by Jean Oram
“Vintra is coming tomorrow morning to check out the plants, so there’s no point in me driving all the way back, just to return first thing.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’ll find you something then.”
Devon gave his sister a feeble wave as she headed in the opposite direction with the day’s deposits from her café. Mandy sent him a curious look, but didn’t come over to chat. He bet her place was crazy busy with the music festival currently going on and serenading the sleepy town from a few blocks away. Tomorrow night a band he’d been waiting to see would be playing, and he hoped this valerian business didn’t interfere with him using his ticket to the sold-out show.
“Still on the clock?” Logan Stone murmured, walking past them.
“Please,” Devon replied, putting one foot in the car. “Let’s go,” he said to Olivia. He really didn’t want her discovering that he’d hired someone to protect her. She’d argue that she didn’t need it and he’d feel foolish trying to explain that she was probably right. Plus it would make it seem as though the town was more dangerous than it was.
And it might look like he cared.
Well, he cared. But not in a possessive I-want-you kind of way. The town needed a deal, needed her company, and he’d do whatever he had to in order to make it happen. And if that meant keeping protesters at bay so she could do her thing, well then…so be it.
Plus knowing that Logan Stone was hanging around would remind Devon to behave—basically, not push Olivia to the point of her marching out of town. But she was so darn Miss Perfect and Cool and Sophisticated Businesswoman. It made him want to poke at her with humor until he got far enough under her skin that the facade cracked and she had an outburst and revealed what she was really thinking and feeling. Or just acted like the fun person she’d been back in college. The woman he knew and understood.
Well, at least thought he had.
Olivia gave Logan a confused look, and before Devon could distract her, she’d stepped into the man’s path, hand outstretched. “I’m Olivia Carrington, Ginger’s friend. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Logan halted, then engulfed her dainty hand in his, his Australian accent thick. “Lovely to meet you.”
“We should get going,” Devon said.
“How’s Ginger?” Olivia asked, ignoring him.
“Fine.” Logan gave a brief nod.
“And your daughter, Annabelle?”
“Also fine.”
“I’m in town for a few days. I’ll have to look them up.” Olivia was warm, friendly—more so than with Devon, and he was reminded of how easy it was to hang out with her when she didn’t have a solid brick wall raised between them.
Logan gave Devon a meaningful glance and began directing Olivia toward the car, suddenly a bit more open and chatty. “I’ll let her know you’re around. You’re at the same number? I’ll get her to text you.” He smiled and opened the door for her.
As he did so, Awesome Dog popped out to greet them. The dog backed away from Logan, but the big man was fast for his size and scooped him up, giving his ears a good rub before passing him to Olivia, who’d settled in the passenger seat.
“Guard dog?” Logan smirked at Devon over the roof of the car.
Devon shrugged, noticing that behind Logan a few protesters were walking in their direction, chatting, signs idle at their sides.
“Mr. Right is very protective,” Olivia said from inside the car, petting the dog.
The two men shared amused looks. “Mr. Right?” Devon said, as Logan shut Olivia’s door. Talk about being burned in love, to name a scraggy, stinky mutt Mr. Right.
No. Wait. Devon’s humor died. That name might be because of him.
He climbed into the car and started the engine. Logan patted the roof and dust sifted down from the ceiling. He’d have to ask Logan not to do that again.
Olivia sneezed as Devon pulled away from the curb, doing a U-turn in the middle of Main so as to avoid the protesters, who might begin an impromptu demonstration.
“Logan is so…” Olivia searched for the right word to describe him. “So…” Her smile had turned into a frown. “He’s…nice.”
“Yeah, nice.” The man had worked some sort of secret, special ops security detail before marrying Ginger. He was likely the most deadly person either of them had ever met. Devon supposed if you were being polite you could call that…nice.
He turned down a side street before circling back toward the highway, where two of the hotels were located. “Let’s find you and Awesome Dog—” There was no way on earth that he could refer to the mutt as Mr. Right, as he was fairly certain that would result in an automatic loss of his manhood. “—a place to crash. I’m sure you have a lot of calls to make.” He reached over to give her a playful nudge. “And let Luke know you haven’t run off with your ex despite what Mary Alice has predicted.”
Olivia looked up from her phone, her expression stern, her cheeks pink. Not amused.
He was smarter than to poke at her. But despite it all he found himself smiling, flexing his biceps and waggling his eyebrows. “I swim twice a week. I’m quite the catch. I can see why he might worry.”
Never mind that where the two of them were concerned with each other, Devon may as well be a monk.
Again, ship sailed. Plundered. Sunk.
Done. Over.
But teasing her was so much fun.
“Luke swims three times a week.” She swiped a finger through the dust on the passenger side of the dash. “You need to get this thing detailed.”
“And pay more for cleaning than it’s worth? Nah.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “These pants are dry clean only.”
He glanced at her outfit. The pants fit her beautifully, enhancing every curve he’d once had the honor of exploring. “They’re nice pants.”
She blushed and crossed her arms. “A hotel, please?”
