by CP Smith
He knew he should steer clear of her, but he wouldn’t. He’d never be boring. The safe man she thought she needed—not in his line of work. But he wouldn’t let her fears stop him. She was perfect for him, and he was exactly what she needed. No, he wouldn’t let her stop him, because where he came from, when you saw something you wanted, you went after it. And he’d wanted Calla Armstrong from the moment he laid eyes on her in the shop window.
“Pardon the interruption,” she mumbled even though she was angry. Devin couldn’t help but grin at her impeccable manners. “Mr. Hawthorne, last night may be a bit fuzzy, but I’m fairly sure I asked you not to play your music so loudly.”
Devin ignored her and rose up, unhooking the zero gravity boots and lowering himself to the ground. Determined to keep her off-balance in order to lower her defenses, he turned until he faced her. Resting his hands on the gravity bar, he leaned down further until he was inches from her face, he grinned. When she sucked in a breath at his closeness, his grin turned devilish and predatory.
Take down the wall brick by brick.
“I don’t remember agreein’ to keep it down,” he drawled slowly; his tone was smooth as bourbon. When her eyes glazed over, he leaned in further and dropped the level of his voice to a smoky whisper. “I thought all Southern girls liked Skynyrd.”
She didn’t answer him. Her eyes were locked on his lips.
Releasing the bar, he took a step closer to Calla. When she backed up to keep her distance, his lip twitched.
She blinked several times then shored up her backbone finally and crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.
Stubborn and strong-willed. I’m gonna enjoy this.
“Mr. Hawthorne, I distinctly remember you tellin’ my aunts that you’d try to keep your music down.”
A slow grin pulled across his lips as he took in Calla’s bravado. She was still a sexy mess in that oversized T-shirt. A shirt that, if he didn’t already know she was single, he’d be inclined to think belonged to a man, and her sexy mop of hair a result of being thoroughly ravaged. But he knew differently; and he planned to keep it that way until he could wear her down and be the only man in her bed.
“Call me Devin,” he returned, taking another step forward. “Or Devil works, too.” Her eyes grew wider at the suggestion, and he knew he’d scored a hit.
While he’d been researching Maria’s disappearance he’d also googled Duke of St. Ives. After hearing Devil was a fictional character, one that reminded Calla of him, he decided to check out the book. Poppy had said that Devin was Devil, but Calla was not his Honoria. She was wrong. He’d discovered as he’d scanned the book that the Duke and he were molded from the same cloth. They both went after what they wanted, they both wouldn’t take no for an answer, and they both wanted stubborn women who didn’t know what was best for them.
He’d liked the Duke immediately.
“Mr.—” She swallowed hard then began again. “Mr. Hawthorne, I think it’s best if—”
His cell phone rang, interrupting her. Raising his finger to stall her, he moved to his phone hoping it was Nate.
“This is Devin.”
“I have Maria’s address. I’m textin’ it now,” Nate replied.
“How far is it from River Street?”
“A fair distance.”
“Which direction?”
“I take it you don’t have GPS on that bike of yours?”
“Nope,” Devin replied, then turned and looked at Calla. “But I know someone who can help me find it.”
“I’m guessin’ by your reaction last night it’s that Wallflower who lives next door.”
“You’d guess right.”
“You work fast.” Nate chuckled.
“Time is of the essence.”
“Another man?”
“Not if I can help it. I’ll fill you in when I get back,” he informed Nate. “Later.”
Hanging up, Devin turned and closed the distance between him and Calla. He needed to check out Maria’s apartment, but he also needed time with Calla so she’d relax around him. Going with his gut, he decided to enlist her help.
“I need a favor. My friend, Nate, the one who owns Jacobs’ Ladder, a friend of his has gone missin’. A young woman. I need to check out her apartment, but I’m unfamiliar with Savannah. Will you come with me and show me the lay of the land?”
“Missin’?” she gasped, her eyes growing wider.
