by Naima Simone
“I can’t—”
“No problem, Ms. C,” another student rose from Cain’s team, her hand outstretched to Devon. “I’ll take over the questions. Besides,” she curled her lip in a mock sneer directed at the opposing side, “they need all the help they can get.”
The noise level in the room rose to deafening as everyone started tossing out smack talk. In a couple of minutes, though, Devon had confiscated a desk across from Cain’s adopted team and the trivia battle resumed.
“All right, Team It’s About to Go Down. For two hundred points... In the category of sports. Who ran the world’s first marathon?”
They answered correctly with Philippides, and the next forty-five minutes passed in a furious and often hilarious blur of questions, answers, cheers, taunts and laughter. As the Lord of the Rings fan, whose name he’d learned was DeAndrea, emitted a battle cry that would’ve made William Wallace envious, Cain realized with more than a little astonishment that he was having fun.
When was the last time he’d just enjoyed himself? When he laughed, relaxed and let go of the weight that had burdened his shoulders since—well, a long damn time.
It felt...good.
He glanced at Devon, who was clustered with her team, preparing for the next question. The kids gathered around her, throwing their arms around her shoulders with affection. They obviously loved her. Trusted her. What did they know that he didn’t? This side of her—openly friendly and caring and funny—he hadn’t glimpsed it since the garden. Not surprising given their recent history. But she gave that to these kids without reservation.
And Cain wanted it again. Craved it.
As if she sensed his regard, she lifted her head and met his gaze. Emerald eyes lit with humor. Pink flushing her cheekbones. Sensual lips curved in an easy smile. Thick hair that he dreamed of having tangled around him pulled back into a high ponytail.
She was beautiful.
Who was the real Devon Cole? This playful, warm woman? The manipulative, grasping social climber? The hurt daughter, horrified to the point of sickness at her father’s actions? The passionate, greedy lover who’d burned in his arms?
“Hey, cut it out!” the girl with the blue glasses shouted, jabbing a finger in his direction. “No sending Ms. Cole the kissy eyes. You’re the enemy!”
Devon’s face flamed, and Cain grinned at her obvious embarrassment.
“That’s her man, he can do whatever he wants,” DeAndrea countered. “And all’s fair in love and war.”
It was official. The girl not only had fantastic taste in fiction, she was now his best friend and ally.
Laughter exploded from the back of the room. At some point, a crowd of kids and adults had crowded in to witness the competition.
Ten minutes later, Trivia Titans ended with Team Come At Me Bro, Cain’s team, beating out Team It’s About to Go Down by one hundred points. He waited until the cheers and yells had died down before lifting his hands.
“In thanks for letting me join in and for Ms. Cole for inviting me down here, I’m treating everyone to a pizza party. The entire community center.”
The kids who hadn’t participated in the competition jumped to their feet, adding their shouts to the others. Several more minutes passed before Devon calmed them down and instructed them to meet their parents downstairs or get ready for the center’s van to carry them home.
As the kids filed out, they clapped their hands to his in high fives or bumped fists with him. A few hugged him, and his chest tightened at all the signs of acceptance.
When the door closed behind the last child, Devon turned to him, her hands clasped in front of her. The smile she’d worn for the last hour remained, but no longer reached her shuttered gaze. He instantly regretted the loss of that friendly, unguarded grin.
“Thank you for the pizza party, Cain. You didn’t have to do that.” She shook her head as she set about straightening the desks. “And I don’t think you realize what you signed up for. Those kids can eat.” She chuckled.
“I remember the hollow leg I had at that age. Especially for pizza. But no need to thank me. It’s the least I can do for the fun they gave me this evening. It’s...been a while,” he murmured, crossing the room and helping her rearrange the desks.
“What’s ‘a while’?” she asked.
He paused, glancing over at her, but she continued with her task, not meeting his eyes. Used to keeping his own council for so long, the words lodged in his throat. But, straightening, he waited until she paused as well and turned, locking gazes with him.
“Longer than I can remember,” he murmured.
She studied him, her scrutiny almost uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry for that, Cain,” she said, and he restrained his instinctive flinch at the compassion in her voice. “But I’m glad you could find it here. That the kids could give those moments to you.”
Not just the kids.
He locked down the words, but he couldn’t deny the truth of them.
Turning away from her—and himself—he resumed straightening the desks. But he couldn’t suppress his curiosity about her. About this side of her.
“When I walked in here, I expected you to pitch for a donation, not be the host to a trivia throwdown. Most women I know focus their energy on raising funds for an organization or sitting on its board, not getting their hands dirty. What are you doing here, Devon?”
“I work here.”
He paused, surprise shooting through him. “Volunteer, you mean?”
A ghost of a smile teased the corner of her mouth before she shook her head. “No, I mean I work here. Draw a paycheck. I’m the youth coordinator for the community center.”
Giving her his complete attention, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Why?”
