by Karina Bliss
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” The zip still wouldn’t budge. Her anger grew.
“Look,” Devin said reasonably, “I did my growing up in public. Every stupid thing I’ve ever done is documented. In rehab I decided the rest of my life is private. Mom’s why I’m in this godforsaken country. She’s been in hospital lately with a heart condition.”
“Old ladies with heart conditions don’t fling their shoes under the bed in a ‘I’m about to have wild sex’ kind of hurl.”
He started to laugh again. “Do you use that imagination in bed?” Infuriated, Rachel stopped wrestling with the zip on her dress and dragged down the one on his jeans. “I’m hoping that’s a yes,” he added.
“You think this is funny?” Her dress slipped and she made a grab for it.
“Rub some soap on the zipper,” Devin suggested. “C’mon, Heartbreaker, get my wallet out of my pants-there’s a picture of my mom.”
“I don’t care if there’s a picture of your family dog.” She yanked off his jeans and dumped them on the carpet, but lost her nerve at the boxers. “I’m leaving you here for room service to find in the morning. Maybe that will make you think twice before lying to seduce women.”
Devin started to struggle against his bonds. “Okay, this has gone far enough. Untie me right now.”
His panic was the sweetest revenge. “Maybe I’ll even ring the media. They love bondage stories involving celebrities.”
“I’m serious. Right now!”
“Go to hell.” Head held high, clutching her dress under her armpits, Rachel disappeared into the bathroom.
“If you leave me here, I’ll sue you!”
“I’ll settle the legal bill with what the tabloids pay me!” she yelled back. He heard the sound of cabinets and drawers being opened. “Where’s the bloody soap?”
Devin renewed his struggle. “As if I’m telling you!”
She slammed the bathroom door. He tried to reach the knots on his left wrist with his teeth but the librarian had strung him so tight he couldn’t get close. Just as well-he’d probably kill her if he got free right now.
“Devin.” A faint, familiar voice from the doorway wrenched him from his revenge fantasies.
“Mom,” he rasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I host the Coronary Club here Fridays.” As her fascinated gaze trailed over his bonds, he heard the sound of approaching voices, then several elderly women appeared behind her.
“Oh, my Lord, Katherine,” whispered one of them. “Is this one of your boys?” Everyone behind jostled for a look-see and within seconds half a dozen matrons stood at the end of the bed, checking him out with unabashed interest. And Devin discovered he did have inhibitions left.
He wiggled to try and lift the waistband of his boxers, which had gone dangerously low when Rachel had hauled off his pants, but all that did was draw the ladies’ attention lower.
“Anyone getting palpitations, leave the room,” said Katherine in a pained voice he recognized from his childhood. The one that usually preceded a grounding.
Devin cleared his throat to bring everybody’s attention back to his face. “It’s not what you think.”
The bathroom door opened and Rachel came out, rubbing a bar of soap on the zip of the dress, which was lowered to her waist. “The cabinet’s full of women’s toiletries. You’ve got quite a little harem going-” She looked up and gasped so hard, her lovely breasts threatened to pop out of her lacy strapless bra. Devin didn’t much like Rachel’s clothes, but her underwear was fantastic.
The expression on her face made her look like a Picasso: it was all over the place. He grinned suddenly. Okay, this was worth it. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” he suggested kindly.
Her grip convulsed on the soap, which popped free and flew across the room. The ladies followed its trajectory, then turned back to stare at Rachel, who was zipping her dress up as fast as she could. “I’m not a groupie,” she faltered. “I’m his librarian.”
“And this is a new approach to chasing overdue books?” suggested Katherine helpfully.
Devin waited for the moment Rachel’s eyes widened as she registered their resemblance.
Because, as any bass player knew, timing was everything.
Then he settled back on his pillows. “Meet my mother.”
His date squared her shoulders and held out her hand. “How do you do.” Then Ms. Grace-under-pressure crumbled. “You see, I thought he had another woman,” she explained, clinging to Katherine’s hand. “It was your shoes under the bed. They were kicked off as though…” Rachel finally realized she held his mother’s hand in a death grip and dropped it. “Well, my mistake.”
