Branded (14 page)

“Can I come in, darlin'?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, looking at her through his dark lashes. “I won't say anything more. I just want to hold you.”

Her eyes softened and he could see it clearly, see her clearly. She felt it just as much as he did, this connection, this powerful, outrageous, desperate, and potentially painful connection that was destined to ruin both of them for good—and for anyone else who might happen by and try to forge a relationship with them. Deacon's bitter heart squeezed. Shit. He needed her. He needed her like he'd never believed he could need anyone.

“Let me hold you, Mac,” he said again. “That's it. That's all. I swear.”

She bit her lip, stepped back and allowed him entrance. He reached for her hand as he walked in, and she gave it to him willingly. Without a word, he headed straight for her bedroom, his
nostrils pulling in the scent of her with each step as his body heated and tightened. God, he wanted her. More than he'd ever wanted any woman ever. But tonight he was going to be as good as his word. He would wrap his arms around her and hold her until she fell asleep.

All he took off were his shoes before getting into her bed. He stretched out with a pillow at his back and opened his arms to her. Her expression as she stood over him killed him. Wanting him, hating him, needing him. Damn, balancing on the edge of vulnerability was a crazy thing. And he was right there with her. He wanted to tell her that—that he was just as messed up as she was. Just as confused. But she seemed to cast off her fears and anxiety, and she crawled in beside him and snuggled up against him.

For several long seconds, Deacon just drew her scent into his lungs and listened to the sound of her breathing, reveled in the feel of her head against his chest, her arm slung across his middle, and her thigh draped over his groin. He tried not to think about how addictive this could be. How the longer he kept this up, kept it going, the harder it was going to be to walk away.

Or shit, see her walk away from him.

“Mackenzie?” he uttered, his voice a soft growl.

“You promised, Deacon,” she said, though her
arm gripped him tighter and her hand burrowed under his back.

Sensing she might be cold, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up to cover her. “It's not about any of that. It's about us.”

“Us,” she repeated a little sadly.

“Tomorrow night I have a business dinner in Dallas.”

She stilled. “You're leaving.” It wasn't a question.

He hated how quick her brain went to the negative, but hell, what did he expect? “I want you to come with me.”

Her head came up and her eyes locked on his. “To Dallas?”

His gut tightened and every inch below his belt, too. If she'd just move up a bit, better yet, crawl up his body like a tree, he could taste her. Kiss those pink lips until they parted and a hungry moan escaped.

“We'll fly in and out on the
Long Horn
.”

Her eyes widened. “Your helicopter?”

“It's an easy trip. You'll love it.”

Without another word, without an answer, she put her head back down on his chest and curled into him again. He could feel the cogs of her brilliant mind turning. He didn't know what he'd do if she refused him. Coming to River Black, he hadn't given his date for the dinner with Angus
Breyer much thought outside the fact that he required one. Over the past year, Pamela had done the job well. But now Deacon couldn't even imagine taking anyone but Mackenzie. Couldn't imagine touching, talking with, or tasting anyone but her. Hell, just the thought of leaving River Black without her made his insides churn.

His nostrils flared. To give in to that need was dangerous as hell, given the circumstances, but he wanted her, needed her beside him. No. It was more than that. He wanted her to see his life, what he did, who he was outside of this world, this ugly world of River Black and the Triple C—this world that couldn't sustain them.

He rubbed her back through the sheet in slow, easy circles, and when she groaned softly, his entire body went hard. Painfully hard.

“Let's get out of here, Mackenzie,” he said. “Away from the ranch, away from everything. Just for a bit. Just be us.”

“God, that sounds good,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion.

“Say yes.”

Ten seconds of solid silence followed, and Deacon felt his guts contract to the point of pain.

“Say yes, Mackenzie.”
Say yes before I die right here and now. Before I lose what's left of my mind
.

And when she did, when she finally did, the palpable relief that spread through him was shocking.

