In the bedroom, he set Lana down on the bed, where she immediately curled on her side, her cheeks stained with moisture, her voice dull as she kept mumbling to herself. “I killed him. Oh, God, I killed him.”
Deacon sat beside her. He awkwardly placed a comforting hand on her lower back. She jerked abruptly, wiggling away from his hand. “He said he would let him go! How could he say that?” Sobs racked her slender body. She curled into herself tighter, bringing her knees to her chest. “God, Deacon!”
At least she knew he was with her. That was a good sign. She hadn’t completely gone off the deep end yet.
He reached for her again. “Lana—”
“I killed him!”
Deacon propelled into action, hauling her balled-up body and lifting it into his lap. He wrapped one arm around her trembling shoulders, stroked her cheek with his other hand. “You didn’t kill him, sweetheart.”
“Yes I did,” she mumbled, the tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Hey. Hey!” He grasped her chin with his fingers and yanked it up. “Look at me. Look at me.”
Her gaze reluctantly focused on his.
Deacon kept his voice low and even. “You did not kill that man, Lana. He knew the risk he was taking when he showed up here.”
“To rescue me! This is my fault, Deacon. My fault! Oh, God…”
Her sobs returned and she buried her face against his chest, soaking the front of his sweater. Deacon held her tightly, letting her cry and shake in his arms. Something shifted in his chest, moved and cracked and made his heart ache. Just when he gave up on deciphering the strange reaction, his chest squeezed and then a dam broke inside of it. Pure, raw emotion filled his body, clogging his throat, tangling in his gut.
He nearly pushed Lana out of his arms. The shock was so immense, so paralyzing, he could barely breathe. He was feeling things he’d thought himself incapable of. Worry. Tenderness. Fear. Desire. And thrown into the mix, something hot and painful, something he’d never experienced before.
What was happening to him?
Better question, what was happening to Lana?
As he tried sifting through the kaleidoscope of emotions suddenly spinning through him, Lana lifted her head and practically glued her mouth to his.
A groan lodged in his chest. Her lips were soft, slightly cold from her foray into the chilled night and wet from her tears. And the kiss was almost violent. He was helpless to stop it, latching his mouth to hers, letting her tongue slide through his lips. It was a far cry from the kisses they’d shared in the hotel room. Their noses bumped, teeth clashed, tongues fought a wild, desperate battle for domination.
“Lana—” he choked out, the sound of her name vibrating against their lips.
She didn’t answer. Just kissed him again, while the tears continued to slide down her cheeks and stain his face.
And then she took off her shirt.
Chapter 9
Lana Kelley had transformed into a lust-crazed temptress right before Deacon’s eyes. Deep down he knew this had nothing to do with lust, or even desire. She was desperate to erase the memory of what had happened outside the cabin. She was still in shock. Completely beside herself with grief. So beyond the concept of thinking clearly.
But like an ass, he didn’t stop her.
Truth was, he needed this. Just one more time. The halo of integrity and optimism that surrounded her like a ray of pure light had been so addictive the night at the hotel. For a short, incredible time, that light had warmed him, enveloped him. It managed to seep into the darkness inside him, just for a little while, and even now, he could remember how astonishing that felt. To be someone else for a brief period of time. Someone that Lana Kelley wanted to be with. A man worthy of her.
His heart thudded like crazy as he dared to look at her. She wore a black lace bra that hugged her breasts…which looked fuller than he remembered. Deacon didn’t pause to question what must have been an original error of perspective, because suddenly Lana was back in his lap, and her mouth sought his out like a heat-seeking missile.
She burrowed against him, parted his thighs with her knees, and then she pressed herself directly on his groin. Her lower body ground against his in a wild, reckless rhythm that threatened every ounce of his quickly crumbling control.
He fell onto his back, mad with arousal and unable to stop his hands from cupping those mouthwatering breasts over her bra. He squeezed, drawing a soft desperate moan from her lush pink lips.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Please, what? Stop? Keep going? Her intentions became clear when her hand slid between them and rubbed the hard ridge of his arousal. His erection jerked from the sudden attention, making Deacon groan quietly.