Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  Copyright 2016

  Rosalind James

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com

  Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book

  No more wild rides. No more wild side.

  Blake Orbison’s pro football career with the Portland Devils may have come crashing to an end, but not calling the signals anymore just gives him more time to devote to his business enterprises, including the latest and greatest: the opening of the Wild Horse Resort in scenic north Idaho. And that other one, too. Blake’s on the marriage track now, and he’s got a game plan. But when he runs into a trespasser leaping from his shoreline boulders into his lake, what’s a good ol’ boy to do but strip down and join her?

  Dakota Savage is nobody’s temporary diversion, least of all the man responsible for her family’s semi-desperate circumstances. Some people may think she has a piercing too many, but she’s had more than enough of being called trash in this town. She’s come home to Wild Horse to run her stepfather’s painting business, and any extra time she has goes into creating her stained glass. An overpaid, entitled, infuriating NFL quarterback is no part of her life plan, no matter how sweet he talks. No matter how slow he smiles. No matter what.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Hot and Bothered

  Badasses Gotta Badass

  Wild Child

  Famous in a Small Town

  Worse than Kale Pizza

  A Battle You Can’t See

  Past Imperfect

  Surprise All the Way Around

  First Quarter, No Score

  Power Play

  An Offer You Can’t Refuse

  A Gene for Appreciation

  Annoying Blake

  New Information

  Working Woman’s Paradise

  A Beer With Blake

  Damn Straight

  Sprouts and Kale

  Passion Project

  Water Damage

  Silver-Tongued Devil

  Showdown at the O.K. Corral

  No Pressure

  Surprise Package

  Cocktail Hour

  Alternate Plans

  Heroes and Villains

  Both Sides Now

  Negotiation

  Morning Refreshment

  Emergency Measures

  What and Who

  Security. Or Not.

  Unfamiliar Territory

  Spectator Sports

  A Little Help From My Friends

  Date Night

  Future Plans

  Too Much Blake

  There for the Taking

  A Failure to Communicate

  The Chickens Come Home

  Getting the Best

  Questions and Answers

  Where There’s Smoke

  There’s Fire

  Our Best Life

  Links

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by Rosalind James

  About the Author

  Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.

  (Attributed to many)

  “Man, I’m hot.” Dakota Savage tossed the paint roller back into the pan, then wrenched off her respirator and goggles with a sigh of relief.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m classy like that.” Her partner, Evan O’Donnell, was already methodically stacking materials on the bare concrete floor of what would eventually be the Tamarack Suite. After weeks of work, the Wild Horse Resort, one hundred sixty rooms and suites of town-transforming luxury destination, was barely more than a week away from being completely painted. Which was good, because the sooner they were done, the sooner M & O Painting would be getting their next check. And bad, because the sooner they were done, the sooner their nice big job would dry up. Literally.

  “What? Oh. Yeah, right.” Dakota scraped a couple random flecks of white paint from her glasses with a fingernail, squirted the lenses with water, then dried them on a somewhat-clean section of her white overalls before grabbing a rag and the bucket of water and starting to wipe down the windows. Everything stunk now that her respirator was off, but, hey—stink was her life. “Soon as we’re done, I’m swimming. I mean as soon as we’re done, I’m in that water, baby. Treat time.”

  Now that she was clearing the glass of its protective film of hairspray and could see the lake again, she was tugged toward it by a nearly physical force. Today was only Wednesday, with two long days still to go before she could disappear into her workroom. She had this idea… but it would have to wait. Meanwhile, the temperature outside was hotter than north Idaho had any right to be in late May and even higher in here, especially beneath her layers of clothes. No A/C for the crew. No matter how “luxury” the resort was going to be or how rich its owner, the budget was everything. People, on the other hand? Not so much. She wouldn’t have taken this job for any money if she hadn’t needed—well, any money.

  But out there… out there were celestial blue sky, rippling blue water, and the cedar-clad mountains rising beyond. Directly below Dakota’s vantage point on the resort’s fifth floor stretched the marina, its neat rows of newly constructed docks as yet boasting only a handful of boats instead of the crowd that would eventually—everybody said—fill every slip. And then, of course, there was that long crescent of sandy beach off to the left beneath a golf course that had once been a residential neighborhood. The golden sand of the private beach glittered under the afternoon sun, beckoning her with the promise of a refreshing swim in water that was still nearly winter-cold, but who cared?

  Of course, she didn’t plan on using the beach.

  “Go on.” Evan shrugged a big shoulder toward the door, since his hands were full. “I’ll finish up here, check on the rest of the crew.”

