by Sabrina York
Tara swallowed the painful lump in her throat and forced a smile. The bright light of Kristi’s response nearly blinded her. Kristi had always had the hots for Cam. How many thousands of times had Tara been forced to listen to her woeful longings? Of course, she’d ended each conversation with a panicked please don’t tell anyone.
And now, here they sat, plain as day.
A couple.
Yeah. Envy was a horrible thing.
And the strange thing was, Tara wasn’t even sure why she was jealous. She didn’t want a man. Didn’t need a relationship—in fact she had vowed to avoid them. She certainly didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Cam.
She should be happy for Kristi.
She resolved to work on that.
Taking her seat, her gaze fell on Kristi’s sister Bella and, once again, her brain hiccupped. Because Holt Lamm, the beast, the biggest, bossiest man in the group, had his arm around her shoulders. Bella, the prickliest woman on the planet, now had a boyfriend.
What the hell was going on here?
Clearly, the universe was mocking her. Or punishing her for dumping a perfectly adequate man simply because he didn’t thrill her to the core.
Or punishing her by mocking her.
First that up-close and personal run-in with a super hot guy, and now two of her long-time single friends were paired up with guys they’d always drooled over—though in Bella’s case, the drooling had been clandestine. But Tara had noticed.
Regardless, it wasn’t nice of the universe to mock her like that.
Kaitlin slid a menu over the polished wood of the table and Tara slid it right on over to Jamie. She already knew what she was ordering. She always had the same thing when she came here. Darby had an amazing blue cheese and apple salad with walnuts and creamy vinaigrette. It was something she dreamed about and drooled over when she wasn’t here.
Silence settled around the table as everyone else studied the menus. It was shattered when a loud thud, followed by a cheer, resounded through the room. Tara glanced over toward the ruckus and her nose wrinkled as she recognized the guy with the ascot from the ferry wallowing in the sawdust next to his overturned chair. Idiot.
He’d been drunk off his ass when he’d cornered her on the car deck, precipitating her headlong flight up the stairs and into the arms of—
Her heart stuttered as her attention landed on him.
He was smiling a bit as he reached out a hand to the idiot on the floor. She allowed herself a second, or maybe more, to soak in his gorgeousness once more. It should be against the law for one man to be so dang cute.
“Who are those guys?” she asked. She didn’t mean to ask. The words slipped out through the drool.
“The blond is Ash Bristol,” Holt responded—though it had been a rhetorical question. “He has the place next to ours.”
“Bristol?” Emily peeped. “As in the Bristol Foundation?”
Cam nodded. “Ash is the ‘heir apparent.’” He took a sip of his beer. “Ash is a friend of Lane’s.” Their friend, Lane Daniels, another one of the Dawgs, owned the vacation house they shared.
“And the others?” Tara asked, because really, Ash was not the one whose name she needed to know.
Cam smirked. “I don’t know the guy in the ascot.” Snorts around the table at that. “But that’s Parker Rieth in the blue and Devlin Fox in the Polo shirt.”
Tara’s heart stopped. And then began thudding painfully in her temples as a white hot fury overcame her. “That’s Devlin Fox?” She glared across the restaurant. It wasn’t bad enough that the gorgeous guy she ran into on the ferry turned out to be friends with the douche in the ascot she’d been running from. No.
He had to be her worst enemy too.
Damn. Damn damn damn.
“You know him?” Bella asked.
“He writes a Foodie Blog.” Tara glowered around the table, trying hard not to snarl. Or pout. “He gave Stud Muffin a bad review.”
“What?” Cam squawked.
Jamie shook her head. “Why did he do that?”
Tara crossed her arms over her chest. She’d spent her life learning her craft. Spent her life savings opening her own bakery. Spent years building clientele. Then, with one crappy review, business had tanked. Totally into the toilet. In one fell swoop, many of her regulars had stopped coming in.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to make the bills this month, which was devastating.
And all because of him.
It was unfair for one man to have so much power.
