Fragile

by Shiloh Walker

  She thumbed a button on her key fob. The lock made a quiet snick as it unlocked, and she reached for the door, but a hand came over her shoulder, keeping the door closed. Panic flared its ugly head, and she turned around, edging away from him so he didn’t have her pinned between the car and his body. “Can you hold on a minute?” he asked quietly.

  Cocking a brow at him, Devon said, “I don’t really see any point in that. I’ve got some unpleasant history in my life; I’m aware of that. Some bad shit happened, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Ended up making some majorly bad choices and some majorly bad mistakes. I know that, and I can deal. I’m also aware there are people who will jump to conclusions about me. I can deal with that, too.” A little sad, a little wistful, she murmured, “But I didn’t really expect it from you. My mistake.”

  “No. It’s mine.” He blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, can we just wind the clock back a little? Let me try this again? Honestly, I’m usually not the judgmental type. It just . . . hell, Devon, this threw me for a loop. You just seem so . . . I dunno, steady.”

  “I am steady. But when I was a kid, not so much. Crap, Luke, how many kids do you know who are rock-steady? I was just a little more screwed up than the average teenager.” Okay, a lot more screwed up. But that’s beside the point, she thought sullenly.

  “I’m sorry.” He said it softly, with enough sincerity to punch through her anger. He reached up. Instinctively, she tensed, and then she cursed silently as something else appeared in his gaze: speculation.

  Devon felt herself shying away from him. Her emotional scars weren’t buried all that deep, and she didn’t want him seeing those particular wounds.

  Most guys weren’t going to notice it when a woman tensed up just a little. But most guys wouldn’t have picked up on the tiny little slip earlier and put two and two together. Actually, it was more like he had put together two plus some unknown integer and come up with the right answer with no other help from her. Because she sure as hell hadn’t given him much more than that.

  Interpersonal algebra, wonderful. As hot as this guy was, and as much as she found herself thinking about him, it suddenly dawned on her that he was a complication she didn’t want or need. Devon decided it had been easier, even if it had hurt, when he had jumped to the mostly wrong conclusion about her.

  This was worse, seeing that measuring look in his eyes and knowing he had probably guessed a little more about her than she really wanted him knowing. Considering how damn insightful he’d just proven himself to be, Devon made up her mind right then and there: Dr. Luke Rafferty was just too damn complicated.

  Keeping her voice brusque, she said, “Fine. Now can you please move? I’m tired.” And she was, dog tired and ready to go home and collapse. Except she had work waiting for her, reports she hadn’t finished and cases she needed to review. But Devon suspected she wasn’t going to be able to focus on any of it. Not now. She was going to be too busy sulking over the sexy doctor, his too-quick mind, and his damned assumptions.

  “Devon, look at me.”

  She didn’t want to. But there was something so gentle, so compelling about his voice. Reluctantly, she turned her head and met his eyes. The harsh white light of the streetlamp made his eyes almost colorless, but there was no denying the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t write me off,” he murmured.

  Too late, she thought sourly. Too fricking insightful, she thought again. Just more proof of why she didn’t need that man in her life.

  Those eyes of hers showed too much and not enough, all at the same time, Luke decided. He could tell, just by looking at her, that all she wanted to do was kiss his sorry ass good-bye. But there were also unspoken secrets, a guardedness that made him want to smash down the walls she’d erected.

  “Don’t write me off,” he murmured again, and he had to close his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. Luke couldn’t remember ever wanting to touch a woman as much as he wanted to touch Devon in that moment, but she held herself so stiffly, so rigidly. She was still pissed, and he couldn’t blame her. Plus, he couldn’t forget those brief moments when he’d glimpsed some deep fear inside her eyes.

  “I screwed up. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . hell, Devon.” Luke wanted to kick himself. Badly. There had to be something he could say that would undo this mess—there just had to be. He hadn’t mistaken the heat that had flared between them earlier, and in those few brief moments before he’d made an ass of himself, he’d felt something deeper than heat.

  Luke didn’t put much stock in it when people claimed some instant connection, something beyond physical attraction, but he’d felt something earlier, and he’d thought she had, too.

  Then he went and made what he’d thought was a logical assumption. Although he hadn’t said anything, he’d mentally started distancing himself. Luke thought he’d been pretty subtle about it, but obviously not, because Devon had been damned aware of what he was doing—and why.

  The marks on her arm were old, years old. Other than those few faint scars that probably happened when the needle tracks got infected, the skin of her forearms was smooth and unmarked. When she’d said she was clean, he’d never once doubted her. That righteous indignation could be faked, he guessed, but she wasn’t faking it.

  Which meant he’d been backing away from a woman he was nuts about all because of some mistakes she’d made when she was a kid. But he’d be damned if he’d let that be the end. Not when they hadn’t really even had a beginning.

  “Devon . . .”

  She averted her eyes. “Luke, don’t. Just . . . don’t, okay? Just let it go.”

  Cautious, keeping his movements slow, he moved a little closer. “I dunno. I’m going to have a hard time doing that, you see, because I think about you pretty much all the time. I go to work hoping I’ll see you, and then I feel bad because, usually, I only see you when something bad has happened to one of your kids. I’ve been wanting to ask you out pretty much since I first met you, and now I finally got you outside of work, I go and screw it up.”

