CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amelia
I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life. Not only is Deacon doing me this huge favor, but he’s doing it in his spare time and going the extra mile to make sure everything’s ready to go ahead of time.
I’m not an afterthought or a chore. He’s treating this favor and this project like it’s something he wants to do for me.
Who knew such thoughtfulness would be such a turn-on? Not me.
Probably because I’ve never experienced this level of care and attention from any man I’ve dated ever before.
Deacon just keeps beating my previous standards and expectations.
And the way he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him, so authoritatively, but also gently, sends a thrill through my whole body before his lips even touch mine.
The kiss is deep and passionate, and it’s only the center console between us that keeps it from becoming a whole lot more than kissing.
“I should get that wood?” Deacon says against my lips like it’s a question. And as much as I want to suggest we forget the wood and spend the day in bed, I really do need this cat gym.
This morning, Marmalade climbed the curtains in Harper’s room and brought them down along with the rod. Harper was so upset, both over the loss of her favorite curtains and her fear that Marmalade had hurt himself, I almost called in sick to work.
As soon as her grandmother showed up to take her to the park, she forgot all about her curtains and skipped off to spend the day with her grandparents.
Somehow, we had more officers scheduled today than we needed, and I was the lucky one who got to come home early. I suspect Shaleigh is already assuming I’m going to get that scholarship and she’s looking to replace me.
I’m going to have to talk to her about that on Tuesday. I did finally apply for the scholarship, but I won’t find out if I got it until the end of next month, and I won’t start classes until January. I need this job until then, and I especially need this job if I don’t get the scholarship.
“We should get that wood,” I say, my lips only a breath away from his.
Neither of us moves for several long seconds. I don’t want to move, don’t want to stop breathing in his spicy scent and his warmth. Don’t want to burst this bubble of happiness and lust I’m in.
Finally, I drag myself away from him and open my door. “Let’s get moving.”
“Right,” he says, sounding even more reluctant than I feel.
But he hops out of the truck and strides toward the garage.
“So,” I say, taking a moment to appreciate the two-story, Victorian-style home. “This is where you live.”
“For now,” he says. “It’s my brother’s house. We’re all living here until we have the time to find our own places.”
“All? You and Cash?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yep. And my three other brothers.”
I take in the house with renewed interest. The house is nice, but it’s not huge. I’d guess there aren’t more than three bedrooms. “There are five of you living here?”
He chuckles. “It’s tight. And definitely testing the strength of our brotherhood.”
“I can’t imagine living like this with my siblings. My brother is sweet, but he’s never learned to pick up after himself, and my sister would have fifty friends over every day. We’d probably kill each other.”
“Give us a couple of months,” he says as he hits a button and the garage door rises. “We might get there.”
“I think it’s sweet. You all work together, right? Sullivan brothers is, I’m assuming, all of you.”
“Except for two older brothers who live out of state.” He heads into the garage, and I follow. “I expect we’ll see more of them when our parents move up here.”
“Your parents are moving here, too?” I ask. “You really are close.”
“Here’s the wood,” he says, clearly wanting to change the subject.
I get it. He doesn’t want to talk about his family.
And I should have left it alone, because I definitely don’t want to talk about mine.
He’s got the wood, already cut and sanded, in neat piles in the back of the garage.
“Wow,” I say. “This must have taken you all night.”
“Nah. I work fast. I’ve been doing this stuff for years.”
I’m almost positive he’s lying, since he won’t meet my eyes and the back of his neck is turning red, but I leave it alone. We’re just supposed to be about having fun. There’s no relationship here.
Even if this man, who’s not my boyfriend, is shaping up to be the best boyfriend I’ve ever had.
Together, we load wood and tools into the back of his truck. He lets me help, but insists on carrying the heaviest things himself.
He’s oddly quiet as we drive to my house, so I flick on the radio and set it to my favorite station.
He glances over at me, brows high. “What is this?”
“Blues and jazz,” I say. “Have you never heard it before?”
He smiles. “Not really what I listen to. I didn’t take you for a fan of old-timey music.”
I snort. “It’s not old-timey. There are plenty of blues and jazz musicians who are younger than us and making great music.”
He looks unconvinced. “Really?”
“Okay, maybe not plenty, but there are some. It’s a genre that’s alive and well.”
“And how’d you get into it?”
I smile at the memory. “I had to transport a cat to the veterinary clinic in Roanoke because he had an injury the local vets couldn’t handle.
I had his carrier in the front passenger seat, rather than in the back, because we weren’t even sure he’d survive the trip.
The way he yowled was just heartbreaking, and the only time he stopped was when I turned to this station.
Two hours of listening, and I was hooked.
It’s the only station I listen to anymore. ”
“Do you go to the jazz and blues festival in Cloud’s Bay?”
“No. It’s kind of hard to go to music festivals with a—” Thankfully, I manage to stop myself before I finish that sentence and reveal that I have a daughter. “With a job that requires weekend hours.”
He doesn’t seem to have noticed my near slip. I have got to be more careful and stop lowering my guard around him.
“Right,” he says. “That’s too bad.”
