Dancing With the Devil (20 page)

Deacon felt anger, amusement, pain and regret. All human emotions.

“Hmmm.” The thought was gone as quickly as it came, and all that was left was sleep; glorious, deep and dreamless sleep.

Deacon fingered Rhea’s hair back from her forehead and gazed down into her beautiful face. What a difference a few hours could make.

Yesterday afternoon, he was sure he’d lost her forever. She’d never forgive him, and her heart would never heal. This morning, he had a whole new perspective.

“It’s time to wake up,” he said quietly. If he believed such nonsense, it would seem Rhea’s fairy tale was happening right there. She was Sleeping Beauty and would only wake if kissed by a handsome prince.

He might not be handsome, and he might not be the typical fairy-tale prince, but if Sleeping Beauty didn’t wake up soon, she was going to be late for work.

Leaning closer, he breathed a kiss across her brow, and then one on the tip of her nose. Her mouth opened slightly, but her eyes stayed closed. It was a tough job, this prince business, but duty called.

He pressed a kiss against her lips, then pulled back just enough to see her face again. Her hand moved toward him and rested against his shirt-covered chest, sending jolts of fire racing through every inch of his body.

He kissed her again, longer this time, pulling her awake one sleepy sigh after another. She was like water to his parched body, and he couldn’t seem to soak up enough of her.

He nibbled her bottom lip, running his tongue along its edge with tentative strokes. His whole body ached to touch her, to feel her pressed against him, skin to skin, but he held back, using nothing but his mouth.

She whimpered softly, her mouth moved beneath his, and then she was kissing him back. Her eyes might not be open, but there was no question Rhea was wide awake.

Her fingers fisted around his shirt, her body arched toward him. She opened fully to him, welcoming his kisses, asking for more and giving back as much as he gave. Maybe more.

His breathing came in labored gasps, his heart thrashed and though it probably shouldn’t have mattered, it made him smile to discover Rhea’s body was reacting the exact same way.

“Good morning.” He smiled against her lips, amazed at how she could be so beautiful when she was such a mess.

Her cheeks turned pink as she slowly opened her eyes. “Good morning.”

“I’m going to hanker a guess,” he murmured between the quick kisses to her chin and cheek, “that your sensible side hasn’t quite figured out what your other side has been up to this morning.”

She slapped her hands over her face and moaned, but he pulled her hands away and smiled down at her.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s nice to have this side of you wake up first, and besides, I started it.”

Her lips quivered against a smile. “Yes, you did, but I didn’t exactly put up an argument, did I?”

“Nice change,” he said, kissing her one more time.

“Hey!” She made to shove him away, but he took her wrists in his hands and held her still. He wasn’t done with her yet, and by the look on her face, she wasn’t going to argue this time, either.

They reached for each other at the same time, her hands sliding through his hair and holding him close. He moved over her, grimacing against the pain shooting
up his arm, and then rolled on to his back, pulling her on top of him. The ache in his arm gave way to the burning pain screaming across his back, but he struggled through it.

Rhea was in his bed, in his arms, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. He cupped her face in his palms, savoring each kiss, each taste, never able to get enough.

She inched her hands down his neck, over his shoulders and across his chest until they found their way beneath his shirt. Her fingers moved over his skin like a second layer of silk, turning him into a mass of trembling muscle.

If she wanted to play that way, he’d be only too happy to go along. It wasn’t easy to maneuver, but he managed to work his hands between their bodies, searching for her buttons. He fumbled with the top one, then the second, while he tasted her lips over and over again. She overwhelmed his senses, until he couldn’t decide which one to satisfy first.

A door slammed. Deacon’s hands froze against Rhea’s buttons, his lips against hers. Brown eyes stared down at him, first in shock, then embarrassment, and finally laughing.

“Damn that kid,” Deacon growled. “Is he ever late?”

“Not once,” she giggled.

He let his arms fall to his sides and groaned up at the ceiling. “And I don’t suppose you’d consider being late?”

