Caged(45)

Deacon moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"This is supposed to be the easy part, right? These . . . things are just things. Sellable and replaceable. I shouldn't have any attachment to that chair. No matter how many years she sat in it. Because I know she'll never sit in it again. I don't need that around as a reminder."

He kissed the top of her head, strangely moved by her unsentimental view.

She disentangled herself. "This stuff won't sort itself."

And there was his shove-the-emotional-stuff-aside Molly. They were strangely alike that way. "What's the plan?"

"Personal things in one pile. Auction items in another. Throw away the stuff that doesn't fit in either category." Molly faced him. "If you bring in the four big trash cans from out back, I'll get the garbage bags."

"I'm yours to command, babe." He'd do Molly's bidding today, because once this task was done, he could get her naked beneath him again and he'd be the one calling the shots.



       
         
       
        

As he carried in the garbage cans, he thought about how things had changed between Molly and him. Being lovers was a big part of it, but she'd given herself over to his care in other ways. It'd been a long damn time since he'd felt needed, and it didn't scare the fuck out of him as much as he'd feared it would.

In the living room, Molly was hitting her fists into the window frame, which appeared to be painted shut.

"Trying to break your hand?"

"Ha. I'm trying to open the windows. It's so stuffy in here I can't breathe." She grunted and banged into the wood even harder.

"Move."

"There's a trick to this; I just can't remember what it is."

He crowded her, intending to elbow her aside, but she whirled around and slapped her palms on his chest. "Whoa there, big guy. It's not a big deal if I hurt my hand, but yours are a different story."

"Babe. I ain't gonna hurt myself opening a fucking window."

"That's right. Because your job is to stand there looking all hot, scowly, menacing badass while I do it."

"Christ. I remember when we first met you couldn't even look me in the eye. Now you're bossing me around and insulting me."

"Turns you on, doesn't it?" she said with a sexy purr before she faced the window again and smacked her palms along the top of the sill.

Deacon circled her wrists with his fingers, pulling her arms above her head and pressing his groin into her ass. "Know what really turns me on? Imagining how hot it'll be when I take you like this."

She melted against him. "Deacon."

"Fuck, woman. What you do to me." He let his lips follow the curve of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. "And the things I want to do to you."

The front door slammed against the wall.

When Molly jumped back, he moved into her space and pounded his fists into the wood casing until the window opened.

"Show-off."

Jennifer stormed in, dragging a trash can to the dining room table. "For years I've been looking forward to throwing away all this crap. Who keeps magazines, knitting patterns and old Christmas cards?"

"Don't throw out any pictures, ledgers, or records. Put anything you're not sure of, like the crocheted afghans, in the kitchen, and we'll go through it later."

Jennifer got right in Molly's face. "You may own half of this house now, but what's inside belongs to us. Not you. You're not in charge. I am. I want this shit done. The auction house will be by later today. Sort the stuff upstairs first."

Deacon was disappointed when Molly said, "Aye-aye," but didn't salute. 

In Molly's old room, Deacon noticed the twin bed had been stripped. A cheap pressboard desk and an old metal chair were shoved against the wall. A battered chest of drawers anchored the opposite end of the room. No posters or plaques adorned the walls. "Did your room always look like this?"

"Jennifer and Brandi wrecked anything nice, so after a while I didn't bother making it personal."

"It sucks that not even this was a private space for you growing up."

"Makes me appreciate the freedom to decorate however I want-even with flowers and lace and shit."

"Hilarious."

She checked the closet and every dresser drawer. "This room is done. Guest bedroom is next."

Deacon hauled in the garbage can, but the room was already sparse. A double bed, a dresser, and a bentwood rocker. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Molly rifle through the contents of the drawers and dump everything into the trash.

The two plastic tubs she'd designated for keepsakes were both empty.