“One more time,” he uttered. “Say it one more time.”

Deacon knew that no one should ever have that kind of power over another person. It made you react before you thought things through. He'd never operated that way. But as Mackenzie wrapped her sexy body tighter around him and sighed the word “Yes” against his chest, he pushed his concern away.

“Sleep now, darlin',” he said, kissing the top of her head.

She didn't say anything more, and neither did he. And when he heard her breathing run slow and steady, he closed his eyes and followed her.

•   •   •

Inside the cramped but clean hotel room out on Route 12, Blue stared at his laptop screen for a moment, then clicked on the picture of the small ranch just outside of Austin. It seemed to have everything he was looking for. Land enough for a few thousand head of cattle, a grain silo, several outbuildings, a three-bedroom house, and it was far enough away from River Black and the Cavanaughs yet still in Texas.

He clicked on a picture showing the interior of the main house. It had a good amount of light, nice floors, but it needed some work, some updating. And someone who knew something about furniture and decorating and all that shit he'd never remotely cared about.

Tipping his chair back, he stared at the photographs as they ticked by. Nice home, good land. Was he really going to do this? Walk away from his friends, Mac, his mother? Take money from Deacon and sign away his rights to a ranch that he'd never even thought of staking a claim to yet never thought of leaving either?

Spotting another ranch about fifty miles outside of Dallas, he was about to click on it when a message popped up on the screen.

Everything all right, Cowboy? Haven't heard from you in a while.

Blue's gut tightened and his skin hummed. Just like it did every time he IM'd with Cowgirl. The chance encounter on a discussion board for saddles about six months ago had led to an off-site discussion on ranching. She had a dream of owning one, but lived and worked in a big city. It was about all the specifics she'd offered in their six months of knowing each other. What big city, he didn't know. She'd told him right away that she couldn't reveal herself. Told him she wasn't married or anything like that, but that her work was the kind where she needed to stay anonymous.

Normally, Blue would've walked away from something like that. He hated secrets and lies, but
her openness about everything else and her desire to listen, hear what was on his heart, had just drawn him in.

Cowboy? You there? I'm worried about you. I know your boss passed away. If you don't want to talk, that's cool. Just let me know you're okay.

Blue stared at the message. Did he tell her? He always told her everything personal—without using real names and places. But emotions, events . . . This just felt different somehow. What had gone down with Everett, and worse, his mom. He couldn't be specific, and to give Cowgirl a clear picture, he kind of needed to be.

Just complications at work, Cowgirl. Family issues. All of it keeping me busy.

He waited for her response. It came quick.

Is “busy” code for turning your insides out? Making you crazy? Making you wish you were anywhere but there?

Blue smiled.
You know me too well, Cowgirl.

How was the funeral?

Sucked.

I wish I could've been there for you.

Shit, he wished it, too. He wished it all the damn time. He wanted to see her, meet her desperately. They had such a connection, such heat. But he'd agreed to keep their relationship like it was. For now.

I've missed you, Cowgirl.

I've missed you, too. You want to tell me what happened? How you're feeling?

I want to tell you everything. Face-to-face. Whisper it against your mouth.

He grinned back and typed.

I mean it, you know. I want you here with me. Shit, I just want you.

I know. I feel the same. But I can't. Not yet.

He'd asked her a hundred times why not. Why she felt she couldn't reveal herself to him, but he never got a straight answer.

Talk to me, Cowboy. Just imagine me there with you.

Shit, he'd done that a million times, too.

Have you ever been lied to before, Cowgirl? Something so big, so life altering that you don't know who you are anymore . . . ?

He continued to type, his fingers flying over the keyboard, like they always did when he spoke with her.

Headset on, blades rotating, confirmed for takeoff, Deacon hovered for a moment, then pulled up on the collective. His eyes cut momentarily to his copilot. Wearing jeans, boots, a black tank, silver shades, and her headphones, she made him wish his chopper had autopilot.

