Branded (18 page)

“You're dumping me for the hometown houseguest?” she seethed. And when he turned to look at her, she nodded. “Oh yes, I know all about it. The fashion world is a small one, darling, especially here in town. When a call comes in for an entire couture collection to be delivered to you, I'm notified.”

“Tell me, Pamela,” he said, sitting back in his chair and observing her. “Was the person who notified you the same one who tells the press every time you and I are out together?”

The answer was in the flare of her nostrils and the flash of black rage in her eyes. “I'm giving you one last chance to reconsider. She's a hick, Deacon. What could you possibly have in common with someone like her?”

Blood ran cold in his veins. “Never insult her in front of me again. Do you understand?”

His tone was deadly calm, and after a moment, she nodded.

“Now, if you'll excuse me.” Deacon stood and tossed his napkin on his chair. “This hick cowboy is gonna dance with his beautiful date. I'll send Angus right back to you.”

•   •   •

Angus Breyer could really dance. His movement was gentle, yet firm. And he could lead like nobody's business. Problem was, Mac kept glancing over at the table, at Deacon and Pamela, and losing track of her footwork.

“You all right?” Angus asked. “I didn't step on your toes, did I?”

Feeling silly, she returned her gaze to his. “No, no. It's just . . .” She paused, rolled her eyes. “I was checking out your lovely date.”

“Pamela Monroe.”

She nodded. “She's seems . . . nice.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Does she, now?”

“Sure. You two know each other a long time?” Fishing was not her best sport, but she was really giving it her all.

“A few months,” he said, then guided her under his arm in an easy turn.

He caught her back up just as Mac said, “And how did you meet? Did Deacon introduce you?”

“Why don't we just keep dancing, Mac?” he said.

“Angus?”

“Yes?”

She grinned. She couldn't help it. He was a pistol. “You and me, we don't have a business to fight over. We're just dancing partners. Dancing partners who can share information.”

He chuckled, his eyes warm. “All right. I met her through Deacon.”

Her heart soared up into her throat. “When?”

“A few months ago.” He swayed easily to the music. “She accompanies him to these kinds of things.”

Oh, perfect
. She stared at the older man. Funny, good dancer, intelligent, and clearly one sly bastard.

“You brought her to mess with Deacon, didn't you?” she said.

Not one ounce of guilt crossed his features. “My regular companion wasn't feeling well. It seemed an interesting choice.”

“And a very beautiful one.”

“She is beautiful.” He smiled broadly. “But she doesn't hold a candle to you.”

Mac shook her head at him. “You're nearly as smooth as your enemy over there.”

Not once in the hour or so that they'd been at
the restaurant had Mac seen this man appear unruffled.
Until now
. Even his hold on her loosened.

“Deacon Cavanaugh and I aren't enemies, Mac,” he said, his eyes sober now. “It'd be easier if we were. But no, we've known each other a long time. In fact, first job he had out of college was with me.”

“What?” Good Lord, it was like another stone to the temple.

“He didn't stay long. Too ambitious, too brilliant, too damn talented not to start his own company. In truth, I'd like to sell my business to him. He knows it like no one else, and I'd like to sit on a beach somewhere, drinking mai tais and watching future Mrs. Breyers walk by.”

“So . . .” she prodded. “What's stopping you?”

“He doesn't want the buildings for himself, or even to sell them to a third party. He wants the land they're on.”

Mac's mouth fell open.

Angus must've seen it because he nodded. “Sound familiar?”

Her heart squeezed, too, and she lowered her voice. “You know?”

“Not everything. I knew about his father when he came to work for me. That he had some issues with the man. He was more open then. And I know Everett Cavanaugh just recently passed. I know Deacon bought land out there several years
ago. Wasn't hard to put all those puzzle pieces together.”

“Then why not just say no?” she asked him. They were barely moving now, so deep in conversation. “Why do you keep engaging with him?”

“Remember when we were talking about sentimentality in business?” When she nodded, he said, “Seems I have an Achilles' heel.”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Mac's heart jumped, and her skin hummed with the sound of Deacon's rough, sexy voice.

