It was as if she could feel his heart beating, and the rift in it, too. The pain of losing family. “Like being a soldier. My brother would say that. ‘My buddy.’ It wasn’t just a buddy, though. It was a brother.”
Blake was still looking at the lake, but she didn’t think he was seeing it. “That’s a whole different level, what he did. Putting his life on the line. But—yeah. That’s the deal, and I miss the hell out of it. They’re still my buddies, but it’s not the same.”
“And it’s wasn’t just about the money for you, either. Not just being a star.”
“Oh, the money’s nice. Sure it is. But you know—I’ve got money. I’m making more. It’s about the rest of it. Using your body that hard, emptying the tank all the way. That level of commitment… it’s not what your brother did, but it’s something special. Hard to find. I’ve had it since I was eight. I don’t have it anymore.”
She waited a few more seconds, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, she asked, “How long ago did it happen? Your injury?”
“Six months. Day after Thanksgiving. But—” He sat up straight. “Here I am whining, with nothing in the wide world to whine about. I was lucky for a long, long time, and I’m still lucky.”
“You’re not whining,” she said, but she sat up, too. “You’re explaining.”
“Nah, darlin’. I’m whining.” He stood up. “I’ll change and get back to work, let you get on with your day. If you work here over the weekend, go on and use anything you want. That’ll make me nothing but happy to think about. Watch TV, drink up my beer, use the hot tub, whatever. That thing feels good after a swim in the lake, tell you that. I’d have suggested it already, but I’m minding my manners. It gets a little intimate, maybe, sitting in those bubbles.”
He so clearly wanted to pull back, so she smiled and said, “Well, maybe I will,” got up herself, and picked up her towel. “Thanks for the swim, and the lunch. And thanks for Russell.”
She did finish Blake’s office that day. She didn’t wrap it up until after five, but he didn’t come back. Which was definitely for the best. She pulled off all the tape she could, then got her ladder and carefully hung his eagle exactly in the center of those bay windows. She hoped he’d see it before his trip, but if he didn’t, he’d see it afterwards. When she asked him where he wanted to hang the flower. And her shell.
The flutter she felt low in her belly was for the shell. It had to be. She’d make it be. Or if it wasn’t—well, a person didn’t have to act on every feeling they had. Good thing, or she’d be in big trouble by now.
And then she went home for dinner and Evan came by with Gracie, which made her life just a little bit more complicated. She couldn’t talk about Blake’s offer with Evan there. It would get too… awkward.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to. Russell brought it up himself.
“Orbison came to see me today,” he said. “Had a proposition for me.”
Evan froze, and then his eyes went to Dakota, and she dropped her gaze. And Evan was the one who asked, “Yeah?”
“Said he’s going to send me to some back doctor down in LA,” Russell said. “See if they can fix me. Surgery, maybe.”
“Why?” Evan said.
“Well,” Russell said slowly, “that’s kind of what I was wondering.”
They were both looking at Dakota now. “He told me about it,” she said. “He came out to the house today to talk to me.” She met both men’s gazes with what she hoped was steadiness. “He said that what happened to you was his responsibility, Dad, and that it was up to him to make it right. Isn’t that what he told you?”
“Of course it’s what he told me. What do you expect him to say? He wasn’t going to tell me any other part of it. That’s not what any dad wants to hear. You might not know how I feel about you, but you can bet he does. He’s not stupid.”
“Wait,” Evan said. And then he waited, clearly marshaling his thoughts before he said, “If he’s going to get your back fixed, Russell—well, that’s good, obviously. But what’s been happening out there at Orbison’s house? I knew I should be painting it instead.”
“You know,” Dakota said, “I’m turning thirty in a few months here. Last I checked, I was officially an adult.”
“Nobody’s saying you’re not,” Russell said. “We’re saying you don’t always know what’s in some guys’ heads. We do.”
“We sure know what’s in his,” Evan muttered. “Pretty obvious.”
