”
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you know how big of a crush I had on you as a kid?”
When Deacon smiles this time, it’s different.
This time, it reaches the depths of his nearly navy-blue eyes.
“It was pretty hard to miss it, if you want the truth.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, then twirls it around his thick finger, and I melt... literally melt into a pile of goo.
“Oh yeah?” I ask quietly and catch my bottom lip between my teeth as he moves his face closer to mine. “You never said anything.”
“Come on, Brynlee. You were too young.” His eyes dart between mine, and he tugs that lock of hair, sending a quick hit of longing straight through me. “And when you finally weren’t too young, your dad made sure I knew in his eyes, you still were.”
Yeah... I kinda had a feeling Dad did that, based on a conversation I overheard once between him, Uncle Sam, and Uncle Becks.
I could blame what I do next on the shot of whiskey from earlier, or my extra strong margarita, but either would be a lie.
In fact, what I’m about to do is something I wanted to do every single summer we vacationed on Block Island. Something Lindy heard me babble on and on about each year.
I reach up and drag my thumb over Deacon’s bottom lip.
The one I dreamed about kissing back when I didn’t have any idea how good kissing a boy could be, let alone a man. “I’m not too young now.”
Deacon
This woman is dangerous.
Her thumb drags along my lower lip as her teeth assault her own pouty, glossed smile.
I’m not a man who wants much. But fuck ... I want her.
“Brynlee... I’m signing a contract this week to work for your family for the next five years.” I thumb her soft, silky tresses between my fingers, and swear to God, all my blood rushes to my cock.
She nods slowly with a sinful smile on her pretty face. “You are.” Her words are slow and nearly whispered in the loud bar, but there’s no missing them. “Not that they’ve told me, but I’m taking your word for it.”
Her knees brush my thigh as she leans in impossibly close.
Close enough I can smell a hint of tequila and lime on her warm breath as it pulls me in. “But did you know...” She sucks in a quick, short breath as her leg brushes gently against my erection. Wide green eyes fly to mine before they focus, and she tries to school her delicate features. Pouty pink glossed lips form the prettiest little O for a split-second before she smooths her expression. “The organization doesn’t have a no fraternization policy. They really couldn’t. My family members are masters at nepotism and fraternization.” I’m not even sure she realizes she’s laughing. “In fact, my Uncle Max married Aunt Daphne right after he promoted her from his assistant to running the Revolution’s charity foundation.”
“Is that so?” I lean my hands on either side of the bar behind her, effectively caging her in, and damn... there go those wide eyes again.
Suddenly, the fearless girl who used to follow me around is looking back at me, and the rest of the room disappears around us.
“It is,” she whispers against my lips.
Tempting me to taste her.
Teasing the strength of my restraint.
I wasn’t expecting Brynlee St. James tonight.
“You here with anyone, Brynlee?” My fingers flex tensely against the bar, the wood beneath my grasp threatening to splinter with the strength it’s taking me to resist touching her.
“No...” Her eyes dart to the side, looking around quickly. “Just a few cousins. But we’ll all find our way home. Why? Do you want to get out of here?” Something like excitement dances in her glittering emerald eyes.
“Not really my scene,” I groan back as her knee grazes my dick again.
She’s got to know what she’s doing, but if she does, she sure as hell isn’t letting on. Instead, she pulls a pink polka-dotted phone from the pocket of tiny white shorts that show off beautifully sculpted thighs. Her thumbs fly across the screen before she hops off the stool and steps into my chest.
Damn, this woman is tiny, barely coming up mid-chest.
But what she lacks in height, she’s definitely making up for in sass.
She always did.
“You ready to go, Kane?”
I flex my fingers against the bar once more in the time it takes me to make a split-second decision. Fuck. This is probably a bad idea, but for the life of me, I don’t seem to care right now.
Shy never was my thing anyway.
The little spitfire ducks down under my arm, then flips her hair and looks over her shoulder before she bats long black lashes at me. “You coming, Kane?”
Like there was ever a chance I’d say no. “Lead the way, St. James.”