“I’ll pass.”
“There’s also an apple streusel cake with caramel sauce.”
Molly wanted to ask if it was restaurant policy to push desserts on women who weren’t skeletal clothes racks. But she just shook her head.
Deacon said, “The check. Now.”
She scrawled something inside and then slid the black vinyl ticket holder in front of Deacon. “I’ll be your cashier, whenever you’re ready.”
Molly stirred the remnants of her rum and Diet Coke as Deacon got out his wallet.
“Let’s go,” Deacon said tersely.
“Don’t you have to wait for her to run your credit card?”
“I paid cash.”
“Did Miss I’m-a-Model leave her phone number?”
Deacon’s eyes went flat.
“She did!” Molly snatched the ticket holder and cracked it open. Sure enough. Arisol—seriously, her mom had named her after a spray can? And misspelled it—had written her number below her name, complete with a little heart.
“Forget it.”
“Nope.” Molly circled the digits with the girl’s hot-pink pen and added her own message. She slid out of the booth and headed toward the exit.
When they passed the hostess stand where Spray Can stood, Deacon whispered, “He’s my dessert—eat your heart out. Nice one, babe.”
“I couldn’t let her bitchiness slide.”
“I expected to see something like, I took a dump bigger than you last week.”
“Eww. I’d never say anything like that!”
“I know you wouldn’t. You’re too fucking nice.”
And so are you, because you didn’t do anything to discourage her.
Okay. That wasn’t fair. Deacon was hot. Women didn’t care if he had a girlfriend. It’d be different if he’d somehow encouraged Spray Can, but he’d ignored her.
Before Deacon opened the passenger door, he pulled her body against his. “You inviting me up when we get to your place?”
“Well, you are my dessert.”
A low growl emerged, and he kissed her.
The ride to her apartment felt like the calm before the storm.
As many times as she’d fantasized about getting naked and wild with Deacon, now that it was happening, her nerves kicked in. Then she remembered—with some embarrassment—Deacon’s horrified expression the first time he’d seen her apartment.
She’d been so pissed off that he’d shown up to give her a freakin’ makeup lesson, she’d snapped, “What?”
“Looks like a lace factory blew up in here and someone threw flowers and shit everywhere to cover up the evidence.”
Molly loved the romantic, cozy cottage look she’d created. “Leave if it offends you.”
“It’s too cute and girly to ever be offensive.” He’d smirked at her. “Kinda like you.”
Shaking off the memory, she fled to the kitchen in the guise of being a good hostess and offering him a nightcap.
But Deacon caught her and kissed her for a good long while—long enough she wondered if the light-headedness was from him or from the last drink she’d had.
Definitely him. Booze had never made her feel this way.
“You hum,” he said after releasing her mouth.
“What?”
“Sometimes you make a humming noise when I kiss you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I like it.”
“Oh.” Something about the darkness urged her to say what was on her mind. “I like being with you. Am I breaking second-date relationship rules by admitting that?”
“Babe. Do I seem like a guy who’d know that shit?”
“No, you seem like a guy who’d glory in breaking the rules.”
“I’d rather glory in you,” he murmured against her throat. “Take me to your bedroom.”
Molly’s belly flipped. Gooseflesh broke out. Her heart beat madly when she took his hand and led him down the short hallway.
Moonlight shone across the carpet in her dark bedroom. Before she could turn on the lamp on the nightstand, Deacon spun her around.
The man was gorgeous in any light, but he was a deity with silvery moonbeams highlighting his face. She knew the muscled body beneath the clothing was unparalleled.
“Relax.” He tipped her head back to gaze into her eyes. “I’m not gonna throw you on your bed and fuck you. But I do want to play with you.”
“Play with me,” she repeated.
Deacon stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “We start this, I’ll ask you to do things for me. Things I need. If you can’t give me those things, let me know now.”