by Mallory Kane
“Yes, but why that name?”
“I didn’t choose it. Thibaud knew a guy years ago named Devereux who was from Thibaud’s home town, Gautier, Mississippi.” He pronounced it Go-shay. “Seemed like a name nobody in his right mind would make up,” he said.
She laughed. “Thibaud was obviously a very smart man.”
“I don’t want to talk about my life, Connor. I lived through it once—barely. I have no desire to relive it by talking about it.”
Reghan supplied the two words he didn’t say. With you. She surreptitiously blotted the tears from her eyes with her fingers as he cradled his mug in his large, beautiful hands.
“Tell me about the plaque inside the front door. What’s the quote on it?”
He wiped his hand down his face. “It says, ‘It don’t help to run when you’re hauling around what you’re running from.’”
“That’s pretty profound,” she said, smiling.
“Thibaud was pretty profound,” he said affectionately. “He spouted tidbits of Cajun wisdom day and night.”
“What made this one worth hanging on the wall of the center?”
He tossed down the last of his coffee. “It was the first thing he ever said to me, the night he caught me stealing a bottle of whiskey.”
She was surprised. “Whiskey? You were fourteen when Thibaud found you, and already on your way to becoming a drunk?”
His eyes flashed. “Who says I was drinking? Liquor’s easy to sell. I could have been using the money to buy food.”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “Stealing and selling whiskey’s a lot harder than stealing food.”
Dev lifted a hand in a whatever gesture.
“Did he lock you up?”
A small smile quirked his mouth. “He took me to the police station and sat me in a room and brought me a hamburger and some water. Then he looked at me and said, ‘Don’t help to run when you’re hauling around what you’re running from.’”
“What did you say?”
“I said I had no idea what he was talking about. He asked me if I wanted a place to stay while I figured it out.” He looked lost in the memory. “I was a pretty rotten kid. If I’d been Thibaud, I’d have kicked me out or thrown me in jail.”
She glanced around at the evidence to the contrary all around them. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“He took me home, and within four hours I was shaking and sick and feeling like I wanted to die. I was on his living room couch trying to be quiet, but I was hurting too much. He came in grumbling, and I thought he was going to hit me for waking him up, but he wrapped me in a blanket and—” Dev paused. “He hugged me and he—he sat up with me all that night, and all the next day.”
Reghan’s throat contracted. Thibaud Johnson would probably have denied being a hero. He’d have been very wrong. “That’s why you’re so good with young people. Thibaud taught you well.”
She saw Dev’s throat move as he swallowed.
“Dev, Thibaud was your father in every way that matters,” she said. “It’s obvious you loved him very much.”
His head shook once—sharply. “Love? Give me a break, Connor. I don’t even know what that word means.”
“Of course you do. It’s obvious how much he meant to you. How much you meant to him. And look—” She made a sweeping gesture that took in the entire center. “Your love for him is spelled out in every inch of this building.”
He dropped his gaze, his black lashes casting fringed shadow on his cheekbones.
“You loved Brian and Darnell and Jimmy,” she said. “You love Nicky. You love Penn and Katie, and Tracy, and all the other kids here. Someday—”
Good grief. What had she been about to say? She felt her cheeks burn.
Dev met her gaze, still shaking his head, as he’d been doing since she started speaking. His eyes burned like black fire. “Do you really want to hear my opinion about love?” His tone was cold and hard. “I loved my sister. Once, I even loved my stepfather. But he killed my sister. Presto.” He spread his hands, his next words laced with a profound sadness. “No more love.”
“Thibaud showed you love,” she whispered.
Dev closed his eyes, his throat working. “He saved me. He showed me that every adult doesn’t get off on hurting children.”
Reghan wanted to touch him, to lay her hands on him and banish the haunted sadness from his face. But she had no right.
“Thibaud saw something in me. I’m not sure what. He told me once, ‘I don’t believe in bad blood, son. There’s blood and there’s heart. Don’t let what you think’s in your blood poison your heart.’” Dev traced one of the grooves in the table. “Every time I pass through those doors, every time I see that plaque on the wall, I apologize to him. And I think, maybe someday—” He bent his head. “Maybe someday, I can be the man he thought I could be.”
How could he say that? Did he really believe he was not that man? Her heart pounded in her throat, threatening to cut off her air. Because she couldn’t speak, she mouthed almost soundlessly. “You already are.”
He shoved his chair back with a shriek of wood against wood and vaulted to his feet. Turning his back on her, he set his mug in the sink and stalked out of the kitchen. She left her half-finished coffee and followed him. By the time she got to the office, he was retreating behind his desk.
She caught his arm. “Dev, you’re a hero, a real live hero. These kids worship you.”
He stared at her incredulously. “Do I know you? Aren’t you the journalist who made your name on proving that there are no heroes? Why the about-face, Connor?” He snorted. “No. You were right the first time around. No one can see what I’ve seen and remain unmarked by it. You see enough bad, enough ugly, and there’s no good left to see or to give.” He plowed the fingers of both hands through his hair, leaving it tousled and giving him a young, vulnerable look.
