The Signature (A Perfect Forever Novel)

by Ward, Susan

  Morgan knelt down in front of her. “I don’t like bullshit during my show, Kryssie,” he muttered.

  In between tears and gulps and hiccups, she tried to explain. It was Colin who finally put the story in clear form.

  “Can you play?” Morgan asked.

  She shook her head, lifting her hand. With sure, quick fingers he inspected it.

  “I don’t think it’s broken, Kryssie. Badly bruised, but I don’t think it’s broken. How’s he?” Her face told him everything. “That bad, huh? Don’t worry. It’s past time someone knocked a little sense into him. Your timing leaves a lot to be desired, though! Do you think you can sing?”

  Krystal shook her head again, more feebly. Morgan laughed. As he straightened up from the step, he took her with him.

  “What a royal pain in the ass you can be. Have I ever told you that, love? If you keep up the damsel in distress act...”

  He checked his words. There was no point. She had come back from Coos Bay a different woman. The Krystal who had loved him was gone. He had to let her go, to Devon, if Devon wasn’t too much of a damn fool to want her.

  In all the time they had been together, she had never cared enough to fight for him like this, miserable fight though it was. Still, it made Morgan wonder where they would be now if she had loved him as completely as she loves Devon, or even half as much as he had always—still—loved her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Colin pounced on her the second she stepped from the stage. His ruddy face glowed, as he wrapped an arm securely around her shoulder, guiding her down the stairs.

  Frantic and excited at once, he whispered, “If that wasn’t like witnessing Lazarus coming back from the dead, then I don’t know what the hell it was! Now all you have to do is make nice with the vultures, smile pretty for the cameras, and get the hell out of here before we blow this.”

  He stopped his racing chatter to toss an exuberant reply to a quickly shouted question from the press.

  He turned her face with a gentle hand to give her a sharp look in the eye. “Don’t blow this, Kryssie. No stunts. Don’t let them trap you with questions about that little scene in the storage room. I’ll get the lawyers working on it tomorrow. If someone asks you about it, you let Brian answer it, okay, baby. If he sues or presses charges, Kryssie, then we got a whole new world of problems!”

  Miserable, wishing she could find someplace quiet to sort through the jumble of her emotions, she let Colin pull her into the crowded room packed with press.

  The first questions shouted at them were about her and Devon’s fight in the storeroom. With a healthy dose of natural bull, Brian did his best to buffalo past them, but they kept coming.

  The press were relentless. She sat on the edge of the buffet table, her performer’s smile plastered on her face, trying to make the storm pass over her without interference, when Brian said with a harsh laugh, “If it were really all that, would the man still be here? It was nothing. Don’t try to make anything of it. A disagreement between two friends. Nothing more. Isn’t that right, Kryssie?”

  It was then Krystal saw Devon leaning against the far wall, watching her with those gemmed eyes. Why was he still here? She had been certain he had left.

  “Krystal! Krystal! Krystal!” Her name, shouted, swirled around her, and then a question managed to take full form: “Was it an argument over the articles that prompted the confrontation?”

  Meeting Devon’s eyes, she fought the uncertainty of what she saw in their depths.

  Tossing her hair suggestively over her shoulders, she said in a husky voice, “If you had me locked in a storage room, do you think you’d be arguing with me about an interview?”

  Everyone laughed, fast quips and ribald humor circled overhead. Devon watched her, this compact package of energy who could hold court over this fast moving current. This woman was a stranger to him. A fascinating, intriguing stranger. But a stranger nonetheless.

  “Was there something in the stories that you thought inaccurate? Is that why you hit him?”

  “They were...” Their overly expectant faces made her smile. “They were factual.” Devon’s reaction seemed to say ouch. Krystal rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m just kidding. Mr. Howard’s stories were beautifully written. Truthful. There is no disagreement between us about anything that came about because of the interview.”

  More shouting inquiry.

