by Sabrina York
Kristi snorted. “It’s your life, Tara. But I never pegged you for someone who wanted to be alone forever.”
Why her heart stuttered, why her breath snagged at those words was a mystery. She wasn’t afraid of being alone. Hell, she loved being alone. It was her favorite thing in the ever-lovin, frickin world.
“I date.”
“I’m not talking about dating. Or casual relationships. I’m talking about something more lasting.”
“Like you and Cam?”
Kristi blushed. “Hopefully.” Their relationship was new. Brand spanking new. It probably still had all the tags.
That acid reflux thing—the thing that tasted a little like envy—rose again and Tara swallowed it. “I am happy for you, Kristi. I hope this thing with Cam works out—”
“Thank you.”
“But I don’t think LTRs are for me.”
“Because you dump them as soon as they mention toothbrushes.” Kristi shot her a crooked grin. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to think about why you shy away from long-term relationships—”
Tara frowned. She didn’t need to think about it. She knew damn well why.
“—and ask yourself what you really want out of life. If you really want to be single, then I am right here pulling for you. But if, in your heart of hearts, you’re craving a deeper connection… you’re doing it wrong.”
God bless Kristi. She didn’t pull any punches.
She was way off base with this one, but Tara knew her annoying lecture came from the heart.
She forced a smile. “Thank you Kristi.”
“I love you Tara,” she said with another hug, “I want you to be happy.”
Happy. Schmappy.
Her life was fine, wonderful, perfect just the way it was.
They turned back to go inside—because it was truly raining now—and Tara’s attention snagged on Devlin Fox, sitting in the cafeteria, with his evil minions, playing cards. She yanked her gaze away.
He was too damn attractive for comfort.
She didn’t like the feelings that rose up when she looked at him. Or accidentally caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. Or thought of him.
So she wouldn’t.
And Kristi’s advice, bless her meddling little heart, she wouldn’t think about that either.
Chapter Four
Devlin was still obsessing over Ponytail Girl when he arrived home, jogging up the ramp, pushing through the door and tossing his keys into the dish by the door. What she’d done stuck in his craw. That he hadn’t been able to seduce her as he planned stuck in his craw as well.
His craw was pretty crowded.
But as much as she aggravated him, she intrigued him more.
Charlie’s bag was in the foyer. “Honey, I’m home,” he called, stepping over it. He never knew when Charlie would show up, but the bag, dropped wherever it landed, was usually a good clue his on-again off-again housemate had returned.
Charlie was a restless soul, but with good reason.
“In here,” a deep voice called.
Devlin made his way into the kitchen and leaned against the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest. Charlie sat at the table surrounded by the remnants of an epic breakfast. The kitchen appeared as though a tornado had blown through. Pancake batter dribbled on the stove, greasy paper towels were balled up by the microwave, milk dripped from the counter onto the floor. Devlin bit his tongue.
He wasn’t a clean freak by any stretch of the imagination, but this mess was making his recessive OCD gene itch. He pulled out a chair and plopped down across from his brother and snagged a pancake, focusing on it so he wouldn’t have to look at features that were so much like his—but not…anymore. It hurt to look at Charlie now. As though it opened a door, allowing his twin’s pain to seep into his soul.
“How was your trip?”
Charlie took a slurp of coffee. “Awesome.”
Devlin grunted. Though he made a hell of a mess, Charlie made a hell of a pancake. “Where did you go again?”
“San Fran. Haight Ashbury.” Charlie waggled his brows. The movement drew Devlin’s attention to the scars on the right side of his face. He quickly glanced away.
“You were…gone a long time.” Devlin tried very hard to keep the reproof from his tone. Charlie hated it when he went “all parental.” But it was impossible not to worry. His brother would up and disappear, be gone for months and then pop up, grinning like a pup that had found an unattended pan of pot roast.
