Chapter Eleven
Excitement swirled low in Hannah’s belly. Outside her window, the city of Nashville passed by in a kaleidoscope of neon lights and highway sounds, but it was the inside of the limo—or rather, the man seated beside her in the back seat—that had her heart pounding.
Deacon’s hand gripped her thigh, just above her kneecap, and his nimble fingers flexed and kneaded her skin. They hadn’t spoken since they left the Opry, and each set of passing headlights illuminated a look of possession on his face. It was another trick of the light, obviously, mixed with her fanciful imagination. But it thrilled her just the same.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her breathless voice piercing the strange mood that had fallen between them. Did that sound as husky as I think it did?
Deacon’s gaze flicked to hers. “The Hermitage,” he answered quietly, his eyes seeming to gauge her reaction. “We have a room there for the night.”
“Oh.”
Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say…but it hadn’t been that.
Nodding, she let the information settle over her, pursing her lips and then rolling them over her teeth, and tried her best to rein in her imagination. She’d made the mistake of letting it run free in the past and had ended up hurt and disappointed. What she needed was a bit of clarification.
“Cool. So, um, is everyone getting a room tonight? Or just…you know, you and me?”
“Just us,” he confirmed, and Hannah nodded again before looking straight ahead.
The bus probably had an electrical issue. That was why they couldn’t sleep there tonight. Most likely the air conditioning or the hot water. Maybe even the plumbing. If any of those things were to conk out, it would definitely suck. Only, if that were the case, then Sherry and Tyler and the kids would need rooms, too.
Okay, so a problem with the bus was out. But something else for sure.
Maybe…err…well, possibly…nope.
She had nothing.
As she continued to ponder away, Deacon’s fingers slid ever so slightly higher up her leg. When they disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt, flirting with the sensitive skin along the inside of her thigh, Hannah’s breath caught.
Did he realize where his hand was? Should she say something, or simply enjoy it?
Then his fingertips began tracing a series of slow, tight circles along her skin, causing her entire body to clench, and a low moan/hum vibrated her throat.
There was no imagining that.
“I’m not expecting anything, Cherry,” Deacon murmured, and she looked up from where she’d been staring a hole into her dress—or, rather, where his hand had disappeared beneath it. His eyes were open and earnest on hers. “We can get room service and spend the night sleeping in a big, comfortable bed if you want. If you’d rather, I can even ask the driver to turn around and head back to the bus, and we can pretend none of this ever happened. Or.” His hooded gaze dropped to her mouth. “We can go up to the room, close the door, and finish what we started the other night.”
Hannah’s mouth tumbled open.
Well, hell. There was no stopping her runaway imagination now.
If she were honest, she’d thought she had sensed a change in him during the performance, but she’d been wrong so many times before. Even after the final song, when she’d headed backstage with Sherry and Arabella, and took turns with everyone else congratulating the newly engaged couple, she’d felt Deacon’s eyes on her. Arabella’s dad had passed around flutes of champagne, and while the guys teased Charlie for being nervous, and the girls made plans to go dress hunting in New York, she’d snuck glances in his direction, too.
She couldn’t put a finger on how or why it happened, but something major had shifted. The look in Deacon’s eyes when he watched her now wasn’t the same one he’d had yesterday. Or the day before that, or the year before that. It was sharper, more curious, and it had a delicious, jagged edge.
After the toasts had ended, he’d come up behind her and whispered that he wanted to take her somewhere. Even without the new look in his eyes, there wasn’t even an option of telling him no.
She’d follow him anywhere.
Turning onto her hip, Hannah curved her hand around Deacon’s jaw. The bristles of his neatly trimmed beard softly abraded her skin, and she stared into his eyes as she admitted, “There’s nothing in the world I want more than to be alone with you tonight. I’ve wanted this for a long time. So long that the longing feels like it’s a part of me.”
Deacon inhaled sharply as a muddled mix of emotions washed over his face. “I want it too, baby.” He lowered his forehead to hers and swallowed. “I think I may’ve wanted it for longer than I’ve admitted to myself.”
A shocked laugh bubbled up her throat, but still, Hannah was almost afraid to believe it. How many times had she imagined him saying those very words? How many times had she woken up with her sheets twisted and mangled around her legs, and Deacon’s voice ringing in her ears, only to realize it had been another dream? Too many to count. But this time, cinnamon-scented breath coasted across her cheek, and a hot hand was branding her thigh. Her imagination had never felt so vivid before.
Just to be sure, though, Hannah pinched the inside of her forearm hard—then giggled when it stung like a bitch.
