Devlin

by Barbara Freethy

  "It's difficult to believe your dad would let you go."

  "It's really not," he said dryly.

  "Well, I guess we can wait and see what happens, since he'll be back in a day or two." She let out a sigh as she looked around the office. "I can't imagine my dad not being here, but it's starting to feel more real now."

  "Why don't we take this box upstairs?"

  "To your apartment?" she asked quickly, a nervous tingle running through her.

  "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

  "Well, I don't know."

  "You can trust me, Hannah. I hope you know that."

  She did know that. She just wasn't sure she could trust herself. But she wasn't going to tell him that. "I'm not worried. I would like to see where you live. I hope it doesn't feel as creepy as it does down here. It's such a big building. Isn't it weird to be here by yourself?"

  "I've never thought that," he said with a laugh, grabbing the box. "And, to be honest, there are lots of people who work long hours, including your father. He's often down here when I finally call it a day."

  "Well, he doesn't have anyone to come home to."

  "No, he doesn't," Devlin said, an odd note in his voice. "Neither do I."

  "But that's the way you like it, right?"

  "I've always thought so. Let's get out of here." He led the way upstairs, punching in a code to unlock his door.

  She was expecting the apartment to look as sparse and barren as Devlin's office downstairs, but she was pleasantly surprised. The large living space had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. An open kitchen displayed state-of-the-art appliances and the living area and dining room were furnished with a mix of white and gray furniture, offset by colorful rugs, throw pillows, as well as some very tasteful art on the walls, many of which were framed images of boat and ocean scenes.

  Beyond the wall art, there wasn't much of a nautical theme to Devlin's home. But there was a sense of warmth and comfort that was at direct odds with the feeling she'd experienced earlier.

  "This is a beautiful space," she told him, as he set the box on the dining room table. "Was it professionally decorated?"

  "My mother and grandmother had a hand in picking out the furniture."

  "I had a feeling. But it still feels like you. And that's nice."

  "I like it. Hopefully, you've gotten past the creepy feeling," he teased.

  "I have. I can barely remember what's downstairs."

  "My mother was insistent that I feel like I'd left work when I came home. Of course, she would have preferred I live at the estate full-time, but barring that, she was determined to make me comfortable here."

  "Why don't you live at the estate? It's huge. I know there's a housekeeper and a chef and plenty of people to take care of your every need."

  "It's not my style. It's too big."

  "Too big? You're living all by yourself in a huge building."

  "But this space is just right. And I'm close to work."

  "You don't want your own house?"

  "Asks the real estate agent," he teased.

  "Guilty. I do like putting people in their own homes. Not that this isn't lovely, but it's still an apartment in a boat manufacturing company. I think it's better for people to have a bit more distance between work life and home life. My father probably could have saved his marriage by simply moving to the next town. My mom wanted to feel like when he was home, he was really home."

  "I can see that. It doesn't matter to me, because I'm on my own." He opened the box and pulled out a photograph. "This one is from a long time ago."

  She took the photo from his hands, then sat down at the table as she studied it. There were four people sitting at a restaurant table, toasting some occasion with four glasses of champagne. Her parents looked incredibly young, as did Graham and Claire. "They had to be in their late twenties or thirties. Is this at the Bickmore?" she asked, referring to the stately manor at the edge of downtown that had once belonged to a silent film star and then had been turned into a luxury hotel. Its dining room was currently being run by a Michelin-starred chef, and the wealthy summer tourists kept the restaurant booked months in advance.

  "It looks like it. My parents loved going there for dinner."

  "It was always too expensive for my family. I only went there once for breakfast, and that seemed like a real treat." She frowned. "I don't even remember my parents like this."

  "I don't remember my parents like that, either. But this photo feels more familiar."

  The next picture he handed her had been taken at the beach. The four friends were standing on the bluff overlooking the ocean, a dozen colorful sails behind them. "This must have been at the races. I do recall that sweater my mom is wearing."

  "Here's one of you." He handed her another photo.

  This picture had been taken at Harbor Park. Her mother and Claire were sitting at a picnic table with her and a little boy while Graham and her dad were tending to a nearby grill. She was probably three years old in the photo and the boy a year or two older.

  "I'm pretty sure that's Ross," Devlin said.

  "I wonder where you were."

  "Who knows?" he said with a shrug. "Probably running around on the playground." He handed her another picture. "This is the last one. It's from six years ago. I can tell because that's when we launched the Rebel King. It was right after I came back from traveling around the world. And it was probably the last boat my father had much to do with. Once I started working, he took a big step back."

  Her father and Graham were pictured standing in front of a large yacht, and the camera had caught them in a moment of pure, happy friendship. They were smiling at each other with what appeared to be a great deal of pride. "If only we could get them to remember the way they used to feel about each other. What if we show them these pictures?"

  "I'm not sure a bunch of old photos will do the trick."

  "They might be a start."

  "Well, your father has had the photos for years. I got them from his office, so I don't think he needs reminding."

