He completely ignored her, pulled back, and slammed his fist into the creep’s face. The crunch of bone shattering made her wince, as did the blood that splattered across Deacon’s white shirt.

The guy howled and covered his nose. “Jesus Christ! You broke my nose!”

Deacon ignored him and turned to her. “Elevator, now.”

When she stood unmoving, still in shock, he grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him, pulling her in before the door closed. “What the hell, Deacon?”

His jaw was granite, and when he looked down at her there was no warmth or affection in his hard gaze. He didn’t speak, not until they were in his apartment, after he’d dragged her into his bedroom. She stood on the opposite side while he tugged his shirt from his trousers, undid the first few buttons, and pulled it over his head, throwing it across the room.

“One man not enough for you, Alex?”

The emotion behind his words felt like a physical blow. Anger she could handle, though she sure as hell didn’t deserve it. But it wasn’t just anger radiating from him—no, there was pain as well. And the expression on his face twisted her up inside.

“I come down to find you with that asshole…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “After last… After what we…” He growled, shook his head.

After last night? Was that what he was going to say? She crossed her arms over her chest, more hurt and angry than she’d been in her life, which should be impossible, but there you go. How could he still doubt her? “I was not with that asshole, he followed me.”

“Yeah?” The raw emotion in his voice had not diminished, not even a fraction.

She moved closer to him, her own anger sailing over pissed and landing somewhere in the vicinity of rage. Deacon wasn’t the only one hurting. His opinion of her, as it turned out, wasn’t much better than that bastard downstairs. But despite her desire to lash out, to rail on him, she kept her voice controlled, even. “You get that in my line of work.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she moved in, so close her breasts brushed his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Whore, Deacon.” He visibly flinched, mouth opening, then closing. “Your friend downstairs wanted to know my hourly rate.”

A flush crept up from his neck, and he gritted his teeth. “What did you just say?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out? Here, maybe I should show you.” She yanked on his belt, pulling the leather free, unbuckling it to shove her hand inside. She was surprised when she found him hard as iron, cock pulsing in her hand.

“What are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly in his.

“I would have thought that was obvious. Services rendered and all that. Maybe you’d prefer my mouth?” She tried to drop to her knees in front of him, but he released her hands and gripped her upper arms, holding her immobile. “I thought you loved it when I sucked your cock?”

His nostrils flared, and the heat in his gaze sent her up in flames, but he didn’t release his hold, nor did the anger causing his body to shake diminish.

She tried to fight him, tried to drop down in front of him again. “Suddenly you’ve grown a conscience? What, don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Still her pulse raced, wanting to hear it, to hear that he actually gave a shit.

Instead he stood there like a damn robot, confusion and God only knew what else in his gaze, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. Oh, yeah, he knew the ugly truth as well as she did. They could never be together. They were from different worlds now. She’d momentarily forgotten that, had let her emotions cloud her better judgment. Convinced herself their feelings for each other would be enough to overcome their differences, that they were so much more than what they were.

What she was.

But even if Deacon had considered more, some kind of future together that didn’t include sneaking around—well, the reality of his neighbor soliciting sex from her would have knocked any stupid ideas from his head.

Having a girlfriend who could pass as a streetwalker? Not a good look for a corporate CEO.

She pulled out of his arms, and he let her. Let her pace to the other side of the room, away from him. Pain more acute than she thought possible gripped her heart.

“Alex…” He took a step toward her, then slammed on the brakes, shoved his fingers through his hair, and bit off several more curses.

I am such an idiot.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Goddammit, she would not fall apart in front of him. She darted through the closest door, into the bathroom, and shut herself in. Sucking down several deep breaths, she fought to keep her emotions in check. You knew this would happen, but you still opened your heart. This is your own damn fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Head bent, she stared at the floor, then her gaze landed on the trash basket. A shirt had been dumped in there, and she could see something pink smudged on it. Without thinking, she lifted it out and held it up.

Lipstick stained the front pocket and one side of the collar. Oh, God. She stood frozen. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. But it didn’t take a mind like Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the owner of the lipstick was, either.

Had he kept Emily on the sidelines all along?

She shook her head. If she believed that, she was no better than Deke, with his mistrust and accusations. There had to be a reasonable explanation, didn’t there?

God, she wanted to believe that, so much, but that old fear—the sting of his rejection when he’d left her for Emily—lurked below the surface, making it hard to think clearly.

All of a sudden she was suffocating. Every breath seemed to scald her throat, her lungs shrinking in her chest with each painful breath. She threw the shirt back in the trash and bolted from the bathroom.

“Alex?” Deacon called after her.

“I need to get back to work.” He came after her, grabbed her arms, and stupid hope fluttered through her belly. She turned to face him but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Don’t run away from me, Alex. Not again.”

“I have to go.” She tried to pull free, but he held on tight. “Let me go.” She barely recognized her own voice, so broken, so damn pathetic.

He winced a second before his expression closed down completely.

Then he did what she asked—he released her, stepped back, and let her walk out the door.

Chapter Eighteen

Deacon gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make it groan as he pulled into the parking garage under his apartment building. After an afternoon spent explaining to his goddamn lawyer why he’d broken that bastard’s nose, his shitty mood still hadn’t improved. The asshole would more than likely sue.

It was worth it.

At the end of the day, it was only money. And that bastard more than deserved what he’d gotten.

He still didn’t know what had come over him. He’d lost it. In his surprise at seeing Alex there, then the way the guy had crowded her, put his hands on her. Like an idiot, he’d immediately thought the worst. His default after Emily’s deceit, her cheating. The way his mother had done the same to his father.

Trusting another person, even Alex, didn’t come easily. But she hadn’t deserved his rancor, his accusations.

Don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?

Jesus. He’d frozen when she’d fired those pain-filled words at him. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d accused her of when he knew better, knew she would never do that to him, had hit hard.