Читать книгу The Illegitimate Billionaire - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 11
ОглавлениеDeacon’s anticipation of the kiss went way beyond the role he was playing. He truly wanted to kiss Callie senseless. But he forced himself to take it slow.
He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her creamy skin. “You’re beautiful.”
Her red lips parted, softening, while her blue-green eyes went opaque. She looked slightly tremulous, compellingly innocent. Even as he questioned her authenticity, he reacted to the sensual image with a rush of passion and an overwhelming surge of possessiveness.
He leaned down and brought his lips to hers.
She tasted like honey. Her lips were tender and malleable. She returned his kiss, and a tidal wave of desire hijacked his senses.
He spread his fingers into her hair, releasing its lavender scent into the summer breeze. He placed his palm on the small of her back, drawing her close, reveling in the touch of her soft, toned body. She molded against him.
Her head tipped to the side, and he deepened the kiss. She welcomed his tongue, answering it with her own. He could feel his arousal build. He was dimly aware they were on the street, barely masked by the stone buildings on either side. He could feel himself stop caring.
But then her palms went to his chest, and she gave the lightest of pushes.
He immediately broke the kiss and backed off. His breathing was deep and ragged, and his head was swirling with a cocktail of hormones and emotions. What on earth had just happened?
“I’m sorry,” she said, with a tremble to her tone.
He took another half step back and blew out a breath, struggling to get his bearings. “I’m the one who’s sorry. That was my fault.”
“It’s just...” She glanced to the sidewalk behind him.
“Anybody could have seen us.” He finished her thought.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
He couldn’t help but wonder if she meant it was complicated because of her feelings for Mayor Watkins or because of Frederick’s recent passing. She still wore her wedding ring.
“I understand,” Deacon said. Whether it was Hank or Frederick, Deacon’s job right now was the same, behave like a perfect gentleman. “I wasn’t trying to rush you or push you. I’d be happy just to take you out for coffee.”
A man’s voice sounded behind Deacon. “Callie?”
Concern crossed her face.
Deacon turned to see Hank Watkins on the sidewalk behind them.
“Hello, Hank,” she said, shifting from behind Deacon, putting some more space between the two of them. “You remember Deacon Holt?”
Hank’s attention shifted to Deacon for a brief second, just long enough to be dismissive.
“I was looking for you at the bakery,” Hank said to her.
“Oh?” Guilt was pretty clear in her voice.
Deacon would bet she was either dating Hank, or at least stringing him along.
He decided to test his theory by shifting closer to her. “I don’t know if Callie mentioned it, but my company, Mobi Transportation, is looking to open a new terminal in North Carolina.”
As Mayor, the prospect should have pleased Hank. But as Callie’s boyfriend, it would annoy him.
It annoyed him.
“I see,” Hank said, jaw tightening and eyes going hard. “Am I to understand you’re considering Charleston?”
“He wanted to keep it quiet,” Callie said in a rush, putting the space back between her and Deacon. It sounded suspiciously like she was making an excuse for keeping the information from Hank. “For business purposes,” she finished.
“Callie has been very kind in helping me understand the city,” Deacon said.
Hank’s nostrils flared.
“Did you need to talk about something?” she asked Hank.
Hank refocused his attention on her, and his expression smoothed out. “I spoke with Lawrence this morning. I understand it’s good news all around.”
“You mean the permit?”
“I mean the donation. Well played, Callie.”
“It wasn’t—”
“She was just telling me about the positive outcome,” Deacon put in.
Hank’s gaze hardened on Deacon. “She was, was she?”
“I agree with you,” Deacon told Hank, pretending to be oblivious to the undercurrents. “The donation was a good move. The permit should be in place this week, and she can get moving on the renovations.”
“She doesn’t need your support,” Hank said.
“I’m standing right here,” Callie said.
“Forgive me.” His tone dripping with remorse, Hank stepped forward and took her hands.
Deacon wanted to rip her from Hank’s hold. He waited for her to break it, but she didn’t.
Part of Deacon wanted to repeat his invitation for coffee, nail it down here and now. But the smarter part of him wanted to keep Hank in the dark about his intentions. If Hank knew Deacon was interested in Callie, he’d block him from every angle. Better to make a strategic temporary retreat and let Hank feel overconfident.
“I have to be on a call in a few minutes,” Deacon told Callie.
“Sorry to have kept you.” She finally withdrew from Hank’s hand-hold.
“See you later,” Deacon told her in a breezy tone that masked his frustration.
He left them, taking swift, long strides along the sidewalk.
Half a block away, he pulled out his phone. He dialed Tyrell’s private number.
“Yes?” came Tyrell’s gruff answer.
“I’m in,” Deacon said.
There was a silent pause on the line. “You’ll romance Callie?”
“Draft the paperwork.” Deacon ended the call.
* * *
Callie wasn’t going to think of this as a date. It was true that coffee with Deacon had turned into dinner. But that was only a matter of convenience. It was easier for her to get away in the evening. Downright Sweet catered to the breakfast and lunch crowd, closing at six, after patrons picked up takeout on their way home.
She didn’t know where she and Deacon were going for dinner, so she’d gone neutral with a sleeveless midnight blue cocktail dress. Its scoop neckline sparkled with a spray of subtle crystals. The waist was fitted, and it flared slightly to mid-thigh.
