Dancing With the Devil (9 page)

He stood in front of the mirror, his hands gripping the small round table as he leaned closer.

“You’re not supposed to still be here,” he muttered to himself. “In and out—that was the plan.”

He blinked back at his reflection and sighed. Stubborn cuss of a woman hadn’t let him explain anything!
Instead, his mouth had been otherwise occupied with kissing her. And more than that, she’d kissed him back.

Deacon’s throat burned raw. He wanted to stand next to her, to watch the passion build in those amazing eyes of hers and to be the one who took her so far past that passion she’d never see straight again.

He wanted to hear her breath hitch when he touched her, to make her sigh when he kissed below her ear and to somehow, despite everything, make her laugh again.

It might be selfish, but that was who he was, and there was no denying it. He wanted Rhea more than he’d ever wanted anything in his long miserable life. And no matter how much his father tried to lash it out of him, he’d always want her.

Deacon’s throat burned hotter, his scars prickled tighter than ever. If there was any chance he could give her what she wanted…

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and spun away from his reflection. Of course he could give her what she wanted. It was simply a matter of repairing her heart so she could go off and fall in love with someone else. A human husband, one who could give her a home and lots of little human children. Somehow, he’d have to help her find that—even if it meant an eternity of misery for himself.

Deacon stretched out on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. It was a wonder humans did any good deeds at all, if this was how it left people feeling. Trying to make her happy was leaving him miserable!

He’d known all along he could never have Rhea, but he was the devil’s son: he wanted what he wanted, and nothing else mattered.

But Satan’s teeth, something else did matter this time: Rhea.

Half an hour later, her boots sounded on the stairs,
but it was almost another minute of quiet before she finally opened the door and walked in.

Deacon fought to keep his breathing steady and remained where he was, stretched out, ankles crossed, and his uninjured arm curled behind his head.

“Finished already?” he teased. “I half expected you to throw a bedroll down behind the desk.”

“I considered it.”

Honesty—a surprising tactic. “So why didn’t you?”

Rhea closed the door behind her and turned up the wick on the lamp. Even with her face half-hidden in shadows, there was no mistaking the strain in her clenched jaw.

“And have you think you’d scared me off?”

Deacon couldn’t hide his smile as he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “I’ve known you to be a lot of things, Rhea, but scared of me has never been one of them.”

She simply arched her brow in response.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’ll give you a minute to ready yourself for bed.” As he pulled open the door, he stopped, turned and waggled his brow. “One minute.”

He walked the length of the store slowly, paused to admire her button work and then stepped outside onto the deserted boardwalk.

The air was still, the town all but asleep except for the lights and muted sounds drifting from the saloon at the entrance to town.

He inhaled a long breath and stared up at the star-filled sky. The last time he’d seen so many stars had been that last night with Rhea, the night he’d seen straight into her soul and she’d seen into his.

An ache he couldn’t explain began to spread throughout Deacon’s chest. In that brief glimpse, he’d seen everything so clearly. Everything Rhea felt for him,
every bit of light that burned in her soul for him, burned in his soul for her.

He blew out a long slow breath, fighting the smile that twitched against his lips. The punishment for that indiscretion had almost killed him, so why was he smiling? And why did warmth spill through his veins?

Everything had been so simple before Rhea came into his life. So simple, so predictable, so tidy.

“Stop it,” he muttered into the darkness. “Focus.”

He straightened his jacket, tugged his cuffs a little and frowned. Tomorrow he’d pick out a new suit and throw this embarrassing set of rags in the nearest fire. He’d never owned a suit for so long, and he’d be more than happy to see the last of it.

He backtracked through the store and up the stairs, knowing what he’d find even before he opened the door. Rhea had turned the lamp off completely, leaving the room awash in broken moonlight and darkened shadows. She lay huddled on the far side of the bed, wrapped head to toe in one of the blankets.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Very,” came the muffled reply.

It would take him less than a heartbeat to rip that blanket off her. He was nothing more than the devil’s son, after all, and she
was
his wife. Instead, he hung his hat on one of the hooks by the door and toed his boots off one at a time.

