She blushed.

“There. That right there. Jesus. When you blush it’s like waving a red flag in front of me.” He brushed his lips over hers. Just a back-and-forth glide.

She could melt into a puddle from these pockets of sweetness he showed her.

Then, as quickly as he bowled her over with his physical contact, he let it go. “I’ll call the order in.”

Molly wandered out of the kitchen while Deacon talked on the phone. Again, she’d imagined Deacon living in an ultra-modern space, not one so welcoming with warmth and comfort. No black leather furniture. No Jumbotron TV. But she wouldn’t be afraid to sit on the furnishings in here either.

His arms circled her as she studied the framed art on the walls.

“Where’d you get those? They’re amazing.” The western paintings were vibrant and detailed, down to the ripped leather of the cowboy’s boot.

“Guy I worked with. When he showed me his paintings, I recognized his talent and hated seeing the hands that created such beauty stuck washing dishes.”

“Is he still painting?”

“No idea. Lost touch with him when I changed jobs.” He shrugged. “Most art is shit. But this? When I looked at it, I could almost smell the puffy tacos at the mercado in San Antonio.”

“Ah. So it’s an image of Texas—the people, the place, and the artist—that speaks to you.” She looked at him. “I’m jealous. Unless someone paints pictures of cornfields, I’ll never have that kind of connection.”

“I still think you should’ve taken the John Wayne on velvet painting from your grams’s house.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

Deacon laughed. “Busted.”

“Just for that I want a tour of your bedroom first.”

“Not happening. I get you in there and we ain’t leaving.”

Molly pointed. “Maybe a trip to the balcony will cool you down.”

“Not likely.” He opened the sliding-glass door. “Go ahead. I’ve seen the view before.”

She loved being able to see Denver from different angles around the city. She could sit out here for hours. Yet she didn’t see a single piece of patio furniture. When she walked across the concrete to peer over the railing, Deacon warned, “Careful.”

“Why? Is this rickety or something?” She tried to jiggle the metal to test it, but it seemed solid to her.

“Jesus, Molly. Don’t.”

She whirled around and saw the pinched set to Deacon’s mouth. Now she understood why this space was empty. “You’re afraid of heights.”

He leveled the deadly stare that used to scare the crap out of her.

Not so much anymore.

“You know what I’m afraid of?” she asked as she walked back to him. “It’s stupid. But I’ve always had nightmares about being invited to an important party and when I get there, I’m wearing something completely inappropriate. Sometimes I’m dressed like a clown or a witch. One time I wore the papal stylings of the pope. Another time I looked like a punk-rock hooker. Everyone is laughing at me and yelling horrible things at me.”

“Nightmares aren’t the same as phobias, babe. I’ve suffered from both.”

At least she’d gotten him to admit that much. “Is your fear from something that happened when you were a kid?”

He shook his head.

“So, Deacon, if you’ve got an issue with heights, why did you buy a condo on the sixth floor?”

“I asked for ground floor when they were building this. But something got fucked-up. The real estate developer cut me a deal, and it was too good to pass up.”

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“Patience, woman. Let’s head back to the kitchen.”

Molly was out of patience. She needed to see where he rested his shaved head at night—why was he denying her? To distract him so she could make a break for it, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Look! There’s Batman!”

When he turned to look—gullible much?—Molly ducked under his arm and booked it down the short hallway.

She flung open the door and frantically patted the wall until she found the light switch. Then she stopped in the middle of the room, taking it all in.

This was where Deacon slept. This was where he dreamed. Where he hurt. But this wasn’t a place he chose to fuck or make love.

Until now. With her.

Large hands landed on her hips. “Batman. Seriously, babe?”

“Hey, you looked.” She paused. “I have to ask you something. Am I really the first woman you’ve had here?”