Dancing With the Devil (8 page)

With deft fingers, she released two buttons on his shirt and slid her hand inside. His breath hitched, his muscles flexed, and an instant later, he pressed into her touch. Someone moaned, but she couldn’t be sure who.

The sound must have startled him, because he slowed the kiss, pulling her gently back to reality.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “It would seem we both want the same thing.”

If she could breathe, she’d set him straight on exactly what she wanted…though it seemed to have changed drastically in the last few minutes.

If only she could breathe!

Deacon gazed down at her. Dark storm clouds brewed in his eyes, a tempest that both surprised and frightened her.

“Deacon.” It was all her parched throat could manage before her tongue froze again.

“Sweet little Rhea.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek and looked down at her with such tenderness, it made her heart ache. “You best get back to your customer.”

He staggered back a step, righted himself and retreated up the stairs to their room.

Curse him.

Or, more to the point, curse herself! She wasn’t the type of woman to swoon over any man—especially the likes of Deacon. He was a rat—a charming rat, and one who could obviously kiss the sense right out of her,
but a rat nonetheless. He’d humiliated her once. She couldn’t afford to let it happen a second time.

She needed to be stronger this time. How many times had she told herself that in the last twenty-four hours?

But damn, that man could kiss!

Rhea was still standing where Deacon had left her when Ernest came in a few minutes later.

“Miss Rhea?”

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then stepped away from the wall, the only thing that had supported her all this time.

“Ernest,” she said, pushing through the haze she’d been in. “Were you able to help Miss Kit?”

“Yes, ma’am. She took the entire black suit, plus a new shirt, a vest and a pair of boots. She even took one of them new bowler hats your husband seems to be so fond of.”

Something niggled at the back of Rhea’s mind, but she pushed it aside. It didn’t matter what the woman purchased; all that mattered was if she paid for it.

“How did she pay?”

“Cash.”

“Really?” Rhea stared down the aisles of the empty store toward the closed door. “That’s good, then.”

It was another minute or so before Ernest cleared his throat loud enough to get her attention.

“If there’s nothing you need,” he said, “I best be getting home. Ma likes her supper early these days.”

“Of course. Thank you, Ernest.” Then, before he could leave, she lifted the small jug of milk she’d taken from Colin’s this morning and held it out to him. “Please take this to your mother. And tell her I said hello.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but it ain’t right for you to keep givin’ us things like that.”

“Of course it is,” she said, smiling. “It’ll just go bad sitting here.” The anticipation on his face was almost enough for Rhea to give him Colin’s cow entirely. “Please, Ernest. I’d hate to see it wasted, and you worked hard today—you deserve a little treat.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he bobbed his head slowly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure it’ll make Ma happy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Ernest.” She reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry about Polly.”

A deep red flush shot up the boy’s neck and cheeks. “Weren’t like we was engaged or anything.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “But I’m still sorry.”

Another quick head bob and he was gone. Rhea locked the door behind him and then set to tidying up.

She swept the floor twice, washed the countertop and the candy bins, then spent a great deal of time sorting through the mess on the sewing table. Bolts of fabric, ribbons, lace, patterns and strings of beads covered the table in a giant haphazard mess. Right in the middle of that mess sat a huge glass bowl filled with buttons, every size, shape and color a person could possibly need. And if they weren’t enough, there was another box of buttons underneath the table.

It must be horribly frustrating for her customers to stand there and sort through the whole bowl until they found the color or size they needed. She had time now, and tedious though it might be, she’d get them sorted.

Anything to make her customers happy. And anything to avoid going upstairs.

She dragged a stool over to the table, gently poured out the bowl and set to dividing its contents into different piles. It was amazing anyone had ever been able to find what they were looking for in that jumble. An
hour later, she stood and tried to stretch the pain out of her neck and shoulders. Her eyes, dry and aching, begged to be closed, but she couldn’t do it. Not yet.

If she closed her eyes now, she knew there was only one face she’d see, and she wasn’t nearly ready to deal with that.

In fact, she should probably sort the box under the table, too…

“Rhea.” Deacon’s smooth voice floated across the room. “You can’t hide down here all night.”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort.” Drat—she’d just thrown three yellow buttons in with the red. “I’m working.”

“Working?” He moved so furtively, she didn’t realize he’d moved at all until his arm brushed hers. “After all the years your family’s owned this store, you suddenly find it pressing to sort that bowl of buttons?”

She sniffed and instantly regretted it. His scent was almost as seductive as his touch. “It should have been done a long time ago.”

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I imagine there are plenty of things that should have been done a long time ago. And while I applaud your sudden desire to organize the chaos around here, I doubt very much that sales have suffered because women can’t find the exact button they need.”

He picked up a bright blue button with scalloped edges, fingered it gently and tossed it in with the rest of the blue ones.

Why did he have to stand right at her shoulder? Didn’t he know how distracting he was? Rhea frowned. Of course he knew.

“You could help.” She reached under the table and pulled out the other box of buttons. “There’s plenty that need sorting.”

His mouth turned up in a grin, but instead of being his usual cocky smile, it looked as though he’d simply cut it off someone else’s face and fastened it to his own.

“Thank you, no,” he finally answered. “I’d hate to hurry you along when you’re obviously so determined to hide down here instead of coming upstairs to sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” As she turned away, he snorted softly. “I’m not hiding, and I’m not tired.”

“Says the woman who can barely stand up straight.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” His one word, whispered so quietly into her ear, reverberated through her brain.

She tried to shrug him off, but he lingered near her ear, not touching her or even speaking; just hovering.

Rhea lifted a handful of buttons out of the box and set them in a pile on the table. One by one, she sorted them into their respective piles, then reached for another handful. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go back upstairs and leave her alone.