And why had he panned her bakery? “Because I don’t have gluten-free.” She muttered, then added, under her breath, “Big baby.”
Still, gluten-free was a huge deal in Seattle. She’d spent the past week working up recipes. And fantasizing about wreaking vengeance on a certain blogger.
It had been a mere fantasy, until now. But now…
Kaitlin shifted closer, drawing Tara’s attention. “What are you thinking?” she asked in a whisper, her features tight.
Tara froze. It didn’t do to think around Kaitlin. Not that the elfin redhead read minds, or at least that’s what she claimed. But she seemed to know things.
“Nothing.” Tara made it a point to bat her lashes.
Kaitlin’s nose rumpled, as though she smelled something nasty. Like a lie.
But hell. Tara couldn’t tell Kaitlin what she was really thinking because Kaitlin—the sweet, innocent soul that she was—would try to talk her out of it. Ramble on about Karma and shit.
No, Tara couldn’t tell anyone what she was really thinking about.
Because she was plotting revenge.
She was going to get Devlin Fox back. And she was going to get him good.
“Hi there.”
Devlin turned on the barstool, his trademark smile firmly in place. Everything within him froze. It was her. That little slice of heaven from the ferry. Damn. She was as hot as he remembered.
She sidled up next to him and the chatter of the bar receded. Fascination—and something else—rose.
“Well hello there.”
He liked her scent, something floral and light. He liked her heat as she pressed against his side. She lowered her long lush lashes and peeped up at him through the fringe. Damn, that was sexy. She licked her lips. That was sexy too.
“I never got to thank you,” she purred.
“Th-Thank me?” Was that her hand? On his thigh?
Shit yeah.
“For saving me.” Her fingers flexed. “I would have tumbled to my death if you hadn’t grabbed me.”
“I doubt you would have tumbled to your death. Disfigurement, perhaps. Dire injury. But not death. Don’t exaggerate.”
She laughed, a low chortle. “Well… Thank you.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Devlin blinked. He’d been hit on in bars before, but no woman had ever offered to buy him a drink.
She might just be a perfect woman. “Sure.”
“What’s your poison?”
“Whiskey sour.”
She signaled to the bartender.
“So…I’m Devlin.”
“Devlin.” She cooed. Actually cooed.
“And you are…?”
“Interested.”
He jumped a little as her hand skated up his thigh. His pulse skipped. “I…ah…yes. But what can I call you?” He had a pretty good idea where this was headed, and he wanted to know what to cry out as he sank into her steamy depths. It was only polite to know a woman’s name at a moment like that.
She pursed her lips, as though she were thinking it over. Or thinking about something else. Her thumb snaked up. Nudged his balls, ever so lightly, and through thick denim, but he felt it like an electrical charge. “Call me Sugar.”
“Sugar.” Oh yeah. She was sweet.
“Would you…like to go for a walk?”
“A walk?” His cock lurched. All thoughts of that drink faded.
“It’s a beautiful nig
ht…”
She looked over her shoulder and then threaded her fingers in his, leading him toward the back of the bar. He didn’t know why they weren’t heading for the front door, but didn’t much care.
She was a beautiful woman. She wanted him. And he was just drunk enough to follow her anywhere she led.
He shot a glance at Parker who sent him a thumbs up.
They barely made it out the back door of the bar before she kissed him. Damn. Backed him up against the wall, raked her fingers through his hair, pulled his head down and took his mouth.
And damn, she was a good kisser. She ate him with heat and passion and carnivorous zeal. He responded in kind, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He nearly passed out when she sucked on it, nibbled it, toyed with it. He couldn’t help imagining her doing the same to his cock.
Her palm roved over his chest and made its way down to his hips. He didn’t dare move as she slowly teased the band of his jeans. She pulled back and held his gaze as she popped the snap.