“You are so stubborn, and so wrong,” she said. She placed her uninjured palm on his chest, and was suddenly aware of warm, bare skin beneath it. Almost against her will, she feathered her fingers through his chest hair.
She felt his heart rate accelerate, and an electric, erotic thrill sped along her nerve endings all the way down to her core. She did that to him. She trailed her fingers across his nipple, noticing the goose bumps that pebbled his skin, then up past his collarbone to his neck. She moved closer.
“Connor, come on,” he said. “Stop it.”
“Why?” Dear Lord, she wanted to kiss him.
“You need to get some sleep. We both do.”
She leaned in. “I can think of much better things to do than sleep,” she whispered against his lips. “Can’t you?”
…
“Connor—” Dev said warningly, taking her hands from around his neck. His body’s reaction to her touch had been instant, but his brain was still functioning, thank God. “First thing in the morning you’re headed down to Chartres Island, if I have to hog-tie you and take you myself.”
He didn’t know why in hell she’d decided to come on to him, but he couldn’t afford to get caught up in how her fingers felt trailing along his skin or how badly he wanted to kiss her right now. This was not the time.
But as soon as he let go of her hands, she placed her palms on his chest again. “There’s hours till then.” She trailed fingers along his ribs. “We are alone here, right?”
Ah, hell.
“Yes, but—” He tilted her face up, thumbs under her chin, forcing her to look at him. He clenched his teeth and scowled at her, putting all his frustration into his hard gaze. Or trying to, anyway.
“Do you realize what you’re doing?” he rasped, feeling his willpower slip precariously.
Her lips parted, and she swiped her lower lip with her tongue. “Yes,” she said.
The firmness in her tone surprised him. The sight of her tongue nearly capsized his resolve. Arguing obviously wasn’t going to work. There was only one way he could think to make her back down.
&
nbsp; “You know what you’re asking for?” he challenged.
She blinked, and he watched her draw from her seemingly endless reservoir of courage, or determination, or whatever it was that kept her going, no matter how impossible the next challenge before her seemed to be. “Yes.” Her voice shook almost imperceptibly—almost.
He would have sworn he couldn’t have gotten any harder, but that one soft, sure word acted on him like an aphrodisiac. He ached with wanting. He throbbed with need.
“I don’t think you do,” he said roughly. “I’ve watched you, Connor. You act like you’re so tough and in control. But you’ve probably never done anything really, honestly spontaneous in your life.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Sure I have,” she said, and he knew she was lying.
“Okay then. Let’s be spontaneous. Here’s what I’ve got for you. Sex.” He spat the word. “A grubby little one-night stand. No. Not a one-night stand. A one-hour hookup. What do you say?”
To his surprise, she didn’t blanch. Didn’t even look shocked.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s all I have to offer.”
He hated himself for even being able to say those things to her. And yet, despite his cold statement and flat tone, he was almost over the edge needing her to accept his crude proposition. He wanted to keep lashing out at her for making him want her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. But more than that, he wanted to toss her down on the couch and make fierce, hot love to her until she screamed with pleasure.
He wanted to love her.
And that’s what scared the hell out of him.
Chapter Eleven
Reghan took in Dev’s insulting words without flinching. Somewhere deep inside it registered that he was doing it deliberately. He wanted her to be affronted by the things he was saying. Fine. Maybe later, but right now his desperation only sparked her desire even more.
Because it was desperation. She heard it in his voice. She saw it in his black, piercing eyes. He was determined to push her away. He probably even figured he was doing it for her own good.
Well, too bad. She couldn’t turn away from this—from Dev—again. Not this time. Not this night. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take it.”
For a fraction of a second he looked shocked, then without another word he swept her up and laid her on the sofa. In an instant he’d stripped off his sweatpants, and she was staring at his incredible body, displayed before her in full glory. He was as lean, as hard, as totally, proudly male, as she’d known he would be. And there was no doubt how much he wanted her.
Her body responded immediately. She felt herself go supple and languid, felt the heat and the moistness suffuse her, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. She reached for him as an electric yearning ripped through her. She shivered with need.
He lay beside her and pulled her to him, pushing her dress off over her head. His body was hot and hard. His erection pulsed against her, and his hips undulated rhythmically against hers as he slid her bikini panties down and cupped her buttocks. He pulled her up against him and kissed her. She moaned and opened to him.
He kissed her until they were both breathless. He lifted himself above her, and his mouth and tongue traveled along her jaw, then trailed a moist path down her throat. After kissing his way to her breasts, he pushed her back and made love to them with his lips and tongue and teeth.
She held his head and arched her back as his hand moved down her belly, trailing fire on her skin, until he slid his fingers between her legs and caressed her with slow, unrelenting strokes. In an agony of wanting, she pushed his mouth away from her aching breasts. It wasn’t enough. She had to have more. She had to have it all. There was nothing else in the world. No yesterday, no tomorrow. There was just now, and Dev.
She’d never felt so uninhibited. She’d never been a greedy lover, but suddenly she was voracious, lusting, demanding. She had never felt like this before because she’d never been here before, with this man—with his mouth on her, with his exquisitely hard, hot body pressed against her.