  “Okay! Okay!” Krystal said trying to stop the bombarding questions. “I can see you guys aren’t going to let this go! Here’s what happened: I saw the rumor in the tabloids about me having an affair with the judge, and someone told me he was the one who started the rumor, so I clobbered him. What woman wouldn’t, okay?”

  More laughter. Krys carefully turning the tide away from further probing.

  “Krystal, how about a picture with Devon?”

  Devon shook his head, hanging back against the wall, even though the requests grew in number. She knew he would fight it, Devon hated this sort of thing, but that he fought it so hard hurt and infuriated her.

  Lightly, with a humor she didn’t feel, Krystal quipped, “There’s nothing to do about it, guys. The man’s afraid of my left hook! Maybe if someone tells him it’s a mug shot, he’ll feel compelled to do it!”

  The room exploded with that, and she wasn’t altogether sure whether it was with amusement or outrage. From the expression on Colin’s face, she was sure it hadn’t been one of her swifter comments. Dear lord, had she actually poked fun in bad taste at the press’s sacred cow du jour?

  The old Devon was used to her teasing him. She didn’t know what to count on with this stranger. Panicking, she nervously met his eyes. And it was then she saw the laughter in his gemmed orbs, and realized that the soft chuckle which had rolled through the welling noise of the room had been him.

  He pushed up from the wall and made his way toward her. “One picture.”

  It was something. Stiff and not at all gracious, but it had gotten him from the wall. She took it as a victory of sorts.

  “God, Devon, I can’t even see you both through the lens, with where you’re standing. Can’t you move in a little closer to Krystal?” complained one photographer.

  With repeated urging, Devon moved until he had an arm draped around Krystal’s waist. His touch sent fire up and down her spine, and then those fingers, those wonderful, tender fingers slowly relaxed and changed, ever so subtly, in a way that would never be detected by the naked eye. Krystal felt her first, thin glimmer of hope.

  She looked at Devon and felt the sweet secrecy of two people who shared the most private and intimate of secrets. She felt the expression in his eyes seep all the way to her heart. She didn’t know what blind stupidity, on either of their parts, was to blame for the past three months of confusion, but here they were, together, and nothing had changed. Not the miraculous current, not the look in his eyes, and surely not what was in her own eyes for him to see.

  She knew Devon had sensed her thoughts, for suddenly his stiff features relaxed, and that smile she had missed so much was there on his face for her to see.

  For a moment, they were so close. She was just beginning to let herself believe it would be okay, when the atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly, shattering the moment.

  Morgan. He had that effect, the energy of an atom bomb. The reporters went crazy, and she sensed Devon slowly withdraw from her, pulling out of physical reach. The questions took on an added furor, the cameras snapped with more rapid frenzy.

  Working himself free of the firing line, Devon moved away, leaving Krystal with Morgan. Life had returned to its intended symmetry. It was best for them all. As it was meant to have been from the beginning. Krystal and Morgan.

  Devon’s eyes found hers. The message was there, and Krystal didn’t miss it. He was leaving. Walking from her life. Even though her heart was breaking, she was furious. Of all the barriers between them, she had never thought that their future would be reduced to this: her status versus his status
; her lifestyle versus his lifestyle; a misunderstanding in a storage room. Such meaningless little hurdles.

  She’d be damned if she’d let it keep them apart now. She loved Devon and he loved her.

  “Go ahead and try to run,” Krystal taunted above the buzz of voices. “It won’t do a darn bit of good, you know. There’s no place to run to! Some quirk of fate will keep dragging us back to the same spot until we stick. A typhoon. An earthquake. Who’s to say? But it’ll happen. Walking through that door won’t change a thing. You’ll be back. You haven’t got a choice. Face it, Howard, you’re stuck with me, prize or not.”

  She didn’t let the curious stares, the shouted inquiries surrounding her, daunt her. Or the fact that Devon was still moving toward the door.

