Between the Lines

Chapter 1

~Daley~

I almost forgot how good the weight of a male body on top of me could feel.

His mouth on mine, the alcohol on his tongue mixing with the lingering taste of fruit and vodka from the cocktails I drank earlier.

His hands, big and a little rough, skating over my skin and getting tangled in my hair. Exploring. Demanding.

His chest, strong and muscled and hairy, pressing against my breasts and almost making it hard to breathe in the very best way.

And his cock. Oh my God, his cock. Thick and so, so hard as it drives into me, again, and again.

And again.

His kiss muffles my cries of pleasure while my fingernails scratch uselessly at his back, doing nothing to slow his punishing pace.

I don’t want them to. I don’t want anything other than what he’s giving me right now. I shouldn’t be here but fuck it, since I am, I’m going to enjoy every last second of it.

~One hour earlier~

The bartender places a martini in front of me, a carbon copy of the one I’ve been nursing for the last twenty minutes, and I glance up at him in confusion. “I didn’t order this.”

“From the gentleman at the end of the bar,” he explains, gesturing with his head to a silver-haired man in a golf shirt who raises his glass in greeting when I look in his direction.

I incline my head in return, in what I hope passes for a graceful, elegant gesture of gratitude, before turning back to my phone.

Thanks, but no thanks, my actions attempt to convey. Please don’t come over here.

Unfortunately, the message gets lost in translation because a few seconds later, the same man slides into the empty seat next to me.

I should have chosen a busier bar, somewhere I could get lost in the crowd, but I took the easy way out and stayed in the lobby of my Las Vegas hotel.

Located on the quieter end of the Strip, dark wood seats and gleaming tabletops give a touch of class to the place in comparison to the neon lights and flashing slot machines a few steps outside the door.

The occupants of the tables and barstools look more like regulars than tourists.

It looked like a safe place for me to spend the evening while I wait for my 18-year-old son and his friends to get back from their night out.

Not yet legal drinking or gambling age, they shouldn’t be able to get in too much trouble, but I made him promise to come and find me when he got back so I’d know he was safe.

He might technically be an adult, but old habits die hard.

What I really didn’t want tonight is to be hit on by a man old enough to be my father who took a woman sitting alone to be an invitation rather than a choice.

“Business or pleasure?” the man asks, a strong smell of whiskey drifting over to me on his breath. It manages to disrupt the bitter tones of the cheap cologne he’s wearing but doesn’t improve the overall scent.

“Excuse me?” I glance up at him quickly before returning my gaze to my phone. Close up, he looks even older than he did from across the bar, easily in my 65-year-old father’s generation.

“What brings you to Vegas?” he clarifies, leaning forward onto the bar in an attempt to get my full attention. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” I clip out. “I have someone joining me any minute.”

Take the hint. Go away.

My silent messages are ignored again. “Then we have until they arrive to get to know each other.” He drains off the last of his drink before gesturing to the bartender for another one. “I’m Charles.”

It looks like I’m going to have to go with the direct approach.

With a sigh, I lower my phone and look him straight in the eye.

“Thank you for the drink, Charles, but I’m not interested in getting to know you.

I’m sure you’re a very interesting person, but I’m waiting for someone. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

A younger version of me would have been polite and carried on awkward conversation to avoid hurting his feelings before making up an excuse to leave a place that I have every right to be. 42-year-old Daley no longer has the patience.

Unfortunately, Charles not only has patience, but persistence to spare. “There’s no harm in having a chat while you’re waiting. Where are you from?”

“I’m not interested,” I repeat, enunciating each word as if he’s hard of hearing. Maybe he is? That would actually explain a lot.

“You haven’t even given me a chance.”

How many times do I have to say it? “I said no. Please go away.”

“But I…”

“She said no.”

A new voice joins our conversation and when I turn to locate its source, I find myself looking up into the face of another stranger, this one a ruggedly handsome, younger man with eyes so light they almost look grey and a trimmed beard that hugs the firm line of his jaw.

His dark brown hair manages to look both perfectly styled and enticingly soft at the same time and his dark T-shirt hugs his body in a way that makes it almost impossible not to stare.

Well, damn.

A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face when our eyes meet and my stomach flutters like a bear waking from hibernation. Is that my libido? It’s been so long since I felt it, I honestly thought it might be dead.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Our table’s ready.”

For a moment, I just stare at him, too stunned by his appearance to fully register what he said or why. I’ve never seen this man before; trust me, I would remember if I had, but he’s smiling at me as if we’ve known each other for years.

Finally, his words sink in, and I smile back at him as I realize what he’s doing.

He must have heard me tell Charles I was waiting for someone and he’s giving me an out.

I shouldn’t need an out, but if it comes down to arguing with clueless Charles or going to sit at a table with Mr Tall, Dark and Gorgeous, the choice couldn’t be easier.

“There you are.” Getting to my feet and grabbing my fresh drink, I shoot Charles the most genuine smile I can muster. “Enjoy your stay.”

The older man mumbles a bitter farewell before turning in the opposite direction, no doubt scanning the bar for his next target.

Meanwhile, the man at my side presses his hand gently to the small of my back to guide me away from the bar, and even that small touch sends an unexpected tingle through my body. Maybe I’ve had more to drink than I realized.

Or maybe it’s just been that long since any man touched me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I chide him gently as we reach a table where there’s a bottle of beer already waiting. “And I don’t want to intrude.”

“My pleasure.” His easy smile makes it seem like he really means that. “And what are you intruding on? I’m here alone and thought it would make me a bit less of a loser to drink in the bar than alone in my room. If I can have a beautiful woman join me, all the better.”

My stomach flips again when he calls me beautiful, and I laugh it off as I take the seat he offers me. “A woman who’s old enough to be your mother, you mean.”

I can almost hear my friend Jane groaning in my head as the words come out of my mouth.

She likes to tell me that I point out all my flaws before anyone gets a chance to.

In this case, though, I’m simply stating a fact.

The man across from me can’t be more than 30, and there’s no way he’s interested in me in a romantic way.

He was being nice by helping me out of an uncomfortable situation, and by stating the situation plainly, I’m making things clear for both of us.

No misunderstandings.

His eyebrows lift in surprise at my statement, and his eyes take a long, lingering journey over my body as he considers my words. My stomach somersaults from the intensity of his gaze, and I nearly roll my eyes at myself. Someone with a teenage child shouldn’t be reacting like a teenager herself.

When he completes his inspection, his eyes meet mine again. “I was raised to never ask a woman her age, but I don’t know any men with mothers who look like you.”

My cheeks flush warm, and this time, I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Since I don’t know what to say to that, I decide to introduce myself instead. “I’m Daley.”

He holds out his hand across the table. “Deacon.”

Our eyes lock as my hand slips into his. Rather than shaking it, he runs his thumb across my palm, a gesture that shouldn’t be anywhere near as intimate as it feels. My heart begins to pound, and a mirroring beat stirs much lower in my body.

What the hell is happening here?