When they got to the restaurant, Deacon took hold of her hand again as soon as she stepped out of the car. This time she didn’t try to pull free—there was no use, and besides, the jerk would probably grab her ass as an alternative.

But that wasn’t the only reason, and though she’d never admit it to him, she was nervous about meeting these bigwig business types. What could she possibly have to talk about with people like that? The only thing she knew about were cars, and she doubted the suits Deke hung with had the first clue what was under the hood of their expensive sports cars, let alone could dream of getting grease under their manicured fingernails.

The woman at the door led them to the back of the room. The only person there was a guy about Deke’s age.

“Jarrod,” Deacon said and walked straight over to him. She should have guessed. He was all suited up the same. They looked like a couple of Ken dolls in their dark suits and slicked-back hair. “Good to see you.”

Jarrod took his hand in a firm shake. “Glad you could make it.”

Deacon slid his arm around her waist. “This is Alex.”

Jarrod took her hand, lifting it to his mouth. “Lovely to meet you, Alex.” He gave her a crooked grin, one she suspected got a lot of women to drop their panties, and pressed his lips to her skin. Yeah, he was a good-looking guy, but she suspected he knew it, too.

“You, too.” She pulled her hand free, and his grin upped in wattage.

They took their seats, and the guys started talking. Which was pretty much how it continued for the next hour. All in all, the evening was going better than she’d thought it would. They mainly ignored her while they talked business. And since she had no clue what they were going on about, or why Deacon had bothered to bring her in the first place, she spent the time people watching and enjoying the free food and alcohol.

“So, what do you do, Alex?”

It took her a moment to realize Jarrod was talking to her. It seemed the business portion of dinner was over. This should be good. She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m a mechanic. Me and Deke’s sisters own a garage on Axle Alley.”

Deacon shifted beside her but said nothing, while Jarrod stared at her like he was waiting for the punch line. When she kept her trap shut and he realized there wasn’t one coming, he shook off his stupor and served up his panty-dropping smile again. “Wow. That’s an unusual occupation for a woman.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Beside the run-of-the-mill, bread-and-butter stuff, we want to eventually specialize in classic car restoration. We’ve done a few already, and we’ve got several more big jobs lined up.”

Deacon turned to her. “Do you?”

“Yeah.”

Before he could ask any more questions, Jarrod cut in. “I actually have a car that needs work. Maybe I should bring it in, see what you can do?”

The conversation turned to cars, which she’d happily talk about all night, and by the time she’d finished telling Deacon’s business associate what they could do for him, another hour had passed. Deacon had barely said a word in all that time.

Was he pissed at her for hijacking his dinner?

When Jarrod asked her another question, Deke dropped a hand on her shoulder and cut in. “It’s getting late. I think we’ll call it a night.”

“Right. I hadn’t realized the time.” Jarrod turned back to her. “We should do this again sometime. You’re so passionate about what you do. I could listen to you talk about it all night.” He didn’t even glance at Deke when he said it. Oops.

“Um, yeah. Sure.”

Deacon grabbed her hand and stood abruptly. “Okay. See you next Wednesday, Jarrod.” Then he strode through the restaurant, towing her behind him. Keeping up in four-inch heels was no easy task, not when she was used to wearing steel-toed boots.

She tugged on his hand. “Slow the hell down, or I’ll fall on my ass.”

He did as she asked but didn’t look back at her. When they hit the street, he called Martin, asked him to pick them up, then stared silently ahead, jaw like granite.

After a few minutes the silence became unbearable. “What the hell’s your problem?” she said to his steely profile, though she thought she had a good idea.

He scowled down at her. “Are you serious?”

She gave him her best what-the-hell-crawled-up-your-ass expression and crossed her arms, needing space. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He didn’t take the hint and stepped closer. “You really don’t know what my problem is?” His voice had gone all deep and growly.

And of course, as always when he got like this, her happy places got a whole lot happier. Which was insane and just plain wrong. She ignored her aching nipples and the pulse between her thighs and fired back, “No. But you’re acting like a dick.”

“I may as well not have been in the room, that’s what my problem is. You were all over fucking Jarrod Prescott like cheap perfume.”

She lurched back. “Me? All over Jarrod?”

His nostrils flared when she said the other man’s name. “Like plastic wrap,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Jesus, you’re acting like I jumped in his lap and took a ride on the guy’s disco stick. We were talking business, Deacon. Just like you did before me. That job could be worth a lot of money, and anyway, you had no problem ignoring me while you two talked about whatever the hell you were droning on about.”

He thrust a hand in his hair—the slicked-back look was gone, and his hair fell over his forehead, the way she liked it. “We have a deal, Alex. You don’t sleep with anyone but me. If you want to renege, fine, I’ll call the valuers tomorrow and reschedule.”

She winced inwardly. “You wouldn’t.”

He wrapped his fingers around her biceps. “Try me.”

A red haze clouded her vision. Was he for real? “When did you become such a raging asshole? No, really, I want to know. Do you think I’m some mindless skank who’ll fuck anything with an available dick? That I’m so desperate, a guy only has to talk to me, show me a tiny bit of attention, and I’ll jump into bed with him?”

“Alex.”

She ignored the warning in his voice and shoved at his chest. The bastard wouldn’t let her go. She shoved again, struggled to get away. He grabbed her wrists, trapping them between their bodies, pulling her in even closer.

“Stop.” His voice was like a whip cracking through the night, and she immediately stopped fighting. His gaze bored into her, intense, but there was a softness there as well. She wanted to keep on struggling, to get away from that look in his eyes, but he was having none of it. “That’s not what I meant.” He let out a harsh breath. “I let my temper get the better of me. I apologize.”

He could be unreasonable and irrational at times, she knew that all too well, but this was extreme even for him. She wanted to say more. Instead she bit her lip before she said something to make it worse, which was not easy. She refused to give him a reason to sell the garage out from under them.

“Whatever.” She tested his hold, and he let her wrists go but kept her plastered to his side.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I overreacted. I know I can be…possessive.” He stared down at her and just like that, the softness vanished, green eyes going intense, hard. “I need to know we understand each other?”

He was back to Mr. Chill. Good. The way she preferred him. He was so much easier to dislike when he was like this. “Yeah, we understand each other just fine.”

Martin chose that moment to pull up beside them, thank God, cutting off further conversation. They climbed in, and Deacon stayed quiet—silently stewing, no doubt—the entire drive. When they arrived at his building, she expected him to have Martin drive her home.

But when he climbed out, he pulled her out after him.

Was he serious? “But I thought you’d…” He shook his head in a silent warning. “You want me to come up?” Her voice quavered at the end, and she hated it.