It would probably be different if Charlie weren’t a cripple. He probably wouldn’t worry so much then if his brother disappeared for months at a time. Hell, they were both grownups, but he couldn’t help worrying. Charlie was his brother. He loved him so much it hurt. And after what he’d been through, he needed someone to take care of him. Worry about him. Protect him.
Charlie had always been the one looking out for Devlin. Now it was his turn to return the favor.
If only he would cooperate.
When his brother had come home, a wounded warrior who had lost the use of his legs in Afghanistan, it had been natural for Devlin to take him in. He’d done a bunch of work making his house wheelchair friendly and made accommodations to the mother-in-law suite on the first floor. He’d been so relieved his brother had survived, he hadn’t had much room for any other emotion.
It had been a tough adjustment, bunking with someone just learning to live again. Everything—from how to use the bathroom to how to get into a car—became more complicated when you were in a wheelchair. But they’d done it. Together.
But that challenge was nothing compared to the one Devlin faced now. Charlie’s drive for independence. It was as though Charlie was trying to be normal. But he would never be normal again.
The real kicker came when his brother went out and bought a car with hand controls. He came and went as he pleased. At all hours. It was driving Devlin crazy.
Charlie grinned. It was a shit-eating grin. “I met a woman.”
“You met a woman? In Haight Ashbury?” Christ. How safe was that? “You used protection, right?”
“For God’s sake, Dev, back the fuck off.” A thread of exasperation wove through Charlie’s tone. “I’m not a baby.”
Devlin folded his fingers together and stared at them, unsure how to respond. No, Charlie wasn’t a baby, but he didn’t seem to realize the gravity of his situation. He would never walk again. He needed to be careful. He shouldn’t go gallivanting around the country, picking up stray women in a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. He should stay at home. Where Devlin knew he was safe.
“You left your bag in the foyer again,” he muttered.
Charlie crunched into a piece of toast. Crumbs flaked over his t-shirt. “I’ll get it later.”
Annoyance bubbled as Devlin skated another glance around the room. His gaze stalled on a pile of eggshells by the fridge; little pools of egg whites slimed the countertop. The little hairs on his neck stood up as the prospect of salmonella rose its ugly head.
“Um… You’re going to clean this up, right?” The words came out before he could stop them.
His brother smirked and wheeled over to pour himself another cup of coffee. Devlin grimaced as he missed the cup and a big brown splotch landed on the tile. “You know I’m disabled.” He put out a lip in a mocking pout. “I think I’d better leave the cleanup to you.”
The dig did not miss its mark. Charlie made no secret of the fact that he resented his brother’s overprotective tendencies. A snort made its way out of Devlin’s nose.
Wheels squeaked into the uncomfortable silence as Charlie came back to the table. “So…” he said in a too-cheery voice. “How was your weekend?” When Devlin didn’t respond, his brother gored him with a look. “Didja meet a girl?”
Heat crept up his cheeks as he searched for an answer. If he told his brother the truth about what had happened with Ponytail, he’d never let him live it down. “I met someone.”
“D
idja get laid?”
The heat expanded. Hot prickles bloomed between his shoulder blades. “Not exactly.”
Charlie barked a laugh. “Imagine that. Devlin Fox struck out? Someone call the papers.”
“I’ve struck out before.” Not much. But at least one other time he could think of. Usually he had good luck with women. He couldn’t fathom what had gone wrong this time.
“It’s bound to happen. When you go through women like toilet paper, at some point, you’re gonna hit the cardboard.”
“I do not go through women like toilet paper.” What a crass analogy.
“Okay. Paper towels then. Point is… you’re a hound dog.”
The dig hit Devlin like a lance. He did date a lot of women and his relationships didn’t last very long. But it wasn’t that he was licentious or fickle. He’d just never found her. That one woman perfect he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Besides, Charlie had no room to talk.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle horny.”
“Dude. I’m not the one with blue balls this morning. So, what was her name, this paragon of female fortitude?”
