Her friends’ barely restrained laughter followed her as she went to grab the guy’s keys.
The rest of the afternoon was thankfully busy and blessedly uneventful, so Alex wasn’t forced to endure any further questions. This was getting complicated already, and they hadn’t even reached the two-week mark.
And it wasn’t only Piper and Rusty asking questions that had her second-guessing what she was doing. That confrontation with Emily and Tammy. Alex cringed inwardly, remembered humiliation heating her cheeks. They thought she was nothing but a gold-digging slut, and why not? She and Deacon were worlds apart now. They knew as well as she did that a man like Deacon would never want anything but a fling with someone like her.
It had shaken her. The way they saw her, the way everyone would see her when she and Deke were together. She would never fit into his world, and she refused to change for any man. Even Deacon. Huffing out a breath, she shook her head. The point was moot anyway. That wasn’t what they were about.
And why did she care what a couple of stuck-up Barbies thought of her, anyway?
She dropped her wrench into the toolbox, wiped her hands off on a rag, and stuffed it in her back pocket. Then, closing the hood of the car she was working on, she walked around, reached through the driver’s side window, and twisted the key in the ignition, turning the engine over.
The car roared to life. At least one thing was going right.
She threw a cover over the driver’s seat to protect the upholstery and climbed in. The deep growl of the 1967 Plymouth ’Cuda’s V8 rumbled through the seat, right through her. Nothing beat it. As long as she had Rusty and Piper, the garage, she could handle anything. Even losing Deacon when their three months were up.
She had to believe that.
Putting the car in first, she rolled out of the garage and onto the street to take it for a test run. Window down, the wind tugged at her ponytail, the sun warming her skin. Yeah, this was all she needed.
Then Emily’s nasty face entered her head again.
Shit. She needed to stop second-guessing herself. But dammit, why did Deacon put up with his ex interfering in his life anyway? He and Emily were divorced. He promised there was nothing going on between them. So what was it? It was like Emily had some kind of hold over him. When she’d seen the scratches on Deke’s chest, she’d felt sick to her stomach, and yeah, she’d overreacted. But in that moment, the past had reared up and smacked her upside the head. Emily was a bitch, but she was also poised, beautiful, classy—and the woman Deacon had chosen over her. The woman he’d chosen to marry. The woman he still had a relationship with. Seeing them together, she’d felt like she had back then, when he’d left her behind to be with Emily. Not good enough.
Never good enough.
But in the end, she had no choice but to believe him. Why would he lie?
Still, she couldn’t get her head around it. If it was truly over between them, then why let her insinuate herself in his life like she seemed to? Why not tell her to piss off and mind her own damn business? She hadn’t missed the way he held back around his ex-wife, treated her with kid gloves. It didn’t make any sense unless…
She shook her head and turned up the stereo to flush out the thoughts bombarding her. She refused to waste another minute thinking about that woman.
When she drove back twenty minutes later, she got a raised eyebrow from Rusty as she pulled to a stop in the workshop. “You get lost?”
“Engine trouble,” she said, lying through her teeth.
She’d needed longer than a spin around the block to clear her head. Deke would be back tonight, and she needed to get her shit together before she saw him again. She’d missed him more than she should. After only one night, a restless, lonely feeling had taken up residence in her chest. And when he’d called to say things were taking longer than he’d anticipated and he would be away another night, her disappointment had been acute.
Those pale green eyes narrowed. “You got it sorted now?”
“I hope so.” Pulling the keys from the ignition to lock in the safe for the night, she climbed out.
Rusty stopped her before she’d taken two steps. “You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?”
Alex swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, Rust.” Jesus, she hated this. “You know I would.” Rusty gave her a small nod, then they both got busy cleaning up for the night.
As guilty as she felt for lying to her best friends, and as much as she tried to fight it, she was helpless against the rush of excitement that moved through her when she realized in a few hours Deacon would be knocking on her front door.
She was so screwed.
Chapter Sixteen
It was late when Deacon pulled in behind West Restoration. His meeting had run late. Usually he would have just stayed out of town another night, but it turned out, two days away from Alex was more than he could handle.
He’d called, told her he wouldn’t make dinner, but she’d promised to wait up for him. The breathlessness to her voice when he spoke to her, that husky edge of hers, had near done him in. That alone had driven him to get in his car, to drive straight over here, despite the hour. He needed her. And he sure as hell wouldn’t leave her wanting.
Going away, especially after what happened with Emily, had not been ideal. He’d wanted nothing more than to take Alex home and show her how much he cared, convince her to trust him, to forget their snide comments. Hell, he’d needed it for himself—the doubt on her face, the hurt she’d tried to hide had nearly killed him.
Climbing out of his car, he walked around the side of the workshop, where he’d hidden his car, and looked over to his sisters’ cottage. The place was dark—both had turned in for the night. He glanced up and saw pale yellow light illuminated the front windows of Alex’s apartment. Thank God.
Being Alex’s landlord meant he had a key to her place, and he’d told her to lock up, that he’d let himself in. He took the external stairs to her front door and used his key.
“Alex?” He shut the door behind him and moved into the kitchen. No sign of her.
But when he moved into the small adjoining living room, he saw her. On her side, hand tucked under her chin, asleep on the couch. Jesus, he’d missed her more than he thought possible. The more time they spent together, the more of herself she revealed, the deeper his already intense feelings became.
She was wearing nothing but a baggy Guns N’ Roses tank top that skimmed the tops of her thighs and looked unbelievably sexy. Her smooth, bare legs were stretched out, toenails painted blue, and right then, he thought the cute silver toe ring she wore might be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. The woman was temptation and innocence all at the same time.
She also looked utterly wiped out.
As badly as he wanted her, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. He knew firsthand what a restless sleeper she could be. What those dreams did to her, how they shook her. She looked so peaceful. Cursing under his breath, he thrust his fingers through his hair. He could wait till tomorrow, right? One more night wouldn’t kill him.
Fuck.
Her scent, unique to Alex, spicy and exotic, filled the small apartment and hit him in the gut. The roar of need increased along with the swirl of emotion only Alex had managed to evoke in him. He needed to leave before he changed his mind and acted like the selfish bastard she already thought he was.
Walking to the kitchen as quietly as he could, he grabbed a pen and jotted down a note so she knew he hadn’t stood her up, then took the blanket off the back of the couch and placed it over her. He took one last long look at his sleeping beauty and let himself out.
Every step away from her felt heavy, wrong on every level, but he knew how hard they’d all been working. West Restoration had begun to make a name for itself, and he would never stand in the way of their success, despite what he’d told Alex.