“How would that look if the boss was late?” she asked coyly, pressing a kiss to his chest. She crawled off him, none too steady on her feet, he was happy to note, and reached for her yellow dress. “Will you give me some privacy?”

He stared back at her, his mouth hanging open. “You’re suddenly shy?”

“Deacon, please.” Her face was near to scarlet.

“Sorry, Rhea, I can’t leave this room.”

“Why ever not?”

He grinned back at her, standing there in all her indignation. “Because there are some things I’d rather not have Ernest see, and I’m afraid it’s, uh, too hard for him not to notice.”

“What are you talking about?” Even as she spoke, understanding dawned over her face. “Oh my…that’s just…you’re horrible.”

“You’re the one who said a person couldn’t help how he felt,” he laughed. She was even more beautiful when she was flustered. “I could hide under the blanket.”

She pondered that for a moment. “Do you promise not to look?”

Without a word, he pulled the blanket up over his head and lay there perfectly still while she scurried about.

With deft fingers, he eased the blanket down, bit by bit, until his left eye barely peeked over the edge. If it was torture he was looking for, he’d just found it in spades.

Rhea’s nightgown lay in a heap on the floor. She’d propped her right foot on the end of the bed and was bent over her leg, tugging a gray stocking up over her knee.

She didn’t have another stitch of clothing on.

Deacon clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood. After a few seconds, she changed legs and set to work on the other stocking, then reached for her chemise and drawers. As she turned back, their eyes locked, and she let out a small scream.

Deacon jumped, sat up, and let the blanket fall from his face.

“You promised you wouldn’t look!” She clutched the
underthings to her body as if that would erase everything he’d already seen.

“I never promised anything,” he laughed. “You asked if I promised, and I didn’t answer.”

“Deacon!”

“What?” He scooted back on the bed until his back rested against the narrow headboard. “You’re a beautiful woman, Rhea. I can’t help if I want to look.”

“Oooh, you’re such a…”

“I know, I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head to the right. “You better hurry, or Ernest is going to wonder what happened to you.”

Her glare might have appeared fiercer if she wasn’t flushed pink and fighting a smile. After a moment, she resigned herself to the fact he wasn’t going to stop looking, dropped the shift to her feet and stumbled into her drawers.

As much as he hated to see her cover up that luscious body, it was probably best she did. But now that he’d been through that sweet torture, he’d be counting the minutes until he could suffer through it again.

After much fussing and fretting, and a few more glares his way, she was dressed, her hair braided and her boots buttoned.

As she walked by the bed, Deacon grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down on his lap.

“It’s only proper for a wife to kiss her husband goodbye, you know.”

“Is that right?” She pursed her lips and frowned over her smile. “Well, goodness knows we’ve been the epitome of propriety up ’til now, haven’t we?”

“Absolutely,” he said, pulling her closer.

She kissed him softly, just the once, then pushed up from the bed, her fingers still twined in his.

“Rhea?”

“Hmm?” She was studying their fingers and obviously avoiding his eyes.

“Say it again.”

Color raced over her face, and her fingers trembled against his. “I don’t think—”

Her tongue darted out over her bottom lip, and she was quiet for a long time. Easing his fingers from hers, he used both hands to turn her toward the door.

“You don’t want to keep Ernest waiting.” He had meant for that to sound more good-humored than it actually did.

Instead of leaving, though, she stood at the door, with her back to the room. After a moment, she half turned and looked straight at him. Going by her expression, there was no doubt how much it pained her to say it, but she did.

“I love you.”

With that she was gone, leaving Deacon to stare after her, sharing her pain, but grinning like a fool nonetheless.

She loved him.

Despite who he was, and what he’d led her to believe, she still loved him. Humans really were a crazy lot—Rhea more than most.

A small shiver ran through his body, starting at the very tips of his toes and moving steadily upward until it touched every hair on his head.

Power.

The familiar feeling was back, not as strong as it had been, and certainly not encompassing all the powers he’d once had, but it was something. Perhaps having his powers back would make him want to return to his real life instead of lying there in Rhea’s bed playing at being human.

