Cecelia was sitting in her chair with her back to him, but she wasn’t working. She was looking at something in her hand. Deacon took a few steps closer so he could make out what it was. Finally, he could tell it was an old, worn photograph. One that he recognized.
She’d shown him the photo the night she confessed her biggest secret: that she was adopted. It was of a young woman, weary and worn but happy, holding a new baby. It was a picture of Cecelia’s birth mother on the day she brought her daughter home from the hospital. Deacon hadn’t given much thought to the photo back then. He had been more interested in Cecelia and the way she talked about it. She had always seemed conflicted about her birth mother. It was as though she wanted to know her, wanted to learn more about who she had been and why she had gotten so lost, and yet she was embarrassed by where she had come from. Deacon had no doubt that she had the Morgans to thank for that.
There was a lot going on with Cecelia. More than just regret over their one-night stand. More than just missing her mother. More than just being upset over her broken engagement. There was something else going on that she wasn’t telling him. The whole town was convinced she was just a stuck-up mean girl, but he’d bet not one of them had looked hard enough to see that she was hurting. Of course, she had no reason to confide in him. While he’d proved himself trustworthy in the past, they weren’t exactly close anymore. In that moment it bothered him more than in the thirteen years they’d been apart.
He wanted to go into her office and scoop her up into his arms. Not to kiss her. Not to carry her away and ravish her somewhere, but just to hold her. He got the feeling that it was a luxury Cecelia could barely afford. Chip didn’t seem like a supportive, hold-his-woman kind of guy, and that was exactly what she needed right now.
But did he dare?
She had done nothing but avoid him since their night together. She’d made it crystal clear that she didn’t want any sort of relationship with Deacon, sexual or otherwise. She just wanted to do her job, and so he would let her. The last thing he needed was to leave Royal for the second time with a broken heart and a bruised ego.
As quietly as he could, Deacon took a few steps back and disappeared down the hallway so he didn’t disturb her. As he stepped out into the parking lot, there were only two cars remaining—his Corvette and her BMW. He stopped beside her car and stared down at it for a moment, thinking. Finally, he fished a blank piece of scrap paper out of his pocket and scribbled a note on it before placing it under her windshield wiper.
“I’m here if you need to talk—Deacon,” it read.
Whether or not she would take him up on it, he had no idea. But he hoped so.
* * *
Things had been hard for Cecelia the past couple of weeks. She tried to lose herself in her work and forget about everything that was going wrong in her life, but in the evenings at the hotel, when it was calm and quiet, she had nothing to distract her from the mess of her own making.
Earlier that night, she’d gotten another message from Maverick. As she’d expected, the original payment was just that, and not nearly enough to keep him quiet. Another twenty-five thousand had to be wired by the end of the week, or her secret would be out and her family would be humiliated. Staring at the photo of her mother, she’d quietly decided that she wasn’t giving him any more money. She felt a pang of guilt where her parents were concerned—surely they would face an uphill battle in restoring the trust of those they lied to—but it was time for her to take control of her life. Come what may.
Now, sitting in her car in the long-empty parking lot of the hotel, she clutched what might be her only lifeline. Finding the note on her windshield from Deacon had been a surprise. They hadn’t really spoken since the morning she ran out on him, aside from the occasional discussion about the hotel. She thought she was doing a good job at keeping her worries inside, but Deacon had seen through it somehow. He’d always had that ability. In some ways, that made him someone she needed to avoid more than ever. In other ways, he was just the person she needed to talk to. The only person she could talk to.
But could she take him up on his offer?
At this point, she didn’t have much to lose. Before she could second-guess herself, she put her car in Drive and found herself back on the highway that led to Deacon’s place. Her heart was pounding in her chest with anxiety as she drove up the gravel path through the trees. His car was there, and the lights were on inside. Hopefully he was there alone.
She bit anxiously at her lip as she rang the doorbell and waited. This time, when Deacon answered the door, he was fully dressed in the suit he’d worn to the hotel that day, and she was able to control herself. Barely. “Hi,” she said. It seemed a simple, silly way to start such a heavy conversation, but she didn’t know what else to say.
Deacon seemed to sense how hard it was for her to accept his olive branch. Instead of gloating, he just took a step back and opened the door wider to let her inside.
“You said you were here if I needed to talk. Is this a good time?”
Deacon shut the door and turned to her with a serious expression lining his face. His green-gold eyes reflected nothing but sincerity as he looked at her and said, “Whenever you need to talk to me, I will make the time.”
Cecelia was taken aback by the intensity of his words and their impact on her. She never felt like she was anybody’s priority, especially Chip’s. He always had an important meeting, a campaign to run, a fund-raiser to plan, hands to shake and babies to kiss. Cecelia had been an accessory to him, like a nice suit or pair of cuff links. “Thank you,” was all she could say.
Deacon led her through the foyer and into his sunken great room. The space was two stories high with a fireplace on the far end that went all the way to the ceiling with stacked gray-and-brown flagstone. He gestured for her to sit in the comfortable-looking brown leather sectional that was arranged around a coffee table made of reclaimed wood and glass. It was very much a cowboy’s living room, reminding her of the clubhouse.
“Are you renting this place?” she asked.
“No, I actually went ahead and bought it. It was a good deal, and it came furnished. That made it easier for me to settle in and gave me a real home to come to each night. Despite the fact that I build hotels for a living, I don’t exactly relish living in one. When the hotel is finished, I’ll return to France, but I’ll probably keep this place. Shane will be overseeing the business operations, but I’ll also need to come back from time to time.”
Deacon walked to a wet bar in the corner. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please. I don’t really care what it is, but make it a double.”
She watched as Deacon poured them both a drink over ice and carried them over to the coffee table. Cecelia immediately picked up her glass and took a large sip. The amber liquid burned on the way down, distracting her from her nerves and eventually warming her blood. “I want to start by apologizing for that morning I ran out on you. I panicked and handled it poorly, and I haven’t done any better since then.”
Deacon didn’t respond. He just sat patiently listening and taking the occasional sip of his own drink. She wasn’t used to having someone’s undivided attention, so she knew she needed to make the most of it.
“Everything in my life is falling apart,” she said. “I don’t know if you’ve been in town long enough to hear about Maverick, but he’s been targeting members of the club since the beginning of the year. No one is sure who he is, or how he got the information, but he’s been blackmailing people and spilling their secrets. I’m his latest victim.”
That finally compelled Deacon to break his silence. “What could you have possibly done to be blackmailed for? Your parents always kept such a tight leash on you, I can’t imagine you got into too much trouble over the years.”
“He’s