Color flooded Katherine’s cheeks as if she was having a hot flash. Except she’d been through menopause. A horrible suspicion dawned on Devin, becoming certainty when his mother flicked him a guilty look. His mouth tightened.
“Now who’s got some explaining to do?”
CHAPTER TEN
SOMEONE UNTIED HIM. Devin got dressed, then he and Rachel made cups of tea for the Coronary Club. Because making nice, he told her when she fluttered, panicking, toward the exit, was the way you persuaded people to keep your secrets. It worked with the media…sometimes.
Rachel approached every individual and earnestly explained all the circumstances. Devin followed with a plate of low-fat oatmeal cookies and some high-octane flirting.
Devin and the ladies had a good time. Rachel and his mom skittered away whenever there was the remotest possibility of Devin being alone with them. But he didn’t own a cowboy hat just because it looked good.
He corralled his first filly when his mom left the safety of the herd to say farewell to one of her cronies. The elevator doors had barely closed on her full-figured friend when he said behind her, “You had sex with someone in my bed?”
Katherine turned on him defensively. “I changed the sheets.”
He’d hoped for a denial. “This isn’t the fifties, Mom. There are STDs to worry about now, AIDS.”
She tried to step past him. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Dev.”
He blocked her escape. “And what about your heart condition? I mean, should you be raising your heart rate like that?”
“Orgasms are very good-”
“Oh, God!” Devin clapped his hands over his ears. His father must be turning in his grave.
Katherine pulled his hands away. “For relieving stress, which in turn reduces blood pressure.” Exasperated, she surveyed him. “I did warn you not to start this conversation.”
“Well, who is it?” he demanded. “I’m assuming there’s only one.”
She considered him. “That’s none of your business, any more than what you do with Rachel is mine.” Her voice softened. “She’s adorable, by the way.”
Rachel came into the foyer at that moment, shawl clutched around her and staring over her shoulder as though fearful of being followed. Devin waited until she was close. “Looking for me?” he asked, and she started guiltily.
“I’ve explained our misunderstanding and accepted total responsibility.” She avoided his gaze by smoothing the fringe on her shawl. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” Awkwardly, she held a hand out to his mother. “Nice to have met you, Katherine.”
His mom clasped it in both of hers. “And you.”
Devin cut short the pleasantries. “How are you intending to get home?”
“I ordered a taxi.”
“I’ll wait with you. Mom-” his gaze pinned Katherine’s ”-we’ll talk when I come back.”
“Devin…we won’t.” Her tone was equally adamant. “At least not about that. Goodbye, Rachel.” She smiled. “I do hope I’ll see you again.”
“Oh, I’m nowhere near through with her yet,” he promised his mother.
Rachel got twitchy as soon as the elevator door closed. “I’m sorry about earlier.” Despite her calm tone, she kept
jabbing at the elevator button to try to make it move faster. “I jumped to-”
Devin backed her into a corner and kissed her.
She broke free, surprised. “Aren’t you mad at-”
He kissed her again. Harder. This time when she came up for air, she was disheveled and breathless.
“It’s probably for the best. You and I aren’t-”
And again. The woman would not shut up. He could feel the moment she stopped thinking “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” and started thinking “why nots” and “maybe.”
Started seeing him as he’d grown to see her-a fascinating world unexplored. This time when he lifted his head that intriguing glow was back in her gray eyes.
Devin let the warmth permeate through to his bones before he stepped back. “We’re even,” he said.
“INSERT THE SIXTH NOTE after the fifth to give your bass pattern a lighter, more upbeat quality…yeah, that’s it.”
Mark tried but he couldn’t sustain concentration past a few bars. “I’m sorry.” Disheartened, he stopped playing. “I guess I’m not feeling it today.”
He watched apprehensively as Devin took off his acoustic guitar and walked out of the living room of his apartment. Miserably, Mark stared down at the view, his bass still hanging from his shoulder strap.
