Page 41 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

He sat up. Despite the shadows, I felt his eyes on me. The invisible touch burned my skin. Goosebumps popped up wherever his appraisal landed.

My initial impulse was to turn and run, but I held my ground. “I didn’t see you.”

“If you had, would you have come?”

Geez. This man was too direct for his own good. I sidestepped the question like it was diseased. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s hard for me to fall asleep in an unfamiliar bed. I figured I’d get some air. If I’m imposing—”

“You’re not.”

I bobbed my head, twisting my fingers. Butterflies were having a full-on brawl in my stomach. I was pretty sure Deacon could hear their fluttering wings over the sound of insects chirping.

Or was that my heart that was beating so loudly?

“Sit here,” Deacon said, starting to rise from his beach chair.

“It’s okay.” I backed away from him and grabbed the hammock. “I’ll just use this.”

“Suit yourself.” He eased back into the chair and studied me.

I felt like a teenager again as I tried and failed to gracefully tame the hammock. It was wobbly and kept shaking as if it would toss me straight over the balcony.

My cheeks flushed. I wanted to look elegant in front of Deacon. Why? That… didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that I was failing.

Big time.

“Do you need my hel—?”

“I’ve got it!” I squealed, holding a hand out to keep him in place.

“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped a bottle of beer to his lips. I saw a smirk forming on his face and my arms grew even shakier. If I wasn’t so sure this thing was a hammock, I could be convinced it was a live bull.

Like a bull, I had to straddle it just to remain seated.

Great.

So much for looking classy.

“Want to celebrate?” Deacon asked when I’d finally tamed my hammock.

“No thanks.” I let out a solid breath and threw a tendril of hair out of my face. “I don’t drink.”

He accepted my answer with a shrug. “Okay then.”

“That’s it?”

“What?” He set the bottle down.

“Most people usually gasp and act like I’m an alien when I say that.”

“Why?”

“Apparently everyone in their twenties should drink and sleep around or they’re not ‘normal’.”

“No such thing as normal,” Deacon rumbled. “Some are just better at hiding their flaws, is all.”

“Did you get that off a fortune cookie?”

He chuckled and the rumble of it was like biting into a chocolate bar littered with tiny wafers. Crunchy, smooth, delicious.

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