“Good plan, since we both know neither of us would survive you crashing with me.”
Olivia was spending the night at Devon’s.
Her ex.
The man who had barely stopped flirting and poking at her since she’d arrived in town, taking off his shirt, not-so-subtly flexing his muscles here and there throughout the day, and intentionally trying to worm his way under her skin.
What had she done in a past life to deserve any of that?
Never mind. She knew what she’d done and it was all in this lifetime. She’d shut him out, kept a massive secret from her closest ally—her sister—shamed and embarrassed her parents, and more.
“You’re absolutely certain there’s nowhere?” she repeated. Devon had driven her around the small town from hotel to motel to bed-and-breakfast. Nothing. Every last spot was filled up, thanks to the local music festival.
There was nowhere.
Absolutely nowhere.
Panic was welling up inside her and she felt as though she was about to go under.
“What about Ginger!” Olivia cried. She began scrolling through her phone for her number. Anything but walk into the cute little house in front of her—Devon’s home. It felt too…personal. Too intimate.
“She lives in a glorified storeroom above Veils and Vows.”
“That’s fine.”
“It has no doors and is literally a storeroom stuffed with boxes.” Devon looked pained. “You’d be lucky to score an air mattress or an armchair.”
Olivia sighed.
Spending the day with Devon? Fine enough. It was oddly familiar, yet uncomfortable to suddenly be in his life, at his side all day while they dodged the past and all the words they wanted to say. But having to socialize until bedtime? Share meals? Sleep on the other side of the wall from each other? Not fine. Not fine at all.
“I have a guest room with a door and everything,” Devon said. “If Luke’s okay with you staying here.”
“He doesn’t run my life.” He was barely even a boyfriend, compared to how things had been between her and Devon
. But he would be bothered by her staying with Devon. How twisted was that? Luke was ready to pop the question, but the two of them hadn’t been intimate in over five months.
Why was that?
Because they were more friends than anything else, and it felt like they should just get on with it, already, and marry to make their parents happy, since they were in their thirties and nobody else had come along to claim them.
Olivia massaged her temples. Too many problems to think about right now.
It was early enough in the day that she could drive all the way back to the retreat, then return in the morning. However, staying in town made so much more sense—especially with Vintra being a morning person. He’d practically be here before she was out of bed.
She was being silly. She was mature enough to sleep in Devon’s guest room. In fact, not staying with him would suggest that she wasn’t over him. And she was. Had been for years.
“My sister’s then?” Devon suggested. “She has a couch.”
She was not sleeping on a stranger’s couch.
“Fine.” Devon’s tone was curt as he read her expression. “I’ll crash on her couch. You stay in my guest room and borrow a T-shirt or something to sleep in.”
“Devon,” she said with a sigh. “We’re being ridiculous. We’re both adults and I’m sure we can survive sharing a house. Plus wouldn’t you staying somewhere else give the gossips too much to run with?” She raised an eyebrow and went to open her car door, planning to march into his house. But the inside handle was gone. Right. It was now somewhere helpful, like on the floor of the backseat.
“And would you buy a new car already?” She was trapped in here, inhaling the same manly cologne she’d convinced him to buy eons ago. Why was he still wearing it? It was yummy, but seriously. There were hundreds of scents out there and this one was laden with memories she really didn’t want filling her head before she slept in his home—even though there was no need to wear his T-shirt to bed seeing as her sister had stuffed a few just-in-case items into an overnight bag for her as well as a bag of Mr. Right’s food. Smart woman. She’d have to be sure to thank her later.
Devon rubbed the bare spot on the dash. “I can’t get rid of my Honda. It’s sentimental.”
“How can it be sentimental? It’s an inanimate object.”
“I meant I am. In the backseat I lost my—”
“Oh!” She sputtered. “Don’t say it!” She definitely did not need visions of her still-attractive ex-boyfriend who smelled like something she’d love to…no. Just no.
He grinned. The man had a way of getting under her skin in a way no other person on earth did. She wanted to simultaneously laugh at his insane ribbing while stuffing a pillow against his face.
“And would you let me out, please?” She folded her arms across her chest, giving him a glare she didn’t quite feel. He was already melting her walls as if they were made of ice and not stone. If she let him in, she was certain it would be game over for the both of them.
“Roll down the window and open your door from the outside. And you can stay here as long as you don’t snore or eat all my yogurt,” he said, reading something on his phone. His seemed completely unfazed by the fact that she was being held hostage in a rusted old tin can and would be sleeping under the same small roof as him.
She fiddled with the spot where the handle was supposed to hook into the door, and broke a nail instead. She let out an “ow” and sucked on the tender, wounded finger. “You know…your go-with-the-flow mentality is rubbing me raw, like a cheap leather sandal.”
“Nice. I like sandals,” he said absently.
The urge to make him feel something—anything—was strong. He seemed so unaffected, so removed from the turmoil roiling inside her, ready to burst out. She wanted him to feel as much as she did, but she also knew she needed to play nice and not ruin everything.
“I think Blueberry Springs is a very nice town.”