  The smile on her mouth looked forced, even to him. “I’d just take it as a sign, then. You and me wouldn’t last through one date.”

  “Yes. We would.”

  He couldn’t not touch her at that point. Closing the distance between them, he murmured, “I’m going to kiss you. And I haven’t been this nervous about kissing a girl since I played seven minutes in heaven when I was in sixth grade.”

  Her hand came up, pressed against his chest. “Not a good idea.”

  “Not doing it would be an even worse idea,” he argued. Reaching up, he covered her hand with his, stroked his thumb up and down the inside of her wrist. “Come on, Devon . . . Can you tell me you haven’t ever thought about this, not even once?”

  Averting her head, she said, “That’s not the point.”

  Luke was quiet for a second and then he murmured, “So one dumb-ass mistake on my part, and you’re going to totally write this off?”

  “There’s nothing to write off, Luke. We haven’t even had a single date.”

  A grin crooked his lips upward, and he said, “My point, exactly.” Screw being nervous, he decided. Dipping his head, he covered her lips, and it took less than a second to realize Devon Manning was every bit as sweet as he’d suspected.

  Under his mouth, her lips were soft and full, and her taste was sweet, damn near addictive. On some level, Luke did understand addiction.

  He was an adrenaline junkie, and that was every bit as addictive as a drug. But Devon? Man, the taste of her could easily beat that. Screw skydiving. Just kissing Devon Manning got his blood pumping like nothing he’d ever felt before. Cupping her chin in his hand, he angled her head to the side and deepened the kiss.

  He waited for her to pull away. The hesitation, the caution he’d expected was there, but she didn’t pull away. Luke ached to pull her closer against him, to deepen the contact. Through their clothes, he could feel the heat of her body, and he alre
ady knew how silken, soft her skin was. He needed to feel more.

  Ached to feel more.

  Her body all but vibrated against his, with heat, with hunger—and with hesitation. Luke would be damned if he caused her a second’s fear, so instead of pushing for more, instead of sliding his hands under her shirt, instead of letting them roam over the denim covered curves of her hips and butt, he touched only her chin and jaw, his fingers spread wide and holding her still for his kiss. His other hand, he kept clenched in a fist at his side.

  Devon swayed closer. Luke felt the last of his control slipping away, and he either had to take more—or stop. Luke went with stopping, slowly pulling away so he could stare at her. “There’s something here, Devon. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

  They were still standing close, so close he felt her breath whisper against his mouth as she sighed. “I’ve got enough complications just with my day-to-day life, Luke. I’ve got a bad feeling you’re a complication I don’t need.”

  “Actually,” he murmured, catching her hand and lifting it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm and watched her from under his lashes. “I think I’m exactly the kind of complication you do need.”

  A slow, almost reluctant smile curved her lips. “You’re pretty damn full of yourself,” she said quietly.

  Luke shrugged. “Not so much. I just know what I see. You’ve got sad eyes, Devon. You look like a woman who spends way too much time alone. You look like a woman who doesn’t smile enough. Whatever is complicating your life, it isn’t making you happy.”

  She eased away, and the caution he’d been waiting for finally appeared, darkening her eyes. “Complications aren’t there to make you happy.”

  “The good ones should. Not every complication has to be the bad kind,” he murmured. Some of her hair had slipped free from her clip, and Luke reached up, caught one thick lock. It was every bit as soft as he’d thought it would be, and it curled around his fingers. He wanted to pull that clip out of her hair and see all those long curls fall around her shoulders and her back—wanted to see her naked with all that hair spread out on his pillow. But he just rubbed the curl between his fingers and watched her face. “Sometimes the best things in life come from complications.”

  “Really?” Devon asked, smirking. “All the complications I’ve had in my life have pretty much sucked. I haven’t yet had one bring me much of anything but trouble or grief.” Her voice was flat and vacant, her eyes little more than a void.

  His heart clenched inside his chest. “Then give me a chance to show you just how much fun a complication can be,” he said, keeping his voice light and easy. “Let me show you I’m really not an asshole.”

  It was sheer stupidity that made her agree. It had to be. Because Devon couldn’t think of any other reason she would grudgingly say okay. Or any other reason she’d give him her phone number.

  She started digging in her purse, looking for the black day planner she carried around for notes, reminders, and her million appointments. But it wasn’t in there. Weird . . . That organizer went everywhere with her. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she said, “I can’t find anything to write on. You got a piece of paper?”

  “No. But I don’t need it. Just tell me.”

  Feeling just a little snarky, she thought spitefully, That works. With any luck, you’ll lose it. But as she repeated her number, she had a feeling she’d be hearing from him.

  Very soon.

  Yet as disgruntled as she was, when he dipped his head to kiss her again, she felt her heart skip a beat or two. When he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, it skipped a few more beats. As Luke deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers and pushing his tongue inside her mouth, she thought her heart just might stop altogether.

