Page 11 of Trust and Obey

What’s with the awkward weirdness?

I stopped myself short of asking. Deacon wasn’t my friend. Instead, I once more plastered on my customer-service friendly smile. It was a mask good for all occasions. “Absolutely. Do you want me to show you the way?”

“No,” he said, abruptly. “There are maps and signs around, aren’t there?” And he didn’t even wait for my reply before he was up and heading to the door.

“Take the first left and head straight past the amphitheater,” I muttered to myself. It didn’t matter. He was already gone.

Okay, that was weird, but… I’d had my share of strange clients over the years. This didn’t make the top twenty. Maybe he’d received some bad news from work? I felt an unusual stab of concern at that thought, but quickly shoved it away.

Not my problem.

Instead, I got to my own work which was to tidy up the villa. I returned the massage table back with the others at the beach, picked up the towels, and cleared away the remains of his breakfast.

It was amazing how some people—especially bachelors—could mess up a small villa in the space of one night. But aside from the usual meal clean up and the towels, Deacon seemed to be the type who naturally cleaned up after himself. I gave the bathroom a quick swipe and then moved to the bedroom.

The official resort policy was to wash and launder all sheets unless the guest specifically requested no cleaning service for that day. I stripped the bed and caught a whiff of scent—a smell that instantly brought me back to the massage in a way that scent memories did. It wasn’t the oils it was the barely-there musk that was Deacon’s personal smell. A little like spice and old leather.

I brought the sheets to my nose and inhaled. Wow. Yes, that was all him, and it was a scent I hadn’t even realized I knew until now.

It was all too easy to imagine Deacon laying naked between these white sheets last night, a pillow tucked under his arm, his powerful body in a state of total relaxation…

My dick gave a little twitch in interest.

Shaking my head fondly, I bundled up the sheets and dropped them in a pile to the side before replacing them with a fresh set.

I had just replaced the pillows when I heard the door to the villa open.

“Hello?” Deacon called out.

“In here,” I replied cheerfully, though inside I was thinking, Shit, shit, shit. I hadn’t expected him back so soon. I raced to finish up the last touches on the bed, hurrying around the large mattress to grab the last pillow. My left foot snagged on something soft and clingy—the bundle of sheets.

I was falling before I even realized I was in trouble. I threw out my hands, but my head still knocked painfully against the side of the nightstand. There was a bright burst of pain and light.

“Kendall?”

Strong hands touched my shoulder and helped me sit up.

“How bad is it? What happened?”

“Ow…” I pressed a hand to my head. “I tripped.”

Now that the shock of impact was receding, it was replaced by growing embarrassment. Gingerly, I touched the sore point on the side of my forehead near my hairline. “Is it bleeding? How bad is it?”

Deacon answered my question with another question. “Did you lose consciousness? Do you feel dizzy?”

I squinted at him. Thankfully, there was only one ridiculously handsome man staring down at me. No double vision, thanks.

“No and no, and if you ask me who the current president is I might actually throw up. I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Suddenly those well-muscled biceps I had been admiring slid under my legs and around my shoulders. I squawked as I was lifted up bridal style.

Wow, those chest muscles are not just for show, I thought as the world spun—not from the head wound, just him turning in place. Deacon walked me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the counter, flipped on the light, and examined me closely. His face was inches from mine.

“Is it bad?” I asked, reaching up to touch the sore spot again. A little hot, but no tacky sensation of blood, and the pain had mostly receded to a dull throb. Then a horrifying thought came to my mind. “Oh man, it’s going to bruise, isn’t it? This is going to look awful for weeks!”

Deacon snorted, gaze flicking from the wound to my eyes. And there was a moment where… no.

I thought he leaned in close. Real close. But in the next moment, he had turned away. “No, no blood. Let me get some ice. That will keep the swelling down.”

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