“Now, please,” she begged in a whisper.
He gaze searched hers for an interminable moment, as if considering some monumental, life-altering decision. Apprehension vied with desire as she waited, not daring to breathe. Would he abandon her now, now that he’d shown her what he could do to her? She wanted to scream with frustration. And fear…
He took her uninjured hand in his, touching her fingers and kissing each one in turn. Then he kissed her open palm and put it to his chest, where his heart beat fast and strong. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me? Do you see?” he muttered. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
He lifted himself above her, and she parted her legs for him, giving up the last shreds of inhibition in the sweet, sharp anguish of anticipation. He sank into her with his fingers, and she thought she would explode, sensation heightening until it stole her breath.
Her breath came in jagged gasps as his fingers cleverly moved over her exquisitely, achingly sensitive center. He stroked and dipped, nearly driving her mad. Needing to touch him, she slid her hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his pulsing erection. She squeezed, and he groaned.
“Now, Dev,” she moaned.
He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw when she guided him into her.
And then he was thrusting into her. Her body tightened around him convulsively, and she cried out in an immediate, stunning release. He pushed into her again and again, taking her higher and higher as she gasped and cried his name. He filled her, completed her, drove her relentlessly, until her body blossomed and shattered with a second wave of wracking spasms that went on and on.
She felt him stiffen and groan, and he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder as he shuddered with his own climax.
“Yes,” he groaned. “God, yes.”
…
Dev did not want to move. He wanted to stay there forever, his nose tucked between Connor’s neck and shoulder. Her spicy scent enveloped him. God, he wished he could burrow deep inside her tight warmth and simply hide away from reality. He’d never felt so complete—or so safe.
That thought brought him up short. Safe? It wasn’t a feeling he knew much about. He’d spent a lot of his life running, and a lot more hiding, searching for a safe place in a world that wasn’t. But lying here with Connor, he began to realize that safety wasn’t just something he dispensed, as a duty he owed to others. Maybe he could have it, too…
Was it possible?
She caressed his back, and cold metal scraped across his skin. Her hand splint. She was injured because of him.
Like a harsh wind, reality intruded, blasting him in the face. He was supposed to be protecting her. There was still danger out there, waiting to take her from him. He couldn’t afford to keep pretending they were in a place outside of time, where nothing mattered but the two of them.
He lifted his head. Her dark green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Hey. Are you okay?” he whispered.
She nodded, her hand touching his cheek in a lover’s caress.
Terror streaked through him, stronger than any fear he’d ever known, stronger than facing a knife or a gun on the street—stronger even than facing his big, mean, drunk stepfather.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pretend this was nothing but a quick, meaningless booty call. It had been cruel of him to insult her like that. And worse of him to make love to her letting her believe he’d actually meant those ugly words.
Her supple, sex-warmed body was too comforting, too erotic. If he was going to maintain even a modicum of sanity, he had to stop and regain some distance. There was a vicious murderer out there, and he couldn’t focus on the case if his mind and body were distracted by wanting Reghan Connor. Suddenly, he was scared to death. What if he didn’t find the killer before—
With a harsh intake of breath, he rolled off her and sat up. “Damn it,” he muttered. “This was a big mistake.”
As soon as the words were out, he wished them back.
Connor went totally still. “Too late,” she said, echoing his exact thought. She was trying for light, but the quiver in her voice told him he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted. He’d pushed her away.
But he hadn’t meant to do so by hurting her. Regret sucker-punched him. He was way out of line, not to mention out of his league. Looking into her eyes, he knew the kindest thing he could do would be to break it off right now, before it went any further, no matter how much it hurt. But how could he do that? He shivered as a tiny aftershock of his explosive climax skittered through his body.
“Listen, Connor, I need to—I’m supposed to be—” He was interrupted by the jangle of his phone.
Her gaze snapped to his, and he read her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. Saved by the bell. He rolled off the couch and grabbed the thing off the desk.
“Detective Gautier?” It was Biaggi. His voice sounded hollow and strained.
“Talk to me,” Dev commanded.
“Someone got me, sir, with pepper spray, then knocked me out. I lost Nicky. I don’t know what happened. I mean, one minute I was—”
“Slow the hell down, Biaggi,” Dev said, trying to process what the young cop was saying. “What do you mean you lost Nicky?”
Connor sat up, grabbing the dress he’d tossed onto the back of the couch. He averted his gaze from her naked body, concentrating on what Biaggi was telling him.
“Nicky was sound asleep, so I was dozing in a chair. Somebody knocked on the door. There’s no chain and no peephole, so I drew my weapon before I opened it. Pepper spray got me right in the eyes. Before I could do anything, they hit me with something—knocked me out.”
“Son-of-a-bitch. Did you see what they looked like? Anything?”
“No, sorry, sir. And by the time I could sit up, they were gone.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Sorry, sir, no.”
Dev consciously unfurled his fist. If he weren’t careful, he could break his phone. “What about the apartment? Blood? Signs of a struggle? Anything that looks like Nicky was taken against his will?”