She’d popped her little diamond studs into her ears, pairing them with a delicate gold diamond chip pendant. Her black, high-heeled sandals were classic and comfortable. Her makeup had turned out a little heavier than usual, and when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she realized there was a shine of anticipation in her eyes.
She spotted her wedding set in the mirror.
She lifted her hand, spreading her fingers and touching the solitaire diamond.
She was too jazzed tonight for something that wasn’t a date.
She closed her eyes. Then she pulled off the rings. Before she could change her mind, she opened her jewelry box and set them on the red velvet. She’d already kissed Deacon once. If she was going to do it again, she had to admit to herself that Frederick was in her past.
She smoothed her dress, taking a last look at herself in the mirror.
Then her phone rang, and she felt a sudden rush of anxiety. Was it Deacon? Had he changed his mind?
She was afraid to look at the number, afraid to see it was him.
“Hello?”
“Callie?” It was Pam.
Callie breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you running late?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Pam’s tone was high, her words rushed. “I mean, I’m not running at all.”
“Whoa. Slow down. Is everything okay?”
“I fell down the front stairs.”
There were voices in the background.
“Are you hurt?” Callie asked. “Who’s there with you?”
“I twisted my ankle. My mom’s taking me to the hospital for X-rays. It’s swelling up fast.”
“I’m so sorry.” Callie’s heart went out to Pam.
Pam was an avid cyclist and tennis player. A broken ankle would be devastating for her.
“I can’t babysit tonight,” Pam said.
“Don’t worry about it. Take care of yourself.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Get to the doctor. Call me when you know something, okay? And if there’s anything I can do.”
“Ouch! Mom, I can’t bend that way.”
Callie cringed in sympathy.
“I better go,” Pam said.
“Good luck,” Callie called as Pam signed off.
“Mommy, Mommy,” James shouted up from the kitchen.
“I’m coming, honey.”
The front doorbell rang.
“Ethan squirted his juice box,” James cried out.
“Ethan,” Callie admonished her youngest son as she trotted down the stairs. “You know better than to squirt.”
“Purple,” Ethan said with an unrepentant grin.
“Do you want to use a sippy cup instead?”
Ethan’s smile disappeared, and he shook his head.
The doorbell rang again.
“Then don’t squeeze,” she told him firmly.
“Can we have macaroni?” James asked, opening the refrigerator door. “With orange cheese?”
“We’ll see,” Callie said, swooping the juice box out of Ethan’s hand to set it on the counter.
“Juice box!” Ethan cried, reaching up for it.
So much for her date. Or her non-date. Whatever it was, she was sorely disappointed to miss it.
“I have to get the door,” she told James.
“Juice box!” Ethan screeched.
“You’ll have to wait a minute,” she said to Ethan, walking quickly down the hallway to the entry foyer.
She drew open the door to find Deacon on the porch.
“Hi,” he said. Then his attention was immediately drawn to Ethan’s cries from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”
“Juice box disaster,” she said, pulling the door wide and standing out of the way. “Come on in.”
He wore a white dress shirt, a steel blue blazer and dark jeans.
“You look fantastic,” he said, closing the door behind him.
She smiled, her heart warming at the compliment. She hated to tell him the night was over before it even got started.
“I’ll be right back.” She headed for the kitchen to quiet Ethan.
He’d come up with another plan of attack and was pushing a chair toward the counter.
She retrieved the juice box. “No more squirting?” she asked him in a grave voice.
“No squirt,” he agreed, abandoning the chair to trot over to her.
“I’m hungry,” James said.
“I know.” She rubbed her hand over his tousled hair. “Pam can’t come tonight.”
Ethan took a pause in his drinking. “Pam, Pam.”
“Pam hurt her ankle,” Callie told them both. “She has to go see a doctor.”
“Does she need a bandage?” James asked. “We have horsey bandages.”
“Yes, we do,” Callie agreed.
The boys were currently big into cartoon bandages. Since they got a lot of cuts and scrapes, it was helpful that they thought of the bandages as a treat.
“The doctor will probably give her a white bandage. It might be a big one.”
“Big owie?” Ethan asked.
“I hope not,” Callie said.
She was already thinking about tomorrow morning and what she could do about work. With Pam out of commission, she was going to have a problem.
Deacon’s voice joined the conversation. “Somebody has a big owie?”
Callie turned to see him in the kitchen doorway.
Both boys fell silent and stared at Deacon.
“I didn’t mean to abandon you,” she told Deacon.
“No problem.”
“James, Ethan, this is my friend Deacon Holt.”
“Hello,” James said.
Ethan stayed silent.
Deacon stepped into the kitchen and crouched on his haunches. “Hello, James. Hi, Ethan. You probably don’t remember, but I saw you at Downright Sweet last week. You were having cookies.”
“Color candies,” Ethan said.
“That’s exactly what you had.”
“I had peanut butter,” James said.
“I had a warm monster cookie,” Deacon said.
“Purple juice,” Ethan said, holding up his juice box as proof.
“I see that.” Deacon’s gaze took in the purple streak that ran across the white patterned linoleum.
“Oh, dang,” Callie said, remembering the spill. If she didn’t get it wiped up, it would stain.
She crossed to the sink and soaked a cloth with hot water.
“I’ll get that.” Deacon’s voice directly behind her made her jump.
“Oh, no you don’t.” She wasn’t about to let him scrub her floor.
“You look way too good to be cleaning floors.” He gently but firmly took the cloth from her hand.
