Page 23 of Deceive Me
Deacon leaned over for a quick good-night kiss. Sydney clutched his hand. “Would you rub my face, Daddy?”
Deacon’s heart clenched. It was a ritual they’d begun after Jules died, one Syd hadn’t asked for in a while. Obviously the turmoil around the house had affected her more than she let on. He sat close, leaning over to plant a hand on the opposite side of her body. Something about caging her in, about being the strong Daddy who could protect and comfort her, felt more powerful than a gun in his grip. And when he brought his free hand to her cheek and she snuggled her tiny face into his big palm…Jesus.
“Close your eyes.”
She did. He ran his fingertips lightly over the lines of her cheeks, her forehead, down her nose, which wrinkled in response. It wasn’t more than a minute, though, before her breathing went deep and she fell into sleep. Deacon stayed awhile, tracing her little-girl face and marveling at the beauty created by the mix of his and Julia’s features.
When he drew away, Syd stirred, rolling onto her side. “Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Tuck Elliot in too.”
Out of the mouths of babes.
Sydney drifted back to sleep, unaware of the conflict her words had incited. He turned her bedside lamp off, leaving the room illuminated by a small night-light, and returned to the hall.
Elliot’s open door called to him. He found himself walking toward the darkened room, unable to resist any longer.
A bright white line shown around the closed bathroom door, a direct contrast to the ghostly greenish glow illuminating the area near the empty bed. The glow emanated from a small four-by-four screen on the nightstand showing a video feed from the camera in Sydney’s room. The screen reminded him of the baby monitor Jules had insisted on until their daughter was one, the kind with a camera that showed the baby’s crib. She’d worried constantly that Sydney would stop breathing during the night, that an intruder would get inside the house and enter the nursery—so many fears that never came true. And yet the one thing she should’ve feared, illness, had taken her away from the daughter she’d loved. Deacon could never remember those last few weeks after he’d taken a leave of absence from work without anger. Jules had worked so hard to be the perfect mother, and she’d neglected her health in the process. Now he and their daughter were both alone.
The bathroom light blinked out. When the door opened, he didn’t so much hear it as sense it, the change in the air of the room, in the pace of his heartbeat. He wanted to see her, feel her. How could a woman he’d only met yesterday affect him like this? It was ridiculous—and as real as his need for his next breath.
He should leave. His body was silhouetted in her doorway. She couldn’t miss seeing him. Being a creeper wasn’t going to impress her any more than his hard-ass attitude at their first meeting.
He didn’t move.
Elliot’s voice reached through the darkness toward him. “Saint has inside patrol tonight.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
“Tucking Sydney in. Parents do that.”
“I’m not Sydney.”
No, but you are a mystery, and I can’t seem to stop myself from trying to figure you out.
He still didn’t move.
The sound of cloth brushing against skin tightened his cock. Elliot stepped into the gloom midroom, her legs bare, the hem of her jogging shorts cupping her upper thighs, her flat belly and rounded breasts lovingly outlined by a cotton tank top. The curse that rang in his mind almost escaped his mouth.
The confusion in her expression held it back.
“Did you need something, Deacon?”
At least she hadn’t called him Mr. Walsh. “No.”
Her brows drew tighter together. “Then what do you want?”
He glanced around, searching for an excuse to be here. His gaze landed on the monitor. “Just making sure you have everything you need.”
She crossed her arms over her rib cage. Did she realize how that position plumped her breasts up in mouthwatering display? How it made his fingers itch to touch her?
He couldn’t, not yet. If he moved too fast, Elliot would kick his ass. And yet, despite the tension spiking the air between them, she didn’t look like she wanted to kick his ass—she looked…shy. And aroused, if the nipples he could plainly see outlined by the soft cotton of her top were anything to go by.
His mouth watered at the sight.
