The Man Who Has No Heart - Victoria Quinn Page 0,43

she took her arm from under the blanket entirely and moved it to my thigh, where my hand rested on my jeans. Without taking her eyes off mine, she grabbed my hand, interlocked our fingers, and then held it there. Once she was still, she took a deep breath, the sound audible.

Her hand was warm from being under the blanket, and I noticed how slender her fingers were, how much smaller her palm was than mine. My heart rate increased slightly at the touch, at the unexpected affection. My eyes stayed on hers.

She watched me, her eyes a little more alert, as if she was afraid I would pull away.

But I didn’t.

My fingers squeezed hers back instinctively.

Her eyes softened as she looked at me, her small hand cradled in mine.

I didn’t think about my actions. I was too tired, too buzzed. It felt good, felt right, so I just let it happen.

Twelve

Cleo

“You put the worm on the hook like this.” Derek took the worm out of the bait jar and hooked it on.

“Alright.” I did the same, cringing at the smell. “Wow, that smells terrible…”

“The fish like it,” Derek said. “The smellier, the better.”

“Fish can smell?”

“Yep.” Derek got his line ready to cast.

I looked at Deacon for confirmation.

Deacon nodded.

That was something I didn’t know.

“Now, you throw your line into the water.” Derek started to throw his pole back.

Deacon was on his feet instantly, steadying the pole so it wouldn’t hit me in the face. “Derek, we talked about this. You’re going to poke someone’s eye out.” He lowered the pole and gripped Derek by the wrists, making the motion for him.

“But I can’t throw it as far like that,” Derek whined.

“The fish will come to you.” Deacon released him and sat back down.

Derek gently flicked his pole, making the bait move a few feet away. “I can normally throw it farther than that…”

“That’s a great spot.” I stood up and mimicked his movements, throwing the line into the water. It was farther to the right so our lines wouldn’t get crossed. “Now what?”

“We stay really quiet and wait.” Derek leaned over the edge and looked into the water.

I took in the scenery, loving how quiet it was, how fresh the air was. “What do we do if we catch one?”

“Throw it back,” Derek said. “I don’t want to kill them…”

“Good idea,” I said. “I don’t either.”

We sat there and waited, listening to the birds call from the trees, listened to the distant sound of other boats from the other side of the lake, listened to the water lap against the stern of the boat.

I turned to Deacon.

He was comfortable under the tarp, already looking at me by the time I looked at him.

When I grabbed his hand last night, I didn’t think twice about it. I hadn’t planned it. The moment just felt right, so I did it. He’d been including me in every aspect of his life lately, not because he needed me, but because he wanted me there. I knew Tucker said to be patient, to give him time, but I couldn’t be patient any longer.

I wanted this man so much.

And I believed he wanted me too.

I couldn’t keep it bottled inside any longer. When the time was right, I would just tell him how I felt, since Tucker said Deacon never assumed anything about anyone. I would make it perfectly clear what I wanted and assure him I would never hurt him…that he could trust me.

And hope for the best.

The weekend was over within the blink of an eye, and we packed our bags and headed back to the city.

Derek sat between us on the drive and showed me all the drawings he’d done recently.

Deacon was quiet from his side of the car.

I didn’t realize how lonely and empty I was until I met Deacon—and then the smaller version of himself. I found myself longing for this time together, when it was just the three of us.

It felt like I had a family again.

We returned to Manhattan, and like always, Deacon walked me to the door. It didn’t seem like he ever liked to leave his son unattended unless he was with me, so he brought him along.

I got the door unlocked. “Well, thank you—”

Derek walked right inside. “Is this your house?” He walked to the coffee table and looked at the wilting flowers. “These look old.”

Deacon seemed a little embarrassed by his son’s bluntness. “Derek. You don’t just walk into people’s homes without being invited.” He