“Yeah, babe. Missin’ since last Tuesday, and her mother’s worried sick.”
Calla didn’t hesitate. She nodded immediately then looked down at her clothes. “I’ll just be five minutes.”
Stubborn, strong-willed, and kind-hearted. He would definitely enjoy breaking down her walls.
“Take ten,” he answered, pulling off his shirt. “I need to shower off the sweat.”
Her gaze shifted to his chest, and she licked her lips.
“Meet me at my bike?”
She paused her inspection of his body and looked up. “We’re goin’ on your bike?”
Oh yeah, they were definitely going on his bike. Hearing she’d had fantasies about being on the back with him was just the leverage he needed to chip away at her shield.
“Sugar, it’s what I drive.”
“Right. Right.” When she didn’t move and then bit her lip in indecision, he went on the offensive before she changed her mind. Grabbing her arm, Devin walked her to the door and opened it, ordering, “Change clothes and meet me in ten,” before pushing her out and shutting the door in her face.
The stubborn part of her personality looked less appealing at that moment.
“Jesus. I must be nuts,” he mumbled as he headed for the shower. New job, new town, and now he was taking on the monumental task of breaching the fortress of one Calla Lily Armstrong. “I should have my head examined.”
He grinned all the way to the shower.
Four
The Devil went down to Georgia . . .
Riding a Harley
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT!
“Pick up, pick up, pick up!” I whined into my cell phone.
On the fourth ring, Sienna answered. I needed reinforcements, and since Sienna wasn’t drunk the night before she was the best candidate.
“Hello?” she mumbled in a sleep-deprived voice.
“I have to get on the back of a Harley with Devin,” I semi-shouted.
“Cali?”
“How am I supposed to guard my heart and keep from fallin’ for the man if I have to get on the back of his bike?”
“Slow down.” Sienna yawned. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”
“Devin is a private investigator, and some poor woman has gone missin’. He doesn’t know Savannah yet, so he asked me to show him around. I can’t say no, because there’s a woman missin’, for God’s sake, and her mother is worried sick, but I have to ride on the back of his bike.”
“So ride on the back of his bike,” was her oh-so-helpful advice.
“Were you not listenin’ to me last night? I told you I have a weakness for Harleys, and he’s the Devil who’d be my undoin’. It’s like leadin’ a lamb to the slaughter!”
“Jesus, Cali. It’s just a bike, and he’s just a man. He isn’t gonna cast some kind of voodoo spell on you.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I grumbled. “The man goes shirtless more than Henry Cavill, and his voice . . . Let’s just say he shouldn’t be allowed to utter a sound near pre-teen girls, women with heart conditions, or gay men who haven’t come out of the closet.”
She giggled. “Then wear an amulet to ward off his voodoo.”
Now we’re talking!
“Do they make one to ward off men or is it just the ones that turn people into frogs?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such things as voodoo charms,” she yawned.
“I’m thinkin’ you’re not takin’ this seriously,” I bit out.
“I’m thinkin’ you’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill,” she returned
.
I do not think so!
“I should have called Poppy,” I grumbled. “She hates all men and would have figured out an escape.”
I could hear Sienna moving in her bed, sighing as she adjusted her position. “Poppy has daddy issues. She doesn’t hate all men. As for figurin’ out an escape, just drive yourself and have him follow you.”
“. . . That’s actually perfect. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“His voodoo scrambled your brains?”
“Exactly.” I looked at the clock and saw I had six minutes to get ready. “Gotta run. I have six minutes to change and get downstairs.”
“Wear somethin’ cute!” Sienna shouted as I hung up the phone.
Not in this lifetime!
I ran into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush. When I looked into the mirror, I gasped. I had makeup smeared under my eyes and blue circles to compliment the smudges, along with a small bruise left behind by the baseball.
That alone should have warded off the man.
I snatched a cotton swab and got to work clearing away the mess.