“And he needs to spend, what? A hundred thousand dollars? Two hundred thousand? To buy me?” Dakota said in exasperation. “Sorry, guys, that’s stupid. He went out with a supermodel. He can get any woman he wants, and a whole lot cheaper than that.”
“Can’t get you,” Evan said.
“Thank you,” Dakota answered. “Because that’s exactly my point. I’m not for sale, and he’s a decent guy.”
“Since when?” Evan asked.
“Since now. Since he’s done this. Since I’ve gotten to know him better.”
“He hasn’t done a single thing,” Evan said. “He’s said he’ll do something. Promising’s cheap. Guy like that, he’s all about promising. All about that sweet talk.”
“Silver-tongued devil,” Russell said. “That’s what I thought at first, too. But I got to say, Evan—I’m not so sure. I wouldn’t have said he’d go back on his word. Not from what I saw. Sounded like he had good folks and all that. A man who’s got good folks, who tells you what his mom says—you don’t bring up your mom like that and then, bam, do the wrong thing. Not unless you’re an all-the-way bad guy, and he’s not that. Anyway, so what? If it doesn’t happen, I haven’t lost anything.”
“Just hope,” Dakota said.
“No,” Russ answered. “That’d be you. I just wait and see. Most things you hope for don’t happen, and most things you worry about don’t, either. Usually, life just bites you in the butt or hands you something better than you deserve with no warning at all. It’d be nice to think you get what you deserve, sure it would. Only problem is, it’s not true. Either way. I’ll wait and see which one this is, but I won’t sit back and wait and see about you.”
She sighed. “I’m fine, all right? I’m fine.” Smart enough to resist her impulses, for sure. Hadn’t she done just that today, and Monday, and… every time she’d been in Blake’s vicinity? “This isn’t some novel, and I’m not selling my virginity to Blake Orbison because my beloved grandmother needs surgery. I appreciate your protective impulses. You know I do. But I don’t need them this time.”
“You sure?” Evan asked. “I think you could get stupid. And Orbison isn’t looking to marry you.”
“How do you know?” Her pride was stung now, even though she’d told herself the same thing.
“Maybe because he was out with Beth Schaefer?” Evan suggested. “He met you. He went swimming with you all right. But who did he take out?”
Gracie started to fuss in her seat at Evan’s feet. “See,” Dakota said, “now you’ve upset both us girls. I get it, Evan. I always got it.”
He reached down, picked up his daughter, and cradled her in his arm. “Just so you do. Just so you remember it.”
“You’re way over the line,” she informed him. She was getting more than annoyed now. “If I wanted to do the wild thing with Blake, that wouldn’t be your business. Women can have recreational sex too, you know. It’s a thing. It’s the twenty-first century, even in Wild Horse.”
“Some women can,” he said. “You can’t.”
All right. Now she was mad. “Excuse me? I can’t? Did somebody die and make you my keeper?”
Evan’s ice-blue eyes were perfectly calm, and so was his face. Infuriatingly. “I didn’t say you couldn’t have sex. I said that if you had it with him, it wouldn’t be recreational.”
“And you know this how? Because you’re in my head? You are not in my head.”
“No. I know it because I know you. You’re romantic.”
She felt, she really fe
lt, as if the anger were going to blow straight out of her ears. She didn’t even know what to say. Yes, I can so have recreational sex, wasn’t the response she was going for, and neither was none of your business. Unfortunately, shut up wasn’t, either, though that was the one she was longing for right now.
Fortunately, Russell stepped in. “Evan’s not telling you what to do.”
“You think?” she muttered, and stabbed at her pasta, since stabbing Evan with her fork while he was holding Gracie was out of the question. He was eating again himself, looking about as emotional as a boulder.
“He’s just trying to tell you how men are,” Russell said. “Don’t get me wrong, Orbison’s a pretty good guy. Rich guy, though. Guy who’s used to getting what he wants.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I think I’m clued in on that.” And how. She should tell him that Blake had come right out and said it, except that it would only show that Evan was right. “If you’re going to LA, that’s the main thing. Let’s just focus on that, OK? You’ll focus on that, I’ll focus on that, and maybe even Evan will focus on that, once he gets himself out of big-brother mode, or dad mode, or whatever that’s supposed to be.”
