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you will get on your knees for me and do what I say when we get home, Rayka. Just so you know.”
    She shivered and closed her eyes to center herself. She found her voice despite her thundering heart. “Yes, Deacon.”
     
    Deacon laughed. He took a swig of his Sam Adams and popped a shrimp puff in his mouth. “So, you lied your sweet ass off and told the client from hell that her arch-nemesis was using her color scheme.”
    Rayka snorted and covered her nose and blushed. “Yes. I did. I know, I’m going to hell. That poor woman would no sooner use lime and cranberry together than she would run stark naked down Belair Road. But all’s fair in love and war and this is war. I don’t do ugly.”
    Rayka’s phone rang and she started to flip it open. A habit. She always, always, always answered her phone no matter what. But in a flash of deference she glanced at Deacon, who nodded. Then she popped it open and said softly, “Hello?” She could feel his eyes on her. On her cleavage, on the way the red fabric clung to her waist and hips. She blushed and played with a strand of her hair to calm her nerves.
    “Rayka! I need you to come to my party tomorrow night. Seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”
    “What? Mrs. Shapiro?”
    “Yes, dear. Pay attention! Tomorrow night.”
    “I can’t come to a party tomorrow night,” Rayka lied. What she meant was I don’t want to.
    “You have to. Pearl Parkerson will be here and I want you to put out your easel thingy with your beautiful sketches and watercolor and swatches,” came the whiny petulant voice.
    “I have plans tomorrow. You really must give me more notice when you plan an event, Mrs. Shapiro.”
    “You have to!” her client wailed.
    Uh oh. She could feel her anger rising and the urge to stamp her foot. She was being lassoed into something she did not want to do, which pissed her off. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have a—” her eyes shot to Deacon and she smiled slyly, “I have a date.”
    “Bring him!” Mrs. S. shrieked and Rayka pulled the phone away from her ear and winced.
    Deacon took the phone and Rayka reached for it. He snatched it out of her reach. “Hello?” He nodded, smiled, and winked at Rayka, and she fought the urge to grab at the phone like a child. “Un hunh. Yes, yes, I see. Seven o’clock. We’ll be there.”
    Rayka sat with her mouth open in surprise. “Why did you do that?” She sighed when he handed her her own phone. The traitor.
    “Because I want to see you in action. And I want to be your date.”
    “And you always get what you want?” she grumped, but then her heart sped up and her body betrayed her. She felt the moisture return again between her thighs. She remembered the feel of his hand on her thigh. His fingers in her pussy. How he hit that spot in her that made her light-headed without even seeming to try.
    “I do,” he said with a predatory grin. “Now finish your dinner.”
    “What’s the rush?” she asked, but she knew.
    “I want you. And I don’t like to be kept waiting once I know what I want.”
     

Chapter 8
    Deacon wasn’t sure what had possessed him to force her into the party. Maybe the chance to see her in her element. Not overshadowed by him and his hulking want of her. He could step back and see the Rayka that wasn’t influenced by him. He took the corner fast and headed back to her place. He wanted her there. Didn’t know why. Didn’t care.
    “We’re going to my house?” she asked. She kept shifting in the car seat as if she couldn’t get comfortable. He thought it was more than that. She was trying to adjust so that the slight vibration of the engine through the seat didn’t titillate. He grinned and clamped his hand on her warm thigh.
    “That a problem? You live alone, right?”
    Rayka nodded. “Just asking. It’s not a problem at all.”
    “I thought you might be more comfortable on your own turf.”
    “I’m not comfortable at all,” she said, and then a nervous little laugh