  “Nah. I’m good.” Evan was looking fairly tired himself, even though somebody else might not have seen it. His pale-blue eyes seemed shadowed in his craggy face, and he’d grown even quieter than usual during the past months. When she was stressed, she got testy. Evan just became more stolid than ever, until he seemed carved from an especially hard block of wood that you were surprised could actually move and speak. When she’d told him she was taking over her stepdad’s part of M & O Painting five months ago, he’d said, “Fine,” and that had been it. Of course, he’d been really stressed then. Just like her.

  Now, he shrugged. “You covered for me the other day when I had to take Gracie to the doctor. Plus all those other times. You’re due.”

  She kept working on the windows. “Necessity versus luxury. No comparison. And I know you want to get home to her.”

  “I’m sick of you anyway. Get out. But don’t swim here,” Evan added. “Show some sense. Ride on into town and go from there. You know what tightasses they’ve been about that, and I’m not bailing you out.”

  Dakota finished the windows, then started peeling tape off wooden trim. “You’d bail me out in a heartbeat and you know it, but you aren’t going to have to. You don’t go to jail for trespassing, Mr. Straight Arrow. It wouldn’t be that big a deal. Here’s what happens. Jerry Richards or one of his henchmen yells at me to get out, and I act like I can’t hear him at first. Then I climb out of the water, dry myself off real slow, and act sorry. You know Jerry’s a dirty dog, and most of those guys aren’t any better.”

  Evan jammed the lid on the five-gallon paint bucket with a couple blows of his big fi
st, then hefted it with ease. “Right.”

  “Hey. It could work.”

  “You ever get yourself a bikini?”

  “Well, no. I swear, the smaller the suit, the more it costs. So what? It’s still a swimsuit, right?”

  “I’ll get my bail money ready. Not saying you don’t have a—well, anyway.” The tips of his ears were turning red. “But I’ve seen that black suit, Grandma.”

  “It’s navy blue.”

  “Even worse.”

  So far, Blake Orbison’s new life plan wasn’t meeting his expectations. Or maybe that was him. All he knew was—if he’d been his employee, he’d have fired himself. The Wild Horse Resort needed his attention now, weeks before the grand opening, but he kept… lapsing.

  “Buck up, punk,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Jennifer Cardello, his north Idaho assistant, asked, looking up from her phone and stumbling over a tree root.

  “Sorry.” He’d already grabbed her arm. Now, he hauled her upright. “Am I walking too fast for you?”

  “Oh, no. I love speed-walking and typing, especially when it’s about a hundred degrees out. I often ask myself, why has this been missing from my life until now? And then I answer myself. Because it sucks.”

  “Not loving the walking meeting concept, huh? I think better when I’m moving. Well, I used to, back when I was able to move.” The bum knee still took him by surprise sometimes, when he started to run and then remembered it didn’t work so well anymore.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You’re totally a loser now.” At his surprised bark, she added, “Switching to voice dictation. Hang on.”

  “Right,” he said. “Strike that from the record, though. The part where I feel sorry for myself.”

  She was still fiddling with her phone, but now, she sighed. “Blake. I work for you. I’m not allowed to judge even if I were, you know, judging. Which I might be, but I’m not saying, see?”

  “That’s right. Somebody told me you were professional. Who was that? Oh, yeah. The mayor.”

  “So fire me. It’d be a blessing. I’m just saying.” At his grin, she said, “We’re both grumpy. You’re allowed to be. I’m not. So grump ahead, and I will pretend to be cheerful.”

  “I’m done,” he decided. “Complaining and meeting. Besides, it’s probably time for you to go do… whatever.”

  “Leave work? Nah. I live for you.” When he grinned again, because she’d just about jollied him out of his bad mood, she said more seriously, “I’ll type this up and update your calendar. And then—yeah, I’m out of here, if you’re OK.”

  “Go. And thanks.”

  She hesitated, though, for once, and he shot a look at her and realized that asking her to walk beside the lake in heels and a slightly too-tight skirt probably hadn’t been his best idea. She was looking sweaty and decidedly redhead-flushed. He sighed and said, “You’ve got me all guilty. Get out of here before I have to give you a bonus or something equally horrible to make up for it.”

  “Nope,” she said, back to brisk again. “I said the thing about you being a loser. I was being ironic, for the record. Plus grumpy.”

  “Got that. Head on back. See you in the morning.”

  He watched her pick her way over the uneven ground and felt another unwelcome stab of conscience and irritation. What the hell was going on with him? He didn’t do weather. Rain, sleet, or sun, you got the job done. He didn’t do moods, and he didn’t do doubt. Except that he was doing all of them right now. He’d gone through some life changes, sure, in the too-quick transition from NFL quarterback to full-time businessman, but uncertainty was part of the deal, and so was injury. And so was taking what came your way, dealing with it, and moving on.

  That was just about enough of that. He didn’t do introspection, either. Hell, most people would have doubted that he knew what the word meant.

  To his relief, he rounded the corner of the bluff path and saw Jerry Richards, head of security on the project, standing around with a couple other guys, all of them looking excited.