  “Do you think I can’t see what a long shot we are?” He was still walking. “We’re not in Coos Bay. We are both in Los Angeles, to stay. You get me and this rat race, and I get you, stubbornness, pride, and that damn tap, tap, tapping that keeps me awake all night when you’re working.”

  Devon kept moving toward the door.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are,” Krystal announced at his retreating backside. “There were times I’d roll over in bed and find you gone, and seriously contemplated force-feeding you that computer, piece by piece. You’re not exactly the perfect catch of the day, either! I need a reporter in my life about as much as I need a hole in the head. Did you ever consider that?”

  Silence, walking, those curious and embarrassed gazes on her, and more quickly shouted questions.

  Krystal grabbed a tray from the table and heaved it at that stubborn, stubborn, wonderfully dear man making his way to the door. It whizzed over his shoulder, narrowly missing his golden-haired head, before it crashed against the wall.

  “Hey, Howard!”

  Her throaty voice was at only a slightly lower decibel level than a launching space shuttle. Devon was certain that they could hear it even in the parking lot.

  “There’s one more thing that you should know! In addition to being perfectly ordinary, you’re no prize either!”

  The tray hadn’t stopped him. The “no prize” comment did. The corners of his lips twitched. What had ever made him think he could wait for her a minute longer? He wanted privacy for this, but Krys had chosen the battleground.

  “You realize, don’t you, that I’ve had too much of a middle class upbringing not to be outraged by three thousand dollars’ worth of fish eggs heaved at my head as an attention getter.”

  Of course, Devon would work that damn caviar into another point about their differences. Krystal had known he would, the minute her fingers had touched it. Did he think any of that mattered at all?

  “To hell with the fish eggs! It would have been worth every dollar if they’d hit you. You deserve it, too. Three in a bed? Boy, you are a jerk when you’re jealous. You, of all people, should know me better!”

  There was probably a better place to hash this out than with half the LA press—his colleagues, her natural enemies—standing watch. They’d already given them enough fodder to keep the rag sheets running full on for a month!

  Well, if you’re going to jump into the snake pit, you might as well do it in one giant jump. He’d known from the beginning that she came with print, TV and tabloids.

  Devon took a step toward her then, that tiny little woman with those flashing blues eyes and an insane life that no man would take on readily unless he was certifiably nuts.

  His gaze shifted to the food strewn about the floor. He asked, “Is this an example of those neurotic, self-focused, demanding tendencies you warned me about? Do you make it a habit of hitting and throwing things at all the men in your life when you’re touring?”

  Shrugging lazily, she stated flippantly, “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I toured and there aren’t any men in my life. Well, that’s not exactly true. There’s this jerk, but he’s stubborn and jealous, which was something I didn’t know before, and he won’t cooperate at all. But if he starts cooperating very soon, I promise that tonight is the last for both hitting and throwing. You’ll have to take me at my word, Devon, for all of it, just like I believed you about the broken phone and not wanting to bust up the bedroom, too.”

  It was Colin coughing nervously beside her. Devon’s eyes met hers and she felt that sweet thrill race up her spine.

  An unrealized smile hovered on Devon’s lips. “I suppose if that were true, Krys, I could learn to put up with the rest of this, in time.”

  She wanted to laugh; wanted to cry; wanted to run into his arms, but his expression was still too difficult to read for certainty, and she’d made enough of a spectacle of herself already.

  Making a face, she countered, “Whoever said I could learn to put up with you? You’re stubborn, jealous, proud and a complicated pain in the butt! You spend half the night frozen in front of a computer! Not at all flattering for a woman’s ego. And there’s something else I should remind you of. As far as you thinking you’re a journalist, I’ve got news for you: I still think you’re a hack! You don’t do it at all right. I should have let you make tapes. You were never scribbling! You didn’t have me fooled once! I know perfectly well you spent all your time staring at my legs!”

  “It would have to be one extraordinary individual to put up with all that and the tap, tap, tapping.” His lips softened into that humorous, sexy, half-smile. “Got any friends?”

