you slip those off?” Heat is in his voice, and I’m so wet.
“I’m not sure if I can in this skirt.” Wiggling side to side, I reach under, trying to maneuver my hands beneath the floor-length gown. “I don’t want to rip it.”
“I’ll rip it.” He’s hungry, aggressive, and I’m vibrating with need.
“I need to stand. How much farther?” My voice is breathless.
“Not much.” His hand returns to the smooth skin of my thigh when his phone buzzes on the console. “Probably Rich making excuses for why he never showed.”
I’m ready to say it doesn’t matter, when I see it’s Winnie. “It’s your aunt.”
“I don’t care.” His hand slides higher up my thigh, and as much as I want him to touch me, I can’t help wondering what she’ll say to him.
Will she tell him about the baby?
Will she say I’m trying to trap him?
It’s like cold water on my heated body. “Should I see what she wrote?”
His hand leaves me, and he makes an annoyed sound as he picks up the black phone and swipes his finger across the face before handing it to me. “Old cock blocker. We might as well read it together.”
“Are you sure?” I feel bad for breaking the mood.
“Positive.”
My tongue wets my bottom lip, and I lift the phone to read the words aloud. “Come to the house after you’ve taken her home. I have the diary you asked for. You need to see it.”
“Mother fucker.” Deacon’s voice is a hiss. “I knew she had it.”
Cold fear trickles through my chest as I watch the muscle move in his jaw. “What does that mean?”
The mood in the car completely shifts. “It’s about our grandparents.”
“We have to go.”
29
Deacon
“You were going to let me search the whole attic?” I’m so fucking angry, I’m doing a good job keeping my tone civil. “When you had it the whole time?”
Winnie’s dressed in her floor-length navy velvet robe, and her hair is wrapped in that white turban. “The things in my mother’s personal diary are private. I didn’t know your reason for wanting to see it. I was protecting her memory.”
I’m breathing fast, and while I understand this, I’m still pissed. “You could have told me that. We could’ve talked it out.”
“Does she have to be here.” Winnie eyes Angel.
Angel stands at once, starting for the door, but I catch her hand.
“Yes.” My voice is firm. “This involves all of us.”
Winnie looks directly at Angel. “Did you come here straight from the masque?”
Angel nods.
“So you didn’t—”
“We were on the way home when you texted.” Angel’s voice is quiet.
I hold out my hand. “May I see the diary, please? This is pretty important to us.”
Winnie’s lips tighten, and she slips her hand in the folds of her robe, taking out a brown-leather clad book. It’s slimmer than I expected, but clearly old.
“I guessed the part you wanted to see. The bookmark is there.”
For a moment, I hold the small book, allowing the significance of it to seep through my fingers. This book could be the key to everything. If only it could fix things…
Carefully, I open the cover. The room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. I’m pretty sure I hear everyone’s breath swirling in and out. I’m at the section Winnie marked. My fingers turn the pages carefully, delicately, like it’s as important as the constitution. Hell, it could be.
I’ve just found the place when a loud banging on the stained-glass front door snaps us all to attention.
“Open the door!” A male voice roars. “Deacon Dring? I know you’re in there. I know you have my sister.”
I know who it is, but Angel says the word. “Beto…”
Winnie leaves the room, catching the side of her robe and dashing down the hall. At first I think she’s going to answer him, but she strides with purpose in the opposite direction. I don’t have time to wonder. Beto is beating on the door like he’s a fucking storm trooper.
Angel catches my arm, speaking softly. “Let me talk to him.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” Protective anger is hot in my chest.
“I can handle my brother. Give me a second to talk to him.”
“You’re not going out there alone.”
“Deacon.” Her slim hand touches my stomach. “He’s my brother.”
Reaching out, she turns the brass deadbolt, walking out onto the front steps. “Beto?” Her voice is strong, firm. “Why are you here?”
“The question is why are you here?” He’s dressed in only dark jeans and a white tank, but he’s