In the blink of an eye, Deacon had caged her against the wall, his mouth next to her ear. “You trying to push my buttons?”

“Back. Off.”

“Not on your life.”

She shivered when his hot breath tickled her neck.

He muttered, “Goddamn flowers.”

“What?”

“You always smell sweet. Even after sweating in class for an hour, you didn’t reek like everyone else.”

“There’s a compliment.” Molly put her hands on his chest and pushed him. “Move it.”

A soft growl vibrated against her cheek. “You drive me crazy, woman.”

“Hey!” a loud male voice shouted behind them. “Let her go.”

Deacon retreated to face Black Bart. “I don’t have my hands on your merchandise, so this isn’t your concern.”

Merchandise? Was that all the women who worked the club were to him?

Black Bart stopped a foot from Molly and set his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, pretty eyes, is this fucker harassing you?”

“No, I’m not harassing her, but I’ll break your hand if you don’t take it off of her,” Deacon retorted.

“Deacon! What is wrong with you?” Molly asked.

“Got a case of mine, I’m thinking,” Black Bart said. “You know this joker, sweet thang?”

What perfect payback to proclaim she’d never seen him before. But that’d set him off. And Deacon “Con Man” McConnell in a rage was dangerous for everyone. “Yes, I know him. He is—was—my kickboxing instructor.”

Black Bart grinned. “No kidding. You one of them ka-rah-tay chicks?”

“No. I’ve discovered I like beating the shit out of something a couple of times a week.”

“I hear ya there.” Despite Deacon’s warning growl, Black Bart stepped between them. “Say the word and I toss him out on his tattooed ass. I don’t cotton with any women being threatened in my club.”

“Our conversation got a little intense, but we’re done now.”

Deacon’s dark look said, The hell we are, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Okay. You need anything, come find me.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Deacon said softly, the menace in his tone unmistakable.

“Like you’d know how he was looking at me,” she said hotly. “You haven’t stopped glaring at me since the moment you trapped me back here.”

“Staring at you and glaring at you aren’t the same thing, darlin’, and you damn well know it.”

“My mistake. But you’re always glaring at someone. Is that MMA badass behavior? Daring someone to screw with you so you can beat the snot out of them?”

“‘Beat the snot out of them’?” A smile curled his lips. “Babe. If I hit a guy in the nose, it ain’t snot running out.”

“Eww. Thanks for the visual.”

Deacon inched closer. “No one here knows I’m a fighter.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my personal business.”

“I don’t imagine there’s much talking going on during a lap dance anyway.”

“Not usually, no.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

He shook his head. “Not done talking to you.”

“We have nothing to talk about. I ran into you at a strip club. Big deal. You’re a single guy. It’s your personal business if you pay some chick with fake boobs to grind her bony ass on your crotch.” She paused. “Does that about cover it?”

“No, it doesn’t begin to cover it.” Deacon crowded her against the wall. “You still seeing that banker friend of Amery’s?”

How did Deacon know that?

“What was it about the douche bag that caught your eye? The snappy suit? The nine-to-five work hours? The freakishly perfect groomed hair?”

“Maybe it’s the fact he didn’t stand me up for our first date.” She gave his shiny head a blatant once-over. “Sounds like you’re jealous of his hair, baldy.”

His eyes hardened. “Shaving my head is a choice.”

She shrugged. “How do I know you’re not sporting a chrome dome because otherwise you’d have a bad comb-over?”

Omigod. I cannot believe I said that. To Deacon.

Molly braced herself for his reaction.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for his mouth coming down on hers in an explosion full of heat, need and possession.