She turned a corner and discovered a lounging area. With no mirrors or sinks, it seemed a waste of space. She lowered onto the chaise and almost bounced upright again. Talk about springy. She bounced a couple more times and grinned. This could be a fun place for a quickie. If she could ever find her wayward boyfriend.
Closing her eyes, she pictured them sneaking in here-hot and wild for each other. They'd undress only enough to serve their need for instant connection and release.
She'd push Deacon on his back on the chaise. The intensity in his eyes when she rode him always got to her. Would they be mouth-to-mouth, kissing frantically, swallowing each other's groans? Would Deacon have his big hands around her hips, guiding her movements? Or would he twine her hair through his fingers, forcing her gaze to remain on his face as he manipulated her clit?
Need surged through her. When she and Deacon were body to body, he made her feel beautiful, sexy, wanted, and loved. How she wished they could return to the hotel and shut out the world like they had this afternoon. Another curl of heat unfurled as she remembered Deacon's near desperation to be inside her and how thoroughly he'd reminded them both of their intimate connection.
The door swung open, and female voices sliced through her solitude.
Molly stayed put. She was here first. Maybe they wouldn't stick around long and she could go back to brooding in silence.
"Love your shoes, Julianne," a woman gushed.
Great. Of all the people it could be, it had to be Deacon's mother.
"Thank you. Lola, my personal shopper at Neiman's, is a godsend."
"So what were you saying before?"
"Oh, just that I don't understand why he brought her to this JFW dinner. It's not like he's paying any attention to her."
"I've seen Bing herding Deacon around," the other woman said. "What's he up to?"
A faucet turned on and off.
"Bing wants to introduce him to key employees to drive home the point that their jobs would be in jeopardy if JFW is sold."
"Smart. You've got to be happy that Deacon isn't shirking his responsibilities for a change."
Shirking his responsibilities? The man trained like a fiend seven days a week. He defined disciplined.
"He shouldn't have any responsibilities in the first place. I don't understand why his grandfather insisted Deacon have a seat on the board. He's not exactly . . ."
Not exactly what, Mama Westerman? Bright? Or easily manipulated?
"Richard said Bing has offered Deacon his position at JFW if he verbally commits now to take over when he's done fighting."
A shiver zipped down Molly's spine. Deacon's words to Maddox yesterday-fighting for a living ain't my only option-seemed more ominous.
"When being the operative word for him. Deacon. He won't give up fighting. And then there's . . . her."
Her has a name, bitch.
"So it's serious?"
"Bing says so." Julianne sniffed. "Everyone is acting like I'm supposed to be happy that he has a girlfriend after all these years."
"You're not?"
"Honestly, I thought part of the reason Deacon's always been so closed off was because he was closeted."
A gasp sounded. "No."
"Yes. Wouldn't you suspect that your son preferred men if he hadn't brought a girl home in fifteen years?"
"Julianne. You poor thing. Dealing with that worry in addition to everything else you've dealt with over the years."
Molly rolled her eyes. What a heaping load of crap.
"Does it make me an awful person to say I'd rather he was gay than try to understand what he sees in that woman? Sweet lord."
"Who is she?"
"Nobody. Beautiful women hang all over these fighters. They hang all over him. I've seen the pictures. So she wasn't at all what I expected."
And once again, you're a disappointment. You should be used to it by now.
"Well," the other woman said in a drawn-out drawl, "I hate to point out the obvious, but you know what she sees in him."
"Oh, I know, all right. Last night before dinner? Deacon couldn't keep his hands off her. It was such a vulgar display. So I'm betting her appeal to him is her whorish behavior." Julianne sighed. "Of course, she probably thinks that by being his whore, he'll marry her. Then she can get her chubby hands on his money."
Enough was enough.
Molly walked around the corner, straight to the sink next to Deacon's mother. She gave the woman credit; her expression didn't change a whit when she realized Molly had overheard the entire conversation.
Probably between the plastic surgery and the Botox, she can't move her facial muscles much anyway.