Page 34 of Deceive Me
“Deacon.” Her closed throat strangled the name.
“That’s not a problem, Elliot. That’s natural.”
“Not for me, it isn’t.”
“Apparently you’re wrong.”
His grin made her want to punch him again, hug or not. That frustration mixed with the emotions already churning in her chest, forming a compound she was pretty sure would cause a big fucking mess when it exploded in her face. “You’re not supposed to make this okay, Dain. You’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong, shut that shit down, fix whatever’s wrong with me before I make a mistake on the job and put everyone in harm’s way because I can’t keep my hormones under control!” The words were hard and ragged, but she couldn’t hold them back.
And yet Dain was shaking his head like she was a not too bright child. “There’s nothing wrong with you other than the fact that you are completely clueless—about this, anyway.” He reached over to grip her forearm tight. “If there was any question in my mind that you of all people would ever actually lose control and put your team or your charge in danger, you wouldn’t be working with me.”
She dropped her gaze to his grip, the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. “So I can, what? Flirt? Make goo-goo eyes at the client when I should be keeping my focus on Sydney?” She couldn’t keep her irritation hidden. Dain’s amusement made her want to kick him. But that grip—she didn’t want him to let go.
“Have you been doing that?” he asked. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve done fine despite the obviously mutual attraction between you.”
“‘Obviously mutual’?”
Dain quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m male. I can see his reaction to you, Elliot. Yours took a little longer, but it’s definitely there.”
Great. Having this conversation was bad enough. She really didn’t need to know Dain could tell what she felt. Really. It was a bit like being stripped naked; she preferred her naked privately.
Dain’s smirking didn’t help. Her cheeks went supernova hot. “Damn man.”
“Elliot…” His smile faded, became tinged with worry as he stared at her. That look made her wish she really was normal like he’d said. “Stop being so hard on yourself. And stop worrying. I don’t. As long as you’re not fucking on duty—which I’d never doubt—you aren’t doing anything wrong.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Nothing was going to happen; she wouldn’t allow it to.
So why did that not make her feel any better?
“Stop. Worrying, little Otter.” Dain’s hand came up. She knew from the trajectory that the bastard was going to pat her head. The block was instinctive, as was the lunge out of her chair. She hated having her head patted, and he knew it, damn him.
Dain laughed when she growled at him. “Go unlock the door.” He waited until she was halfway across the room to add, “And Elliot? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That covers pretty much everything,” she muttered, reaching for the doorknob.
“Yep, pretty much.”
She was still shaking her head when she opened the door.
14
Deacon stood in the door of his daughter’s bedroom and stared in bemusement at the tea party taking place inside. Sydney sat on the rug, princess crown atop her head, the tea set that had been Julia’s as a child laid out before her. Chocolate cookies and cheese crackers graced their small plates. Elliot poured thin brown liquid into the china cups carefully, following Syd’s instructions to the letter. He noticed she used the same care with the china as she had earlier today when he’d caught her cleaning her gun in the library—meticulous to a fault, and thorough.
Would she be as thorough in bed? The remembered feel of her lips, her mouth, her tongue against his said it didn’t matter. If he got her in bed, he’d be too involved to keep score.
“And now a little milk,” Sydney said. Elliot set the teapot to one side, then took up the small creamer dish.
“I don’t know if I like hot tea.” Elliot’s tone was careful, as if she was trying not to offend.
Apparently this wasn’t the first time Elliot had mentioned her uncertainty about the tea, because Sydney’s sigh was long-suffering. “You have to have tea at a tea party, Elliot.”
The strained patience in his daughter’s expression made him want to laugh, but he choked the sound down. Elliot had said in Jack’s office that she’d never had a tea party. He wasn’t about to ruin her first time—or Sydney’s, for that matter. She’d never played tea with any woman but her mother, and even then she’d barely been two. Did she truly remember those rare, precious moments with Jules, or was she imagining the stories Deacon had told her since?
The question cramped his heart.
Elliot was stirring spoonfuls of sugar into each cup. Deacon watched both girl and woman pick up their tea, bring it to their mouths, blow gently. A small sip, right at the same moment. Swallows. Sydney’s expectant gaze stayed glued to Elliot, whose clear blue eyes turned thoughtful.
“Not too bad,” she said.
