Page 23 of When You Saved Me

Just as I thought he might have heard my hidden desires, his hand dropped from the frame, and he walked away–never looking back.

When he disappeared through the doorway of his room, I released the breath I’d been holding and spread my palm over my décolletage as the room stopped spinning and started coming back into focus.

It took me a few minutes to recover from whatever had just happened between us in his bedroom before I walked out and found him sitting on the couch with Casper curled into a tight ball by his feet. A glass of amber liquid was clutchedbetween his fingers as he stared into the flames dancing in the hearth.

From where I stood in the hallway, I imagined what it would be like to paint him. I ran the pads of my fingertips together to ward off the need to grasp one of my brushes he’d packed away in his truck for me. I’d never been one to paint people. I could never get the proportions right and it had always frustrated me. I much preferred the wild landscapes of nature that called to be exposed. But there was a wildness in Deacon too.

Raw.

Unbridled.

Secretive.

Which is why I found myself drawing closer to him. Step after step, my feet carried me into the living room. I didn’t think I could stop moving toward him, even if I wanted to.

The reflection of the flames flickered in his eyes when he looked at me. His large body took up most of the section of the couch and that’s when it struck me.

Where am I going to sleep?

Deacon must have read my mind because he swirled the whiskey in his glass and then said, “I’ll sleep out here on the couch. You can have my bed.”

I glanced over my shoulder down the hallway. There were four doors, three of which I hadn’t been through, but I guessed they were bedrooms.

“I can sleep in one of the guest bedrooms,” I offered.

His gaze was piercing. “The only bed in this house is in my room.”

I smiled. “You don’t get many visitors then?”

He downed the rest of the liquor from his glass and stood. “Nope.”

His strides were long as he walked toward me. “Let me just grab a blanket from my room and it’s all yours.”

Before he could pass me, I reached out for his arm and found my fingers curled into the side of his bicep. He stopped walking and I looked at where I’d grabbed him. His muscle dwarfed my small hand.

Heat curled in my stomach. “I can take the couch,” I said with a quiet laugh. “You barely fit on it as it is. It’ll be much more comfortable for me.”

His chin lowered and that heat in my core turned into molten lead. “And what kind of man would I be having a woman sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly good bed for her to rest in?”

Not a very gentlemanly one by Southern standards.

“Sleep with me then.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said.

The green in his eyes darkened. The muscle beneath my palm went rigid as I felt my eyes grow wide with embarrassment. There was no doubt my cheeks were a flaming red. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I shook my head and stared at the wood panels of the floor.

“I meant that we can share the bed,” I gritted through my teeth. “I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable tonight.”

Rough fingers gripped the edge of my chin. I sucked in a breath as he tilted my head back so I was forced to look at him. “Is that really what you want?”

All thoughts emptied from my mind with the exception ofhim. His words, the curt tone of his voice, the coarse feeling of his touch against my skin. There was a slight tilt of his lips, like he was battling between the man he showed me and the man he truly was.

An enigma.

That’s what Deacon Calhoun was.

And every single part of me wanted to discover the pieces that made him whole.

One resounding word came barreling through my otherwise empty mind. “Yes.”

---