At 11:00 a.m. on a clear summer morning, all Auckland’s landmarks were on display-the Sky Tower, the bridge and Rangitoto, the dormant cone-shaped volcano in the harbor. How many chances would his mentor give him, he wondered, before he wrote him off?
Devin reappeared with a couple of energy drinks and tossed one can to him, before sprawling on the couch. “What’s up? And don’t say keep saying nothing. You know I haven’t got the patience for it.”
Mark hesitated, but he needed a confidant badly. He rolled the cold can against his forehead. “If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret.”
“Scout’s honor.”
He was momentarily diverted. “You were in the Scouts?”
“No, just pledging their honor.”
Mark put down the can and started toying with one of the frets on the guitar. “I thought I’d tracked down my mother yesterday-my real one. Only she wasn’t.”
Devin whistled. “You’re adopted?”
“I only found out a year ago…by accident.”
“That’s rough.” Devin swung himself to a sitting position. “Why didn’t your folks ever tell you?”
Bitterness flooded Mark, as sour as old grapes. “Because my Hamilton birth mother made it a condition of the adoption.” The letter from social welfare had been clinical. ‘Our client has changed her mind about open adoption and is only willing to proceed if you agree to secrecy…’”
“Careful of your guitar, buddy.”
Confused, Mark looked down; he was torturing one of the strings. Handing the bass to Devin, he plunked himself on the throw rug and hugged his knees. “You’re probably thinking, well, why am I looking for her then? But she shouldn’t be able to do that without giving some kind of explanation. I mean, how am I supposed to feel?”
Devin started plucking at the strings of the bass, casual notes that somehow reached in and squeezed Mark’s heart. “You tell me.”
He swallowed. “I just need to know why… I mean, I’m not expecting anything.”
“Are you looking because you want to heal something in you,” asked Devin quietly, “or because you want to hurt her?”
Mark didn’t answer. Another cascade of bittersweet chords; the vise around Mark’s chest tightened.
“Do your parents know you’re doing this?”
“They don’t even know I’ve found out I’m adopted.” He expected Devin to lecture him, but his dark head remained bent over Mark’s guitar. The notes softened, the melody became gently reflective. Mark stirred restlessly. He didn’t want to be soothed. “You don’t think I should do it, do you? Find my birth mother.”
“Would my opinion make a difference?”
“No.”
“Then why,” said Devin mildly, “are we having this conversation?” The tune evolved into an electric version of “Amazing Grace,” languid and hauntingly beautiful.
Mark suffered through the song. He had a sudden intense longing for home, for his parents, for the tranquility of his life before this terrible knowledge had changed everything.
Tears filled his eyes. He blinked hard, but one escaped to trickle slowly down his cheek. Mark froze, reluctant to wipe it away in case he drew Devin’s attention. The salty trail stung his shaving rash-he was still getting the hang of a new razor. At last the tear touched the corner of his mouth. Surreptitiously, he caught it with his tongue.
Devin’s eyes were closed, his fingers sliding over the strings. “It’s okay to have second thoughts, Mark.”
“I’m not.”
His mentor opened his eyes. “Maybe you should take another year or two before you do this.”
“I can’t,” he said impatiently. “The only thing I know about her is that she works at the university. If I wait and she leaves, then I’ll never find her.” He stood and started to pace. “And my parents won’t help me. I already know that without asking. They always do the right thing and keep their word and stuff…and, well-” he hesitated, not wanting to appear soft “-if they learn I’m looking for her, they might get hurt. Which is also why I haven’t told them I found out I’m adopted. Because I have to see her.”
Devin struggled for the right words. He had no skill base to handle emotional pain; he’d barely mastered his own. What the boy needed was a student counselor, but Mark would bristle at the suggestion and he didn’t want to alienate him.
“Devin?”
Someone who could empathize…someone with common sense and compassion. An insider who could influence Mark toward counseling. It was Sunday. Devin glanced at his watch. Lunchtime. Rachel had turned down his lunch invitation, citing her prior commitment with students.
