“No. The only one doin’ anything with female fighters is UFC, and they’re sending a rep tomorrow night.”

“I won’t get to sit with you at the event, will I?”

“’Fraid not. The whole thing will last maybe four hours. Then I’m free to lock us in our hotel suite and do raunchy things to you.”

“What kind of raunchy things?”

Deacon nuzzled her neck. “The four-poster bed will be great for bondage.” His mouth meandered to the spot below her ear. “The bench looks good for spanking.” He blew in her ear. “I’m still thinking on whether the couch or the rug on the floor will be softer on your back as I’m fucking your tits.”

Molly tipped her head back and looked at him. “Too bad about that pesky twelve-hour rule I offered to let you break. Because, babe, I would’ve let you do every single one of those things to me tonight.” She smiled and leaned forward to bite his lower lip. “Twice.”

“Evil woman. Let’s go.”

He snatched up her underwear and balled them in his pocket.

“So are we going to eat?” she asked.

“Nah. Not hungry.”

“Deacon. I heard your stomach growling. What have you had to eat today?”

“Two protein shakes. A chicken and rice bowl. Two protein bars. And pussy.” He smirked. “The last one was very satisfying, so I’m good.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

MOLLY survived the whirlwind weekend in LA.

Deacon had been gone Saturday morning when she’d woken up. She knew Maddox wasn’t working with him because Maddox was right there, every damn time she turned around. Groping Presley, who didn’t seem to mind because she was groping him back with equal enthusiasm. According to Katie, the hand-holding, ass-grabbing couple had run into Maddox’s ex-wife half a dozen times and the woman was beside herself with rage and jealousy, so Operation Jealous Hag had been a resounding success. But Molly had been so busy she hadn’t gotten the particulars from her friend—which was odd, given Presley was notorious for oversharing.

Maddox had cornered her after lunch. “I need you to do me a favor tonight.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I need you to steer clear of Deacon for at least an hour after the fight. He’s not officially meeting with Smackdown or Bellator, but he has to appear interested. And we both know he’ll blow off these guys . . .” If there’s a chance you’ll be blowing him went unsaid.

“I don’t know where you’ve received the mistaken impression that I have any control over Deacon, Maddox,” she retorted.

“Christ. Don’t kid yourself. Would you please just help me out here? You want what’s best for Deacon and his career, right?”

“No. I want him to fail spectacularly because he’s so much fun after he loses.” Tone it down, Mol. She counted to ten. “Of course I want what’s best for him.”

“One hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Fine. He’ll assume I’m working anyway.”

“Good.” Maddox’s eyes turned hard. “Where the fuck is Presley?”

“Amery has her doing something. Why?” Wasn’t Maddox supposed to be with Fee all day before the big fight?

“I’m buying a chain for that girl to keep her by my side.” He leaned closer. “You cannot leave. My ex is across the room and I’ve managed to avoid being alone with her.”

Molly saw the chance and took it. “I’ll stay with you. In return, I want to know everything about these fight organizations that are looking at signing Deacon.”

Thirty minutes later Molly knew Maddox had spilled more than he’d intended. But she also realized Maddox had assumed Deacon had told her way more than he had.

So Deacon’s claim that he’ll tell you everything lasted what . . . ? Two weeks?

She couldn’t ask Deacon specifics since prior to the fight she’d seen Deacon for ten minutes—five of which he’d spent fucking her brains out up against the glass shower door. Then he’d bailed after blowing her circuits with a soul kiss.

She’d sat with the Black Arts crew during the exhibition. The fighters were seated in a different area of the arena, so Molly wondered if Deacon was making the “connections” Maddox had been harping on.

After the exhibition ended—Fee easily won her fight—Molly returned to the hotel with Beck, some guy named Gunnar who used to be an instructor at Black Arts, and Riggins. She skipped the after-party, and Riggins insisted on escorting her to her hotel room.

She poured herself a rum and Diet Coke and stared out the window at the glittering lights of Los Angeles. Molly didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard the door open. Her heart immediately beat faster. She saw Deacon in the reflection of the glass before he wrapped himself around her.