“I take it you aren’t a fan?” I ask as he backs into my driveway and parks next to my car.
“I’ve never really given it a chance,” he says. “I listen to whatever’s on the pop station. I like a dancey tune.” His grin is so delighted that I can totally picture him on a dance floor. I bet he’s a great dancer.
We carry everything into my sunroom, and Deacon starts locating studs and putting pencil marks on my walls.
I watch from the doorway, enjoying brief glimpses of bare skin every time his shirt rides up past his waistband. He has a very nice back and broad shoulders. I really wish I hadn’t stopped at the kiss in his truck.
“Amelia?”
I look up to see him smirking at me over his shoulder. Caught! I was totally studying his very fine ass.
“Yes?” My cheeks are on fire.
His smirk grows bigger and morphs into a smug smile.
And he’s still gorgeous.
Ugh. He’s way too perfect to be standing in my house looking at me this way.
“Will you help me hold this board up?”
I hurry over and stand where he tells me. I hold the board in place while he screws in one end of it against the wall. “This is going to hold up a shelf Marmalade can use to climb higher or just sit on and hang out.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
He comes over to the other end of the board, and I start to step out of the way.
“Don’t move,” he says. “Keep holding up the board.”
With his arms on either side of me, the front of his body pressed along the back of mine, he quickly screws the board to the wall.
When the board is secure, he doesn’t move away from me. He lowers the drill to the floor and is back against me in a moment.
He presses featherlight kisses against my neck and jaw.
“I’m having a hard time concentrating on what I’m doing with you in the room,” he says, his voice husky.
“Want me to leave?”
“Nope,” he says. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I say, the word dragging out into a moan as he presses harder against me. "Please don’t stop.”
He smiles against my hyper-sensitized skin. I’m so alive to every touch, every sensation, and I just want more.
“We should have sex,” I say.
He chuckles against my neck, even as his hips flex, pressing his hardness against me. “I love the way you think.”
I try to spin in his arms, but he won’t budge. He just keeps pressing kisses along my neck. He lifts my hair and kisses along the hem of my shirt.
Again, I try to move, my whole body aching for more, but he still won’t let me.
“There’s no rush,” he says.
But it feels like there’s a rush. As a single mother to a four-year-old, my whole life is a constant rush. I get few moments to myself, and even when I do, they’re often interrupted.
I do not want this moment to be interrupted. “I want to kiss you.”
Finally, he gives me enough space to turn, but he doesn’t meet my mouth with his own. Instead, he drops to his knees, lifts my shirt, and kisses my belly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m taking my time” His voice is rough, raw, and so damn sexy. “Enjoying every inch of you.”
No man I’ve dated has ever bothered with this much foreplay before. “That’s very sweet, but I really don’t need any help to get in the mood. I’m already there.”
He looks up at me, his eyes dancing with amusement. “This isn’t for you. It’s for me.”
My knees nearly give out. What is it about that selfish sentiment that makes me feel like the most desirable woman on the planet? I don’t know, but I want more.
“Bed,” I say on a gasp as he reaches under my shirt and unhooks my bra. “We should go to my bed.
“We’ll get there. Now, take off your shirt, please.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, but I have never stood in a room bright with artificial light and gotten naked. When I was married, we always had sex in a bed, in the dark of night. Like normal people.
“You want me to get naked right here?” My voice shakes, and I have to admit, self-conscious as I am, a thrill rolls through me at the thought.
“I want that more than anything else in the world at the moment, Amelia.”
And there’s no way I can deny this man when he’s looking up at me like he means every word. Only slightly shaky, I pull my shirt over my head and let my bra fall to the floor.
The way his eyes heat and his gaze becomes reverent as it moves over me removes any hint of lingering self-consciousness.
He runs his hands over me, palming each of my breasts and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. I make a sound I’ve never made before, and I don’t care if it’s weird. What he’s doing feels too good.
He kisses his way up to my breasts and presses light kisses to each of my nipples before dropping back to his knees and putting a hand on the waistband of my jeans. The question in his expression is clear, and my self-consciousness returns.
“You’re still dressed,” I say.
He leans back and pulls his shirt over his head. He’s leanly muscled with smooth, tanned skin. I run my hands over his toned pecs, but he grins at me, lifting my hands away. “It’s not your turn yet.”
“Who decided you get to make all the rules?”
“I like to be in charge of the fun, to make sure everyone’s having a good time. Don’t you want to have a good time?”
I definitely do want to have fun, and his charm is irresistible, but… “How can you be so sure you know what kind of fun I like?”
His eyes sparkle with mirth. “Let’s make a deal. We do things my way this first time, with the caveat that if you ask me to stop at any time I will, and next time you can decide who gets to make the rules.”
The fact that he’s running his thumbs over my nipples as he speaks does nothing to help me form a reasonable argument. Not to mention, I’m curious to know what he wants to do when he’s making the rules.
Even so, it’s not easy for me to give in. “You’ll stop immediately if I don’t like something you’re doing?”
“Of course,” he says. “I’m not interested in doing anything you don’t like.”
“Okay. You can have your way with me. This time.”