  He headed on over there. If you couldn’t do discipline, do distraction. Not a motto he’d be hanging on the wall, but it worked for now.

  “Hey,” he said, approaching the three men with SECURITY emblazoned in white on their black T-shirts. “What’s going on?”

  The other two looked at Jerry, who said, “Got a trespasser out there.” He hitched his belt up under his gut. “I’m on it. Headed down there right now to deal with it.”

  Blake took a look and saw the swimmer moving parallel to shore. Going fast, probably because it was freezing out there. This was the big security risk? North Idaho could be a little short on excitement at times. “Swimmer in the water, yeah,” he conceded. “But I don’t own the lake.”

  “Gym bag on the shore,” Jerry said. “Stuck it behind a rock there, see? Little bastards think they’re cute. I’ll run him off right now.”

  “Nah,” Blake said. “I’ll do it. It’ll do me good to kick some ass. Not literally, of course,” he figured he’d better add.

  “Hey, do what you gotta do,” Jerry said. “You’re the boss. Nobody’s going to say a damn thing.” He looked at his guys, who nodded hastily back, and Blake remembered the rumors he’d been hearing about his security chief’s methods and made a mental note. And gave a mental sigh. This project…

  Well, he’d wanted a challenge.

  Dakota was about thirty degrees cooler already. Literally. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She headed to shore, scrambled up the highest of the weathered gray rocks that lined the shoreline in the little cove, and bounced a couple times on her toes.

  She was just about to jump when she heard the “Hey!” from behind her. It startled her so much that she stubbed her toe, shrieked, fell, and hadn’t righted herself by the time she hit the water fifteen feet below with an enormous slapping sound.

  It was a belly-flop. No other way to describe it. She remembered why you didn’t do that, too. Because it hurt.

  She came back up to the surface spluttering, treaded water, and hauled air back into her lungs while trying to ignore the sting from her abused face and belly and, she would swear, her internal organs. She might not have had the breath to say “Asshole” out loud, but she thought it.

  She squinted toward shore and saw somebody. She couldn’t tell without her glasses, but she thought it was a guy, and he—she—might be wearing a black shirt.

  Jerry Richards, probably, excited about getting a chance to be official. What did he have, binoculars?

  Well, she’d figured it could happen. Whoever it was, they weren’t going anywhere, and the water was cold, so she swam back in and hauled herself back up the smaller rocks onto the shore. Not too close to him—it was a guy, she thought—but he headed right on over, unfortunately.

  She wasn’t sure she could pull off “cute,” now that she was faced with it. She’d never been blonde, she’d never been anything close to perky, and she’d never been good at flirting. This had probably been dumb. Good thing they were almost done with the job.

  Except that there was Evan. Oh, shoot. Evan. Who needed every day of the job. Heck, she needed every day of the job. Irresponsible, that’s what this idea had been. However irresistible it had seemed and however rebellious she’d felt.

  It wasn’t Jerry. That much, she could tell as he got closer. It was somebody a whole lot slimmer. Tall, check. Short dark hair, check. Black shirt, check. But no gut, and she thought there was some darkness around the jaw that wasn’t quite a beard. Another security guy. She could be cute enough for him. Maybe. What would he care, really, what she did?

  “Hi,” she said as he approached. “Next time maybe don’t yell right when I’m jumping.” Taking the initiative. Projecting confidence. She was better at that than “cute.”

  “Hell of a graceful landing,” he agreed, and glasses or no, she could see the flash of white teeth through the dark stubble just fine. Also that he had a pair of shoulders to die for, and some
very nice arms in that T-shirt. Not to mention long legs in dusty jeans and work boots, and about six foot three of lean muscle. Nobody she knew, because she’d have noticed him. She might not be able to see him, exactly, but she could see enough.

  “If you’re security,” she said, “I was just going.”

  “I’m not security. And I hope that’s a lie that you were just going, because that looked real fun.”

  He had a Southern drawl she’d surely never heard in Wild Horse. Slow as molasses, and just that thick and sweet. Ah hope thass a lah that you were juss goin’. “Let me guess,” she said, feeling a sneaky little surge of excitement. “You’re out here to do wrong. Sign says ‘No Trespassing,’ and you’ve been given the big lecture, but you’re not worried, because you’re a badass like that.”

  Some more grin. “Could be. Is that water deep enough to be safe? We’re both too pretty to get ourselves paralyzed.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she assured him. “Best spot on the lake for it. No place else has rocks like this or a pool this deep. Which means, of course, that the Man comes and fences it off and tells you that you can’t use it anymore, even if you’re working out here. Gotta love capitalism, and this is about the worst.”

  He gazed into the distance and scratched thoughtfully at his cheek. “Bad place to work, you think? Huh.”