Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Oh, my God, I’m a complete and utter slut.
So much for making him work for it. She would have dropped her panties right there in his living room after the orgasm he’d given her.
Her face heated. How would she survive this?
She was supposed to resist, be strong—instead she’d wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed up against him like a dog in heat until she got off.
Martin was waiting for them by the Mercedes when they came down from the apartment.
He stepped forward as they approached and opened the door for her, which made her feel uncomfortable.
Since when did a mechanic’s son, who’d spent half his life in coveralls with grease on his hands, need someone to open his damn door?
She looked at Deacon, who still had hold of her hand even though she’d tried to wrench her fingers free from his grasp several times. “Why the hell do you need a chauffeur?”
She heard Martin chuckle under his breath as she climbed in. “Shit, sorry, Martin.”
Martin winked and went around to take the driver’s seat.
Deacon slipped an arm around her waist and slid her closer to him in the backseat.
“Martin’s driving us tonight so I can focus all my attention on you.
” His hand took hers and then rested them on his solid, warm thigh.
The muscle beneath jumped and things down below started to fire up all over again.
She tried to slide her hand out from under his.
“Give it up, Alex. I’m not letting you go.”
Great. She needed some distance, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
And sitting here, plastered together, while his fingers lightly stroked her waist was starting to get her all hot and bothered.
“So, who are these old farts we’re meeting tonight?
” It was the unsexiest thing she could think of in that moment.
He smiled, all masculine gorgeousness. And dammit, that set off some more happy tingles down south. The guy had a killer smile, always had, and he knew how to use it.
“What makes you think Jarrod’s an old fart?”
“Aren’t all you business types a pack of premature-aging stuffed suits?” She congratulated herself when his eyes narrowed at her.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against her ear. Did he know how much she loved when he kissed her there, how much it affected her? “You’ll pay for that when we get back to my place. I can’t wait to get you out of that dress.”
She swallowed hard and turned to look out the window.
All the witty comebacks she’d had swirling in her head went poof, vanished into thin air with those huskily spoken words.
She squeezed her thighs together, the tingles upping their assault, and squirmed in her seat.
Deacon’s soft laugh drifted over her, like he could read her mind, like he knew exactly how much she wanted him despite her attempts to convince him otherwise. Arrogant prick. She swiveled around and socked him in the arm.
“Hey.” He held up both hands. “What was that for?”
He rubbed at his shoulder, and his bottom lip popped out. And all she could think was that she wanted to lean in and suck on it, lick it. Dammit. If mind bleach was a thing, she’d totally wash him from her memories. Erase the day she’d ever laid eyes on Deacon West.
“Just stop acting like an ass. And FYI, you can’t pull off cute, so stick your lip back in.”
He reached down and squeezed her ass. “Fine, I’ll stick with what I do best.”
Hand finally free, she quickly crossed her arms so he couldn’t get hold of it again. He shrugged and rested his big, warm hand high on her thigh instead. That was so much worse. She made a note for future reference.
When they got to the restaurant, Deacon took hold of her hand again as soon as she stepped out of the car. This time she didn’t try to pull free—there was no use, and besides, the jerk would probably grab her ass as an alternative.
But that wasn’t the only reason, and though she’d never admit it to him, she was nervous about meeting these bigwig business types.
What could she possibly have to talk about with people like that?
The only thing she knew about were cars, and she doubted the suits Deke hung with had the first clue what was under the hood of their expensive sports cars, let alone could dream of getting grease under their manicured fingernails.
The woman at the door led them to the back of the room. The only person there was a guy about Deke’s age.
“Jarrod,” Deacon said and walked straight over to him.
She should have guessed. He was all suited up the same. They looked like a couple of Ken dolls in their dark suits and slicked-back hair. “Good to see you.”
Jarrod took his hand in a firm shake. “Glad you could make it.”
Deacon slid his arm around her waist. “This is Alex.”
Jarrod took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. “Lovely to meet you, Alex.” He gave her a crooked grin, one she suspected got a lot of women to drop their panties, and pressed his lips to her skin. Yeah, he was a good-looking guy, but she suspected he knew it, too.
“You, too.” She pulled her hand free, and his grin upped in wattage.
