Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(46)

“Fuck no,” he returned. “It means you phone me so I know you’re good and you’re thinkin’ of me.”

Suddenly, I was over my shock he was there and this was because I was pissed.

“So I sit at home and give you that and I get nothing?” I pushed.

“You get knowin’ it’s good for me that I know I’m on your mind.”

I had to admit, that would be a nice thing to give.

But when there’s give, there should be get.

“And what do I get?”

“Woman, if you don’t already know that you’ve been on my mind every day for the last six years, I got no clue how to communicate that to you. Now that I’ve had you, that shit has not changed. It’s just got worse.”

My back straightened and I started glaring. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he confirmed on a downward jerk of his chin. “Now it’s not every day. It’s every hour. I don’t fight it, every minute. Fuck, every second, I don’t keep it in check. Every second, I’m thinkin’ of you, thinkin’ of gettin’ shit done, but only so I can get back to you.”

That was very, very sweet.

I was still pissed.

And this was because I got nothing from him, not one thing for a month!

“You didn’t tell me that, Deacon.”

“I f*ckin’ did, Cassidy.”

“When?” I snapped.

He leaned toward me and shot back, “Every moment I was with you.”

I drew in a sharp breath.

Because in that instant, I knew he was right.

“You’re a vulnerability,” he ground out. “My vulnerability. I have no vulnerabilities. I spent years shavin’ every last one away from me so there was nothin’ left. Now I got one, a big one, and I do not give one f*ck as long as she’s in Colorado, sittin’ on her porch, waitin’ for me to get back.”

Oh my God.

“Deacon,” I whispered, but got no further because he kept going.

“But I can’t know she’s doin’ that if she doesn’t,” he leaned into me again, “phone me.”

“What if I need you?” I asked softly, his words making me no longer pissed.

“Then you phone. You hang up. You phone again. You hang up. And you phone again. You keep phonin’, Cassidy, I’ll know I’m not just on your mind, I’m needed. And I’ll phone back. But I’ll do it on my way to you.”

Oh yes.

I was no longer pissed, like at all.

It was then I stood and faced him, saying in a calming voice, “I couldn’t know this, honey.”

“Right. Then I’ll educate you,” he returned, his words still clipped, showing he could definitely get annoyed. “Those five men you had, not one of them was a man like me. A man like me, Cassidy, does not sit on a f*ckin’ chair on a f*ckin’ porch by a f*ckin’ river in the f*ckin’ Colorado Mountains and tell a woman he wants to be sittin’ right there beside her when he’s eighty if he does not mean that shit.”

I felt my chin go back into my neck as I held his gaze, doing this to fight back the emotion his words rocketed through me.

Once I succeeded, I suggested, “Maybe we should get a system down.”

The mask slipped but only for his face to darken on the words, “You’re not shot of me?”

“Of course not,” I answered. “I just…you didn’t phone back so I thought you were shot of me.”

“Here,” he growled and I blinked.

“Deacon, I’m not a big fan of—”

“Future,” he cut me off. “Assert your feminism when I’m not three seconds away from f*ckin’ you on your porch. I come to you, that’s gonna happen. You come to me, maybe it won’t.”

Maybe?

I didn’t ask that.

I asked, “So if you get your way and I come to you, you can miraculously control your base instincts?”

His reply?

“One.”

My body jerked and my brows shot together as the meaning of that word hit me.

“Are you counting down—?”

“Two.”

I planted my hands on my hips.

“You are!” I cried angrily. “You’re counting—”

“Fuck it,” he muttered, took two long strides, and I was in his arms.

Not only in his arms but his mouth was on mine and his tongue was sweeping inside.

That was when he was in my arms, seeing as I’d wrapped them around his shoulders.

The kiss was hard, it was heated, it was hungry, it was long, and it was beautiful.

Deacon ended it by shoving his face in my neck, his hand cupping the back of my head, guiding my face into his neck, his other arm holding me tight to his body.

As for me, I had one arm around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, one arm around him, forearm angled up his back.

I held tight too.

“Missed you,” I whispered into his skin.

Deacon didn’t reply, but he did. And he did by squeezing me so hard, his fingers digging into my scalp, I found it difficult to breath.

He released the pressure but still held me snug to his frame.

I turned my head and asked against the hinge of his jaw, “Have you had dinner?”