“Why do I work here? Because this place is important to the community. It provides not only after-school care, but much needed services for children and senior citizens. The center is a safe place—”
“No.” He waved his hand through the air. “Why do you need to work here? You can’t convince me Gregory doesn’t provide for his own daughter.”
“I don’t need to—well, I take that back. Yes, I do. This is where I belong, where I’m useful and have a purpose. These kids don’t just need me, I need them, too. But a paycheck isn’t just about money. It’s insurance, security and stability. It’s independence. I earned this job on my own merit, and no one can take it away from me.” A shadow passed over her face, momentarily darkening her eyes. “At least not without a fight.”
“What are you saying?” he asked, unease and suspicion crowding into his mind. “Has your father threatened not to support you? To kick you out? To get you fired?”
Gregory Cole had gone to extreme and illegal lengths to obtain an advantageous match for his daughter. He knew the man had no moral compass.
She shrugged a shoulder and gave a short shake of her head before striding over to the large desk in the front of the room. “Everyone’s capable of anything under the right circumstance,” she tossed out, her voice nonchalant. But the tension transforming her normally graceful movements into stiff ones belied that tone.
What did that mean? Was she referring to her father...or him? Guilt swarmed inside him, buzzing, stinging.
But dammit, they weren’t friends. Weren’t allies.
The battle lines had been drawn between them when she and her father had extorted him. For the last few weeks, he’d been fighting for autonomy over his professional and personal life. No one had ever accused him of fighting dirty, but when it came to never again being that powerless boy, he would get down in the mud and roll around in it.
Yet, the urge to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, to apologize, lingered like a grimy aftertaste.
“Who are you, Devon?” he murmured, the question out before he realized it had even for
med in his head.
But he didn’t rescind it.
She stared at him, her expressive eyes unreadable. Then that same small smile, this one containing a touch of wistfulness, teased her mouth before dropping away. “You don’t really want to know the answer to that, Cain,” she replied softly.
Before he could demand clarification, she pulled open the desk drawer and removed her purse. “My dress is in my office. Just give me twenty minutes to change, and I’ll be ready to go.”
He nodded, quiet as he followed her from the classroom.
This woman was an enigma. A beautiful, seductive enigma. And while he’d always loved to solve puzzles, she was one he would be better off leaving a mystery.
Ten
Devon glanced at the ornate clock mounted on the foyer wall.
6:28.
Cain should be arriving any moment for another night out—another performance as the loving, happily engaged couple. Cupping her left hand, she brushed her fingertips over the gorgeous four-carat, princess cut diamond ring encircling her finger. Any woman would be delighted to receive it—including her. Not ostentatious, but elegant, with small, flower-shaped emeralds decorating the band and adding a touch of whimsy. Oh yes, it was a dream ring, and she would be a liar if she claimed the sight of it hadn’t squeezed her heart.
But in the next moment, a deep sadness had filled her.
Because the ring was a lie.
Another lie in a chain of them that slowly strangled her more and more each day. And each time she slipped it on her finger, the weight of it became heavier and heavier. A constant reminder that she was so enmeshed in this sordid mess that her father had created, she couldn’t inhale a breath that didn’t contain the acrid, bitter tang of deception.
And ever since Cain had visited the community center two weeks ago and revealed the man who existed beneath the cold, embittered executive, the act had become even harder to perpetrate. The truth had become more difficult to confine.
When he’d asked her who she really was... Her throat had ached with restraining a plea for him to see her. Take a hard look past his preconceptions and really see her. The need to inform him that he wasn’t the only victim of her father’s blackmail clawed at her. But she’d glanced around the empty classroom, envisioned how it’d appeared only minutes earlier, packed with excited kids safe from the dangerous lures of the streets, learning and having a ball.
And she’d remained silent.
Because confessing to Cain would’ve been for her sake alone. Being quiet was for the teens she loved, the staff who devoted their time and hearts, the community who depended on the center’s existence.
So she continued to play her role. Continued to participate in this charade of a romance that at times careened too dangerously close to feeling real.
She wouldn’t emerge from this unscathed. And that terrified her almost as much as losing the community center.
Her left hand curled into a fist, the lights from the foyer’s chandelier bouncing off the diamond.
Oh yes. Beautiful lies.
The doorbell chimed, snatching her from her morose thoughts. Swiping her damp palms down her thighs, she moved forward and unlocked the door. She didn’t need to glance through the video monitor; she expected only one person this evening.
Pulling open the door, she revealed Cain standing on the other side. His bright gaze met hers before dipping to the black high-waisted cocktail dress with the daring square neckline and roaming down to the stilettos with a delicate ankle strap. When his regard returned to her face, she sucked in a low breath at the heat flickering in those beautiful depths. The same warmth tingled her skin, swirled low in her belly...instigated a sweet, acute ache between her legs.
Her body had no shame when it came to this man.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Yet.
Her body already braced itself for the solicitous presses of his hand to the small of her back, the sensual cupping of the nape of her neck, the possessive curl of his arm around her waist. By the time he returned her home after these little outings, she resembled a noodle—wet and damn near limp with desire.