Eyeing Mr. Breyer with a lethal dose of irritation, he added, “Your date's getting lonely.” Then he took Mac's hand and led her away.

The moment he had her in his arms, Deacon forgot everything that had come before her. The music meant nothing. People eating and drinking and laughing, Angus and Pamela: It all felt inconsequential next to her.

“I missed you,” he said, his hand flexing where he rested it on her back.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, deep blue and swimming with heat. “I've been gone five minutes.”

“Exactly,” he growled.

She smiled, and the warmth that small movement exuded reached out and grabbed him by the collar, yanked him in. He was becoming utterly and completely addicted to her. Her scent, her skin, her laugh, her eyes, but most of all, her company. He felt right within it, at peace. Like he wasn't always fighting to keep himself unreachable. Did he think it? Shit, did he admit it? That he felt safe with her?

“But you couldn't have gotten lonely in five short minutes,” she said in a playful voice. “You had the lovely Pamela to keep you company.”

“True.”

Her eyes narrowed, but they were heavy with amusement. “I'm going to step on your feet.”

A happy, lust-filled grin tugged at his mouth. This. This back-and-forth, this endless flirtation, knowing you were it for each other. It made him insane with desire. And yet he would always play back.

“I'm just trying to stoke your jealousy, darlin'.” As he moved to the soft jazz, he dropped his head and drank in her scent. “It makes your skin flush, your eyes glow, your hands itch to knock me out, and your pussy soaking wet.”

She gasped but didn't pull back. “That's not jealousy, Deacon.”

“No?”

She shook her head, her hair caressing his jaw. “That's me staking my claim. That's me letting you know how badly I want you, even though I'm pissed beyond words that your ex-girlfriend is here—”

“She's not my—”

Mac drew back and put her finger to his lips.

Deacon swiped at it with his tongue.

Her nostrils flared, and her eyes darkened. “It's me being desperate for you even while I
contemplate leaving this restaurant and grabbing a cab or a bus and heading back to River Black.”

Deacon stopped dead. As other couples danced around them, he held her in his arms and ground out a fierce query. “What did Angus say to you?”

“Don't blame this on him.”

“What did he say, Mackenzie?”

She didn't speak at first, just stared into his eyes, trying to read him. “He told me he was your boss a long time ago.”

“And?”

“He thinks of you fondly.”

Deacon snorted, then began to move once again.

“It's why he continued to have these meetings, Deacon,” she continued. “He thinks maybe you'll change your mind about what you want to do with his properties.”

So, the man had gone as far as to tell her that, had he? Hardball was Angus Breyer's middle name, but Deacon truly hadn't given the man enough credit.

“So it's not just the Triple C?” Mackenzie was saying, pulling him back.

“What?”

“Your need to destroy,” she said softly. “It's not strictly a Triple C fixation.”

Deacon's jaw worked. “Don't be taken in by Angus Breyer and his fatherly chat. The man's as much of a shark as I am.”

“What do you plan to do with his properties if he finally sells them to you?”

He wasn't about to lie to her. Never was going to lie to her. “Level them. Bulldoze. Sell the land.”

She shook her head. “What is it, Deacon? And I'm being totally serious here. This need to tear down other people's life's work?”

His gut tightened at her words. “His buildings are crumbling, Mackenzie. The land will be worth double, maybe even triple when it's clean. Listen to me. What I'm doing with Breyer has nothing to do with the Triple C.”

Her eyes searched his. “Are you sure?”

“Dammit, Mackenzie, we agreed not to bring this here.”

“I know. But it followed you, Deacon. It followed us. I have this terrible feeling that it's always going to follow us.” She shook her head. “How could it not?”

He released her only to take her hand. “Let's go.”

“What? Where? You haven't finished here.”

He was more than finished. He led her off the floor. “I've given Breyer my final offer. There's nothing more to say.”

“Final? What—”

“This will be our last dinner, him and me.”

“But you've been trying to buy this company for so long. I don't understand.”

“No, you don't.” His blood running hot and fast in his veins, Deacon strode out the door and into the bustling Dallas night, his hand wrapped around hers as if it had a mind of its own.

