Free Dancing With the Devil by Laura Drewry Page A

days.
    With her head down and eyes closed, she was boneless, pliable and eager for more of Deacon’s attention. The devil had offered her a few moments of heaven right there in her store, and she’d willingly accepted. What harm could it do? As long as she didn’t look at him, as long as he didn’t move suddenly and send his intoxicating scent swimming through the air, she’d be fine.
    Oh yes, she’d be perfectly fine. A soft moan escaped with her next breath. When had she ever been this relaxed, this—
    As suddenly as he’d started, Deacon stopped and dropped his hands to his sides.
    In her state of repose, it took a moment to gather the energy and strength to sit up and look at him; but that was all it took to bring every knot, every kink he’d just worked out of her muscles, screaming back.
    Confusion and frustration mixed with forced calm and covered with a pained smile stared back at her—all feelings she understood and recognized because each one was thrashing inside her as well.
    Deacon cleared his throat softly. “I’d best leave you to your buttons, before I make you do something you’ll regret.”
    She chuckled, a harsh sound that pained her throat. “And you’d best get it out of your head that you have any control over me or what I do.”
    This time his smile reached all the way into his eyes as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to control you. But it’s perfectly clear you enjoy me as much as I enjoy you. Why not just admit it?”
    “Oh, I enjoy you well enough,” she snapped. “I’m just not going to let myself enjoy you too much thistime. I’ve been down that road before, and I’d rather not travel it again.”
    “You say that, yet you steered us both back down that road when you chose me as your husband.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the table behind him. “Perhaps you wish we were married for real.”
    “Perhaps not!” She pushed her button piles farther apart, then poured another mound to be sorted. What had she been thinking when she started sorting this mess? She squeezed her hands into fists to stop their trembling.
    Too late.
    Deacon covered her hands with his and leaned closer. “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ ”
    She jerked her hands away and glared up at him. “Don’t touch me.”
    “You wanted me to earlier.”
    “I never—” She pushed hard at his chest, but he didn’t budge.
    “No matter how long you try to hide from me, Rhea, we both want the same thing.”
    “I’m not hiding from you!”
    He lifted a handful of buttons and let them slide between his fingers. “Liar.”
    Before she could fire a retort, he turned on his heel and disappeared through the backroom.
    When she heard the door close upstairs, Rhea expelled her breath in a huge rush. God help her, that man was going to drive her mad. The fact he knew just where to touch her was aggravating enough, but to have her traitorous body react so wantonly—and so quickly—was downright infuriating.
    She ran her tongue over her suddenly parched lips—lips still flavored with Deacon’s kiss—and shuddered.
    Oh, how she’d missed his touch this past year, and God help her, she’d missed his kisses. She didn’t want to, but there it was.
    She wanted to hate him for it.
    All these months later, she could still feel every detail about their last day together. The air, still warm after a brief storm, held the lingering scent of a quick rain over the too-dry ground.
    They’d barely spoken as they walked home from the restaurant, but she hadn’t needed words. All she needed was the feel of his thick calloused fingers twined through hers. All she needed was to know how he felt, and he told her every time he looked at her.
    Rhea squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory remained, singed into her brain. The overwhelming desire she’d felt for Deacon shone straight back at her through his blue eyes. It was a hunger she couldn’t