Teeth brushed and makeup gone, I ran into my closet. “Now I need a burlap sack.”
I didn’t find one, of course. Thanks to my aunts’ store, everything I had was either stylishly retro or for work. It may not have been a wardrobe to attract men, but it certainly wasn’t a wardrobe to send them running either. If I was gonna be around Devin—a given since we lived next door to each other—I needed to go through the dregs of clothing downstairs and find something hideous to wear when I was at home.
While digging for a loose-fitting tee, my hand settled on a lavender-colored halter top I’d seized from a haul on a whim. I hesitated for a moment, Sienna’s words echoing in my head.
Wear somethin’ cute!
“Sienna clearly doesn’t understand the seriousness of my situation,” I muttered as I pulled the top from the closet rod and bit my lip. “Don’t be stupid.”
Short on time, I slammed the top back on the bar and grabbed my boots, jeans, and a tee from a hanger.
I should have looked at the shirt before putting it on. It was a vintage Lynyrd Skynyrd tee from their 1974 Sweet Home Alabama Tour, and it fit me like a glove. Devin wasn’t wrong when he said Southern girls loved Skynyrd. I had all their albums. But I didn’t want him to think I wore it for him.
I heard his door slam shut and panicked.
“Why couldn’t he be the type of man who spent time on his appearance?”
Cause he’s perfection already, you ninny.
With no time left, I ran into my closet, grabbed the first oversized shirt I came across, and headed for the door.
The minute I walked outside, I knew I’d made three fatal errors. One, instead of taking time to change my shirt, I’d grabbed a long-sleeved one to cover it. A long-sleeved flannel shirt. It was springtime in Savannah. We only had a month of flannel weather year-round, so within five steps, I was sweating. But Devin was leaning against the gate waiting for me, so I couldn’t turn back. My second error was forgetting to borrow the Jeep keys from my aunts. Of course, I didn’t remember the blasted keys until Devin held the gate open and I saw his bike. My third mistake was apparent when I approached, and his mouth pulled into a sexy grin, causing my heart to skip a beat. I should have drawn him a map.
“I think it would be easier if I drew you a map,” I rushed out. “I’ll only get in the way.”
I turned immediately to get pen and paper, but I only made it one step before he grabbed my arm and stopped me.
“No time. Get on the bike,” he ordered.
“It’ll just take a minute,” I explained, tugging at his hand.
Devin looked down at my flannel-covered arm and his brows pinched together. “You wanna explain why you’re wearin’ flannel in eighty plus degrees?”
Of course, he’d ask.
“I was cold,” I lied.
“Cold? Are you sick?”
“No. A little hungover, but I’ll—”
In a move that could only be described as lightning fast, Devin pulled the flannel from my body before I could protest. He tossed the shirt into the courtyard while I stood gobsmacked, then grabbed my hand and yanked me toward his bike. I would have given him what for if I’d had my wits about me, but the moment his warm hand wrapped around mine, he cast his voodoo spell again.
An electric current buzzed up my arm, rounded my shoulder, and settled in my chest like a warm memory, so I followed him like children followed the Pied Piper. It wasn’t until he turned and handed me a leather jacket, his eyes settling on my chest, before I broke from his spell.
“Great tee,” he drawled, winking at me.
Dammitalltohell.
I should have worn the purple halter.
“Address?” I asked between clenched teeth.
“Eight Thousand Waters Street,” he answered, his lips twitching at my discomfort.
He was definitely the Devil.
Ignoring him, I searched my memory as I pulled on the jacket. I remembered brightly painted apartments in the Highland Park neighborhood built on stilts. They were cheerful and inviting, and spoke of the coastal living in this part of the state.
“Eight Thousand Waters Street is an apartment complex. Take Fahm Street and head west, but the fastest route is Interstate 516.”
“We’ll take Fahm,” he returned immediately, then grabbed a helmet hanging off his handlebars and secured it snugly to my head. When he was done, he climbed on his bike and started it, then reached out to me.