•   •   •

His hands propped on either side of the door, James watched the woman as she gathered materials from Deacon's room, placing them in several different files. She'd been at it for hours. He'd left her, then come back to check on her. He wasn't sure why, but he blamed it on being polite to Deacon's employee. After all, he normally steered clear of anything that was buttoned up to the neck and said things like “color-coded” and “triplicate
.
”

“Are you bunking in here?” he asked her, wondering if she ever undid those buttons.

She didn't glance up. Her eyes were trained on the papers in front of her. “No. In town,” she said, sounding preoccupied. “Mr. Cavanaugh's office is there, along with a small apartment. I may stay there or the hotel. We'll see.”

Deac had an office in town? Shit. He wanted to be pissed, even annoyed that his brother had kept something like that from him, but calling out Deac for keeping secrets would pretty much be the pot calling the kettle black.

“How you planning to get over there?” he asked.

“I've been trying to reach AAA for several hours, but no luck. I'll probably call a cab.”

He laughed.

Which made her look up. She had an angel's face and, if one noticed those things—one who shouldn't be noticing those things—a highly suckable bottom lip.

“What?” she said. “No cabs?”

“You might get one out here . . . tomorrow.”

That bottom lip pushed out. “Seriously?”

“Darlin', you're in the sticks.”

“Right.” She seemed to think about this, then put her head down again and got back to work.

“I'd be happy to take you into town.” What was he doing exactly? Good Samaritaning it for what purpose? He didn't get involved with women. Well, not for anything outside of mutually enjoyable sex.

“That's really nice of you,” she said. “But I'm sure it's a long way, and my butt is kind of hurting me from the first ride.”

She looked up, and for the first time James saw a flash of wickedness in those closely guarded gray eyes.

“I've got a truck, Sheridan,” he said “It's no trouble.”

She chewed her lip. “Well, if you really don't mind.”

“Don't mind at all.” He pushed away from the door. “Just come on downstairs when you're ready.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze remained on his face
for a moment or two before she nodded, then once again, went back to her work.

It occurred to him as he strode down the hall that unlike many of the people he encountered these days, she didn't have a clue who he was. All she knew was that he was Deac's brother. And damn if that didn't make her even more intriguing.

•   •   •

The lights of the city flashed by as Deacon drove like a bat out of hell. Mackenzie watched him, his hand on the gearshift, ever ready. She wanted to touch him, put her hand over his, but she was afraid of getting stung.

She'd gotten too involved at the restaurant in a situation that should've warranted some self-control on her part. It was his business, for goodness' sake. The choices he made were his own. She should've stayed out of it. But when it came to him, to them, it was like trying to stop a meteor from hitting the earth. The only way to do it was to shoot the thing down.

“I'm sorry, Deacon.”

“What for, Mackenzie?” His voice was tight, his eyes trained on the road.

“Getting into it with you back there. Acting jealous.” She shook her head, remembering. “In front of a business associate.” Ugh, not to mention every patron in the restaurant and the pissed-off fashion designer.

“You really think you know me.”

His cold tone worried her. This was exactly why she'd been anxious on the way to dinner. Screwing something up for him. Acting like a naive country gal who wanted everyone to know Deacon Cavanaugh belonged to her. She shouldn't have said a word to Angus Breyer. That was Deacon's private business. Had she truly screwed something up? Had he not meant it when he'd said it was his final offer to Breyer?

“I feel like I do know you,” she said, then sighed. “Hell, Deacon. I wasn't trying to ruin your night or start a fight with you.” She groaned. “Or maybe I was. But if anything, it was a fight for you.”

Deacon yanked the wheel to the right and skidded off the road onto a patch of gravel near a deserted playground. He had his seat belt off and his eyes on her in less than five seconds. “I'm not pissed off because of Breyer or Pamela or anyone in that goddamn restaurant, Mackenzie. I couldn't give a shit about any of them.”

Her insides reeling from the jolt of the car and the fire in Deacon's eyes, Mackenzie gripped her seat. “Then what is it? Why are you so angry?”