Shit. His brother had a way of homing right in on a wound. “No clue. She told me to call her Sugar.”
“Hmm.” Charlie stroked his beard, drawing Devlin’s attention to the pocked scars on the right side of his face. He forced his gaze elsewhere. “I’m guessing that’s not her real name.”
“Probably not.” The only thing he knew about her was that she was a friend of Lane Daniels’. Trouble was, he and Lane weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Why Lane was pissed at him, he had no clue. He’d only hit on Lucy that one time. On top of that, Lane and Lucy were divorced. Besides, Lucy had shot him down.
“It’s probably her stripper name.”
Devlin’s simmering mortification boiled into fury. Which surprised him. He never lost his temper with Charlie, not since he’d come home in a wheelchair. Despite his brother’s attempts to get a rise out of him. He knew nothing about this chick. For all he knew, she could be a stripper. Still… “She’s not a stripper,” he snapped.
“Whoa. Dial it back, bro,” Charlie held up a hand. “I was joking. Wow. A snarl and everything…” Ironically, he seemed pleased at the feral reaction.
Devlin raked back his hair and sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I…”
“Dude. No problem.” Charlie grinned. “It’s nice when you snap. Reminds me of…old times.” Yeah, he and his brother had had more than one knock-down drag-out. They’d made sibling rivalry a blood sport. But things were different now. Everything was different now. “Remember when you didn’t treat me with kid gloves?”
Devlin set his teeth to keep back a caustic comment. He knew his brother was baiting him, but he was not inclined to engage. Not like that. Charlie needed to be handled with kid gloves. He deserved it.
So instead he fixed a smile on his face. “Dinner at Beth’s tonight. We’ll leave at six.” Since their parents had died, their sister had taken on hosting the traditional Fox family Sunday night supper.
“Great. I’ll drive.”
Devlin blanched. Charlie always wanted to drive. And riding in a car with Charlie at the wheel gave him hives. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m a good driver.” Charlie scowled. “I am a very good driver.”
“Like Rainman?”
The scowl deepened and Devlin winced as he realized the implications of what he’d said. His brother was physically challenged, not mentally challenged. And clearly, Charlie didn’t appreciate the unintended association. He spun his wheelchair away from the table and headed for his room. “Whatever. I’m beat. I am going to take a nap. See you later.”
The door slammed and Devlin flinched.
Not because his brother had slammed the door, but because he’d escaped. And left a hell of a mess for Devlin to clean up.
And because he knew he’d probably cut Charlie deeply with that flippant comment…when hurting his brother was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
Dinner at Beth’s was a trial. Oh, it started out all nice and friendly. These things often did. But Charlie was pissed that Devlin had insisted on driving and missed no opportunity to peck at Devlin’s buttons like a chicken with OCD. On crack. Their sister tried to keep the peace, but she should have known better. When Charlie got in that mood, he was unstoppable.
Cal thought their bickering was amusing, but he was seven and easily entertained by puerile pursuits. Beth and Steve merely rolled their eyes and, eventually, talked amongst themselves as though a Battle Royale were not erupting in the midst of their dining room.
Devlin tried to keep his cool, but Charlie knew right where to aim his thrusts and, to his mortification, the meal ended in a blow out. He thought about going home alone and leaving his brother there for Beth to deal with, but of course he would never do that.
To her.
Instead he loaded his brother into his car, and the wheelchair into the trunk and they drove home in a heated silence.
Charlie left the next day. He didn’t bother to tell Devlin where he was going or when he would be back.
He tried not to let his frustration, or guilt, overwhelm him. He wanted to help his brother, but he didn’t know how.
And Charlie, apparently, didn’t want his help to begin with.
To take his mind off all that shit, Devlin went to the island the next weekend, but he ended up going alone. He and Ash had planned to go together, but his buddy had backed out because of a family emergency. He’d tossed Devlin the keys and exhorted him not to throw up on anything.
