I opened my mouth and shut it.
I opened it again and shut it.
I looked down at the website, taking in a big picture on the home page of a gaggle of utterly adorable German Shepherd puppies that I wanted to scoop up and cuddle. All five of them. At the same time.
I looked back to Deacon, opened my mouth again, and asked, “What’s happening?”
His brows drew together (slightly) and he stated, “I’m gettin’ you a dog.”
I shook my head and repeated, “What’s happening?”
Something shifted across his face so fast I didn’t catch it before he declared, “We’ve changed.”
He said no more.
So I pushed, “How have we changed?”
“Don’t know. Reckon we’ll find out.”
Was he crazy?
“You don’t know? You reckon we’ll just find out?”
“That’s what I said.”
My voice was pitching higher when I asked, “What does that mean?”
“After last night, we changed,” he responded immediately. “And that change can go two ways. Either I drive away and we never see each other again or I don’t and we find out what that change is gonna mean. Read down to your bones, woman, and do it now. Which way do you want that change to be?”
I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn’t blurt out which way I wanted that change to be.
That being him never driving away so I wouldn’t see him again and we find out what it was going to be.
Then he again threw me when he asked suddenly, “How many men have you had?”
“What?” I breathed.
“How many men have you taken?”
I knew what he meant but I asked for clarification anyway.
“You mean lovers?”
“Yep,” he confirmed indifferently.
“I…you…uh…” I stammered then got myself together. “Why are you asking?”
“Just answer.”
I straightened my shoulders and asked, “How many women have you had?”
“Thirty-eight.”
I blinked.
“Back at me,” he ordered.
“Five,” I whispered.
He nodded like he already knew the answer. “Right. Five. Just five. That means a woman like you would not spread your legs for a man like me if she didn’t want the cock she was taking. By that I mean a woman like you would not spread her legs for a man like me if she didn’t want to find out what bein’ with that man might mean. And you spread your legs for me.”
My eyes dropped to his throat as I muttered, “Actually, you kind of were the one doing the spreading.”
“You didn’t fight me.”
I looked back at him and agreed softly, “No.”
“So, down to your bones, Cassidy, which way do you want that change to be?”
I backtracked necessarily. “What do you mean by a man like you?”
“You know precisely what I mean.”
Okay, I had to admit, he was right. I knew exactly what that meant.
Well, not exactly exactly but I got the gist.
I clamped my mouth shut again.
He stared down at me, expressionless, distant, and not just the three feet that separated us physically.
That didn’t mean I didn’t feel his intensity.
I so totally did.
My insides squeezed when his voice came at me again, not businesslike, not casual, not commanding, but quiet and full of meaning.
“You want me to leave, I’m gone.”
He didn’t mean gone.
He meant gone.
So that was when I blurted, “Don’t. Please.”
And that was when I really felt his intensity, the force of it bearing down on me, making it hard to breathe.
And his voice was still quiet and full of meaning when he asked, “We puttin’ a deposit down on a dog tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I stated immediately, crazily, and down to my bones I knew foolishly, hopefully, and last…inevitably.
Because I knew down to my bones that the feeling I’d been damming all morning would eventually break free and eviscerate me. Just as I knew down to my bones I couldn’t bear a life of longing for him, wondering how it could have been if he gave me what he was offering right at that moment.
The chance to get in.
These thoughts were fleeting and that was good because I only had time for fleeting thoughts.
I barely finished my “yes” before his hands were at my jaw like they were earlier that morning, tipping my head back. But the change was that his mouth slammed down on mine.
I parted my lips and his tongue slid inside.
That was when a moan drifted up my throat and into his mouth as I lifted my hands and curled them into his shirt at the sides of his waist, holding on as he kissed me with a ferocity that made me dizzy.
I tried to kiss him back the same way but I wasn’t sure I succeeded before he tore his mouth from mine but didn’t let go. He didn’t step back. He didn’t retreat.
He stayed right there, my eyes opening to see his burning into me, and he kept hold of my gaze as he rested his forehead against mine.
That was sweet. Unbelievably sweet. Unbearably sweet from John Priest/Deacon Whoever, and being me, I processed it at once. I allowed myself to feel the fullness of that sweetness, that affection, that beauty he was giving to me because I knew down to my bones he didn’t give it elsewhere. I knew down to my bones he didn’t have it in him to give it unless it meant something. And I knew down to my bones that nothing meant anything to John Priest/Deacon Whoever.
Except me.
“Do you want lunch?” I whispered.
And instantly, he gave me more.
I watched up close as his eyes started smiling.
I’d been right all those years ago. His eyes had the power to make you feel what he was feeling. Cold to your soul. Or warm in a way you’d never again feel a chill.
And that was how I felt right then with Deacon’s eyes smiling into mine.
Like I’d never feel cold again.
Like I’d feel warm and right and whole and connected and safe.
Forever.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
I pushed my forehead into his, forcing him to allow me to slide it to the side, down his cheek so I could roll up on my toes and shove my face in his neck.
He moved his hands as I did this, one going to curl around the back of my neck, the other one sifting into my hair to cup the back of my head.
I simply continued to clutch his shirt.
And standing there, holding each other like that, nonverbally, as Deacon was prone to be, we sealed a deal that elated and terrified me.
