Page 7 of Beautiful Rush
“I’m not.”
Oh. Well. I looked down at his hands that were still wrapped around my wrists, my palms still pressed against his chest as if I was warding him off yet wanting to remain close enough to feel the beating of his heart.
“Hold Me Down” by Halsey blasted from my speakers, muting the sounds of the city, the hum of traffic on the street and the lonely wail of a siren in the distance. I stared at his slightly parted lips, the bottom lip fuller than the top and fought the urge to sink my teeth into it.
“What did you think of when you thought of me?”
He moved his hand to my neck and around to the back of it, threading his fingers through my hair until it was wrapped around his hand. His mouth moved close to the shell of my ear, his voice low. “How much I fucking love your hair.”
Of all the things he could have thought about, he thought about my hair. My wild, untamed hair was thick and wavy and brown with honey and caramel highlights. It wasn’t glossy like my mother’s or quite as dark as Connor and Killian’s. But for some reason, Deacon loved it.
I remembered the cold, gray December day I’d dragged him into the yellow, copper-domed Russian Orthodox cathedral. I had knelt on the kneeler and he had stayed sitting on the wooden pew, our eyes trained on the crucifix behind the altar. My hands had been folded as if in prayer, his hand tugging on the elastic to free my hair from its loose topknot. When my hair had tumbled down, he’d run his fingers through it. Stroked it softly. His touch so gentle I’d nearly wept. It had felt so good that I’d closed my eyes and prayed he would never stop.
Two or maybe five or ten minutes later, the feelings had overwhelmed me, and I hadn’t known what to do with them. I had walked out of the cathedral and left him sitting in the pew. I’d walked briskly, intent on getting away but my feet refused to cooperate. Which was why he found me huddled in my Moncler jacket, the fur-trimmed hood covering my head as I sat on the cold, concrete steps, my gaze focused on the bare branches in McCarren Park across the street. He bought me a hot coffee to warm my hands and a gyro from a street truck. I ate it while I watched him play basketball on a cracked court near a housing development with a bunch of teens from Killian’s at-risk-youth program. When I told him he was good with the kids, he said he was a foster kid until the Ramsey’s adopted him at eight. He knew what it was like to feel like nobody gave a shit about you.
I think I fell a little bit in love with him that day.
“You should go,” I said, even though I didn’t want him to go and made no move to distance myself from him.
“What do youreallywant, Keira?”
People rarely asked me what I wanted, but Deacon always had. “I want you to kiss me.”
He walked me backward until my back hit the brick wall and caged me in his arms, his palms pressed flat on either side of me. We’d been here before. Not in this exact place. In Killian and Eden’s loft. Their Christmas tree sparkling with lights, the snow falling outside the wall of windows, the Manhattan skyline lit up like New Year’s Eve.
Now, Deacon studied my face, seeing too much of what I wanted to hide. He cupped my chin in his hand and dragged his thumb over my lower lip. I bit his finger. He chuckled softly like it was the most adorable thing ever. His mouth moved closer to mine and I looped my arms around his neck. I was sure we must have been breathing, but it felt like we weren’t. Like this moment was suspended in time and everything around us had ceased to exist. His eyes were open, trying to read something in mine, so I closed them. His lips ghosted over mine. Just a whisper of a kiss. Like a soft breeze. You couldn’t even call it a kiss. I could have urged him to hurry, taken the matter into my own hands and kissed him breathless. But I didn’t. I kept my eyes closed and my hands still, exhibiting a patience I didn’t know I possessed.
His hands moved to the sides of my face and he tilted it. Then he kissed me. Not on the lips. In the sensitive hollow between my neck and shoulder, his lips warm and soft but firm, the scruff on his jaw scraping against my skin and sending delicious tingles up and down my spine. He trailed kisses up my neck and along my jawbone, his masterful hands cradling my face as if it was made of glass and he alone could prevent it from shattering.
Finally, his mouth captured mine. His tongue parted the seam of my lips and I let him in. Our tongues tangled together in a crazy dance with no steady beat or rhythm. The length of his hard body pressed against mine, the brick scraping against my lower back as his hands explored my curves and edges. I rocked my hips against him, and he groaned into my mouth, his hand fisting my hair. I never wanted to stop kissing him.
From somewhere far away I heard a ringtone and it took me a few seconds to realize it was his cell phone. He released me and pressed his forehead against mine, both of us trying to catch our breath, before he took a step back, taking his warmth with him. I swallowed and tried to regulate my breathing while he checked his phone then silenced the call before he pocketed it.
“I need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked out at that big pink moon, trying to gather his thoughts. His gaze returned to me, his intense green eyes laser-focused. “I need you to promise me you’ll give up street racing.”
Maybe that was the real reason, theonlyreason, he came over tonight. To secure a promise I’d never keep. “I promise,” I said, meeting his eyes with a smile as I lied to his face.
Deacon sealed my lie with a bruising kiss on my lips. “Such a pretty liar. I’ll see you soon.” Then he strode away, cool as you like. And just like that, he was gone. Again.
I sagged against the wall and wrapped my arms around myself, running my tongue over my kiss-swollen lips that tasted like him.
4
Keira
“Is it my imagination or does Keira have an afterglow?” Ava asked, taking a sip of her chai latte as I joined her and Eden at a window table in Brickwood Coffee.
Eden inspected my face more closely while I sipped my iced coffee laced with coconut milk as if I had nothing to hide. When I woke up this morning, I had Deacon on the brain. Damn him.
“Looks like stubble burn,” she said finally.
“I got new face cream. It must be an allergic reaction.”
They snorted in unison, not believing a word of my lie. I drank my coffee and minded my own business, hoping they’d just drop the subject. But I knew they wouldn’t. One of their missions in life was to find me a boyfriend, even though I’d told them on numerous occasions that I wasn’t interested. They claimed that everyone was secretly looking for a relationship. I’d given up trying to make them understand that I was not everyone. Deep down, I knew they did understand. To love my brothers, you had to be a special kind of person. Ava and Eden were special. Loyal, strong, they loved fiercely but didn’t put up with any bullshit. They were gorgeous, too. Eden looked like a surfer girl with her golden hair and tanned skin. Ava was edgier with platinum hair, porcelain skin, and kohl-rimmed gray eyes.
“I thought you had a date with Netflix last night,” Ava said, her eyes narrowed on me in accusation. “You needed some time and space.Alone.” She and Connor had invited me over to ‘hang out and chill’ with a movie and pizza but I’d begged off saying I wanted an early night. I wasn’t about to tell them about the illegal street racing. Now I had another secret. Deacon. Ironic, considering that I’d come to Brooklyn intent on living an honest life. As if that was possible.
“So, who is he?” Ava prompted. She wasn’t about to let this go.
