by Tiffany Snow
He took another step toward me and I let out a small cry, jerking back and stumbling from the bed to plaster my back against the wall. I was as far away from Devon as I could get, and there was a sharp tang of fear in my mouth.
Devon didn’t move, his expression darkening into one that made a mockery of the pleasant façade I’d seen him assume at the bank and during dinner. His square jaw was set in bands of steel as he watched me.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ivy,” he said, his voice gentle and a stark contrast to the look on his face.
I didn’t speak, my eyes wide and watching him for the slightest movement.
Devon held my gaze and carefully took a step back, then another. My panic eased ever so slightly. My chest was heaving and my palms were sweaty, but I found my terror receding as Devon made no effort to come at me.
“Better?” he asked.
I swallowed, pressing my lips together, and jerked a short, quick nod.
Glancing around the room curiously, he folded his tall frame into a chair in the corner, casually unbuttoning his jacket. Though it was snowing outside, he wore no coat. Lifting his hands to show me they were empty, he said, “Have a seat. I won’t come any closer.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Unless you want me to, of course.”
Relief flooded me, but I didn’t trust him.
“Please,” Devon added when I didn’t move. He gestured to the bed.
Gingerly, I knelt on the bed, my shaking knees threatening to collapse in the wake of the adrenaline rush and fear.
His gaze calculating, Devon said, “I’m afraid I underestimated the intensity of your dislike of me.”
“Dislike has nothing to do with it,” I said, glad that my voice was steadier than my shaking limbs. “I saw you kill someone tonight. Then you come into my apartment—into my bedroom—uninvited, and tell me how you’re going to kill me. How was I supposed to react?” I decided not to mention the kiss.
A small smile played at the edges of Devon’s mouth. “My apologies. Was an invitation forthcoming?”
“Of course not!” I blurted. “I don’t even know your real name.”
“So you’d like me if you knew my name?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he . . . flirting with me?
“I watched you shoot a man in cold blood,” I said bluntly. “I don’t think ‘like’ is the word I’d use to describe how I feel about you.”
Devon leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and said, “I’ve been coming to your window for weeks, Ivy. Didn’t you wonder why?”
Ignoring that uncomfortable question, I responded with a question of my own. “So what’s your real name? Devon or Jared?”
“Devon,” he replied without hesitation. “Now answer my question.”
“I thought you must be a glutton for punishment,” I retorted.
His lips twisted again. I noticed his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, softening the hard planes of his face. Marcia was right. He was . . . divine, and the memory of his kiss made me want to forget everything I saw in that alley. But nothing changed the fact that he’d said the word “kill” in reference to me, which kind of killed the attraction—no pun intended.
“Who was that man?” I asked. “Why did you kill him?”
Apparently we were playing a version of quid pro quo because he again answered right away. “You don’t need to know who he was and I didn’t kill him in cold blood. It was an act of self-defense. It was him or me. Though make no mistake, neither of us would win any points for virtue. He wasn’t a good man and neither am I.”
“He was running away,” I argued. “It didn’t look like you were in any danger.”
“I didn’t say he would’ve killed me tonight. Consider it an ounce of prevention.”
Proactive murder. I wondered if a jury would buy that defense. “So why the two names?”
“My job occasionally requires a level of anonymity,” he said. “My turn. You were afraid of me before tonight, before you saw me in that alley, before I came in here and sent you into a blind panic. Why?”
I hesitated. “Because I know men like you,” I said quietly. “I know the type. You can hurt people, and I bet you don’t mind doing it.” More than a little bitterness edged my words.
It didn’t surprise me in the least when no denials sprang from his lips. Instead, he said, “That’s very . . . astute of you, Ivy.”
“Stop saying my name.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not friends.”
“But perhaps I’d like us to be,” he said. “Friends. It’s a great deal better than the alternative.”
The way he said “friends” made it clear he meant a whole lot more than that. And just in case I didn’t catch his drift, his eyes took a leisurely trip down my body. I clutched my towel a little closer, cursing my long legs that left the terry cloth much too high on my thighs to be called modest.
“Are you threatening me?” I forced the words out.
Devon sat back in the chair. His hands went to his tie, leisurely undoing the knot and pulling the fabric from around his neck. The soft slide of the silk made my heart beat faster, and it wasn’t from fear. I couldn’t move as I watched his fingers deftly undo the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing the skin of his throat.
“I don’t threaten,” he said, making my gaze jerk back up to his. “I state the facts. You are now a liability, rather than a pleasant diversion. I’m willing to overlook the former, if you agree to the latter.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he coercing me into having sex with him? “And if I don’t?” I asked, not at all sure I wanted to hear the answer.
Devon stood and this time when he approached the bed, I made myself hold my ground no matter how badly my limbs trembled with fear. He towered over me, his blue gaze unblinking and searing right through me. I remembered the assured way he’d held his gun, completely unmoved at having killed someone, and swallowed hard.