Her eyes swam with emotion. What do you do when you finally get the one thing you’ve always wanted? How do you react when the person you’ve wished for, thought about, and prayed over for ten long years was suddenly right in front of you, looking at you the way you’d always wanted him to see you, finally wanting you back?
As it turned out, the answer was easy.
You grabbed hold and started making up for lost time. Immediately.
With a flick of her hand, Hannah’s seat belt fell away. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she pushed up onto her knees and lifted the skirt of her A-line dress, climbing over Deacon’s lap as soft pants of breath fell from her lips. Green-gray eyes widened as he gripped her hips, and she nestled her legs on either side of him.
Deacon glanced at the privacy panel obscuring their driver’s view. “Cherry…”
His roughened voice trailed away as she dragged a lone fingernail down the long row of pearl buttons on his shirt. It was fitted, black, and designer, chosen for the stage, and he looked good enough to eat in it. Like a modern-day Johnny Cash. But no shirt in the history of shirts could compare with the sight of Deacon’s bare skin.
Over the years, Hannah had covertly coveted that skin—whenever he cut the grass for her parents, bare-chested and gleaming in the sun, or they went swimming in Lake Norman, beads of water clinging to his pecs. But she’d always forced her gaze away, never wanting to risk getting caught ogling. She’d certainly never allowed herself to touch. Now, she could do both.
Eager fingers set to work, unhooking buttons, and the hard knot in Deacon’s throat bobbed. “I want you, Hannah.” He hissed as the edge of her nail trailed over his freshly exposed skin. “You’ve gotta know that I want you. But, baby…I need to do this right.”
Hannah heard the strain in his voice, sensed his conflict, and continued undoing buttons.
Deacon grabbed onto her wrists. “Our first kiss was outside on the fucking street.” Guilt swamped his eyes. “You deserved better than that. You damn sure deserve better than being groped like a horny teenager in the back of a car.”
Oh, you sweet, sweet, misguided man.
Wishing, not for the first time, that he could read her mind and stop with the foolish guilt trips, she sat back on his lap. “First off, it’s not a car. It’s a limo.”
She wiggled her eyebrows with a teasing grin, hoping to ease the tension steeling his shoulders—but her attempted joke went over like a lead balloon. His expression seemed to grow even more tortured, if that were possible. There truly was no limit to the man’s stubbornness.
The timing sucked. She’d rather have this conversation any other time—when he wasn’t hot, hard, and between her legs—but fine, if her stubborn Superman needed to hear this now, then this was where it would happen. She just hoped they could get to the good stuff after.
“Second off…” She tugged on his hold on her wrists, getting his attention. “I’m not the dainty little flower you think I am. You’ve had me on a pedestal since we were kids, Deke, and I love you for it, but you’ve got to know that’s not real, right? No one deserves that kind of reverence. Yes, I had a speech impediment, and yes, that and a host of other things made me a target for the jerkoffs in our school. Yes, I took a ginormous risk by saying hello to the new kid and bringing him home to meet my parents. But Deacon…you took just as big a risk that day by saying yes, too.”
Turmoil raged in his eyes, and Hannah knew this wasn’t something that could be toppled with one conversation. Their dynamic was twenty-five years of abandonment issues—and ten years of Saint Hannah canonizing—in the making. But there was one final point that she needed to make.
“I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves, Deke.” Lowering her head, she met his eyes so he could see the sincerity shining in hers. “When you look at me, I want you to see me as your equal. Your partner. I want passion and excitement in my life, just like anybody else, and hell yes, that means being mauled on the street if the mood strikes. You better believe it includes being groped in a swanky limo. What in the hell’s hotter than that?”
Deacon’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply. He just kept staring at her as the seconds ticked and the world zoomed past outside their window in a fuzzy blur. His strong chest rose and fell, and his eyes shifted between hers.
Finally, he said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nodded, and the final piece of the wall he’d built between them crumbled at her feet. As his gaze darkened with desire, Hannah released the breath she’d been holding.
“My woman wants passion?” he asked her, loosening his grip around her wrists. He pressed a kiss on the sensitive underside of each, sending an electric shock straight to her core, then placed her hands on the center of his chest. “I’ll give her passion.”
With a sly grin, Deacon curved his hands around her ass and gave a sharp tug, sending her hips crashing into his. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
Before Hannah could wonder what that meant, buttons were flying. With one fierce yank, Deacon ripped open his shirt, finishing the job, and she jumped to help him spread it wide, sliding the torn fabric from his shoulders.