“Just watch it,” Evan said. “And if you need to switch jobs, tell me.”
She sighed. “Thanks. I think I got it. I appreciate your concern. Now back off.”
Blake switched the garment bag and duffel to his left hand and stuck the key in the door with his right. He tried to turn the key, but it didn’t go anywhere.
Huh. Dakota had left the door unlocked? It was Wild Horse, but still. He pulled out the key, turned the knob, and stepped inside.
She’d left lights on downstairs, too. She wouldn’t have left the house unlocked and lit up, surely. She must still be here, even though it was six-thirty Monday night. But if she was, where was her truck?
His heart was pounding, which was annoying. Also stupid. His dinner meeting had canceled, he’d come home early, and she was still here. So what? It wasn’t like she was waiting for him. He hadn’t let her know he was coming back. He’d figured she’d be long gone.
“Dakota?” he called out, and got no answer. He headed upstairs, and his pulse rate went up a little more.
The lights were off in his bedroom, though, and he hit the switch and tried to ignore the depth of his disappointment. It was pointless. He’d already been through all this, and he’d made his decision. Dakota wasn’t the right woman. Look at her dream life: adventuring around the world. The exact opposite of the life plan he’d laid out for himself. He was already doing enough running around, and it was time to settle down anyway. If he was going to have that life, an adult life, he needed a home-loving woman, a settled woman who’d cure his restlessness. Somebody like Holly Samuels, the twenty-seven-year-old whom he’d been set up with last night in Chicago. A warm, pretty brunette with kind blue eyes and a good sense of humor, Holly worked for a children’s charity, and her parents donated to the symphony and the ballet. See? Perfect.
All right, not Holly, exactly, but somebody like that. She’d checked all the boxes, including the ones Beth Schaefer hadn’t: she was brunette, and she’d actually seemed to be attracted to him. He’d liked her, too. He’d liked her fine. She hadn’t been quite the right match—for one thing, he might actually have to go to the symphony and the ballet—but then, he was picky. He was getting warmer, though. He just had to keep working at it, and he’d get there. He hadn’t failed to hit a major life goal yet.
A relationship with Dakota, a woman who was all wrong for that life goal, would be nothing but a distraction and a waste of time, and he didn’t do distractions or waste time. As for anything else—that wasn’t going to work out well for her, and he might be arrogant, but he wasn’t an asshole. He hoped. So that was enough of that idea. Period. Case closed.
If he needed somebody to help him with that wild side—well, he knew how to get that, too. Random sex with a pretty stranger had lost its appeal quite a ways back—seemed a man actually could get too much of a good thing—but he wasn’t blind to the possibility. He just didn’t want it that much. Getting old, maybe. His testosterone levels dropping. That was a horrifying thought. It had better not be that.
His bedroom looked good, though. Really good. The walls were the same warm gray she’d painted his office, the trim a crisp white, and it looked clean and masculine, the way she’d promised.
And then there was the iris. She’d hung it in the window closest to the bed, next to the mirror. His flower, the ruffled petals opening to reveal that dark, secret heart. It was his, and it was here.
He did his usual lightning job of unpacking—anybody who’d been on the road as much as he’d been for the past twelve years knew how to pack and unpack—and changed into comfortable old Levi’s and a faded Devils T-shirt. He’d stick around tomorrow morning until Dakota showed up, he decided. Maybe she’d have suggestions about what else to do in his bedroom. Curtains. Things like that.
He headed barefoot down to the kitchen, where the light was on, opened a bottle of Laughing Dog IPA—Idaho did beer pretty well, that was one thing—and went out onto the deck. The slanting rays of the evening sun were shining through the trees and making the lake glow a rich blue, and it all looked great. He’d kick back, drink his beer, and look at it, and tomorrow, he’d do an extra-long workout that would take care of the urge to pace.