If she didn’t know for a fact that the man despised her, she would accuse him of diabolically torturing her with the sex he exuded like a pheromone.
“You look beautiful,” Cain said, the deep inflection a rough caress over her skin.
It wasn’t the first time he’d complimented her, but it never failed to leave her flustered and a bit disbelieving. Cain might not possess the reputation of a playboy, but previous to their “engagement,” he had been caught by photographers with women on his arm. Women who looked nothing like her. Tall, slender, sophisticated, worldly.
Not short, full-figured, a little naive. Especially when it came to this world he navigated with the precision and skill of a shark piloting through dark, predator-infested waters. She harbored zero doubts that if her father hadn’t manipulated and schemed, that meeting in Cain’s garden would’ve been their first and last. He wouldn’t have sought her out. Wouldn’t have kissed her as if she had become his air, food and shelter—everything he needed to survive.
More lies.
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning and picking up the coat she’d tossed over the chair. Before she could slide into it, Cain stepped forward and gently but firmly took the garment from her. He held it up, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “Thanks,” she repeated, tying the belt. “I’m ready.”
Nodding, he grasped her elbow and steered her out of the house. Minutes later, they pulled away from the curb and joined Back Bay’s Saturday night traffic. She stared out the window, lost in her thoughts, but soon realized they were headed in the opposite direction of downtown and the reception for the gallery opening. Her father had issued the invitation as one of his clients owned the art gallery. In other words, he wanted to flaunt his association with Cain like a national flag.
“Cain, unless this is an unusual shortcut, this isn’t the way to the reception.”
He glanced over at her, his gaze hooded. “We’re skipping it.”
She blinked. Stared at him. Or his sharp profile since he’d returned his attention to the road. “But...” she stuttered.
Oh, Dad isn’t going to like this.
As if he read her mind, Cain stated, “I told your father once before that just because he barks doesn’t mean I heel. I’ve attended several of the other events because they were beneficial to me. Tonight, he intends to prance me around the room like a show pony, and I’m not anyone’s stud. Besides,” he added, shooting another undecipherable look in her direction. “I made other plans.”
She didn’t ask what those plans were.
Jesus, his refusal to kowtow to her father shouldn’t be so damn hot. No man of her acquaintance had ever dared to defy Gregory Cole. Quite the opposite—they catered to him. Donald had pursued her just to get to her father. But Cain’s attitude? She would never have to worry if Gregory’s appeal was stronger than hers. Never have to fear his ulterior motives.
Ludicrous given their circumstances, but there was something...freeing in that knowledge. Freeing and just damn hot.
By the time she got herself together, Cain arrived at a home—if one could call a stately, historic mansion a home—she recognized.
“Your house?” She tore her gaze from the monolith of old Beacon Hill wealth to throw a confused glance at Cain. But he didn’t answer her. He shoved open his car door and rounded the hood to open hers. “Cain?” she pressed, sliding her palm across the one he extended toward her.
“Dinner, Devon,” he replied, drawing her from the vehicle and shutting the door behind her. “Trust me.”
Oh God no.
She realized the comment had been offhand, but it resounded in her head.
She wasn’t that far gone. To trust him would be t
o make herself vulnerable to him, and that would never happen.
As he guided her past the iron gate and up the walk and front steps, the cold, intimidating grandness of the place struck her again as it had the day of Barron Farrell’s funeral. White stone with large bay windows, lit sconces and turrets that reminded her of a castle, the postcolonial mansion overlooked the Public Garden like a silent sentinel.
“I can’t believe you grew up here,” she breathed. Yes, she sounded like an awed tourist, but so what. It wasn’t every day a person encountered something straight out of Game of Thrones. “This house is...wow. I heard someone mention—” okay, so it’d been her father “—that it’s been in your family for generations.”
“Yes, four generations of Farrells have dwelled in these hallowed halls,” he said, his voice so flat, so...careful around the obviously mocking words, that she jerked her head from the inspection of the iron flower boxes to study him. Nothing.
That’s what greeted her—nothing.
Not a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. Not one of his patented jaded smiles. Not a flicker of emotion as he stood under the mounted glass lamp next to the front door. Just a blank, impenetrable mask. Her stomach twisted with unease. She was missing something here. Something important...
“Over the years, each generation has added to or renovated it. Now it has six bedrooms and bathrooms, four powder rooms, ten fireplaces, an elevator, a rooftop heated pool and garden. There’s also a covered patio, three decks, library, media room complete with a home theater, a gym and wine cellar.” He rattled off the details and amenities matter-of-factly, impersonally.
“What did you add to it?” she whispered.
He dipped his head, meeting her gaze for the first time since they’d approached the house. “Nothing,” he stated, the blunt declaration inviting no questions.
Her heart thudded against her chest, and the same dark sense of dread that had swamped her in the library the night of their engagement party welled up, wrapping its fingers around her throat. Because before Cain turned from her to unlock the front door, she’d caught a bleakness in his eyes. The sight of it stole her breath, sent alarm pounding in her veins.