Deacon propped one arm under his head and stared
up at the ceiling. Despite the obvious downsides to being human, if it meant he could stay right there for the rest of time, it might be worth the effort.

What the…when had he ever been one to think of what could be? His life was what it was, and he’d be stupid to hope for anything more.

Ever since he met Rhea, he’d discovered his ability to feel many human emotions, including anger, amusement and regret. Maybe it was possible for him to feel other emotions, too.

Deacon gave himself a sharp mental kick. Maybe it was possible for the sun to rise in the west, too.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

I
s that boy here today?” Mrs. Hale stormed through the door, dragging Polly behind her. The poor girl’s face was blotchy from crying, and every second breath tripped over a hiccup.

“Mrs. Hale.” Rhea looked up, startled. The fierceness in the woman’s eyes surprised her even more. “I-I’m afraid Ernest has already gone home.”

If Polly didn’t look so completely miserable, Rhea might have thought she was relieved. Hard to tell at that point.

“Fine.” Mrs. Hale nodded sharply. “I’ll deal with him later. But you—”

“I’m sorry, Miss Rhea,” Polly choked out. “I tried to stop her.”

Mrs. Hale advanced toward Rhea until the only thing separating them was the counter. “Who do you think you are?”

Rhea’s mouth fell open, but it took a few more seconds before she could push the words from her tongue. “I beg your pardon?”

“I told you Polly was going to go live with my aunt. In Houston she can learn about the world, different cultures, and have a life away from all this.” More spittle
formed in the corners of her mouth the angrier she got. “And the first thing you do is run and tell that
boy
you have working for you.”

“Mrs. Hale, I assure you—”

“Do you deny that you told him to talk to Polly?”

“No.”

“Do you deny telling him Polly should have a choice in the matter? That he could perhaps sway her to stay here?”

“I—”

“Thanks to you and your meddling, that fool has it in his head that he’s going to marry Polly and keep her tied down here—in Penance!”

Polly hiccupped again, standing beside her mother, with her hands clenched at her waist and her head bowed. Rhea wanted to grab her up and hide her in the backroom until the woman stopped yelling.

“Mrs. Hale,” Rhea said quietly, “if you’ll remember, Ernest was standing right over there when you told me about sending Polly to Houston, so it would have been impossible for him
not
to hear.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” The woman’s face was a deepening shade of red, and her hands vibrated against her small bag.

“I-I’m sorry. What would you like me to do?”

“Do?” Mrs. Hale was almost screeching. “I want you to tell her how foolish it is. Tell her that one day she’ll come to regret marrying him and staying in this horrible little town; that her life will be full of nothing but heartache and hard work.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will!” Mrs. Hale shook Polly’s sleeve until she looked up at Rhea. “Now tell her.”

“Mrs. Hale, please.”

“You, of all people, know it’s true. If it hadn’t been
for your family’s store, what choices would you have had?”

“I hardly think—”

“Please.” Mrs. Hale’s screeching turned to pleading. “Don’t you think my Polly deserves a chance at something better? A life where she won’t have to work from sunup to sundown? Where she’ll have choices and…”

“Of course she should have choices,” Rhea said. “And one of those should be deciding whether she wants to go to Houston.”

“She’s seventeen, for goodness sake—she can’t begin to know what she wants.”

“I’ll be eighteen next week, and I want to stay here and marry Ernest.” Polly’s voice, cracked and choking, strained against each word. “I love him.”

“Love?” Mrs. Hale spat out. “You’re too young to know what love is.”

“You married Pa when you were sixteen!” Polly cried. “How is that any different?”

The look on Mrs. Hale’s face made the difference crystal clear.

“Polly.” Rhea took the girl’s hand and smiled. “Your mother loves you very much, and she only wants what’s best for you.”

“But she’s lived here her whole life. Why can’t I?”

With a glance at Mrs. Hale’s grim face, Rhea plunged on. “It was a different time back when your folks got married. Women didn’t have as many options as we do today.”

“What do you mean?”