Page 32 of Deceive Me
He took a step back. His hand tensed in her hair before dropping to his side.
Elliot was still breathing heavy when Saint opened the door. “Ready to eat?”
You have no idea. “Sure,” Deacon answered for them.
“Good, you can help cook.” Saint threw him an unapologetic grin, but his gaze was far more serious as it brushed Elliot’s back.
She felt it; he knew by the way her shoulders stiffened, her chin lifting just a notch. And then she was turning toward her teammate. “KP duty it is.”
She didn’t look back. Deacon closed his fist around the feel of her fragile neck in his palm and followed her out the door.
13
The punch connected before Elliot could slip it, the burst of pain in her cheekbone going farther to wake her up than the black coffee she’d had half an hour ago. Good. Restless night or not, she should be awake enough to avoid Dain’s strike. She’d trained her team from the beginning not to pull their punches with her—she could take anything they dished out, often allowing a hit if it meant getting inside her opponent’s guard—and the swelling on her face would remind her to keep her head in the ring and on her opponent.
Normally a reminder wasn’t needed. She fought more fiercely than any of the men. This morning, though…
“Where’s your head, Otter?” Saint growled from the sidelines.
Thanks for pointing out my mistake, dickhead.
“Right here.” Before the last word was finished, she swept her foot toward Dain’s front leg. He shifted around, avoiding her sweep but not the elbow to his ribs—or the back fist to his face, right on his prominent cheekbone.
Dain cursed around the mouthguard protecting his teeth.
“Payback is such a bitch, isn’t it?” she asked, shifting on the balls of her feet as she waited for Dain’s retaliation. The man knew his stuff too—he didn’t bother replying with words. A flurry of punches and kicks flew at her. Dain’s size meant he could overpower her if she let him drive her back to the edge of the ring, but she held her ground, blocking his fists and going low to grab a leg as it came up for a kick.
Dain landed on his ass.
“Nice one.”
Deacon’s voice jerked her attention to the side just in time for Dain to grab her ankle. Next thing she knew, she was in the air. Instinct made her drop to her ass as best she could and curl her back, minimizing the impact and keeping her head from slamming into the mat.
Dain was laughing, splayed out on his back. He knew what had happened—she’d let herself get distracted. By a fucking man. Embarrassment added heat to her cheeks and spark to her fighting instinct. Scissoring her legs, she flipped to her side and grabbed Dain’s head between her knees. When she squeezed down, he choked on his laughter.
“Gotta pay attention, right, Boss?”
The rich sound of Deacon’s laughter behind her mixed with Saint’s and sent an unfamiliar flutter through her belly. She released Dain’s head in favor of facing this new opponent on her feet.
Why she thought of her attraction to Deacon as an enemy, she didn’t know, but it was.
She turned to exit the makeshift boxing ring Deacon had set up in his home gym. The place was bigger than some official gyms she’d been in, taking up the whole top floor of the three-car garage attached to the back of the house. In addition to the ring, there was an area covered in mats for wrestling or jujitsu, a treadmill and elliptical machine, weights, and a rowing machine Deacon was currently walking toward. She told herself not to stare at the man’s ass in his slick jogging shorts, but damn… Staring wasn’t optional when a man’s backside looked like that. Her fingers curled as if gripping the firm slopes of each cheek, startling her. She’d never thought of herself as particularly sexual or having the same kind of cravings as other women; she was around sexy men every day and night, and she’d never fantasized about fucking them. They were more like brothers, comrades, friends. Deacon was…an aberration, apparently, one she seriously needed to get a handle on.
She grabbed her water bottle from the bench against the wall, trying to look like she wasn’t eyeing Deacon’s bulging muscles as he rowed. And failing miserably, if the side eye she was getting from both Saint and Dain was any indication.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
As images of just that rose behind her clenched eyelids, she realized she needed to find a new favorite word, damn it.
She snatched her towel from the bench. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”
“Library, one hour,” Dain called after her as she stalked toward the stairs. She raised a hand in acknowledgment without looking back. That would be a disaster, because she felt Deacon’s hot stare on her back, and seeing it, knowing what she felt was, in fact, happening would only drag out this stupid infatuation even farther.
If infatuation was even the right word. Strong attraction, maybe. Very strong. And stupid, don’t forget stupid. She’d known the man all of four days, for fuck’s sake.
But that kiss…
Don’t think about kissing, Ell. Just don’t. A cold shower—that’s what she should focus on.