“Did you happen to bring the rest of that laudanum?” he asked, easing his jacket down his injured arm.

Her face peeked out from beneath her blanket. “No, I thought you did.”

With a bit of a grimace, he slid his other arm out and hung the jacket on the back of the rocking chair.

“Does it hurt a lot?” The remorse in her voice almost made him feel guilty for playing up the pain.

“Not as much as yesterday, but enough that I wish you’d brought the laudanum.”

“I’m sorry.” She spoke so quietly, Deacon almost missed it. “I never meant to hit you.”

In the silence that followed, he undressed down to his shirt and drawers and slid into bed beside Rhea. Before he’d settled, she moved farther away, so her back was pressed up against the wall. Deacon pulled the other blanket up to his waist and sighed.

Not exactly how he’d imagined spending the night with Rhea, but it was a damn sight better than that porcupine quill bed she used at Colin’s.

“Deacon?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you come back?” She shifted her blanket a little until she was able to pull her arm out and lean up on her elbow. “Does it have something to do with your scars?”

The mere mention made the old wounds prickle again.

“Indirectly.”

“You don’t have to hide them from me,” she said. Though her voice was low and gentle, thankfully he couldn’t detect any pity. Even so, he wasn’t about to take off his shirt. She’d seen them once; that was enough for now.

“What did you do to make him hurt you that way?”

Waves of exhaustion began to lick at his senses. “My mere existence is usually enough reason for him.”

“Oh.”

It had been a long time since he’d been so tired, and even longer since he’d felt safe enough to fall asleep. Too bad Rhea was keeping herself tucked up on the other side of the bed. Having her curled up next to him would make everything worthwhile.

If he didn’t go to sleep—and soon—he’d roll over and make Rhea his wife in the only way that mattered to a man, human or not.

He inhaled long, slow breaths, each one pulling the blanket of sleep deeper through his body until his mind eased into the drowsy pre-slumber state of calm he’d longed for since he’d last spent time with Rhea.

As he drifted off, his last conscious thoughts were of her: the way she responded to his kiss, the ache in her voice when she spoke of his scars and the all-encompassing need he had to wrap his arms around her right then and there.

Instead, he pulled the blanket higher and let sleep take him. It was better for both of them that way.

“I bought you a present.” Kit handed him a large package wrapped in brown paper, then reached down and lifted two more.

Deacon eyed the package warily before allowing her into the room. “Why?”

“Because you’re obviously in dire need.”

“Dire need?” He opened the wrapping to reveal a handsome black silk suit and a crisp white shirt, complete with a tidy row of small mother-of-pearl buttons. Boots polished to perfection were in the second parcel, and the third held a fashionable new black bowler hat.

“Excellent choice,” he grinned. “And yet so completely unlike you to do something this…congenial…for no apparent reason.”

Kit shrugged indifferently. “It just seems wrong to see you wear the same dirty clothes as long as you have. And besides”—she sniffed the air around him, then crinkled her nose—“you stink.”

“I do not stink!” But his sister was right; he hadn’t been paying much mind to his appearance since Rhea
shot him. That would have to change. He couldn’t have anyone else see him in his present rags. After all, humans were impressed by appearances—and up until recently, his appearance had been more than just a little impressive, if he did say so himself.

“I’d rather hoped you would have used some of that money on a new wardrobe,” Kit said, cocking her brow toward the unmade bed. “Guess you got…distracted.”

He had been distracted—just not in the way she thought.

“It’s bad enough you came here to do something good.” She shuddered. “But you can’t even focus on that—all you’ve done since you arrived is moon over this woman like you were a…a human!”

“I’m not mooning.” There was that unexplained smile again. What was wrong with him?

“Call it what ever you like,” she said. “But if you don’t end this quickly, you’re going to lose everything.”

“I’ve already lost everything,” he muttered, slipping his arms into his old suit jacket. No point in putting on the new one until he was fit to be seen in it.