“You look good in my bird,” he said with a grin.

She heard him in her headset and turned to look at him, smiled back in that I'm-slightly-freaked-out way. “I don't know about good. Terrified's more like it.”

He chuckled. “Darlin', I wouldn't let anything happen to you.”

“We could've driven,” she said, her hands fisting around her seat. “That fancy truck of yours was available.”

“You'll love it. In fact, knowing you, I'm bettin' that after this trip you'll be wanting to learn to fly him yourself.”

“I'm bettin' on the possibility of vomiting.”

“Airsick bags are in the compartment to your right.”

She glanced over as they rose into the air. “What? There is no compartment to my right.”

He chuckled. “Sit back and relax, darlin'. Enjoy the view.”

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the sky was nothing but blue and yellow and forever.

“Is this all your land?” she asked him, craning her neck to see every which way, sounding slightly less panicky than before.

“Yup.”

“It's vast.”

He didn't want to bring the conversation to his ranch and how close it was getting to completion. Not today or tonight or tomorrow. Not until he had to. “You feeling better? Nerves gone?”

She turned, and this time when she smiled it was broad and relieved. “I think so. It's amazing up here. It feels like we're a part of the air or something.” She laughed. “I'm sure that sounds stupid.”

“No,” he insisted, something pinging inside his chest. He'd wanted her to love it. Love what he loved. It made him feel strangely whole and happy. Now who sounded stupid? he thought grimly.

“So, this dinner?” she said, releasing a deep breath and sitting back in her seat. “Who's it with?”

“The owner of a company I'm trying to buy. His name is Angus Breyer.”

“What kind of company?”

“Property holdings mostly.”

She turned to look at him again. “Why do you want to buy it?”

The
Long Horn
caught some wind and Deacon quickly steadied her out. “The properties are very valuable. I want to make . . . improvements on them, then resell them.”

She was studying him—he could feel it—trying to understand what he was saying. Exactly what he was saying.

“This Mr. Breyer,” she said. “He already say no to you?”

Damn, she was perceptive. Deacon turned and eyed her. “How could you possibly know that?”

She shrugged. “You've obviously put a lot of work into this. Meeting him outside the office. Leaving the Triple C in the middle of a major issue. It's just your way, Deacon Cavanaugh.”

Deacon tensed, wondering if she was taking things there. Bringing up the ranch and his need to have control of it at all costs. “What's that, Ms. Byrd?”

“When you want something, you go after it until it surrenders.”

He could feel the heat in her words and he grinned. Pushed back, played back. “And then I take it out to dinner.”

“Hey, buddy,” she returned with moderate heat. “I didn't surrender.” She put her hands behind her head and sighed. “I'm just coming along for a mini vacation.”

“Taking a break from work is a good thing. I don't do it nearly enough.”

“I'll bet. You're a workaholic, aren't you, Deac?”

“Probably.” His gaze cut to hers. “You?”

She laughed. “Probably.”

He laughed along with her. “Blue taking over as foreman while you're gone?”

She sobered slightly. “Yep.”

“He seems like a decent guy,” Deacon allowed.

“He's the best.”

Deacon turned and growled at her. “I said decent.”

She dropped her chin so he could see her eyes behind her shades. They were dancing with amusement. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to be jealous of Blue?”

Seriously. Autopilot would really be good here. “Can't help it, darlin'. He's had so much more time with you.”

“Well, that's being rectified right now, isn't it?”

Deacon glanced back at her again. Looked her over as his chest went tight and the hands holding the
Long Horn
's controls wanted to be holding her. “Shit, Mac,” he said. “I really want to kiss you.”

She pointed at him in mock seriousness. “No kissing in helicopters.”

“Says who?”

“I read the safety rules online this morning.”

“You did not.”

“Hell yes, I did. I wanted to be able to fly this thing if you fainted or something.”

