Page 19 of All My Broken Dreams

“Is Sarah your mom’s name?” he called over his shoulder.

Good. That’s good, lad. Now, control your breathing. You’re panting like a wolf.

“Yes. Sarah Listowel. Deacon, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Yanking on the pajama bottoms with shaking hands.

“Is there something about my brother that you’re not telling me?”

He clawed his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. “No, why?”

The door opened behind him and Robbie stepped into the bathroom. His eyes lifted and held hers, reflected in the mirror. She paused, her mouth open as if she was about to say something and forgot.

“What do you need, Robbie?”

Deacon stared at her, willing her to leave the room before his body humiliated him.

Her arms snaked around her middle and she stood with one bare foot on top of the other. Rosy pink coloring crept over her cheeks and her pupils dilated.

His lower belly tightened. His cock expanded and he panicked a little.

Deacon saw her face change right before his eyes. He felt the breath in their bodies stall and the walls of the Art Deco bathroom that she liked so much close in around them.

It was claustrophobic. An impossible situation.

Impossible, because no matter what his uncle said and no matter what he wanted, Deacon could never, ever touch her.

Chapter Ten

Robbie broke the crackling sexual tension between them by flicking her eyes to her feet. Nope. Bare feet. Too erotic.

She turned her gaze to the ceiling in the bathroom as if it was an architectural feature. When she thought it was safe, she looked at Deacon and came up against his naked chest. She couldn’t help it–it filled the room! What else was she supposed to look at? Her eyes were drawn to it like a magnet drew steel filings.

She wanted to touch it.

There were so manymuscles…. Pectorals, abs (is that what they mean by a six-pack?), his forearms and biceps, and then there were his shoulders….

His shoulders were the best of all. She remembered how he brought down one of her attackers with a single blow.

“Are you cold?” he asked her. “It’s warmer by the fire.”

Robbie realized her nipples had puckered and were poking against the tee-shirt. But Deacon wasn’t looking at her breasts. He was staring at a spot on the wall over her head with his hands crossed in front of his crotch.

She swallowed.

“Okay, yes, good idea. Let’s talk by the fire. Do you mind if I have some more sherry?”

“Sure.”

He moved with lithe ease to the cabinet where he kept the bottle and refilled her glass.

Deacon Wake was a puzzle box. He was really good-looking–at least, she thought so. He should have a girlfriend or a love life of some kind, but it felt like he was alone. He was kind of awkward around her, like a guy who wasn’t used to being around girls.

Maybe girls in Scotland had a different standard of what constituted a desirable male? Maybe he was too working class or too rough around the edges. Her mother, for example, would hate that he was a janitor. Absolutelyhateit.

But she wouldn’t be surprised. Rowena attracted to a janitor? Yep, that tracks.

“I guess you think I’m pretty crazy for asking you that,” she said. “About my brother, I mean. I have a one-track mind.”

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