“This.” He reached out and touched her face, ran his fingers up her jawline into her hair. “You. I want you. Fuck, I wanted you so badly back there that I didn't give a shit about that deal. I didn't give a shit about anything.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he said on a growl, his fingers tightening in her hair. “What does that say to you, Mackenzie?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Yes, you do,” he retorted hotly. “Tell me. What does it say that I'm more enraptured with you than I am with a deal I've wanted for more than three years?”

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, she could barely think straight. “That you're as into me as I'm into you.”

“Yes.” He released her and sat back in his seat with a groan. “And that I'm losing control over myself.”

Shaking her head, she huffed out a breath. “You're not alone in that, Deacon. God, we're both running hot for each other. You're all I can think about. That's why everything I hear, everything I'm told scares the shit out of me.” Her throat went tight and her hands started to shake. “I want to run from you. Get out of your eyeline. Forget I saw you again, pretend my heart isn't screaming for yours to capture it right this very second. It would be so much easier. But I can't.” When he turned to look at her, she shook her head at him a little manically. “I can't.”

His jaw working, making his cheekbones flex, he popped her seat belt. “Come here,” he uttered
hoarsely, then reached for her, lifted her up like she weighed absolutely nothing and placed her in his lap.

The sports car barely had room to support what he'd done, but neither of them cared. Before her ass even hit his lap, Deacon's mouth was on hers, capturing her in a deep, hungry kiss that made Mac cry out in pleasure. He tasted like wine and the night air, and she'd never felt so desperate in her life. To touch him, feed off of him, know what it was like to have him over her, pushing her knees back as he entered her.

Her hands went to his face as his tunneled under her dress. She moaned as he raked his large, warm hand up her calf, over her knee, and in between her thighs. She knew where he was headed and what he would find there: evidence of her unending desire for him.

“Oh, darlin',” he groaned against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip as he ran his fingers over the silk barrier of her underwear. “Your panties are soaked. Which must mean . . .” He nudged aside the fabric and sent his thumb through her hot, drenched slit. “Hot, tight, swollen little clit.”

Her sex clenched at his words, and she gasped, her fingers digging into his scalp. With a hungry growl of possession, he pushed his tongue inside her mouth and licked at her teeth as he circled her
sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb. Heat surged through her body, turning her blood electric and ready to spark. She arched into him, wanting his fingers inside her, thrusting deep inside her pussy like his tongue was doing to her mouth.

“Oh, darlin', if I don't fuck you soon, I'm going to lose my mind,” he uttered, pinching her clit gent- ly before circling it with his thumb once again.

“I want you so badly, Deacon,” she rasped. “I need you inside me, so deep I won't be able to breathe or think.”

His kiss intensified, and as he rubbed her off in small, fast circles, causing a rush of cream to rain from her sex and coat his fingers, she moaned over and over again. God, she ached to touch him, hold his cock in her hand and stroke him until he felt as ravenous as she did. But he held her there, captive on his lap, fucking her mouth, sucking her tongue as he made her skin run fire hot and her body shake.

“Tell me what you need, Mackenzie,” he uttered against her lips, his voice so pained it made her muscles clench and her throat tighten again.

“Make me come, Deacon,” she whispered, so close to the edge she forgot where she was, who she was—only that she was with him. Her man. Deacon. “Kiss me hard and stroke me soft.”

He groaned with her words and captured her mouth again in a series of shattering kisses. There was nothing like his hands on her, in her. And his
kisses, they stole her mind and made her heart slam against her ribs, trying to escape and get to his.

His fingers gentled as he felt her on the precipice of orgasm, lightly flicking her bud, coaxing it to swell even further. Mac's breath came in quick gasps as she bucked against him, trying to meet his demanding kiss. When the dam inside of her broke, when lightning crashed against her mind and her heart, she pumped fiercely against his hand and cried out against his mouth. And he answered her by driving his tongue deep and rubbing her clit in long, quick, gentle strokes, over and over, lighter and lighter, until she whimpered and sighed and sagged against him.