“Honey, I don't faint.” He turned to her and grinned. “And even if I did, one morning's reading ain't gonna do it.”

“Yeah, I suppose I'd need lessons or something.”

“I'll give you lessons.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Teach me to fly.”

His body reacted to her words and he groaned. Just then, he heard a male voice in his cans.

“Dallas/Fort Worth to
Long Horn
. Come in, please.”

“This is
Long Horn
,” Deacon returned. “Over.”

“Flight plan to Cavanaugh Towers accepted. Please proceed.”

“Roger, Dallas/Fort Worth. Over.”

That drew Mac's attention. “What was all that?”

“We're coming in for a landing.”

“That exchange wasn't in any of my reading material this morning,” she said lightly, almost wickedly. “I have so much to learn, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

He groaned again. Maybe they should've driven.
Or hell, taken his jet. Then he'd have his hands free. “Damn you, woman,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “So where do we park this pretty bird? The airport?”

He smiled to himself. “No. Somewhere a little more convenient.”

As he flew them over the city, between buildings, Mac grew quiet, interested in her surroundings. She pointed things out and squealed when she thought they were getting too close to a skyscraper. And in few minutes, they were headed for the tallest building of them all and the helipad on top.

“Oh my God. What's this?” she exclaimed, pointing at the
CE
down below. “Where are we?”

Deacon hovered over the pad, grinning at her awe and maybe preening a bit, too. He'd never taken anyone on the
Long Horn
, he thought, bringing her down. Never brought anyone to the office. Not like this. Never wanted to. Until Mackenzie.

He set the bird down nice and easy and switched off the engine. Then he turned to look at his beautiful, enthusiastic guest. “Welcome to Cavanaugh Towers, Ms. Byrd.”

•   •   •

To say that she had entered a whole new world was an understatement.

As soon as the chopper blades stopped whirling, the rooftop doors slid back and two men
came out. His door already open, Deacon called to them. Ty and Bell, Mac believed it was. The one named Ty came around to her side and helped her down. He was young, maybe late twenties, and had a superinfectious smile that went well with his California-surfer-boy looks.

Thick, wet heat suffusing her, Mac walked around the chopper and met Deacon on the other side. She'd seen him in his suit and tie when he'd come to get her and, of course, on the helicopter. But there was just something about him wearing those clothes in this environment that sent curls of awareness running through her. The reaction surprised her, as she always thought of herself as a cowboy-only kinda girl.

The fact that Deacon not only owned the building, but was the man in charge, became apparent the second they walked through the rooftop doors. Ty and Bell had stayed behind with the
Long Horn
, but two more people, assistants maybe, met them just inside. One was a young man in a suit carrying two bottles of cold water, and the other was an older woman who asked Deacon if she could take his briefcase and anything else he didn't wish to carry.

Good Lord, it felt like they were celebrities or royalty or something. She wondered if Deacon had this kind of treatment every day. If he liked
it, or if it made him a little crazy having people fawning.

“Mackenzie.” Deacon gestured for her to take his hand, and when she did, they headed straight into a tiny metal elevator.

“You're quiet,” he said to her, flashing her with those incredible green eyes and a heavy-duty grin.

“I'm taking it all in, Mr. Cavanaugh. It's pretty amazing. You in this massive office building that has your name on the front. Helipads and people catering to your every need . . .”

“And to your every need, Ms. Byrd,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Anything you need, just let me know.”

Her cheeks went hot. Hells bells, what in the world would she need? Her eyes ran up the length of him. Tall drink of water in a tailored suit. Well, except maybe him. She grinned.

“You're smiling at me, Mackenzie.”

“The suit . . . I just never thought it would do anything for me . . .”

He had her in his arms in an instant, turned her so her back was against the metal wall. Then he leaned in, and his lips found her ear. “That's all I want, Mackenzie. To make you feel. Make you happy. Make you want me like I want you.”