He slowly looked up, his face emotionless.
All right. She’d try harder.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” she said gently, trying to make up for her jab about him not looking like a mayor. He didn’t, but she hadn’t needed to say it. “I’m sure Blueberry Springs knows what you stand for and there’s no need to…” She looked him over. He was sexy, that was for sure. But too darn casual for a candidate. “…dress up.” He would look amazing and professional in a suit and a fresh haircut. People would definitely take that seriously.
She waited for him to apologize for the smarting, veiled dig he’d made about her family not accepting good people if they didn’t look and act just so.
“That’s right,” he said.
“And…you care about people. I’m sure that really shines through when you’re campaigning.”
He nodded and scratched his ear before going back to reading his phone, his jaw flexing.
She leaned back in the seat. How were they going to survive sharing a roof when they could barely manage a conversation?
Try harder. Be helpful.
“If we’re going to work together maybe I could help. I’ve spent years in PR and I—”
He opened his door and got out, slamming it shut with more vigor than a man should if he was keeping the ancient machine around for sentimental reasons.
She leaned back in the seat. Okay, so maybe she could have handled that better.
But she hadn’t.
Kind of like their breakup.
4
Devon let himself back into his house after his early morning run. He normally took Sunday off, but after a night of tossing and turning due to his questions and doubts about the project, as well as Olivia’s statements about his image, he’d been ready for nothing but the sounds of his footfalls to fill his head. That and a little distance from the woman whose subtle perfume had filled his house, bringing back unwanted memories of how his bed would smell like her after a night together.
He didn’t trust her. He didn’t want her close.
So even though it had been before 6:00 a.m. when he’d gone for his run, he’d already called all the accommodations in town asking about any fresh vacancies—leaving messages at the places where the sensible staff were still asleep—in case Olivia had to spend another night in Blueberry Springs.
There were no vacancies, but she was now on every possible waiting list.
Back from his run with Copter, he tiptoed past Olivia’s room, relieved when Awesome Dog didn’t make a peep. Devon’s mind, which had managed to quiet around mile four, started to stir again. He’d played nice last night, but wasn’t sure he could keep that act up for much longer.
You’re never going to win the election.
You don’t convey the right image. People don’t take you seriously.
That had been the gist of her words, even though they hadn’t been quite that pointed.
He didn’t have to be überserious for people to know what he stood for. Blueberry Springs’s citizens knew him, trusted him. Unlike her. She didn’t trust him and the feeling was mutual.
He’d made a mistake bringing her here. Because what if he didn’t win? Not only would he have egg on his face, but it meant Barry Lunn could swing in and cut some type of side deal with Carrington, one that would hurt the town instead of help it. Devon had no control over what Olivia decided to do and she’d choose her family, the company, her image, over him and what he wanted or needed.
Proven fact.
He rummaged through his closet with more energy than was required to find a pair of clean jeans. He tossed them on his bed, then ditched his damp shirt and turned to find something long-sleeved. He planned to help Olivia’s scientists in any way they needed today, which meant he could be spending most of the day messing around out in nature.
He noted Copter’s ears perking before he heard the sound of someone behind him. He turned, spotting Olivia in his doorway, wearing a delicate nightie made from sin. Her brown eyes were open wide and, with trembling hands, had a canist
er of hair spray aimed straight at his face. Since she was a good seven feet away, he turned back to his closet, choosing a pair of socks while nudging Awesome Dog away from his sweaty legs.
“Are you planning to do my hair for me?” he asked Olivia.
“I thought you’d left.”
“I came back. I have a way of doing that.”
He didn’t want to turn around again, didn’t want to see what she had worn all night long while sprawled out, warm and soft, in his guest bed.
“I thought you were an intruder.”
“I run in the mornings.” His gaze, as much as he tried to school it, kept darting to her frilly little nightie. It was a short, short dress that showed off her killer legs and dipped low over her tanned skin, bunching up with a little ribbon above her rounded breasts. Delectable. And it was sending a pounding signal to his groin, impossible to ignore.
They stared at each other for a moment, taking each other in, heat pulsing in the air around them.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” she asked. She was eyeing his seminude state like a hungry dog after a juicy steak.
Okay, maybe not quite like that, but the thought of her eye being irresistibly drawn to him shored up his ego. Unfortunately, she had the manners to resist the powers of his man chest. Some women seemed to have unjustified strength in that department.
He ran a hand over his bare flesh. “Because I live here and this is my bedroom. Shirts are optional.” He raised his eyebrows while allowing a meaningful gaze to drift down her sleeping attire, feeling the heat of longing ratchet up between them. Why did she choose to wear that number while crashing at her ex-boyfriend’s? Was there something he wasn’t picking up from her body language or tone? Because that garment definitely sent opposing signals.
Not that he’d ever go there again. They were from different worlds and she’d proved to him loud and clear that what he had to offer was nowhere near enough for her, that if she was having a family it wouldn’t include him.
She let out a snort and crossed her arms, enhancing her cleavage. “I’m not going around shirtless.”
