It
took two tries before she could manage to get her jeans
on and her fingers trembled so hard, she could barely
fasten the button. Renee was cold, through and through,
frozen to the core.
The
vicious, ugly destruction outside her house and into the
foyer, all done so silently she'd never heard a sound.
That she could be in the shower while somebody came in
and cut into furniture, tore up her car, messed up the
meticulous flowerbeds—and she'd never known. Never
heard them.
Ugly
images of those stupid B movies started flashing through
her head once more. The girl in the shower, never aware
somebody was in her house, not until somebody grabs her
from behind and slices her throat—
“Oh,
God...” she moaned and covered her mouth with her hand,
trying to keep the whimpers silent.
She’d
been handling it, though. She’d been handling it fine
until the sheriff showed up. Seth Salinger. Of all
people. She hadn’t heard that he had taken over the
job, and it wasn’t something she would have thought
would happen. Not in a million years. Right up until he
opened his mouth and all his blatant dislike of her came
pouring out, she’d been handling things just fine.
But
the way he’d spoken to her, the way he’d looked at her,
had ripped apart the shreds of her control.
Sure as hell doesn’t say much about your taste in guys
or the kind of person you are.
“The
person I was,” Renee muttered. “And I was just a
damn kid.” But it didn't assuage the guilt. She'd
blamed herself for JD, for the actions of her parents,
for years and she'd thought she moved past it.
Obviously, she was wrong.
There
was no knock, no sound outside the door, but as she
reached for the tank top, her skin broke out into goose
bumps. Her stomach went tight and her breathing went
shallow.
Cutting her gaze to the door, she stared at it and
swallowed.
Deacon was out there. She didn't even have to look.
“Open
the door, Renee,” he said quietly. Quiet, but firm as
though he expected to be obeyed. And Renee guessed that
was exactly what he would expect.
Renee's kneejerk reaction was to ignore him. But
instead, she went to the door and opened it, stood there
half naked before him, totally forgetting that there
were still guys from the sheriff's department wandering
through her home.
Deacon's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, forcing her
to back up and then he closed the door behind him.
Something flashed in his eyes, something that sent a
shiver running down her spine—it wasn't lust, at least
not yet, but it was...something.
Possessiveness, maybe. Another kneejerk reaction, but
this one was totally unexpected. Instead of her normal
reaction, which would have been derisive amusement, she
found herself liking it.
Enough that she just might have done something to bring
it out a little more, tease him with, taunt him—but she
was still shaking so hard, she was almost sick with it.
Glancing down, she found herself staring at her
semi-exposed breasts with a little bit of dismay.
Her
shirt. Forgot her shirt.
“Here.” Deacon spoke gently, softly, reaching out and
taking the shirt from her and then he pulled it over her
head, dressing her like she was a doll or some small
child. He caught the long ends of her hair and eased it
out from under the shirt, smoothed it down.
Then
he cupped her chin in his hand, angled her face so that
their eyes met. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I'm
fine,” she said automatically. Pride, years of manners
drilled into her head, they wouldn't let her say that
she really wanted to get out of this house, and maybe
even fall apart a little. Stupid, though, wasn't it?
It wasn't like she was hurt. It wasn't like she didn't
have the money to repair the damage or replace what
couldn't be fixed.
Seth’s scathing voice echoed in her ears. That car of
yours is going to cost some money to get fixed. Of
course, I don't suppose that's a problem for you.
Instinctively, she flinched. Plenty of people had given
her grief for being born to money. It was nothing new.
Still, it stung.
Deacon’s fingers tightened, drawing her attention back
to him. “Don't lie to me,” he said, an underlying
current of steel in his voice.
She
rolled her eyes and sneered at him. “Fine, then. I'm
doing pretty damn shitty. Somebody busts open the front
door, cuts up furniture, tear up my mom’s flowerbeds,
tears up my car, all while I was blissfully
unaware in the shower.” An edge worked its way into her
voice—she couldn't help it, couldn't help but sound a
little bitchy as she added, “Then I see this guy that I
fucked six different ways to Sunday, and find out it's
somebody that used to date one of my best friends. Oh,
I'm just peachy, Deacon.”
A
grin curled the edges of his lips. “Yeah, you're going
to be just fine.” Then he slid his arms around her
waist and eased her against him.
Just
holding her. Simple, comforting-and devastating. There
weren't many people in her life who had ever been big on
offering simple comfort. Not her parents, not JD, not
even Billy.
It
was her undoing. A harsh sob escaped her lips, followed
by another, and another.
Deacon held her until the storm passed and then he eased
her back, sat her down on the toilet, again treating her
with the same care he'd use on a small child. He rooted
through the cabinets until he found some washcloths and
he ran the water until it warmed.
All
the while, Renee sat there staring at him, watching the
play of muscles under his shirt, staring at his profile
and comparing the harsh lines there to the features of
the younger man from her memories.
It
was there—plain as day, she could see it now. Perhaps
now that she was looking, she could see it. The hair
shorter, a little darker. The dimples in his cheeks had
deepened to deep slashes that bracketed his mouth. The
lean, lanky lines of his body had filled out.
She
hadn’t ever said more than a few words to Deacon, even
though they’d grown up across the street from each
other. He ran in a different crowd and her mother
hadn’t cared for the Cross family—common—that was
Claudia’s outlook, even if they did have money.
It
had been fifteen years since she’d seen him. That
night. Too many of her memories from that night weren’t
exactly what she could consider clear. Before that, she
hadn’t seen him much at all since he’d graduated high
school. Understandable, she guessed, that she hadn’t
recognized him.
Of
course, she also didn’t remember him being so damned
domineering, either.
Even
as her body went all weak and soft, thinking of his
domineering the other night, she tensed when he
turned and tried to wash the tears from her face. Renee
turned her head and reached for the rag.
“Be
still,” he ordered brusquely.
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “A night in your bed
didn't turn me into your pet, Deacon.”
That
same, sardonic grin appeared on his lips. “Yeah, that's
a likely image.” Then he cupped her chin in his
hand—his skin was rough, but so warm... Shivering,
unable to stop herself, she moved a little closer,
seeking his warmth. “Just let me help, okay, Renee?”
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