He put down his guitar and stood. “Let’s gate-crash a party.”
RACHEL WAS HUNTING through her kitchen drawer for a carving knife when the doorbell rang. “Someone get that,” she called into the adjacent lounge, where conversation hummed over the muted strains of La Bohème.
“I’ll go,” answered Huang.
Hunched over the stove, Trixie stirred a pot of steaming gravy, her brow knotted in concentration. With her kohl-darkened eyes, swirling black skirt and Alien Sex Fiend T-shirt, all she lacked was a witch’s hat. Rachel grinned.
“If you do the ‘double, double toil and trouble’ joke again, I’m letting it burn,” Trixie warned. “How you can be so happy slaving in a hot kitchen all morning is beyond me.”
“Because bringing people together and feeding them makes me happy.” This was Rachel’s favorite day of the week, the ritual an affirmation of her dreams-family, community, tradition. If one day she could get Mark here…“I only hope we have enough meat.” She found the carving knife and surveyed the joint, steaming gently on the countertop, mentally toting numbers. Jacob, Sarah, Huang, Marama, Juan, Silei, Ming, Dale, Chris…herself, Trixie and-
Devin appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a huge bunch of red gerberas, and her heart gave a queer little lurch that she wanted to be dismay but wasn’t. He eyed the knife. “I can see flowers aren’t enough.”
“What are you doing?” she said stupidly. This morning she’d convinced herself that the man was a scenic detour down a blind alley. She needed to get back on the freeway with its speed limits and clear signs.
“I was hoping you’d have room for extras.” Over the flowers he nodded hello to Trixie. “How’s the intimidation racket?”
From the stove, Trixie said, “One hundred percent success rate.”
“She’s promised never to interfere again,” Rachel said grimly.
“I might have a job for you, Trixie,” Devin continued. “My brother.”
Rachel glared at her assistant. “On pain of death,” she reiterated.
Undeterre
d, Trixie waved the gravy spoon toward Devin. “Have your people talk to my people.”
“Mark, that’s you,” he said over his shoulder, and Rachel dropped the knife. It hit the floor with a clatter.
Devin strolled forward to pick it up and Mark came into view behind him, blushing as he looked at Trixie.
Delighted as she was to see him, Rachel experienced a pang of regret. Why did her son have to be so irresistibly drawn to the dark side? Then Devin straightened, holding the knife in one hand, the flowers in the other-dark, gorgeous and devastatingly sexy. Because it runs in the family.
“You look harassed.” Handing her the gerberas, Devin tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in an intimate gesture that made Trixie and Mark exchange glances. Too many things were happening at once and Rachel seemed to have control over none of them. “Want us to go away again?”
She gathered her wits. “No, stay! Mark, it’s lovely to see you here.” Her throat tightened on a rush of emotion and she busied herself finding a vase for the flowers. “Trixie, why don’t you take him through to the lounge and introduce him to everybody? I’ll handle the gravy. And, Devin, since you’ve got the knife, would you mind slicing the meat?” She gestured in the direction of the leg of roast lamb.
“Sure, if you don’t mind me butchering it.”
Her pulse steadied with Mark gone. “Not as long as I get twenty-six slices out of it.”
“Heartbreaker, you crack me up.” Devin dropped a brief kiss on her mouth and her pulse sped up again. The dragon twisted on his forearm as he began slicing meat with a showman’s flair.
Rachel concentrated on stirring the gravy but couldn’t resist another glance. The noon sun streamed through the window, glinted off the flashing knife and picked up the red in Devin’s stubble. He dwarfed the tiny kitchen, completely out of place against the teal-and-cream cupboards of her country-style décor, with its ceramic roosters, appliquéd tea towels and battered dresser.
This crazy attraction must be affecting her ability to be impartial, because she no longer saw him as a threat-at least not to Mark. So, what…one kiss and the frog had turned into a prince? No, she’d been softened by the fact that he was looking out for his mother. Katherine had sung his praises last night.