I looked at his outstretched hand then at the imposing man. Blazing blue eyes sparkled brightly in the morning sun, but there was a dark sense of danger about him, a sense of uncompromising masculinity that warned me that one false step would spell my doom. In spite of all that, I still found myself taking his hand and climbing onto the back, but keeping as much distance as possible between us. As if he knew what I was thinking, he reached down and wrapped his warm hands around my legs and pulled until I was snugged up to his back, then grabbed my arms and wrapped them around his waist before he released the kickstand.
My breath caught on contact, and my body hummed. There was no distance between us now. My breasts were pressed to his back, every inch of my body touching his. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.
However, terrifying won out in a moment of clarity, and I loosened my grip on his waist only to have Devin run his hands across mine, pulling them back firmly on his steel-like abs. He let go when I didn’t pull away and gunned the engine, easing off the clutch. Moments later, we were cruising up the ramp toward Bay Street, the wind whipping around us as I hung on tight. But I couldn’t deny that as frightened as I was at losing my heart to him, for the first time since I was a child, I felt alive.
✿✿✿
“Stay here. We might have a problem,” Devin ordered as he helped Calla off his bike.
Expecting to be obeyed, he pulled out his 9mm from under his shirt and checked the safety before heading toward the staircase. On the third step up, he heard a creak behind him and turned to find Calla on his heels.
After traveling miles with her wrapped around his body like a second skin, her baby fresh scent invading his senses every time they stopped for a light, he had no patience. Especially after seeing Maria’s apartment door ajar when he pulled under the flamingo-pink apartment building.
Maria’s apartment fronted a greenbelt. It was secluded from the street with no neighbors nearby to hear her scream, adding tension to the already urgent need to find her.
“I thought I told you to stay with the bike,” he bit out.
“You did,” she replied nonplussed by his tone as she passed him heading up. “But you also said there might be a problem, and from my point of view, stayin’ close to you is safer than standin’ alone unprotected.”
Devin reached out and snagged her hand, halting her. “Stubborn woman,” he growled in annoyance then started up the stairs. At the top step, he raised his gun.
“Stay right behind me.”
She didn’t argue, thank Christ.
With his right hand, he pushed open Maria’s door and scanned the inside of her apartment. The living room had been tossed. Her cushions were shredded, her drawers dumped and their contents strewn across the floor.
Calla’s head popped around his shoulder as he surveyed the mess and she gasped. Looking down at her, Devin raised his finger, pointing to the spot where she stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered. She nodded with wide eyes, then crossed her heart like a child making a solemn promise.
His mouth twitched.
Fuck, but she was frustratingly cute.
Turning his attention back to the apartment, Devin entered slowly, sweeping each room for intruders. He saw the same destruction in each one. Someone had been looking for something.
“It’s clear,” he told Calla as he made his way back to the door, holstering his gun as he went. “I need to call this in to the police.”
“Someone was lookin’ for somethin’,” she muttered as she took in the room.
“Yeah. And whatever it was may have sent Maria into hidin’ or worse.”
“Maria?”
Devin pulled the missing woman’s photo from his back pocket and showed it to Calla. “Maria Espinoza. Do you know her?”
Calla took the picture and gasped. “That’s Maria from Happy Maids.”
“You know her?”
Calla shook her head. “We’ve spoken a few times when I worked late, but I don’t know her outside the office.”
“She ever mention any trouble? A man who might be botherin’ her?”
Calla ignored Devin and looked around Maria’s living room, lost to the destruction, so he stepped in front of her to block out the view. “Babe. Did she ever mention havin’ problems?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she finally responded. “She never said anything like that. She was friendly; always had a smile. She mentioned readin’ a book we’d published and talked about workin’ with her mother, but nothin’ as personal as any trouble she might be havin’.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Calla didn’t answer. She was trying to look over his shoulder, so he moved her farther away from the door and turned her to look at him.
