“How do I know?” She looked quite pleased with herself as she rose from the bed and walked toward him, her arms crossed over her chest. “But he does own a cabin near Sacramento, up in the mountains. Must be pretty close to where we are, no?”
Deacon didn’t know whether to kiss her or throttle her. Her intelligence and quick thinking impressed him to no end, but she was playing with fire here, messing with Le Clair. A small part of him disapproved of her cryptic SOSs. He had to think about himself, too. If Lana’s clues led her family—and law enforcement—to this cabin, Deacon would be arrested along with the others. And his own self-preservation was extremely important to him.
Still, he couldn’t stop the warmth and satisfaction that coursed through him when he thought about what Lana had done.
He met her eyes, and saw the laughter dancing in them. “You can’t decide if you should be angry with me or applaud me, right?” she said, sounding delighted.
“Actually, I was torn between throttling you and kiss ing you.” His throat went dry the second the words left his mouth. Crap. Why had he said that? The idea of kissing him ever again probably made her sick to her stomach.
And yet…
At the word kissing he heard her breath hitch. And she leaned in closer. He wondered if she even realized she’d done that.
Their gazes locked again, and what he saw on her face stole his breath. She looked as she had the night in his hotel. Cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. Lips slightly parted. The memory of how soft those lips had felt pressed against his own had him moving closer, too, despite every warning bell going off in his head.
It was hard to breathe. Or think. Yeah, he really wasn’t thinking as his head dipped ever so slightly. His body went tighter than a drum, taut with anticipation.
His pulse raced.
Her eyes glimmered with reluctant heat.
Their heads moved closer, their lips mere inches apart. The scent of her hair drifted into his nostrils, sweet and feminine and so very addictive. He breathed her in, drowning in the scent, while his body hummed eagerly and his mouth tingled with the need to taste her.
So he did.
Chapter 7
Lana’s heart was beating a million times a minute as Deacon’s mouth covered hers. Her disloyal body melted against him like butter on a sizzling pan. He smelled so unbelievably good, spicy and masculine, and she couldn’t think straight surrounded by that intoxicating scent. And his mouth…it was warm and firm. Familiar. She found herself responding to the kiss, brushing her lips over his even as her brain screamed for her to pull away.
God help her, but she couldn’t move. The attraction she’d felt for this man a month ago came crashing back in full force, sending streaks of heat through her body and making every inch of her tingle. As his hands slid down to her waist and moved in a featherlight caress, she was reminded of the slow caresses and lazy kisses he’d bestowed upon her body the night in the hotel.
The night they’d conceived this baby.
She broke off the kiss at that sudden reminder, stum bling backward and sucking in a gulp of air to try and clear her head. “You…you should go,” she squeezed out, as her heart thudded relentlessly against her rib cage.
Something that resembled dismay flashed across his rugged face. When Lana glanced south, she noticed the thick hard length of him straining against the zipper of his black pants. His obvious arousal only made her heart beat faster. Lana wanted to kick herself for it.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. He edged toward the door like a stray dog wary of strangers. “I…shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
A third mumbled apology and he was out the door. The click of the lock was like the final touch to a ghastly drawing. She’d kissed him. Kissed her abductor.
Lana’s body felt ravaged, hot and needy and tingling with residual desire. The reaction horrified her, had her staggering toward the bed and collapsing on the hard mattress.
“Your mommy is out of her mind,” she whispered to her belly. “This ordeal has obviously messed your mom up, big-time.”
Her tiny son or daughter didn’t respond, of course, but Lana could swear she felt a ripple of movement in her womb. Her brain told her it was impossible; she was only four weeks along. Babies didn’t start kicking until, what? Sixteen, seventeen weeks? But the phantom flutter succeeded in calming her down. Her pulse slowed to a regular rhythm, and her chest, seconds ago tight with shock and desire, loosened considerably.
“Okay, this isn’t so terrible,” she said. “Mommy and Daddy kissed. No big deal.”
But it was a big deal. Deacon Holt had lied to her, seduced her and kidnapped her. She wasn’t supposed to have any feelings for the man. None. Zilch. Zero.
Yet for some reason, she still couldn’t lump him into the same evil category as the others. Her instincts had never failed her before, and right now, they were telling her that deep down, Deacon Holt was a good man.