Because of her situation, some of the boys had seen her as easy prey. Deacon had found her with one of them behind the garage. He’d had her pinned to the wall. The weasel had kissed her, tried to cop a feel. One minute she’d been trying to fight him off, the next he was gone, laid out flat by a pissed-off Deacon.

After he’d scared the guy away, he’d slung an arm around her shoulders, pulled her in for a hug, and asked if she was okay. He’d been furious, had taken care of her. She’d already been half in love with him by then. But after that, she’d been toast.

Over the next few years, he’d been there for her, had looked out for her—until he went away to college. Then it was like he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. God, how she’d missed him.

Not long after that, he’d gotten himself a preppy business-school girlfriend. Emily had perky tits and a smile to match, and Alex had been forced to suffer every time he came back home, Miss Perky at his side, stuck to him like shit to a blanket.

When she’d turned eighteen and was old enough to leave the foster-care system, Jacob West had invited her to move in with them. She’d been living there a few months when Deke had come home for the summer. She’d been secretly dreading it. Watching him make out with his girlfriend hadn’t been one of her favorite pastimes. But when he’d arrived, he’d been alone. He and Emily had broken up. She’d had no idea what had happened between them, and she hadn’t cared. All she’d cared about was that she had him back. It’d been like old times.

She’d been so happy that summer.

Then one night, when she’d gone to grab a drink, she’d found Deke in the kitchen. For the first time in her life, he didn’t look at her like his sisters’ best friend. There’d been a whole lot of heat in that intense stare and—she’d convinced herself—so much more.

The memory came rushing back unbidden.

“Shit, Alex. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

Her heart hammered behind her ribs. “You have?”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her in flush against him, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I need to know what you taste like.” His fingers flexed on her waist, and she could feel his erection against her stomach. “Can I?”

He’d kissed her. It’d been long and sweet and full of desperate need, and then without a word he’d taken her hand and led her to his room. Convinced that she was part of this amazing family, that Deacon loved her and when he finished college they’d get married and Piper and Rusty would be her sisters for real, she’d followed blindly.

She’d been young, naive, had stupidly thought she meant something to him.

She hadn’t.

He’d taken her virginity that night, then the next day Emily had called, crying and begging him to take her back. He had. He’d run back to her, leaving Alex behind.

Jesus, it had hurt.

Deacon had asked Emily to marry him not long after that, and when Alex found out, she’d cried herself to sleep for a full month.

Idiot.

They got married in a private ceremony a month later. They saw even less of Deacon after that. It had hurt his sisters, the distance he’d put between them, and for no good reason, as far as they could see. But then after only four years of wedded bliss, he and Emily had called it quits. Not even Rusty or Piper knew why Deacon had filed for divorce, and he hadn’t offered an explanation.

In the end, not even perky Emily with her college education and rich daddy had been good enough.

Now not a trace of the old Deacon remained.

Which meant it should be easy to keep her feelings for him in check. No way was she falling hopelessly in love with him all over again. Not going to happen.

“Enough.” Punching her pillow, she sat up.

No matter how much she wished it, time would not stop for her, and lying around in bed just gave her time to think about the boy he’d been, about things that could only lead to pain and heartache—about the huge mistake she was making.

She dragged her butt out of bed early and, feeling nervous and cranky, got ready for work.

Holding a piece of toast between her teeth, she bent to do up her boots. Mr. Cannon’s restoration job was coming in this morning, and she was anxious to get started. Plus, they had a few other smaller jobs coming in. Busy for a Tuesday, but today of all days, she was happy for the distraction.

They had three months to prove Deacon wrong. If they had several big jobs lined up, it would blow his theory that they’d set themselves up to fail, that they were playing shop.

She stood and pulled her hair back, tying it in her usual ponytail, then opened the door and stumbled back a step. “Shit.” Some guy dressed in a suit and hat stood there about to knock.

He dropped his hand and smiled. “Miss Franco?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Martin. Mr. West’s chauffeur. He wanted me to deliver this to you.” He held out a large box and one of those fancy store bags that had ribbon for handles.

“Um, just a sec.” She got rid of her toast and took it from him. Martin was tall and had graying hair and a kind face. She could tell, despite spending his days carting Deacon around, he was fit and took care of himself. “What is it?”

He smiled. “I couldn’t say.”

“Right. Well, thanks, Martin.”

The older man tipped his hat and left her with her packages. She looked over the rail to the garage below. The doors were still closed. Thank God. The last thing she wanted was for Piper or Rusty to see his car parked outside her place. She shut the door and carried them to the living room, putting the bag down and placing the box on the coffee table. She slowly circled the thing like it was stuffed full of poisonous spiders waiting to pounce.

The name on the box was written in another language, maybe French. She’d never seen it before. Then her curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled off the lid.

White tissue sat on top, and she folded it back. “Damn.” A dress of the deepest red sat among more white tissue. At least she thought it was a dress. She could see the top half. It looked simple, elegant. Rubbing her hands on her cutoffs so she didn’t get peanut butter on it, she lifted the fabric carefully from the box.

It had spaghetti straps and a sheer overlay. Beautiful.

She’d never owned a dress like it. In fact, she didn’t own any dresses at all. She hadn’t even gone to her prom. She didn’t do clothes shopping, especially in the fancy stores. She always felt out of place. She might fix cars for a living, but she was girl, and sometimes she wanted to feel like one. Sometimes she wanted to wander around those extravagant stores and try on beautiful clothes like everyone else.

Deacon knew it, too. She’d told him once, after one too many sneaky beers at Rusty’s seventeenth birthday. He hadn’t laughed at her confession; he’d smiled at her, eyes soft, and said, “You deserve nothing but the best, Alex.”

She pushed the memory aside, doubted he even remembered now. She looked back down at the dress, and her pulse sped up, heat rushing to the surface of her skin. Jesus, she was actually looking forward to wearing it, to spending time with Deacon. Deacon, who was a controlling, blackmailing asshole.

Her phone rang and she jumped, dropping the dress back in the box. “Shoot.” Yanking her phone from her back pocket, she saw Deacon’s name flash across the screen.

As much as she wanted to, she didn’t think ignoring him and pretending none of this was happening would make him go away.

“Do you like it?” he said as soon as she answered. She didn’t miss the way his voice had deepened, sounding rougher than usual. Obviously he liked it.

Her traitorous body instantly fired to life at the sound of his voice, the memory of how he’d growled dirty things to her in the darkness. How she’d become putty in his hands when he’d taken control of her body, how she’d loved every second of it.