That last bit was wrapped up in a devilish smile. A smile she could feel all the way down to her toes.
Heart racing, her stomach doing some serious flip-flops, she wanted to scream at him.
Kiss me, damn you! You wanted to in the helicopter; now's your chance.

But then the elevator stopped and the door opened. She saw several people walk past, determined expressions on their faces. “I think we're here,” she said.

His eyes fierce, Deacon backed up and took her hand again. “Come.”

Her entire body was humming with heat from his words, his nearness, just
him
, as she followed him out of the elevator and down the hall. No one spoke to him, but a few people nodded. It was only when they entered a separate wing of offices that people took notice.

“Welcome back, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

“Good to see you, sir.”

Deacon acknowledged all of them, but didn't stop to introduce her to anyone. Finally, he led her through a set of double doors. Inside was an office the size of three of her river cottages and a desk the size of a small car. Rugs blanketed the floor, and two black leather sofas faced each other with tables and lamps on either end. Windows made up one entire wall, and as Mac drew near, she saw that there was a covered balcony and a lap pool. Holy cats, this really was his building.

“Your office is incredible,” she said, checking out the view, the tiny world below.

She felt him come up behind her, felt his warmth, his rock-solid chest. “No, you're incredible.”

Smiling, she turned around. “So, what now? A dip in the pool? A flying lesson? We could get a Popsicle. You know one of those ones you can break in half and share. And I'll even take the broken one. That's how nice I am.”

“I couldn't have you do that,” he said, running his hand through her hair, making her shiver. “You're my guest. I'll take the broken one.”

“All right, but you get to pick the flavor.”

He sniffed with mock arrogance. “Grape. Don't even have to think about that.”

“Really? Grape.” She looked him over. “I just don't get grape from you.”

“Honey, it turns your tongue purple.”

Mac was laughing hard when the door opened and a woman strode in. For a split second she looked surprised to find Mac there, and even more surprised that there was laughter present, but she covered it well and quickly.

“Good to see you, sir,” she said in the most professional tone Mac had ever heard in her life. “I've confirmed your dinner reservation, confirmed with Mr. Breyer, and I'm packed and ready to go.”

“Very good, Sheridan,” Deacon said as Mac moved away from him slightly, so they didn't look like they were in the middle of making out in
his office. She wasn't sure why she cared about this, but she did.

His eyes alight with amusement, Deacon watched her. “Mackenzie Byrd, this is my assistant, Sheridan O'Neil.”

Mac stepped forward and offered her hand. “Hi.”

The woman was incredibly beautiful, her auburn hair pulled off her face, making her gray eyes pop. She dressed impeccably, and when she clasped Mac's hand, her smile was both lovely and genuine.

“It's really nice to meet you, Ms. Byrd,” she said.

“You too. And please, it's just Mackenzie. Mac actually.”

The woman nodded her understanding, then said, “We have a car waiting downstairs. If you'll come with me.”

Where the hell was she going? Suddenly nervous, Mac glanced at Deacon, who was now standing behind his desk, looking way too powerful and sexy to be around people who might find him as hot as she did.

She nearly rolled her eyes at the moronic thought.

“Sheridan is going to take you to the house,” he said. “I have a few things to do here. But I'll be right behind you.”

Oh. She hadn't realized she'd be on her own for a while. Was it silly and girly of her to want to stay
in his office, stretch out on one of his black leather couches and watch him work? Yeah, probably.

His eyes bored into her, making her shiver. “I won't be long. I promise.”

She nodded, gave him a small smile, then turned to Sheridan. “Downstairs, you said?”

The woman nodded. “This way.”

Mac followed the woman out of his office, through what was no doubt her office, and into the same private elevator she and Deacon had used to come down from the roof. After the door slid closed, the woman turned to Mac with another of those way too beautiful smiles, and Mac couldn't help but wonder just how closely this Ms. O'Neil worked with Deacon.