He raised his hand and I couldn’t help flinching, but he merely rested his fingers on my bare shoulder. The touch felt as though he’d applied electricity to my skin, shooting through my veins until every nerve ending was attuned to him.
The rough pads of his fingers were unexpectedly gentle as they traced the line of my shoulder to my neck, lower to brush my collarbone, then up the line of my throat. I could barely breathe, my eyes locked with Devon’s. The fear I felt was tinged with something close to excitement, followed by desire. My heart raced and I knew by the subtle curve to his lips that Devon had seen the fluttering pulse underneath my skin.
“I think you will.” The words were a soft murmur. “I’ll be in touch, Ivy.” Then he was gone as silently as he had come.
Next to me on the bed was his tie, and it seemed as though I was watching someone else’s hands pick up the soft silk, bring it to my nose, and inhale the scent of sandalwood, spice, and Devon.
CHAPTER THREE
I didn’t see Logan until late in the morning on Saturday. Hearing his keys jangling in the lock, I turned from where I was huddled under a blanket on the couch, sipping my coffee. The door opened and Logan walked in, spying me and sending a shit-eating grin my way.
“How was she?” I asked.
“Fantastic,” he replied, breezing past me into the kitchen. When he reappeared, he had a mug of coffee as well and had discarded his coat. With a sigh, he plopped down next to me, grabbing some of my blanket.
“It’s disgusting how a man can look just as good doing the walk of shame in the morning as he did the night before,” I complained. Logan’s dark hair was mussed, a day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw, yet with his blue eyes and wicked grin, he looked as though he could have stepped from the pages of a magazine.
“I have good genes,” Logan said with a shrug. I rolled my eyes. “So I take it you didn’t like Tom?”
he asked.
I made a face. “I’m not into the artistic type,” I said. “I’m guessing he found someone to ease the pain of my rejection?”
“I seem to remember him kissing some girl and then following her into a taxi, yeah,” Logan replied.
“And your girl?” I asked. “Did she have a name? A number?”
“I’m sure she did,” Logan said, taking another sip of the steaming coffee. He winked at me.
“You’re unbelievable,” I huffed, flipping the channel on the television. “I’m so glad we never got involved.”
“I’d much rather have you as my best friend than a one-night stand,” Logan said, unrepentant. It mollified me, but I still felt the need to at least make a token protest on behalf of all the women he laid and left.
“One of these days, you’re going to find some girl you fall head over heels for and she’s going to make you ditch your man-whore ways,” I predicted.
“Maybe,” Logan admitted. “But it wasn’t last night.”
I laughed at his cheeky grin and wink. It was impossible for me to stay mad at him. I loved Logan unconditionally. He was the brother I’d never had. Ever since I was twelve and he’d seen me crying in a dark corner of the school library, he’d been there for me.
“So who was that other guy?” I asked, bringing up the man I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he’d disappeared from the apartment last night.
“Yeah, that was weird,” Logan said. “He showed up at the firm yesterday afternoon, said he was looking for a friend of his, a client of mine. We can’t just give out addresses, but he seemed legit so I said I sometimes saw the guy at this restaurant. Next thing I knew, he was there when I walked in with Tom. Invited himself to dinner so I just made the best of it.” He eyed me. “Don’t tell me you liked him? He didn’t seem your type.”
“Of course not!” I denied a little too quickly. “Just thought, like you did, that it was weird, especially when you hadn’t mentioned him joining us when we were on the phone.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the telephone, and Logan reached behind the couch to pick up the cordless off the table. He glanced at the caller ID.
“Hey, Grams,” he answered.
I looked up at this, what we’d always called my grandma, even Logan. My grandma adored him and I rolled my eyes as Logan chatted with her for several minutes. Finally, he handed the phone to me.
“Hello, sweetheart!” she said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing great,” I replied. “How’re you and Grandpa?” It didn’t matter if I was doing well or not, I always said I was great. My grandparents had raised me from the time I was thirteen and had dealt with enough pain and heartache for a lifetime. I’d vowed a long time ago to never cause them more.
Grams told me how Grandpa had sprained his wrist, and I got after her for not letting the hired hands do the work on the farm, though we both knew that Grandpa was too restless to just sit inside and let others do it. Finally, after a few more stories about one of the barn cats having kittens and a neighbor whose oldest son had just gotten remarried, she said, “So honey, I wanted to remind you, Jace is up for parole next week. Remember?”
I stiffened at the mention of my stepbrother. I hadn’t seen him in ten years and I’d just as soon never see him again.
“Yeah, I remember,” I said.
“I know you worry, Ivy, but even if he did get out, he doesn’t know where you are,” she said, trying to comfort me. “Me and your grandpa aren’t going to tell him anything either.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near you guys,” I said. “If he comes, you call the police.”
“Your grandpa has a shotgun, honey, and he knows how to use it. We’ll be fine.”
Like that was supposed to make me feel better, my seventy-year-old grandpa toting a shotgun.