  "Then maybe show them to your dad when he comes back."

  "That's a thought." He paused. "Do you want some wine? We could sit on the deck. It's a nice night."

  She gave him a thoughtful look. "What are we doing, Devlin?"

  "I just want to have a drink with you. In fact, instead of wine, I think we should have some Blackthorne Gold."

  "I'm betting you have a very good bottle."

  "I do. What do you say?"

  "You're a hard man to say no to."

  "That sounds like a yes. I'll get the bottle and the glasses."

  He was headed to the bar before she could tell him that wasn't exactly a yes.

  She'd just have one drink and then leave.

  Chapter Ten

  Hannah opened the doors to the deck and stepped outside. It was a beautiful night with a full moon and a starry sky. She drew in a breath of cool air, the pretty view filling her with happiness. She had missed living by the ocean. She'd told herself that city lights were just as amazing, but tonight's view made that a lie.

  Devlin came up next to her and handed her a glass of whisky. "What should we toast to?"

  "I have no idea," she said with a laugh. "Our dads?"

  "I don't think they deserve a toast. How about to us? To not looking too far into the future."

  She saw the gleam in his eyes. "That seems a little reckless."

  "Only if you want it to be."

  "Why don't we drink to friendship?"

  "That sounds a little boring."

  "Then let's just drink."

  They clinked their glasses together, and then she took a sip. The whisky slid down her throat, warm, smooth, and sexy…kind of like Devlin.

  She really should have stuck to wine, or better yet, gone home.

  "What do you think?" he asked.

  "It's very good. I can see why your family has made a fortune in whisky."

  "Let's sit down." He l
ed her to a comfortable couch and flipped on the fire pit in front of it.

  As the flames lit up the dark shadows of the deck, she sat down and leaned back against the soft cushions. "This is nice. Better than I thought it would be."

  Devlin sat next to her, not leaving much space between them, and she was quite sure that was deliberate.

  He stretched out his arm along the back of the couch, not touching her, but making her yearn for the feel of his hand on her shoulder. She took another sip of whisky and searched for a distracting topic. "How come you didn't go into the whisky business?" she asked.

  "It's not interesting to me. I like to drink it. I don't want to make it or sell it. Fortunately, I have brothers and cousins who do, so the family business is in good hands." His hand crept closer to her shoulder, and she had to fight the urge to settle back against it. "How do you like working with your mother?" he asked.

  "I enjoy being part of her company. I'm proud of her and everything she accomplished. When we first left King Harbor, we were barely scraping by. But my mom got to work, and she changed all that. She found another side of herself—the aggressive, ambitious, persuasive, and successful side. She said she never realized she was that good at business until she had to be. Now she loves it." Taking another sip of her whisky, she added, "It's ironic that my mother has turned out to be as big of a workaholic as my dad. Although, she does try to put her second husband first. She learned something from the divorce."

  "And what about you? Is real estate your dream job? Is it what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

  "That's a big question. I thought we just toasted to not thinking too far down the road."

  "Good point. I'll shorten the time frame. Is selling real estate what you want to do for the next year?"

  She smiled back at him. "Yes, maybe…I don't know," she said, sinking back against the couch, which put his warm hand on her shoulder, and she felt surprisingly content. "Being back in King Harbor has gotten me thinking about how much I've missed living by the ocean, being on the water whenever I can, seeing a multitude of stars over my head instead of city lights. This view is unbeatable. I do like living in Austin and seeing my mom all the time, and it's very fulfilling to put people in their dream houses."

  "But…"

  She wasn't sure she could express the restlessness in her soul. "I just want more outside of my job. I'm not sure exactly what. I do know that one day I want to have my own place. Beyond that, the possibilities are endless."

  "How about buying a cottage on a hill overlooking the sea?"

  "That would be lovely," she said with a wistful sigh. "But my job isn't near any pretty cottages by the sea."

  "Where do you live now?"

  "I have a one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise building. It's nice, but it doesn't feel like a home. I've never really decorated. When Gary and I were dating, we spent most of the time at his place. We almost bought a house together. We had actually put in an offer the day after we got engaged. That might have been part of his panic, too. It was a busy week—engagement ring, possible house purchase—and then it all ended."

  "I'm sorry, Hannah."

  "It hurt, but I know now it wasn't right. And I'm glad he called it off before we got married. I just wish I'd picked up on the signs earlier."

  "What signs? He asked you to marry him. That shows commitment."

  "I'm talking about signs that he wasn't over his ex. He used to talk to her on social media. He said they were friends, and I believed him. But he was also still in touch with her parents. And his parents also spent time with the ex. It was all a little too close. I knew it in my gut; I just didn't want to see it. I had this picture in my head of happily ever after, and I didn't want to ruin it. Love is blind." She sipped her whisky. "Live and learn, right?"

  "Sometimes the lessons are painful," he said, gently kneading her shoulder. "You'll find the right person for you."

  "I hope so." She turned her head, gazing into his eyes, and the connection between them intensified. "You scare me, Devlin," she whispered.