Kit paced by the window, keeping her eye on the street below. “He can still take your life.”

“You mean he hasn’t already?”

She whirled to face him. “How can you be so flippant? You’re risking everything just by coming here and instead of ending it clean and simple, you’re dragging it out as if there wasn’t anything at stake.”

“She needs my help.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her. “And I risk nothing by being here.”

Kit’s mouth opened, but no sound came out right away. “Do you think Father is going to let you linger here as long as you like?”

“What does he care where I ‘linger’?” He shouldn’t use such a tone when speaking about his father, but it
was too late to take it back. “He’s the one who kicked me out of Hell and stripped me of my powers.”

“Don’t pout.” It was unlike Kit to sound so testy. “You know you’ll get them back eventually.”

Deacon shrugged indifferently. “Regardless, I won’t rush through this, Kit. I’m staying as long as Rhea needs me, and if you think you’re being here is going to hurry me along, you’re wasting your time. And mine.”

Her eyes narrowed, looking for the smallest crack in his confidence. Good thing he knew how to hide them, otherwise she’d find more than just a few small cracks; she’d see huge gaping crevices.

He could say what ever he liked, but the truth was unavoidable. His father would use what ever means necessary to tempt Deacon back to Hell, and if past experience was anything to go by, it wouldn’t take much.

In fact, Deacon had no doubt just fallen into the first trap—accepting the new clothes from Kit. She’d never done anything like this before.

After a long moment, Kit sighed and shook her head slowly.

“Do it any way you like,” she said. “So long as you understand he’s not about to let you dally with this woman. He’s going to expect you to come back, and probably soon, so you’d best be ready.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” There were few times Deacon wished he could take his words back, but this was one of them.

“Not go back?” His sister’s expression went from confused to enlightened in less than a breath. “You’re not Lucille,” she said. “You can never have a life with this human woman.”

It wasn’t anything Deacon didn’t already know, yet hearing her say it gnawed a giant hole in his stomach.

“You forget who you’re talking to,” he forced out.

“I am well aware of what can and cannot be in my life. I’ve suffered the consequences of his wrath more times than you can even imagine, and you can bet I’m not looking to put myself through it any more than I have to.”

“A few days ago, I would have believed that, but you haven’t been yourself since you came here.” She didn’t blink. “Just remember this—Lucille’s human was at a huge disadvantage when he finally learned the truth about her. Your woman is not.”

“What are you talking about?”

“By the time he discovered who Lucille was, he was already so in love with her that he was unable to hate her.” Kit nodded decisively. “Your woman already knows the truth. She
chooses
to love you, which means she can choose to stop anytime she wants. She holds all the power.”

Deacon didn’t understand much about love, but he’d known all along that Rhea was the one with the power; she’d always had it when it came to him. Just because he knew it, didn’t mean he needed Kit knowing it. Best to steer her off course a bit.

He cleared his throat and cocked his brow at Kit. “What difference does any of this make?”

“Oh, for the love of…” Kit clicked her tongue at him as though he were a witless child. “It makes all the difference. If you’re so bent on stopping the pain in her heart, this is exactly what you need. Make her choose to ‘not’ love you.”

Not love him?
That wasn’t what he wanted. He just wanted her to be happy again; granted, that would mean she’d have to find that happiness with another man, but it didn’t mean she’d have to stop loving
him
, did it?

Ugh—humans! Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“Look.” Kit sighed dramatically. “While I’m enjoying
myself at the poker tables in this town, it would be better for both of us if you would hurry things along a little. I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

Of course. “How long did he give you to bring me back?”

“At the rate you’re going?” she griped. “Obviously not long enough.”

“Rest easy, Kit.” He spoke slowly, carefully selecting each word. “I will end this with Rhea, but I will do it my way, at my own speed, and not because you’re worried about your schedule.”

Deacon needed to get her out of the room before Rhea walked in. “Thank you for the clothes, but as you so eloquently pointed out, I need a bath.” He lifted the new clothes into his arms and held the door open for Kit to pass through ahead of him.