“Mmm,” she murmured, reaching in. His eyes crossed as she molded his length. Squeezed. “Such a big boy.” She licked her lips and his brain short-circuited. When she went to her knees before him and blew a hot breath on him through the cotton of his briefs, he nearly lost consciousness. “I want to taste you,” she said. “Take off your pants.”
Holy God. Yes.
In a frenzy, he kicked off his shoes, and ripped off his jeans, hopping from one foot to the other. He held still, frozen in place, as she hooked her thumbs in his briefs and eased them down revealing his eager cock. She dragged his underwear down until they pooled at his ankles.
He heard the catch in her moan. Felt the trace of a warm finger around his swollen head and down to the base. He shuddered.
“Ah. Yes,” she said, coming close. Her heat caressed him. His knees knocked. She fisted him. Pumped. Once. Twice. Blood pounded at his temples. Thrummed in his cock. She bent closer. Her damp breath kissed the head. “Such a big dick,” she said.
If he’d been in his right mind, her tone would have warned him, but he wasn’t in his right mind. He was a little drunk and a lot horny and there was a gorgeous woman on her knees before him with his cock in her fist. Her mouth hovered over the tip.
Yes. Yes. Just a little more…
She released him and stood up in a rush. Her beautiful, seductive expression morphed into something bitter. He gaped at her, stunned.
“Yeah,” she said, propping her fists on her hips. “You, Devlin Fox, are a big dick.”
And then she left. Whirled on her heel and left him standing there, half-naked, leaning against the grimy brick wall behind a grungy bar.
And she took his jeans.
Chapter Three
He would, until the end of time, feel grateful to Charmaine, Darby’s perky little waitress.
She came upon him as he hunkered behind the dumpster, desperately trying to decide what to do. He could sprint back to the house hoping to hell no one would see him, or dig through the trash in hopes of finding something to cover himself.
He’d never been terribly shy about his body, but there was something about being totally exposed behind a bar—with an epic hard on, after having been mercilessly teased by a gorgeous vixen—that left a man feeling mauled and vulnerable.
One thought bubbled in his brain.
He was going to have to pay her back for this.
Charmaine stopped short when she saw him skulking there, hunched over, pulling his t-shirt down to cover his junk. He could only imagine what she thought, though her expression was fairly telling.
“I’m not a perv,” he said, the first words to trip from his tongue.
She tipped her head to the side and her lips quirked. “Really?”
Heat flooded his face and prickled his nape. “She stole my jeans.”
“She?” He could tell the waitress was struggling to hold back a laugh.
“Please… Could you help me?”
Maybe his tone was sufficiently penitent, or maybe she’d simply seen it all and wanted to get this naked guy out of her trash bin, but she relented. “I’ll find you something.”
He hated watching her walk away, suddenly noticing a cool breeze coming in off the dark ocean. Goosebumps rose on his skin. A shiver racked him. But she returned in due course with a pair of folded sweats. They were a couple sizes too large, but he pulled them on and tugged the drawstring, feeling like a warrior girding his loins for battle. “Thank you,” he muttered.
She snorted a laugh. “Sure. Anytime.” Still chuckling, she went back inside.
Devlin made a note to give her a phenomenal tip the next time he visited the bar. Which, he suspected, might not be for a while. He didn’t relish the thought of seeing her again.
At least, not until he had plotted his revenge.
Thank God none of the guys had been around when he arrived home wearing some other dude’s sweatpants. He could only imagine the razzing he’d take over that.
He didn’t hide out for the rest of the weekend. At least that’s what he told himself. But he certainly didn’t go back to the bar. And though he swore not to think about her, he couldn’t help himself.
There was something about her he just couldn’t get out of his mind. Sure, she was gorgeous. Of all her friends, she was the one who caught and held his attention. Her features, so delicate and piquant, her long ponytail, her curves.
He’d always loved pranks, and pranksters. But no one had ever gotten the better of him…until her.
When he and his friends boarded the ferry on Sunday afternoon, she was there with her coterie. Their eyes met across the breadth of the main cabin and she grinned at him. But it wasn’t a friendly grin.
