Page 21 of The Sweet Spot

“Kennedy and I have been reading chapters together at night over FaceTime. It was a great way to get to spend time with her, even if we were in different states.” I lean back in my chair and sip my beer, ignoring the anger that bubbles right under the surface when I think about Isla wanting to take my daughter across the world. “We’re up to The Prisoner of Azkaban.”

“That’s sweet. I bet she’s a real daddy’s girl.”

“Yeah. But her stepdad just got offered a promotion that would move them to Japan, and I hate the idea of being a FaceTime father for the next two years. Not sure how that’s gonna work yet,” I groan through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Deacon. I’m so sorry.” She reaches her hand across the table and rests it on my forearm, and even through my frustration, her touch heats my skin. “What are you going to do?”

“No fucking clue,” I admit, so fucking frustrated that just when I thought I’d get to have my daughter in my life more than FaceTimes and summers, she’s going to be ripped even further away than she is now.

Brynlee pops up from the table and clears our plates with a smile, then turns to me. “Come on, Kane. Get up.”

“What are you thinking, crazy girl?” I ask with a gruff laugh.

She holds her hand out for me. “What? Are you scared?”

I take her hand in mine and stand, then lift my other hand to her face. “Of you? Not hardly, Brynn.”

She licks her lips as her green eyes darken to a shade you only see in pictures of the Irish countryside. “Maybe you should be,” she whispers, and fuck... maybe she’s right.

BRYNLEE

“Where the hell are we going, red?” A chill skirts down my spine, which I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. At least not yet. But that one word does things to my body that no word should be able to do. Even though I’m completely aware that it’s this man with that mouth speaking that word—that’s the lethal combination.

“We’re almost there,” I placate and tug him along behind me, ducking through the monstrously tall evergreen trees that create a thick privacy fence at the edge of the property line shared with old Mrs. Golden.

I stop at the edge of the lake and turn to face the giant of a man behind me, loosening my fingers that are laced with Deacon’s to tug them free. But he tightens his grip on mine, refusing to break the connection. “Is trespassing your idea of a good time?” Deacon asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.

With a worn Boston University t-shirt and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, this man might not be easily recognizable in this town yet. But he soon will be. His face will be well-known. His moves documented like the rest of the professional athletes who choose to live in this typically sleepy little suburb of Philadelphia. But for tonight, I get to keep him to myself, and I can admit that gives me a little thrill.

“Can it really be trespassing if my family owns the property, and they’re giving it to you in a contract tomorrow?” I tease, attempting again to pull away, but his grip is unfaltering on my hand. “I’m not going to run away. You can let go of my hand now.”

I kick off my flip flops, then look down at his sneakers. “Take your shoes off.”

“Why?” he asks, even as he steps out of them while I smile triumphantly.

“Because studies show standing in the grass grounds you. It can relieve stress and negativity and can help you sleep better.” I scrunch my toes into the damp earth beneath my feet, then take a few steps back, pulling on Deacon’s hold. “I figured we could both use a little stress relief.”

“Oh yeah?” With one step and a tug of his hand, he closes the distance between us, leaving barely a breath separating us. Electricity sizzles and snaps, this crazy connection growing stronger with each new touch. Deacon’s smile is slow and so damn sexy. “You need help relieving your stress, Brynn?”

Deacon’s free hand slides around the back of my neck. His thumb caresses the column of my throat, and I melt. My panties dampen, and my breath catches in my chest as I gently nod, whispering, hoarsely, “I could use some help.”

He drops his other hand, cups my face, and bends his knees, bringing us eye to eye. “Tell me what you need.”

Good lord.

His low, gravelly, growly voice is my undoing.

With a push of my hand against his muscled chest, I’m finally able to step back. My gaze locks with Deacon’s, and I slowly pull my tank over my head, enjoying the flames growing in his heated gaze that’s reflected back at me. I drop my shirt to the ground, then hook my thumbs in my jeans and shimmy them over my hips and down my legs.

I watch his Adam’s apple work as Deacon silently swallows.

Nerves war with need, and my lips tremble with anticipation when I finally answer him, “I need you to make sure I don’t drown, Kane.”

His eyes flare for a moment frozen in time I’ll never forget before I take off for the safety of the lake. One I’m in no danger of drowning in. I’ve swam in this lake my entire life, racing my cousins to see who could make it to the falls on the other side fastest.

I take off for the dock, and the loud pounding of my heart nearly silences the sounds of Deacon undressing behind me. Before I can catapult myself into the cold water, the sound of heavy footfalls gains on me. I’m lifted in strong arms and cradled against a hard chest before we both crash into the abyss below.

Deacon

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