A whimper caught in her throat. “So damn sexy.”
Broad shoulders gave way to a sculpted, lean chest, and the most perfect abs on God’s green earth. Hannah wanted to weep, but instead molded her hands to the hard bulges and raked her fingernails over the clean ripples of his stomach. Fondling was a much better use of her time.
By his sharp hiss of breath, Deacon agreed. He sat up, crushing their torsos together, and the heat from his body seeped through the satin and lace of her dress. He stared straight into her eyes and said, “So are you, Cherry.”
The sincerity drowning his words made her heart clench. This man found her—quiet, awkward, stuttering Hannah Fisher—sexy. The revelation was almost as overwhelming as the feel of his hands on her body. But then those same hands cradled either side of her face, and his darkened gaze dropped to her lips, and overwhelmed made way for light-headed because, oh my God, he was going to kiss her. For real this time. With intent. And with no alcohol in her veins to dull her senses.
Her mouth parted and her tongue swept along the lower rim. Deacon’s eyes darkened as his eyes followed the movement…and then, he kissed her.
Hot damn, did he kiss her.
Fireworks burst behind Hannah’s eyelids. Full lips closed over the bottom of hers, sucking it into his mouth and giving a sharp pull before switching to the top, biting gently and soothing the nip with his tongue. Her stomach clenched low as tingles raced down her spine and returned in a series of flutters deep in her belly.
Hannah opened her mouth under his, needing more—so much more—and he gave it, sliding his tongue between her lips. Deacon’s head slanted as their tongues dueled, and after wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he fell back against the leather seat, taking her with him with a gasped oomph. Without lifting her head, she adjusted her legs on either side of his lap, and when her hips ground down on the hard, unmistakable proof of just how much he wanted her…well, she admittedly went a little crazy.
Teeth clashed as she surged against him. Gasps and hisses rang out as she clawed his arms and his shoulders, wanting to be closer. Needing to feel him everywhere. As she sucked the salty skin of his neck into her mouth, she tunneled her fingers through his hair and fisted the longer, silken strands on top. She gave a firm tug, and Deacon growled as he rolled his hips against her. Tiny convulsions rippled her core.
Deacon was a master kisser. Like, he should teach classes…but then, the lessons he’d have to give would drive her insane with jealousy, so nix that. Alternating between tender and fierce, sweet and frantic, he made love to her mouth while his hands and hips did the same to her body, making her feel cherished and adored and practically combustible. He rimmed the outer shell of her ear with his tongue, sending chill bumps across her skin, and then he caught the delicate lobe between his teeth. Hannah’s thighs clenched around his hips.
This was what her favorite books always talked about. Kisses that stopped time and heat that burned from the inside out. Trails blazed down her throat as her hands kneaded the muscles in his arms. Hannah’s thoughts were a swirl, flittering and fluttering too fast to hold on to, and fire licked her insides. This was passion. This was everything.
As she tried to catch her breath, Deacon adjusted their position. Strong hands locked around her shoulders and guided her back, giving him room to glide his tongue along the sweetheart neckline of her gown. Her hands gripped his forearms as he inhaled a breath.
“Damn.” His warm breath across her damp skin sent her eyes rolling back in her head. “You always smell so damn good.”
Deacon laved the swell of her chest, lifted high over her fitted, sleeveless gown, and his hands slid around to cradle her ribs. As his thumbs grazed the soft underbelly of her breasts through the fabric, his lips nudged her neckline lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along every inch of newly exposed skin. Hannah gasped, and Deacon looked up, locking his eyes with hers.
A slow, devilish smile curved his lips. Then he bent his head and suckled her through the silk and lace.
“Ahh!” Hannah grabbed his head and held him against her, and Deacon chuckled as he scraped his teeth over the sensitive tip, sparking a deep, delicious pull within her.
She was seconds, nanoseconds, away from ripping off her dress and suggesting they turn “groping in the limo” into “sexing in the limo” when they rolled to an abrupt, dizzying stop.
Disoriented and confused, Hannah stared at the ceiling of the car. Breaths sawed in and out of both their chests, and the heat from Deacon’s exhale against the damp fabric of her dress had her wiggling in his lap. Slowly, he raised his head, and she lifted her eyes, and together, they looked out the window.
They’d made it to The Hermitage.
Hannah blinked, feeling a lot like Alice waking up in another world, and when she turned to stare at Deacon, she was half afraid she’d find regret or second thoughts in his eyes. Instead, her favorite fiddler gave a sexy, lopsided grin. “Ready for round two?”
She’d never been more ready for anything in her life.