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm feeling things that I don't want to feel. And you're not the right person, either. You don't want a relationship. And I think there's a good chance you're still in love with Amy."

  His gaze darkened. "I'm not in love with Amy, but she'll always be a part of my past."

  "Your first love. I haven't had much luck with men getting over their first love."

  "Well, I can't go back to mine," he said tersely. He shifted on the couch, pulling his arm away from her shoulders. "I'll give you a ride home."

  She sat up straight, giving him a wary look. "You're kicking me out? I didn't realize the subject of Amy was off-limits."

  "It's not."

  "Then why the sudden turnaround?"

  He got to his feet. "I have an early meeting tomorrow."

  "First time you've mentioned that," she said, standing up. "I was just being honest, Devlin. I guess I forgot that honesty can kill the mood. Sorry about that."

  "Why would you be sorry? You said you don't want anything to happen. Now, it won't."

  She walked back into his apartment, set her glass on the counter and grabbed her bag before heading to the door.

  Devlin walked her down the stairs and out of the building without saying a word. The silence accompanied them on the very short drive to her dad's house.

  "Wait," he said, as she put her hand on the door. "I'm not in love with Amy."

  "Okay," she said carefully, seeing the unusually hard lines around his mouth and eyes.

  "But you were right, Hannah. I'm not looking for a relationship, and you are. You want that picture in your head: the man, the house, the dog…"

  "I actually like cats."

  "Over dogs? No way."

  She felt the tension ease between them. "Cats are wonderful."

  "They don't care about you. Any lap will do."

  "Not true. I do want another relationship, Devlin. But I'm not in a hurry to get into one, not at all. It's been a rough year, and I am happy to be on my own. It gives me a chance to figure out what I really want, not just in a man, but in a job, in a place to live, in my other relationships."

  "That's good."

  "It is." She gave him a smile. "I like you, Devlin. I'm wildly attracted to you, but it's probably also good that you remembered your early meeting, before we did something we'd regret."

  "I don't think we'd regret it. I'm attracted to you, too, but I don't want to hurt you, Hannah."

  "I don't want to hurt you, either. I wouldn't want you to fall in love with me and then have to say good-bye," she teased.

  His grin came back. "I appreciate you watching out for my heart."

  "That's what friends do. Good night." She got out of the car and hurried into the house before she changed her mind and told him to hell with the future or possible regrets; they had right now, and that was enough. But would it be enough? Probably not.

  When she entered the living room, she saw her dad standing at the window. He turned to her with a worried expression in his gaze.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "What were you doing with Devlin?"

  "He gave me a ride home from the party." She didn't bother to mention the last hour hanging out in his apartment. "Why do you look upset?"

  "I'm not upset; I'm worried. He's not for you."

  She was surprised by his terse words. "I didn't say he was for me, but I thought you liked him."

  "I do like him, but he goes through women like water. I think it has something to do with the woman he loved and lost. But that doesn't matter when it comes to you. I don’t want him to hurt you."

  "I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."

  "I know you think that, but I also know that you've always had a sweet spot for Devlin."

  "That's not true."

  "I saw it years ago—that night I brought him home from the bar. You were very concerned about him."

  "Because I
could see how drunk and sad he was, and you wouldn't tell me what was going on."

  "That probably wasn't fair, but I didn't want rumors to get started, and I wasn't sure you could keep it to yourself."

  "Well, that was all a long time ago. And you don't have to be concerned. There's nothing going on between Devlin and me. We're just…friends." She felt a little depressed as she said the words, because despite her very recent speech to Devlin on the same topic, she didn't really want to just be friends, even though it was all they could be. "Speaking of friends," she said, changing the subject. "I didn't realize that you and Mom used to hang out with Claire and Graham. Devlin showed me a bunch of photos of the four of you together. When did that end?"

  "When your mother and I started having problems. She didn't want anyone to see the strain between us, so we started saying no to invitations, and eventually the invitations stopped coming. After your mom left, I became a third wheel to Claire and Graham's love story, so I kept my distance."

  "Until a few weeks ago when you and Claire had a very personal conversation."

  "She needed someone to talk to, someone who had known her and Graham for a long time, and that was me. But the person she really wanted to speak to was Graham. That's what I told him. I don't regret saying it; I was trying to help. But Graham couldn't see that."

  "Devlin gave his father an ultimatum. If he doesn't hire you back, then Devlin will quit."

  "That won't do any good. Someone has to make good on our orders. I don't want Devlin throwing himself under the bus for me."

  "I think he's doing it for himself, too. He needs his father to know that he's in charge."

  "Graham doesn't react well to ultimatums. Devlin might find himself out on his ass."

  "I hope not, but I wanted you to know that he's still trying, so maybe put off these interviews you've been scheduling."

  "I'll think about it, but it might be time for me to move on."

  She was surprised at his statement. "The Boatworks has been your whole life."

  "And the past week I've begun to realize that might be the saddest thing of all."