The sliding door was unlocked, too, and he was just suppressing a pang of irritation when he registered the noise. The sound of a running motor. He knew that sound.
He headed over to the nook where the hot tub sat, screened by a row of bamboo growing in pots. He went around the bamboo, and… whoa.
She didn’t even have the jets on. She was stretched out in the middle of the huge six-person hot tub, facing him. Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, and she had earbuds in her ears, the cord plugged into the phone sitting safely on the edge. Dark hair streaming down around her and floating on the water, skin like amber honey, curves like… like exactly what a man wanted to see when he came home after a long day.
She was naked, but that wasn’t the main thing. One hand was drifting lazily over a perfectly small, perfectly shaped erect brown nipple that was giving him heart palpitations. The other hand was…
Lord have mercy. Dakota Savage was giving herself what looked like some very nice slow, sweet pleasure in his hot tub. She looked terrific doing it, too. And there was nothing at all wrong with his testosterone levels.
She opened her eyes, and that was when everything went south.
He jumped, and so did she. She leaped up, scrambled to cover herself, and the cord of her earphones pulled her phone straight into the water.
She was yelping, yanking at the cord, going underwater and grabbing for her phone, and he was saying, “Oh. Sorry. Let me…” He skirted the hot tub to get closer and reached for the phone.
“What are you doing?” She was holding her drowned phone and backing away in the water, crouching down. “You weren’t supposed to be home!”
She didn’t seem to know what to do, so he said, “Here. Give me the phone. Let me see.”
“Get out,” she said. “I’m naked! Oh, my God. What did you see?”
“Sorry,” he said again. He decided it would be prudent not to answer that. “Give me the phone, and I’ll…” What? Give it the kiss of life? Too late. That phone was going to be fried. Kind of like his brain cells.
Her discarded painting clothes were on a chair, he saw now, together with a towel. “Tell you what,” he said, carefully looking beyond her. “Hand me the phone, I’ll get you a robe, and we’ll figure out what to do.”
“Could you please just go away?” she said, but she handed over the phone, then dropped her hands to cover herself.
“Right now,” he said. “Going. Bringing you a robe.”
He ran upstairs and found what he was looking for in the back of his closet, brought it down, and called out from the other side of the bamboo, “I’m sett
ing this right here. Come on inside when you’re ready. I’m checking about the phone.”
“You’d better,” he heard. “I can’t believe you stood there and looked at me. Oh, man. I can’t believe this.”
“I didn’t mean to. You just surprised me. I didn’t know you were here.”
“You were looking.”
“Well, yeah. For a second. I was about to leave, I swear.” A lie for which he’d probably be struck by lightning. There was no way he’d been about to leave.
He was still talking through the screen of bamboo, and now, her arm came around it and started groping on the ground. He picked up the robe and put it in her hand, and she whisked it around the corner. “I’m leaving now,” he told her.
“You keep saying that,” she said. “Except that you don’t go.”
He went.
Dakota didn’t want to take Blake’s robe. She didn’t even want to come out. But what was she going to do, cower in the hot tub all night? Dash through the house and out the front door like the world’s biggest drama queen? She hadn’t done anything wrong. So he’d seen her naked. And maybe… all right, she needed to face it. He’d probably seen just about everything. That couldn’t have shocked him, though. He was a big, big boy.
And—her phone. She wasn’t sure which thing was worse. No, she knew which thing was worse. And it wasn’t her phone.
She dried herself off hastily, pulled on the robe, yanked the sash tight, and grabbed her clothes. This whole thing had been one impulse leading to another, and it had been stupid. Story of her life.
Blake was in the living room, sitting on one of his gigantic too-many-cows-died-for-this leather couches, tapping at his laptop with a frown on his face. A single lamp cast a pool of light, but the rest of the room was lit only by the soft glow of the sun, sinking quickly behind the mountains. She was plainly able to see a rolled-up towel on the coffee table beside him, presumably shrouding the corpse of her phone.
Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1) Page 16