  Tickling laughter stirred in her throat. This was really absurd. Why were they doing this?

  “Morgan, but I don’t think he’s your type.” She made one of her comical faces.

  The choking sound behind her was Morgan, who had just taken a sip of scotch before that comment. She didn’t even want to let form in her mind what kind of headlines there would be in the press tomorrow, because of that.

  There was an anxious moment of silence for Krystal, as Devon took the time to shake the caviar from the top of his conservative loafer. Then those green eyes grew wonderfully bright as they locked on her in a tender gaze.

  “Morgan is definitely not my type. If there’s a point to this conversation sandwiched in between you trying to bash me with caviar and fixing me up with Morgan, you’ll have to tell me, because I’ve lost it.”

  “I don’t want you to walk through that door. Not before we manage to sort this out. It seemed wise to be absolutely clear that I don’t want you to leave!”

  Taking a step closer to her, he said, “We’re going to have to put together a code breaker for these crazy communication signals you’ve learned. Where I come from, Alice, having a serving tray brandished at your head is more apt to make a person run.”

  “Well, spending a month calling a man who interpreted my messages as jokes is enough to try anyone’s patience, don’t you think?” Doing another quick search of his face, she said “Maybe it’s the company you’ve been keeping, Devon, but I need to point out to you, you are not running any longer. Why aren’t you running?”

  He knew why. And more wonderfully he knew that she knew why. It was here between them, even now when they had been apart for three months, as it had always been, pulling them back together. A thousand perfectly reasonable reasons to run, and still not strong enough to kill the single reason not to.

  “And dare what you’d do next?” He took another step nearer. “This is crazy, Alice, do you know that?”

  “Says you,” she countered, her blue eyes swimming with joy. “The only thing crazy to me is you thinking being in LA changes anything! What do you want, Devon?”

  “There’s never been any question in my mind about what I want, Krys. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted you. I want you, Krys. What is it you want?” He held his arms wide. “This is who I am. Perfectly ordinary and no prize, I’m sure. I am a jerk at times. I’m not going to quit the paper. I can’t jet around the world with you, Krys. I don’t want to be a suitcase. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make a few adjustments so the pieces fit a little better if
you want them to.”

  “Such little adjustments, really. We fit perfectly in the way that counts. I don’t want or need a suitcase.”

  His smile ran hot through her veins.

  “I don’t know how you could want me after that three in a bed nonsense. Jerk is definitely not the term that came to my mind. The tray, however, wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t walking, kiddo. I was waiting for less of a crowd.”

  Her eyes answered with the emotion that whispered through her with heavy urgency. “I don’t expect you to change in any way. If you love me, that’s all I’ll ever need. In spite of what I said, I’ve developed a fondness for the tap, tap, tapping. I’ve not been able to sleep a single night without it.”

  He moved closer, and those wonderful arms of his braced on either side of her, palms flat on the table.

  “I’m so sorry, Krys. I’ve been a fool and a jerk and you were right to hit me. That’s one communication signal you don’t have to explain. If you can forgive me, I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it.”

  She took him in her arms and held him against her. “There is nothing to forgive, Dev. I won’t forgive you for loving me. That’s all you did. That’s all you have ever done.”

  He pulled her into his embrace and the feeling was so complete, so right, like coming home. And that was what she was doing. Coming home to Devon’s love for her, after so many long months away from the only happy haven she had ever known.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered. “I never want to be without you again, Krys. You do mean to marry me, don’t you? Since we’re stuck with each other we might as well make it permanent. It couldn’t hurt.”

  Laughter laced through the kisses she placed on his neck. “How can I not marry you after all this? Look at them. I don’t even want to imagine what the tabloids will make of this in the coming months if I don’t make an honest man of you now!”

  “I couldn’t have made it another day without you,” he murmured softly. “Don’t ever run away from me again, Krys.”