Caged (Mastered, #4)(64)
Molly slid the safety chain back on and opened the door as far as it’d allow, but she stayed out of his line of sight. “Deacon, I’m fine. I’m having a home spa day. Painting my toenails, conditioning my hair.”
No response. Then, “That gunk is conditioning your face, too?”
Don’t beat your head into the door. “It’s a mask.”
“You’re beautiful. Why would you need to wear a mask?”
“Now you’re just being”—sweet, damn you—“obtuse.”
“Whatever that means.”
Be nice, Molly. “Why are you here?”
Deacon slid his big hand in the opening, curling his fingers around the door. “I don’t like not seeing you every day.”
“In other words . . . you missed me.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” His fingers tightened on the door. “I’m tired of talking through this damn crack. Let me in.” He paused. “Please.”
So much for her personal spa day.
“I’ll let you in only if you don’t make fun of me.”
“Tall order, but I’ll try my best.”
As soon as he moved his hand, she opened the door.
But the second he crossed the threshold, she slapped her hand on his chest. She wrinkled her nose. His shirt was soaked clear through. “Deacon. You reek.”
“Well, yeah. I just got done training.”
“And you didn’t think you should go home and shower before you showed up unannounced at my door?”
“I needed to see you. I didn’t think. I just drove.” He leaned forward, like he wanted to kiss her, but his eyes were wary, scrutinizing the clay mask.
Molly grinned and smashed her lips to his. And yeah, maybe a little bit of the clay crumbled onto his face as she kissed him.
“You’ve got a mean streak, babe,” he said when they came up for air.
“Mmm-hmm. I’m going to wash my face. Then you’ll scrub the stench off in the shower while I put another coat of paint on my toes.” Her gaze dropped to his gym bag. “You have clean clothes in there?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She drilled her finger into his chest. “Do not sit your sweaty self on my couch or I will kick your butt.”
Deacon wrapped his hand beneath her jaw and held her in place while he ravaged her mouth. Then, after he finished blowing all her circuits, he pressed his forehead to hers, heedless of the mask. “I like this. I like us together. I’ve gotten used to it and missed it when I didn’t have it. So I came over.”
“So you’re not here just to f*ck me senseless?”
“Babe. I’ve told you it’s more than that between us. When are you gonna believe it?” He paused. “Ah, hell. Do I have to keep my hands off you for a couple of days to prove it?”
“God, no. I like us together out of bed too. I just didn’t want to overwhelm you by expecting we’ll spend weekends together.”
“Everything about you overwhelms me, so it’s too late for that,” he said softly. “And I’m really f*cking sick of spending my weekends alone.”
“Me too.”
“Good. I’ve got plans for us as soon as you get that dirt off your face and I get cleaned up.”
“What kind of plans?”
“There’s some flower show, farmers’ market thing at the Botanical Gardens. I thought we could stroll around. See what’s what, since you like flowers and shit.”
Flowers and shit. She fought a grin.
“Oh, and I used all the tickets we won from last night and got this for you.” He dug in his bag and handed her a box.
“For me?” Molly grinned so widely more clay crumbled from her face. She tore open the end of the box and tipped the object into her hand. Her heart clenched at seeing the retro, miniature black cat with a curved plastic tail, complete with oversized cat eyes that moved back and forth with every tick of the clock centered in the cat’s belly. A larger version of this clock had hung in Grams’s dining room for as long as she could remember.
“I saw you looking at the one in your grandma’s house when you walked through the last time. I thought about stealing it for you, but I figured your * cousins would get pissy and blame you. I saw this last night and . . . figured it’d be the next best thing.”
She swallowed hard, completely undone by Deacon’s sweetness. No one had ever taken such care and consideration in giving her a gift. “It is perfect. Thank you.”
Molly knew right then she could totally fall in love with this man.
? ? ?
THE look on Molly’s face when Deacon strolled into kickboxing class on Tuesday night was priceless.
Surprise, babe.
He surveyed his students. Then he grinned. “Miss me?”
A loud chorus of no’s rang out.
“Aw, now my little feelings are hurt. And if I hurt, you hurt. Push-ups. We’ll start with twenty.”
“Start with?” a young guy he’d never seen before repeated.
Liv elbowed him and shook her head.
“You’re right, newb. Twenty ain’t near enough. Forty.”
No one dared complain.
“And, ladies, none of those ‘on your knees’ girl push-ups. Everyone does everything the same in my class unless I say differently. Drop to plank position.” He wandered between the rows, making them hold plank, just for fun. “And . . . go.”