But, of course, that would go against everything Deacon was made of.

Without a word, his hands folded over her shoulders and began to knead them; slowly at first, then stronger, deeper. For the first few minutes, she continued to sort buttons with slow precision. But it wasn’t long before she slumped down on the stool, crossed her arms on the table and rested her forehead on top of them.

Shifting slightly behind her, he repositioned his hands without ever losing contact with her back.

He rubbed harder, pushing, smoothing and pressing until each knot loosened. It was, undoubtedly, one of the stupidest things she could have let him do right then, when the taste of his kiss was still so fresh and she was so completely exhausted, but Rhea didn’t care. His
hands were magic to her muscles, a balm to every knot and kink she’d twisted them into over the last few days.

With her head down and eyes closed, she was boneless, pliable and eager for more of Deacon’s attention. The devil had offered her a few moments of heaven right there in her store, and she’d willingly accepted. What harm could it do? As long as she didn’t look at him, as long as he didn’t move suddenly and send his intoxicating scent swimming through the air, she’d be fine.

Oh yes, she’d be perfectly fine. A soft moan escaped with her next breath. When had she ever been this relaxed, this—

As suddenly as he’d started, Deacon stopped and dropped his hands to his sides.

In her state of repose, it took a moment to gather the energy and strength to sit up and look at him; but that was all it took to bring every knot, every kink he’d just worked out of her muscles, screaming back.

Confusion and frustration mixed with forced calm and covered with a pained smile stared back at her—all feelings she understood and recognized because each one was thrashing inside her as well.

Deacon cleared his throat softly. “I’d best leave you to your buttons, before I make you do something you’ll regret.”

She chuckled, a harsh sound that pained her throat. “And you’d best get it out of your head that you have any control over me or what I do.”

This time his smile reached all the way into his eyes as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to control you. But it’s perfectly clear you enjoy me as much as I enjoy you. Why not just admit it?”

“Oh, I enjoy you well enough,” she snapped. “I’m just not going to let myself enjoy you too much this
time. I’ve been down that road before, and I’d rather not travel it again.”

“You say that, yet you steered us both back down that road when you chose me as your husband.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the table behind him. “Perhaps you wish we were married for real.”

“Perhaps not!” She pushed her button piles farther apart, then poured another mound to be sorted. What had she been thinking when she started sorting this mess? She squeezed her hands into fists to stop their trembling.

Too late.

Deacon covered her hands with his and leaned closer. “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ ”

She jerked her hands away and glared up at him. “Don’t touch me.”

“You wanted me to earlier.”

“I never—” She pushed hard at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“No matter how long you try to hide from me, Rhea, we both want the same thing.”

“I’m not hiding from you!”

He lifted a handful of buttons and let them slide between his fingers. “Liar.”

Before she could fire a retort, he turned on his heel and disappeared through the backroom.

When she heard the door close upstairs, Rhea expelled her breath in a huge rush. God help her, that man was going to drive her mad. The fact he knew just where to touch her was aggravating enough, but to have her traitorous body react so wantonly—and so quickly—was downright infuriating.

She ran her tongue over her suddenly parched lips—lips still flavored with Deacon’s kiss—and shuddered.

Oh, how she’d missed his touch this past year, and God help her, she’d missed his kisses. She didn’t want to, but there it was.

She wanted to hate him for it.

All these months later, she could still feel every detail about their last day together. The air, still warm after a brief storm, held the lingering scent of a quick rain over the too-dry ground.

They’d barely spoken as they walked home from the restaurant, but she hadn’t needed words. All she needed was the feel of his thick calloused fingers twined through hers. All she needed was to know how he felt, and he told her every time he looked at her.

Rhea squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory remained, singed into her brain. The overwhelming desire she’d felt for Deacon shone straight back at her through his blue eyes. It was a hunger she couldn’t explain. All she knew was that it went far deeper than anything physical.

Unlike most of the men in town, her brother included, Deacon let her be who she wanted to be. He didn’t try to control her, he didn’t try to silence her when she had something to say and he didn’t condescend to her.

He treated her with a surprising amount of respect given who he was, and that was perhaps what made her love him even more.

Yes, she loved him, devil and all, and she’d been so sure he loved her too, especially that last night. That last night…

Rhea slumped over the table, burying her face in the crook of her elbow. She’d been ready to give herself to Deacon, to give him everything he wanted and to take everything she wanted, but he’d walked away, leaving her alone, confused and humiliated. If that wasn’t enough,
he’d taken himself straight to the cursed saloon and into Salma’s willing arms.

Rhea sucked in a sharp breath. How could it still hurt so much after all this time? After all that time spent trying to hate him…and she’d come so close to succeeding, too. If only he hadn’t shown up on her front porch, smiling that crooked smile and whispering kisses over her skin like butterfly wings.

It didn’t matter. Kisses aside, there was only one thing that mattered.

Survival.

If she wasn’t careful—very, very careful—she would never survive the heartbreak he was sure as sin going to leave behind him again.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

M
inutes ticked by. Deacon thought it was probably good that Rhea hadn’t come upstairs straight away because he would have been hard pressed to keep his hands to himself.

But the longer she stayed away, the more difficult it became to think of anything—or anyone—else. Sweet little Rhea.

What the hell was he going to do about her?

Maybe he’d been wrong to come back; maybe he should have just left well enough alone. He’d never done something like this before, something to ease another soul’s pain. And if he’d known it was going to be this difficult, he might have saved himself the trouble.

The plan had started out so simple: He’d come back, tell Rhea the truth about Salma, she’d see the reasoning behind his lie and stop hurting, and then he’d leave again. What could be easier?