It was an evil grin.
Determination formed a ball in his gut.
Determination for revenge.
He wanted that woman. Beneath him. Around him. Encompassing him.
It was a damn shame he didn’t know her name.
Tara shivered as she leaned against the rail of the ferry, staring out at the dull gray choppy water. Flecks of white tipped the tiny waves and wind-kissed ripples swirled. It was a gloomy day for summer on the Sound. Gunmetal clouds skirted the sun and an impenetrable fog wreathed the passing islands. But it matched her mood.
He was inside.
What were the odds they’d both catch the same ferry home?
Pretty good, apparently.
It wasn’t bad enough that she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind all weekend. That he’d haunted her every thought. Wasn’t bad enough that she had freaking dreamed about him…about his trusting, hopeful smile, his scent, the weight of his cock in her hand.
There was no reason for her for feel guilt over what she did. Certainly no reason for regret.
He was a bastard of epic proportions. A heartless, soulless husk of a man with no conscience and no moral compass whatsoever. He blatantly ruined worlds with the slash of a pen. Or the tap of a key. Whatever.
Point was, he’d deserved it.
This churning acid in her gut, the slow burn of remorse, was utterly unwarranted.
She sucked in a deep breath and tipped her gaze up to the sky, watching the gulls wheel in their wake. Tiny sprinkles, too small to be called raindrops cooled her cheeks.
Why did he have to be on this ferry?
“It’s raining.”
Tara blinked and turned to smile at Kristi as she sidled up next to her. It wasn’t a terribly sincere smile. But it was the effort that counted. “Not so much. Besides, I like it.”
“Hmm.” Kristi leaned against the rail and turned her attention to the frothing foam churned up by the rear propellers. There was something soothing about standing on the stern of the boat, surveying where you’d been. It wasn’t as exhilarating as standing on the bow, facing the adventure with the wind whipping your face until tears formed, but sometimes one needed soothing. “Tara?”
“Yeah?” Another ferry appeared in the distance, a mer
e dot on the horizon. A flash of sliver caught her eye—A surfacing salmon? A fluke?—but it was gone before she turned her head.
“Is everything okay?”
Tara’s heart stuttered. Shit. The last thing she wanted was to talk about everything with Kristi. “Sure.”
“You’ve been… I dunno, kinda quiet this weekend. Is everything okay with Chet?”
“Yeah. Well.” Tara blew out a breath. “Chet and I kind of broke up.”
“Oh, no.” She didn’t expect a hug. Didn’t deserve one. “Did he dump you?”
It was all Tara could do not to send her friend a sarcastic look. Nobody ever dumped Tara Romano. She was the one who did the dumping.
Not because she was a serial dumper. She wasn’t. It was just that, when she was in a relationship with a guy, he would invariably become too possessive. Boxing her in. Making her feel trapped.
“I ended it.” The resulting silence prompted her to glance at her friend, whose expression was inscrutable. “What?”
“Chet was a nice guy.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So why did you dump him?”
Why? Why indeed? Other than the fact that she’d woken up one night and stared at him and thought, deep in her panicked soul, No. No. This is not right. “He brought his toothbrush over.”
Kristi blinked. “Do, ah, you have a toothbrush phobia I don’t know about?”
The ferry lunged and Tara grabbed onto the rail to steady herself. “His toothbrush, Kristi.”
“It’s just a toothbrush.”
“It’s not just a toothbrush.” It was a statement. A declaration. It was Chet staking his claim.
“Hmm.”
Tara glared at her friend. She knew that Hmm. “What?”
“Nothing. But… Do you ever wonder…?” It was irritating the way Kristi trailed off. She did that sometimes when she wanted to make a point. Which, when you thought about it, was counterproductive.
“Wonder what?”
“If you might have commitment issues?”
Tara gaped at her. Commitment issues? Hell no.
She didn’t wonder about that at all.
“It’s not an issue.” Not for her at least. This wasn’t about commitment. It was about survival.
