Page 80 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

“Me? No.” I pointed my fork at him. “And don’t change the subject.”

“What if I told you there’s a whole world outside this little paradise?” Deacon rested his chin on his upturned palm. “What if I said I could show you?”

“I’d say, ‘that’s nice, but this place is all I need.’ I like my country. I like being close to my family and walking a couple blocks when I want groceries and knowing everyone in my neighborhood. I grew up here. It’s home.”

“Home.” He blew out a breath and folded his arms over his chest. “If that’s the definition, I don’t have one.”

“You do.” I gestured to Reid. “Home is wherever the people you love are.”

Reid slapped his spoon against the table and sang the alphabet loudly.

I laughed and tickled his chin. “Cutie pie.”

In my periphery, I saw a hand reaching out. I turned and slammed right into Deacon’s finger. His eyes soft, he gently rubbed the edge of my lip.

“You had a little something…” he said, wiping his finger on a napkin.

“Thanks.” I ducked, the growing intimacy between us more frightening than the blazing hot, insatiable lust.

After shoveling a few more bites into my mouth, I gave up on eating. Deacon had my stomach twisted into knots and I didn’t have an appetite. Reid soon threw in the towel as well. I noticed his eyelashes growing heavy and smiled.

The food must have knocked him out.

“I’ll get him ready for bed,” Deacon whispered.

While they headed to the bedroom, I cleaned the table and started washing the pots and pans. My hands moved slow and steady as I daydreamed.

Mostly about Deacon.

“You know we have a dishwasher.”

I turned.

The object of my thoughts leaned against the wall, studying me. Deacon’s white shirt clung to his broad shoulders and contrasted the hint of a tan in his pale skin. Hairy legs were on display in a pair of shorts.

Even shorts look good on him. Dang it!

I swiftly turned back around and stared at the soapy suds clinging to my fingers. “The dishwasher’s too complicated to figure out. Besides, I like washing the dishes. It allows me to think.”

Deacon’s presence hovered over me.

A slight twist of my chin and I saw him rolling up his sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“I ate the most delicious meal I’ve had in decades. This is the least I can do.”

Bad idea, Angel.

If this man kept brushing his elbows against mine, if I kept smelling that cologne and staring at that ruggedly carved face, I had no idea what I’d do.

“No,” I insisted. “I’ll do it myself.”

Deacon bumped me aside with his hip and stuck his hands into the soapy water. “You rinse.”

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