They took their seats, and the guys started talking. Which was pretty much how it continued for the next hour.
All in all, the evening was going better than she’d thought it would.
They mainly ignored her while they talked business.
And since she had no clue what they were going on about, or why Deacon had bothered to bring her in the first place, she spent the time people watching and enjoying the free food and alcohol.
“So, what do you do, Alex?”
It took her a moment to realize Jarrod was talking to her. It seemed the business portion of dinner was over. This should be good. She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m a mechanic. Me and Deke’s sisters own a garage on Axle Alley.”
Deacon shifted beside her but said nothing, while Jarrod stared at her like he was waiting for the punch line. When she kept her trap shut and he realized there wasn’t one coming, he shook off his stupor and served up his panty-dropping smile again. “Wow. That’s an unusual occupation for a woman.”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Besides the run-of-the-mill, bread-and-butter stuff, we want to eventually specialize in classic car restoration. We’ve done a few already, and we’ve got several more big jobs lined up.”
Deacon turned to her. “Do you?”
“Yeah.”
Before he could ask any more questions, Jarrod cut in. “I actually have a car that needs work. Maybe I should bring it in, see what you can do?”
The conversation turned to cars, which she’d happily talk about all night, and by the time she’d finished telling Deacon’s business associate what they could do for him, another hour had passed. Deacon had barely said a word in all that time.
Was he pissed at her for hijacking his dinner?
When Jarrod asked her another question, Deke dropped a hand on her shoulder and cut in. “It’s getting late. I think we’ll call it a night.”
“Right. I hadn’t realized the time.” Jarrod turned back to her. “We should do this again sometime. You’re so passionate about what you do. I could listen to you talk about it all night.” He didn’t even glance at Deke when he said it. Oops.
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
Deacon grabbed her hand and stood abruptly. “Okay.
See you next Wednesday, Jarrod.” Then he strode through the restaurant, towing her behind him. Keeping up in four-inch heels was no easy task, not when she was used to wearing steel-toed boots.
She tugged on his hand. “Slow the hell down, or I’ll fall on my ass.”
He did as she asked but didn’t look back at her. When they hit the street, he called Martin, asked him to pick them up, then stared silently ahead, jaw like granite.
After a few minutes the silence became unbearable.
“What the hell’s your problem?” she said to his steely profile, though she thought she had a good idea.
He scowled down at her. “Are you serious?”
She gave him her best what-the-hell-crawled-up-your—ass expression and crossed her arms, needing space. “Yeah, I’m serious.”
He didn’t take the hint and stepped closer. “You really don’t know what my problem is?” His voice had gone all deep and growly.
And of course, as always when he got like this, her happy places got a whole lot happier. Which was insane and just plain wrong. She ignored her aching nipples and the pulse between her thighs and fired back, “No. But you’re acting like a dick.”
“I may as well not have been in the room, that’s what my problem is. You were all over fucking Jarrod Prescott like cheap perfume.”
She lurched back. “Me? All over Jarrod?”
His nostrils flared when she said the other man’s name.
“Like plastic wrap,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Jesus, you’re acting like I jumped in his lap and took a ride on the guy’s disco stick.
We were talking business, Deacon. Just like you did before me.
That job could be worth a lot of money, and anyway, you had no problem ignoring me while you two talked about whatever the hell you were droning on about. ”
He thrust a hand in his hair—the slicked-back look was gone, and his hair fell over his forehead, the way she liked it.
“We have a deal, Alex. You don’t sleep with anyone but me. If you want to renege, fine, I’ll call the valuers tomorrow and reschedule.”
She winced inwardly. “You wouldn’t.”
He wrapped his fingers around her biceps. “Try me.”
A red haze clouded her vision. Was he for real?
“When did you become such a raging asshole? No, really, I want to know. Do you think I’m some mindless skank who’ll fuck anything with an available dick?
That I’m so desperate, a guy only has to talk to me, show me a tiny bit of attention, and I’ll jump into bed with him? ”
“Alex.”
She ignored the warning in his voice and shoved at his chest. The bastard wouldn’t let her go. She shoved again, struggled to get away. He grabbed her wrists, trapping them between their bodies, pulling her in even closer.