Deacon (Unfinished Hero #4)(84)

Another badass compromise.

I pressed closer. “Works for me.”

His stopped stroking my skin, slid his hand over the cheek of my ass and in the cleft, where his middle finger rested light against me.

“This okay?”

“Yes, baby,” I whispered.

“Harder and rougher or gentler and slower?”

I closed my eyes, loving the feel of Deacon giving me anything.

I opened my eyes. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m up your ass, Cassie, it has to be what you want.”

I sighed and replied, “We could try harder and rougher, but I’d also like to try gentler and slower.”

He slid his hand back to my hip, murmuring, “You got it.”

“Deacon?” I called.

“Yeah, Cassie.”

“Thanks for letting me be me.”

His body tensed and his arm squeezed.

“I, some guys would think that I…” I stopped, swallowed, and continued. “In bed and out, bossy, independent, ornery, and what I like done to me, they’d think—”

He saved me by cutting me off. “Then good you didn’t get some guy, Cassidy. Good you found me.”

He was so right.

I turned my head and kissed his chest.

He slid his hand into my hair. “You know that goes both ways.”

I turned my head back and rested my cheek to his warm skin. “Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

That got me his body tense again and his fingers in my hair pressed into my scalp.

I felt him relax before he said, ‘You know that goes both ways, too.”

I loved him. God, I loved him. And I wanted to tell him. I was aching to tell him.

I didn’t tell him.

I bossed, “Got to sleep, Deacon.”

“Only if you go there with me, Cassidy.”

I smiled at his chest.

He slid his hand out of my hair, taking his time, then wrapped his arm around me.

And together, we fell asleep.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, I shut down my computer after dealing with bills, e-mails, bookings, and trolling websites to see if there were more travel sites where I should register Glacier Lily.

I got up, went to the kitchen, and looked out the windows to see Deacon on the porch, feet up on the railing.

I went to the door, opened it, and Bossy, who was allowed on the porch since the slats in the railings weren’t big enough for her to push through, came bounding to me.

I bent and scratched my dog, calling, “You need a drink, honey?”

“Got one,” Deacon replied.

I looked to Bossy and shoved her back a bit, saying, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I closed the door, got my cold drink, then went out to join Deacon on the porch.

I stopped dead behind his chair, seeing he had a spiral notebook he’d purloined from my desk pressed to his thigh, a pencil in his hand, and he was sketching a gazebo.

He felt my presence. I knew when he asked, “You want one like this?” He flipped the page to another sketch of gazebo. “Or like this?”

“I…uh…” For once in my life, I was at a loss for words. This was because the proof was right in front of me that Deacon could sketch and he was good at it. This was also because both gazebos were beautiful. Far more spectacular than anything I’d dreamed up in my head. One was round with gorgeous carved slats in the railings and woodwork around the edge of the roof. The other was octagon, with different but still gorgeous carved slats and roof edges.

Both would be beautiful at Glacier Lily.

Amazing.

I went to my chair, rested my booty on the arm, and looked at him.

He was looking to the notepad.

“Can you build those?” I asked.

His eyes came to me. “Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Not that tough, woman.”

He was wrong. I knew nothing of carpentry, but I knew he was wrong.

I changed the subject.

“You can sketch?”

“Anyone can sketch.”

“I can’t sketch.”

“It’s not Michelangelo.”

“It’s still awesome.”

His expression changed and I felt it. I felt the glory of it right to the heart of me.

But he said nothing.

“We get to that time, I want you to build the one you wanna build,” I said.

“Your cabins, Cassidy.”

I leaned in to him, holding his eyes, repeating soft but firm, “When we get to that time, baby, I want you to build the one you wanna build.”

He got me. I knew it. I knew it when the pad was tossed to the deck, my drink taken out of my hand and set on the deck, and my hand was seized so Deacon could tug me up, around, and over him until I was in the seat, straddling him, ass to his lap.

His hand was in my hair pulling me down, other hand at my ass.

That time, he communicated through his kiss, its depth, its gorgeousness, and its length.

In fact, we made out for ages, me in Deacon’s lap in his Adirondack chair on my porch by a river in the Colorado Mountains.

And again, I was reminded that I was finally a woman who had everything she’d ever dreamed.

And I was gleefully happy.

* * * * *