Caged (Mastered, #4)(131)
“So why the call from Maddox? He doesn’t want you to fight now?”
“Maddox knows what’s at stake. He knows I have to fight. He wants to send me to training camp here in Texas with a trainer named Vasquez, who coached Watson up until last year. If there’s anyone who can give me an edge on how to beat Watson, it’s his former trainer.”
“When would you go?”
Deacon framed her face in his hands. “That’s the thing. I wouldn’t go back to Denver with you. I’d go to Laredo.”
“Until the fight?”
“Would you have a problem with that?”
He watched her struggle with how to answer. “Just that I’ll miss you.”
“You could come with me.”
“Since I’ve been jet-setting to LA and Texas, I think you’ve forgotten I have a job. We’re gearing up to start three new major campaigns. I keep expecting my phone to ring when Amery actually looks at the schedule.”
“This is the sucky part of life with a fighter, Molly. There will be times—”
She pressed her lips to his. “I know. I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.”
“Let’s go upstairs. Sounds like I left you wanting this morning. I have an hour, two positions, and three orgasms to make up for.”
? ? ?
MOLLY didn’t like that Deacon had sprung another surprise on her.
Within a few minutes of their arrival at Barclay Country Club, Bing had whisked his son off, leaving her in a banquet room with strangers. Deacon’s mother hadn’t come over to say hello, even when she knew Molly wouldn’t know anyone.
People looked at her curiously but didn’t offer a smile in greeting.
Fuck it. She smiled at them anyway.
The finger-food buffet didn’t look appetizing, so she opted to drink her dinner. At the bar, she ordered a shot of tequila and downed it. Then she ordered a rum and Diet Coke. Drink in hand, she looked around the space, trying not to feel like the unpopular girl in the junior high lunchroom, desperate for a place to sit.
Face it. Life is like that. No matter how old you get.
Thankfully, the room had windows. So Molly was able to focus her attention outward, as if she’d never seen such an impressive expanse of green for a golf course.
Her thoughts bounced all over the place, but they always returned to her man. How he was faring since he hated this kind of social situation.
You sure he hates it? He seemed pretty damn comfortable with it.
No. Molly knew he’d rather be anywhere than here.
A feeling she was very familiar with. Especially right now.
After an hour passed, she wondered if Deacon would notice her absence if she hailed a cab and returned to the hotel.
Tempting to try it.
Needing a change of scenery, Molly slipped out the serving staff’s door. But she kept her cell phone in hand, in case she had to fake taking an important call.
Once she’d stepped into the nearly deserted hallway, she could breathe normally again. She tucked her phone into her skirt pocket and turned in the direction opposite the main entrance. Since she seemed to have all the time in the world, she peeked in the windows of the other private banquet rooms. Some were occupied and some were not. Luckily, she’d checked the name of the room she’d just left or else she might’ve gotten lost. All the faces were unfamiliar, so she wouldn’t have known if she’d stumbled into the wrong party room.
It freaked her out that the people in the rooms looked exactly the same. Women smartly dressed, makeup understated—she knew it took a ton of effort and concealer to pull off the “natural” look. The men were in sport coats, beneath that, candy-colored polo shirts that didn’t look good on any man, let alone the senior set.
Deacon had grudgingly dressed in clothing other than jeans and a T-shirt. Several pairs of appreciative female eyes had checked him out when they’d walked in. He had epitomized cool, suave, and mysterious in a light gray polo, charcoal-toned dress pants, and a black linen sport coat. He looked nothing like the other country-club clones.
She saw a tiny sign that said LADIES’ POWDER ROOM—no gauche wording like bathroom at the Barclay Country Club. After she stepped inside, she stopped.
Oh wow. This place was straight out of the 1980s, with a mauve and gray color scheme. A long countertop held an assortment of beauty items. A cushioned stool had been tucked under the counter—possibly for a powder-room attendant?
She turned a corner and discovered a lounging area. With no mirrors or sinks, it seemed a waste of space. She lowered onto the chaise and almost bounced upright again. Talk about springy. She bounced a couple more times and grinned. This could be a fun place for a quickie. If she could ever find her wayward boyfriend.
Closing her eyes, she pictured them sneaking in here—hot and wild for each other. They’d undress only enough to serve their need for instant connection and release.
She’d push Deacon on his back on the chaise. The intensity in his eyes when she rode him always got to her. Would they be mouth-to-mouth, kissing frantically, swallowing each other’s groans? Would Deacon have his big hands around her hips, guiding her movements? Or would he twine her hair through his fingers, forcing her gaze to remain on his face as he manipulated her clit?
Need surged through her. When she and Deacon were body to body, he made her feel beautiful, sexy, wanted, and loved. How she wished they could return to the hotel and shut out the world like they had this afternoon. Another curl of heat unfurled as she remembered Deacon’s near desperation to be inside her and how thoroughly he’d reminded them both of their intimate connection.