Caged (Mastered, #4)(4)

Black Bart grinned. “No kidding. You one of them ka-rah-tay chicks?”

“No. I’ve discovered I like beating the crap out of something a couple of times a week.”

“I hear ya there.” Despite Deacon’s warning growl, Black Bart stepped between them. “Say the word and I toss him out on his tattooed ass. I don’t cotton with any women being threatened in my club.”

“Our conversation got a little intense, but we’re done now.”

Deacon’s dark look said, The hell we are, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Okay. You need anything, come find me.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Deacon said softly, the menace in his tone unmistakable.

“Like you’d know how he was looking at me,” she said hotly. “You haven’t stopped glaring at me since the moment you trapped me back here.”

“Staring at you and glaring at you aren’t the same thing, darlin’, and you damn well know the difference. Especially with me.”

“My mistake. But you’re always glaring at someone. Is that MMA badass behavior? Daring someone to screw with you so you can beat the snot out of them?”

“Beat the snot out of them?” A smile curled his lips. “Babe. If I hit a guy in the nose, it ain’t snot running out.”

“Eww. Thanks for the visual.”

Deacon inched closer. “No one here knows I’m a fighter. I keep it my personal business.”

“I don’t imagine there’s much talking going on during a lap dance anyway.”

“Not usually, no.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

He shook his head. “Not done talking to you.”

“We have nothing to talk about. I ran into you at a strip club. Big deal. You’re a single guy. It’s your personal business if you pay some chick with fake boobs to grind her bony ass on your crotch.” She paused. “Does that about cover it?”

“No. That doesn’t begin to cover it.” Deacon crowded her against the wall. “You still seeing Jake, that * banker friend of Amery?”

How did Deacon know that? Moreover, why did he care?

“What about the douche bag caught your eye? The snappy suit? The nine-to-five work hours? The freakishly perfect groomed hair?”

“Maybe it’s that he didn’t stand me up for our first date,” she retorted. She gave Deacon’s shiny head a blatant once-over. “Sounds like you’re jealous of his hair, baldy.”

His eyes hardened. “Shaving my head is a choice.”

“How do I know you’re not sporting a chrome dome because otherwise you’d have a bad comb-over?”

Omigod. I cannot believe I said that. To Deacon.

Molly braced herself for his reaction.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for his mouth coming down on hers in an explosion of heat, need, and possession.

His kiss inflamed her. Head spinning, Molly fought the temptation to hold on to him for dear life—because holy buckets, his kiss packed as hard a punch as his fist. She melted into him, and that changed the tenor of the kiss from passion to sweetness.

The twining of tongues slowed, and he teased her lips with tiny nibbles and tender smooches. Then Deacon buried his face in the crook of her neck and his big body trembled. “Fuck. I knew it.”


“Knew what?” she managed.

Deacon stepped back. He didn’t act shocked or even contrite. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, and grim determination darkened his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do that. Not here, not like this. But I’m considering it a sign.”

“Of what?” My stupidity?

“That we’re gonna happen.”

The music had kicked on, so she must’ve misheard him. “What?”

“We’re gonna happen. I’ve wanted you for too damn long. I see you—I f*cking smell you—and I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried staying away from you—for your good and mine. But now that I’ve tasted that sweet mouth? No more denying this.”

“Are you always this cocky?” she demanded.

His eyebrow winged up. “You kissed me back.”

Molly blushed. Dammit. He had her there.

Admit that the man could have you anywhere. Anytime. Anyplace.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is, so you and I are never gonna happen, Deacon.”

That dangerous look settled in his eyes again. “Because a guy like me—a tattooed fighter without a college degree—ain’t good enough for you?”

“Oh, quit acting hurt. You lost that right when you pulled a no-show for our date. The only reason you want me is because you haven’t had me. Or maybe I’m more appealing to you now that I’m telling you no.” I’m not your type, Mr. VIP. Don’t make me say that out loud. This is mortifying enough.

“You sure got a mouth on you these days.” He locked his hooded gaze to hers, stalking her until her back met the concrete wall again.

“I’m glad my transformation from mousy to mouthy amuses you.”

Then his hands were on the wall beside her head. “I’m not amused. I’m proud. You should be too. You’ve come a long way, learning to stand up for yourself—verbally and physically.”