On their last trip, a drunken Richie had christened every piece of furniture in the living room. Ash and Parker had spent hours cleaning it up. Evidently Ash was still pissed. But Devlin didn’t drink like Richie. He barely drank at all. And he’d never barfed on someone else’s furniture.
Upon reflection he was glad to be going over alone. Especially glad Richie wasn’t coming.
He hadn’t gone to the island expecting to see her—really, he hadn’t—but when he walked into Darby’s Bar and Grill on Friday evening, there she was, leaning over the pool table taking a shot. The vision she made, with her ass all pooched out like that made him drool. The fact that she was alone didn’t hurt.
He casually strolled through the near-empty bar into the pool hall in the back and leaned against her table watching as she sighted her shot. She peeped up at him as she took it. The cue ball went askew. It was tough holding back his smirk at her horrified expression.
So he didn’t.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he murmured.
She ignored him and came around the table to take another shot. She missed that one too. Judging from the frown she sent him, she considered it his fault. He should have walked away. Gone to the bar and ordered a keg of beer or something, but he didn’t. He watched her play. Because it annoyed her. And she was damn sexy when she was annoyed. That was enough motivation for any man.
The waitress who had saved his ass the week before made her way over. When she recognized him, she grinned. She flicked a telling glance down at his jeans. “Can I, um, get you anything?” she asked on a chuckle.
“Just a beer, please.”
She nodded. “Any particular brand?”
“You choose.” All Darby’s stock was excellent. Devlin had no doubt he’d be getting the most expensive brew on tap.
“And for you?” The waitress turned to his nemesis. “Want another?”
Ponytail upended her glass, a tumbler, and then nodded. “Yes please. Gin. Straight with lime.”
The waitress picked up her glass and headed back to the bar.
“Gin? Straight with lime?” No wonder she was missing shots.
“It’s been a long week.” This, she muttered.
“Well. It is Friday.”
“So it is.”
“And here we are.”
“Here we are.” She took another shot and landed the ball in the side pocket with a sharp
crack. Too bad it was the eight ball. She grumbled to herself and racked up the balls.
“I’m Devlin,” he said, thrusting out his hand, reminding her. In case she’d forgotten.
She ignored it. “I know.”
Youch.
“And you are…”
The look she sent him could freeze water. “Not. Interested.”
Yeah. Right. He remembered the hunger on her face when she’d had a hold of his cock. She was interested.
At least, he hoped she was.
He was.
Was he ever.
A weekend fling? With an opportunity to exact some sweet revenge? In bed? Why yes, thank you.
All he had to do was convince her.
He picked up a cue. “I’ll play you.”
She sniffed. “I’d rather play alone.”
“Shame for you to have to play with yourself.” He probably shouldn’t have infused the double entendre with such a smarmy tone, but he liked the way it made her nostrils flare.
“Go over there.” She waved at one of the other empty tables.
“I’d rather play with you.” He cleared his throat. “We never finished our game last weekend…”
The color rising on her cheeks was delightful. She turned away. “Okay. That was a shitty thing to do,” she said softly. So softly, he nearly didn’t make it out.
“’Scuse me?”
“I said sorry. Okay?” Yeah. He heard that. Because she bellowed it. So loudly, it appeared to surprise even her. “I was really pissed at you.”
He clutched his chest. “At me?”
“And when I’m pissed, I like to get even.” She was a beautiful woman. Her face was perfection, but the way she narrowed her eyes and hissed through her teeth gave him pause. Damn. Not a woman to piss off.
“What the hell did I do to you?” They’d never even met…
Her eyes narrowed even more, into little slits, like an angry kitten about to swipe off an offending hand. “You don’t even know?”
Devlin gaped at her. His mind whirled. “No. I don’t.”
She leaned against her cue and glowered at him. In that pose, she looked like an ancient warrior prepared for battle. “I own a bakery.”
