Deacon felt momentarily sheepish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it, either, and it was right outside his window the majority of the year.
“I understand why you’d rather be here than Royal,” she said after they walked a good bit down the shoreline. “It’s beautiful. And so different. I don’t know that I want to go back, either.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I will, but I don’t want to.”
Deacon felt the sudden urge to ask her why she couldn’t stay. “Why go back?” he asked. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Well, for one thing, I haven’t finished your hotel yet. It opens in just a week and a half, if you’ll recall. Plus, my company is in Royal. My employees. My friends and family.”
“You could have all that here,” he offered. “And me, too.” Deacon surprised himself with the words, but he couldn’t stop them from coming out. What would it be like to have her here with him all the time? Away from her parents’ sphere of influence and the society nonsense she’d fallen prey to. He wanted to know.
Cecelia stopped walking, pulling him to a stop beside her. “You’re not going to stay in Royal, are you?”
He shook his head. “You know I’m not.”
Cecelia’s gaze drifted into the distance. “I know. I guess a part of me was just hoping.”
Deacon’s heart sped in his chest. He hadn’t given much thought to this fling with Cecelia lasting beyond the grand opening. He just couldn’t disappoint himself that way. But it sounded like she was open to the possibility. “Hoping what?” he pressed.
“Hoping that you’d change your mind and stay awhile.”
Deacon sighed. There were a lot of things he would do for her, but stay in Royal? He couldn’t even imagine it. He didn’t know why she’d ask him to, either. Didn’t she realize how everyone treated him? How miserable it was for him? She didn’t seem very happy there, either. “Royal, Texas, and I parted ways a long time ago.”
Cecelia looked at him. “We parted ways, too, and yet here we are. Anything can happen.”
He didn’t want to argue about this and ruin their night. They were together now, and that was the most important thing. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Anything can happen. We’ll see what the future brings.”
Taking her hand into his, they started back down the beach. They were only a hundred yards or so from his hotel when he saw a child chasing after a dog on the beach. The little boy must’ve dropped the leash, and the large, wooly mutt seemed quite pleased with his newfound f
reedom.
In fact, the dog was heading right toward them. Before Deacon could react, the dog made a beeline for Cecelia. It jumped up, placing two dirty paw prints on her chest and knocking her off balance. Her hand slipped from his as she stumbled back and fell into the waves that were rushing up around their feet. She yelled as she tried—and failed—to find her footing in the icy water, soaking her dress and hair.
Deacon was in a panic and so was the little boy. They both lunged to pull the dog off her as it enthusiastically licked her face. It wasn’t until the dog was yanked away that he realized Cecelia’s shrieks were actually laughter. He stood, stunned for a moment by her reaction. Then he offered her his hand to lift her up out of the water, but she didn’t take it. She was laughing too hard to care.
It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen. The people back in Royal wouldn’t believe it if Maverick circulated a picture of it. The perfect and poised Cecelia Morgan lying in the ocean fully clothed and covered in mud. The cream lace dress was absolutely ruined with dirty paw prints rubbed down the front. Her makeup was smeared across her skin, and her blond hair hung in damp tendrils around her face. She was a mess. But she didn’t seem to care. And she couldn’t have been more beautiful.
“Je m’excuse, mademoiselle,” the little boy said as he fought with the dog that weighed a good ten pounds more than he did. “Mauvais chien!” he chastised the pup, who finally sat down looking smug about the whole thing.
“Cecelia, are you okay?” Deacon asked. He wasn’t sure what to do.
She struggled to catch her breath, then nodded. Her face was flushed bright red beneath the smears of her foundation and mascara. “I’m fine.” She reached up for Deacon, and when he took her hand, she tugged hard, catching him off guard and jerking him down into the water with her.
“What the—” he complained as he pushed up from the water, soaked, but the joyful expression on her face stopped him. He rolled up to a seated position beside her. “Was that really necessary?” he asked.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Deacon instantly forgot about the water, the dog, the cost of his ruined suit... All that mattered was the taste of Cecelia on his lips and the press of her body against his. She was uninhibited and free in his arms, kissing him with the same abandon she had that first night after her breakup with Chip. There was no desperation this time, however. Just excitement and need.
He couldn’t help but respond to it. This side of Cecelia was one he thought he might never see again. It was the side that had made out with him in the back of his truck, letting him get her hair and makeup all disheveled. It was the side that had sprayed him with the hose while he was detailing one of his restored cars and led to them getting covered in mud and grass as they wrestled on his front lawn.
Deacon had missed this Cecelia. Perfectly imperfect. Dirty. Joyful. Hot as hell. He realized that they weren’t alone in the back of his truck, however. The little French boy and his dog were still standing there. He forced himself to pull away, looking over the mess she’d become.
The dress had been tight before, but wet, it was clingy and damn near see-through. He could see the hardened peaks of her nipples pressing through the fabric. He would have to give her his coat to cover her when they walked home.
“Américains fous,” the little boy said with a dismayed shake of his head. He tugged on the dog’s leash and headed back in the direction he’d come from.
“What did he say?” Cecelia asked.
“He called us crazy Americans.” Deacon wiped the water from his face and slicked back his hair. “I have to say I agree.”
Cecelia giggled into her hand and looked down at her dress. Her fingers traced over some of the sand and mud embedded in the delicate lace and silk. “My mother just bought me this dress for Christmas. It was the first time I’d worn it. Oh, well.”