“How’s Taffy doing?” I asked, changing the subject. I missed my little cocker spaniel, but Logan’s apartment manager was quite clear that no pets were allowed.
“Oh, she’s fine. She still wanders back into your bedroom though, like she’s looking for you.”
She talked some more about Taffy and when we ended our conversation, Grams promised to call and let me know as soon as she heard how Jace’s parole hearing went. Logan was watching me when I hung up, the earlier mischievous look on his face replaced by one of concern.
“Was that about Jace?” he asked.
I nodded, setting aside my empty coffee mug. “Parole hearing this week,” I said.
“He’s had them before,” Logan said, “and didn’t get out. There’s no reason to think this time will be any different.”
“I know.” But I also knew the twisting nausea in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t go away until I’d heard from Grams. Logan must have sensed my unease, for he reached out and grasped my hand, slotting his fingers with mine.
“Did you ever tell them?” he asked, his voice quiet.
My gaze met his in surprise. Logan and I never talked about what had happened with Jace. Ever. “Of course not,” I said. “With my mom and everything, they had enough to cope with. They didn’t need to know that, too. And besides, it didn’t matter. He was already going to prison.”
“Yeah, but Ives,” he said gently, “they love you.”
“It would only hurt them,” I insisted. “No one needs to know. Not now. It’s in the past.”
“Is it?” Logan asked a little sadly. “Or is that why you’re not interested in anyone I introduce you to?”
“Don’t go there,” I admonished him. “I am not one of those women forever scarred by the traumatic events of my past.” Logan looked skeptical and as though he were going to say something else, so I cut him off. “Enough! It’s three weeks until Christmas and we haven’t decorated at all. You’re going to help me put up a tree.”
Logan groaned. “I knew it was a mistake letting a girl move in here.”
I grabbed a throw pillow and smacked him with it. “Too late. Time to decorate.”
“Hey, that rhymes,” he teased, grabbing my pillow away from me. “You’re a poet and didn’t even realize it.”
I laughed, though he’d used the same bad joke on me many times. The thought of Devon and what had happened last night went through my head, but I decided not to tell Logan about it. It was so strange, so odd, and despite it having just happened hours ago, I had trouble believing it. Surely if I just didn’t think about it, didn’t dwell on it, Devon would disappear from my life. Telling Logan would make it real, and I’d have to try to explain something that was incomprehensible to me.
The guy last night is also a customer at the bank and he killed someone, then showed up here and threatened to do the same to me if I didn’t sleep with him.
Yeah. Completely insane.
Throwing myself into decorating the apartment proved a worthwhile distraction, and by the time I crawled into bed that night, our living room was adorned with a six-foot tree festooned in bright, multicolored lights. I’d also added lights to any available flat surface and made Logan help string them along the ceiling. A skinny tree with white lights stood in the corner of my bedroom and I stared at it.
I never slept in the dark. The blackness was always broken by a night-light of some sort. The last time I’d slept without a light, I’d been twelve years old. For a year, I’d endured a hell that a night-light couldn’t ease. Now I had something better—a gun at my side—should the stepbrother I both hated and feared find me.
The bravado I’d displayed in front of Logan was nowhere in sight now, and the thought of Jace made my stomach ache as I curled into a ball beneath the covers, overwhelming any residual fear of the man who called himself Devon.
By the time Monday rolled around, I’d nearly convinced myself that Devon had been a figment of my imagination, our brief conversation the by-product of too much stress
. Yet I found myself dressing more carefully than usual, in black heels with a platform sole, a black maxi skirt that hugged my legs, and a pale pink blouse made of thin chiffon. My hair I caught in a loose, low ponytail, draping it over my shoulder.
Logan glanced up from where he was standing at the kitchen counter, finishing his coffee while reading the paper, and whistled.
“You’re in the wrong profession,” he said. “Especially for how much you love clothes. You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “You’re looking very lawyerly yourself this morning.” I reached up and straightened his tie, one I’d bought for him. I didn’t think I had a lot of vices, but shopping was definitely one of them. I adored fashion and spent way too much of my paycheck on shoes and clothes. Logan teased me about it relentlessly, but the warm male appreciation in his eyes gave me a much-needed boost of confidence.
“I’ll drop you,” he said, depositing his empty mug into the sink. “It snowed again last night.”
I readily agreed. I didn’t like driving in the snow, especially in my sedan, whereas Logan had an SUV. Because he was driving, I didn’t even have to clean off my car.
The familiar warmth and quiet of the bank soothed me as I deposited my purse and coat in their usual spots before grabbing another cup of coffee. I spotted Marcia hurrying to clock in as I was headed to my teller booth.
“Good weekend?” I asked as I passed by.
She shot me a look. “I may walk funny today.”
I burst out laughing. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I teased. “And I want to hear all about it.”
Monday mornings were typically busy, so by the time I looked up at the large clock on the wall a while later, I saw half the morning had flown by.
“Ivy, could you come in my office please?” Mr. Malloy’s voice over the phone intercom was tinny and I hit the button to reply.