  Then he put his hands on her. Gently. One resting on the curve of her waist, the other cupping the back of her head, and her heart went into overtime, slamming away merrily within her chest. The taste of him, the feel of him, the strength and the warmth . . . damn, she’d gone so many years without this and never thought she was missing out on all that much.

  She’d been wrong.

  Easing a little closer, she opened her mouth a little wider and leaned into him. His body was long, muscled, and lanky. Restless, she circled her hips against his. Something powerful, demanding, moved through her. She dug her fingers into his arms—

  And then he was gone, pulling away so abruptly, she wobbled a little. She was hot, hungry, and off balance. Her head buzzed from the heat of him, the taste of him. Blinking, she looked at him.

  He reached up, brushed his fingers over her lips, and then turned her around, nudged her to her car. “I’ll call you,” he murmured against her ear.

  A little dazed, she climbed into her car and ended up sitting there for a good five minutes. Devon might have sat there even longer if she hadn’t glanced out the window and seen him standing under a streetlight five feet away, watching her.

  Shoving her key into the ignition, she started the car and pulled away without looking at him again. Of course, it didn’t matter if she looked at him again or not; the sight of him, how he’d looked at her, his eyes hungry, intent, was imprinted on her memory.

  Just like the taste of him.

  Just like the feel of him.

  “A complication . . .” she mumbled as she hit the highway and headed home.

  Trying not to think about anything, especially Luke, she finished the drive with her brain on automatic. Her home was in an older part of town, a rather quaint, cottage-style house that she never would have been able to afford on her own. But years earlier after taking Devon off the streets and placing her with a home, Eden had done some investigating and found out about the trust fund Devon would inherit when she turned eighteen. Divided into several large sums of money, some of it had been a graduation present, some had been designated for college, and when she graduated from college, she’d received the rest of it.

  Devon, always the practical type, had used the money as a down payment for this house. She’d seen it and fallen in love. Parking in the driveway, she grabbed her purse and found her house key before she climbed out of the car.

  Habit had her checking around her as she climbed out, and she walked up to the front door quickly. It was a nice, quiet neighborhood, and nothing ever really happened here, but Devon had learned caution the hard way.

  She frowned as she neared the porch and noticed the light was out.

  The house’s lights, including the porch lights, were on a timer. The outdoor lights went on at dusk and off at dawn. Opening the front door, she let the light spill out onto the porch while she peered up at the porch light. Rising up on her toes, she twisted the bulb and then squinted as the light flared.

  Retreating back into the house, she closed and locked the door. There were a million things she needed to do: case reviews, paperwork, some laundry, finding her missing planner, but instead, she went straight to bed.

  And she dreamed of Luke.

  “YOU’RE dodging me.”

  Devon had slipped out of the room long enough to get a Coke from the vending machines, and she’d been pretty sure Luke wasn’t working that day. After all, she hadn’t seen him when she brought Dana Watson in after the fifteen-year-old’s john had beaten the shit out of her, and Luke seemed to have some sixth sense when it came to her. She stepped a foot inside the ER, and he knew.

  So when he hadn’t tracked her down in the first thirty minutes, she figured she’d gotten lucky. At least a little lucky, relatively speaking. She’d spent the past week searching for her missing planner, and it never showed up. Up until today, she’d been doing okay, but then she’d been late to court, she’d been late to a staff meeting, and then she’d gotten the call about Dana.

  Not a good day. At that particular moment, she couldn’t really say if seeing Luke was going to improve things or make them worse. The pessimist in her decided it was going to make things much worse.
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br />   Yeah, so what if she’d told him she’d . . . how’d he put it? She smothered a grin as she remembered: “Let me show you I’m not really an asshole.”

  She knew that. He was a decent guy; he’d just jumped to the conclusion a lot of other people had made. Granted, they’d had a lot more information before they’d made their jump. He was just quicker than the rest.

  But he made her so damn nervous.

  Yeah, he sure as hell would add a complication, and the guy made her smile, so she could imagine he would add some variety to the complications she was used to. Devon was a coward, though. She had no problem admitting it, either.

  “You going to turn around and look at me?” Luke asked.

  Eventually she was going to have to move away from the vending machine, and if she didn’t get her Diet Coke fix, she was going to be in sorry shape. At least she had a good excuse. Devon only had a minute or two while the nurses were helping Dana to the bathroom. Once they got back, she’d have to get in there. Slowly, she turned around, and looking at him hit her with that familiar intensity.

  As usual, he had a heavy growth of stubble on his face, and she figured he’d probably been pulling another one of those unending shifts. His hair was growing out, she mused. If it got much longer, it would curl over his forehead.

  The thought of running her fingers through his hair was enough to have her squirming uncomfortably and blushing furiously. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

  “Yeah, I know what that’s like. I get distracted pretty much every damn time I see you, hear you, or think about you. But you didn’t answer me.”

  Devon cocked a brow. “I turned around to look at you, didn’t I?”

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  Scowling, she thought back. Understanding dawned, and she shrugged. “Well, that wasn’t really a question. You just made a comment, said I was dodging you.”

  Luke grinned. “Okay, you wanna be literal? Devon, are you avoiding me?”