Page 125 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

Which wasn’t a problem in the slightest.

At the end of the day, Deacon Hill belonged to me and only me.

My eyes greedily took my fiancé in. He wore a grey Henley that stretched taunt over his broad shoulders and a pair of shorts that showed off his muscular legs.

Female tourists and locals alike had been staring at us since we’d arrived, but I didn’t mind. Deacon was a feast for the eyes. He was mine and I still found myself breathless watching him.

Dad cleared his throat. “I know, son, but it’s still good to save. College is crazy expensive.”

“I’ve got that covered, Dad.”

“What if you and Angel have more kids?”

“I’ll take care of college for them too.”

“Yes, well,” Dad hemmed and hawed, “it’s still better to be frugal.”

I smiled proudly at the two most important men in my life.

Reid slapped his maraca against the table.

Make that three.

“Why are we talking about college and future children? Focus on the wedding planning first and then we can deal with the rest.”

Deacon pulled me closer and whispered in my ear. His breath nuzzled the sensitive skin there and I shivered as he said, “The island’s always going to be there.”

“The island’s where we met. Where we fell in love.”

“We fell in love at the shop,” he pointed out.

“You fell in love there. I didn’t.”

“Ouch.” Deacon pulled away and rubbed his chest.

I yanked him back to me. “Besides,” I walked my fingers up his chest, “we have unfinished business with that hammock.”

His eyes zipped to my father who was listening keenly.

Deacon coughed. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, sir.”

Dad studied us suspiciously.

I laughed.

My parents didn’t know that Deacon used to be a hitman or that he owned the island. Although, Mom did find out that he’d given me the money for the chemo. Which was how they’d started contacting him behind my back in the first place.

There were other things, private things that Deacon and I did, that they didn’t know and I wouldn’t make them any wiser on.

“Wherever you go, you’ll have babysitters.” Mom tickled Reid’s side. “Right, honey?”

The kid grinned, his cheeks and jaw sticky with strawberry ice cream.

“Let Gramma clean you up. Yes, I will,” she cooed while swiping his skin with a wet wipe.

Deacon took my hand in his and glanced at me, giving me that look. The man had an uncanny ability to communicate with his eyes—when he was pleased, when he was hungry for me, when he was regretting something he’d done in his past and right now… when he was grateful.

I squeezed his hand.

---