I opened it again and shut it.
I looked down at the website, taking in a big picture on the home page of a gaggle of utterly adorable German Shepherd puppies that I wanted to scoop up and cuddle. All five of them. At the same time.
I looked back to Deacon, opened my mouth again, and asked, “What’s happening?”
His brows drew together (slightly) and he stated, “I’m gettin’ you a dog.”
I shook my head and repeated, “What’s happening?”
Something shifted across his face so fast I didn’t catch it before he declared, “We’ve changed.”
He said no more.
So I pushed, “How have we changed?”
“Don’t know. Reckon we’ll find out.”
Was he crazy?
“You don’t know? You reckon we’ll just find out?”
“That’s what I said.”
My voice was pitching higher when I asked, “What does that mean?”
“After last night, we changed,” he responded immediately. “And that change can go two ways. Either I drive away and we never see each other again or I don’t and we find out what that change is gonna mean. Read down to your bones, woman, and do it now. Which way do you want that change to be?”
I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn’t blurt out which way I wanted that change to be.
That being him never driving away so I wouldn’t see him again and we find out what it was going to be.
Then he again threw me when he asked suddenly, “How many men have you had?”
“What?” I breathed.
“How many men have you taken?”
I knew what he meant but I asked for clarification anyway.
“You mean lovers?”
“Yep,” he confirmed indifferently.
“I…you…uh…” I stammered then got myself together. “Why are you asking?”
“Just answer.”
I straightened my shoulders and asked, “How many women have you had?”
“Thirty-eight.”
I blinked.
“Back at me,” he ordered.
“Five,” I whispered.
He nodded like he already knew the answer. “Right. Five. Just five. That means a woman like you would not spread your legs for a man like me if she didn’t want the cock she was taking. By that I mean a woman like you would not spread her legs for a man like me if she didn’t want to find out what bein’ with that man might mean. And you spread your legs for me.”
My eyes dropped to his throat as I muttered, “Actually, you kind of were the one doing the spreading.”
“You didn’t fight me.”
I looked back at him and agreed softly, “No.”
“So, down to your bones, Cassidy, which way do you want that change to be?”
I backtracked necessarily. “What do you mean by a man like you?”
“You know precisely what I mean.”
Okay, I had to admit, he was right. I knew exactly what that meant.
Well, not exactly exactly but I got the gist.
I clamped my mouth shut again.
He stared down at me, expressionless, distant, and not just the three feet that separated us physically.
That didn’t mean I didn’t feel his intensity.
I so totally did.
My insides squeezed when his voice came at me again, not businesslike, not casual, not commanding, but quiet and full of meaning.
“You want me to leave, I’m gone.”
He didn’t mean gone.
He meant gone.
So that was when I blurted, “Don’t. Please.”
And that was when I really felt his intensity, the force of it bearing down on me, making it hard to breathe.
And his voice was still quiet and full of meaning when he asked, “We puttin’ a deposit down on a dog tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I stated immediately, crazily, and down to my bones I knew foolishly, hopefully, and last…inevitably.
Because I knew down to my bones that the feeling I’d been damming all morning would eventually break free and eviscerate me. Just as I knew down to my bones I couldn’t bear a life of longing for him, wondering how it could have been if he gave me what he was offering right at that moment.
The chance to get in.
These thoughts were fleeting and that was good because I only had time for fleeting thoughts.
I barely finished my “yes” before his hands were at my jaw like they were earlier that morning, tipping my head back. But the change was that his mouth slammed down on mine.
I parted my lips and his tongue slid inside.
That was when a moan drifted up my throat and into his mouth as I lifted my hands and curled them into his shirt at the sides of his waist, holding on as he kissed me with a ferocity that made me dizzy.
I tried to kiss him back the same way but I wasn’t sure I succeeded before he tore his mouth from mine but didn’t let go. He didn’t step back. He didn’t retreat.
He stayed right there, my eyes opening to see his burning into me, and he kept hold of my gaze as he rested his forehead against mine.
That was sweet. Unbelievably sweet. Unbearably sweet from John Priest/Deacon Whoever, and being me, I processed it at once. I allowed myself to feel the fullness of that sweetness, that affection, that beauty he was giving to me because I knew down to my bones he didn’t give it elsewhere. I knew down to my bones he didn’t have it in him to give it unless it meant something. And I knew down to my bones that nothing meant anything to John Priest/Deacon Whoever.
Except me.
“Do you want lunch?” I whispered.
And instantly, he gave me more.
I watched up close as his eyes started smiling.
I’d been right all those years ago. His eyes had the power to make you feel what he was feeling. Cold to your soul. Or warm in a way you’d never again feel a chill.
And that was how I felt right then with Deacon’s eyes smiling into mine.
Like I’d never feel cold again.
Like I’d feel warm and right and whole and connected and safe.
Forever.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
I pushed my forehead into his, forcing him to allow me to slide it to the side, down his cheek so I could roll up on my toes and shove my face in his neck.
He moved his hands as I did this, one going to curl around the back of my neck, the other one sifting into my hair to cup the back of my head.
I simply continued to clutch his shirt.
And standing there, holding each other like that, nonverbally, as Deacon was prone to be, we sealed a deal that elated and terrified me.
