She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyebrows disappearing beneath the bangs that tumbled over her forehead. “Please.”
He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. The wicker creaked beneath his weight, but held. “Come on, Marti. We could have been spending the month lazing on a pristine beach in the Caribbean.”
“Colman Key has a pristine beach.” She turned back to the glass that was probably sterile from the thorough washing she was giving it. “And Grammer needs me here to help pack up the house.”
“Why?”
“She’s moving.” She snatched up a dish towel. Slapped it back down on the counter again. Set aside the glass. Picked it up again. “Isn’t it obvious? The packing cartons in the foyer were surely a clue.”
“Bothers you a little,” he said blandly. “The move.”
She shot him a look ripe with denial. Then her shoulders slumped. Her lips twitched. “Guess it shows.”
He was glad to see that, angry or not, Marti’s humor was still hard to keep down. “Some.”
She shook her head, and another lock of rich brown hair slipped free of the clasp to rest against the vulnerable curve of her slender neck. “Don’t make me smile, Devlin. Not now.”
His jaw tightened and he turned his gaze toward the plants growing in profusion outside the jalousie windows.
Hell. He stood and walked over behind her and closed his hand over the back of her neck. Felt her stiffen. Relax again. God, she smelled good.
“It’s a good smile,” he said. One with enough wattage to light a room. He brushed his thumb over her satiny nape and saw the way her lashes fluttered, drifting down. Then her muscles tensed again and she stepped away, snatching up the glass and the towel. She dried, polished, and put the glass in the cupboard.
She put as much space between them as she could, too, he noticed. Good. She wasn’t immune to him. That would make it easier. And easier was good. He didn’t have much time. He still had to be out of the country in a month, and he wanted his head screwed back on straight when he left. Which meant getting Marti out of it.
In Devlin’s experience, there was no more surefire way of getting a woman out of his thoughts than to take care of what nature gave them to do. It had been that way since he was fifteen. Nearly twenty-five years later, he’d had little reason to change his thinking. He’d finally given up on the idea that love and forever-after were in the cards for him. He was his father’s son, after all.
The thought was grim. So he watched Marti, focused only on her, and eventually he felt one of the claws of tension gripping him ease. She was twisting the towel between her hands, though, looking as tense as he felt. “Why is your grandmother moving?”
“Because my father is an idiot,” she said flatly.
He started to smile. “Get an opinion, cupcake.”
Her gaze cut to him and her chin rose. “Oh, I’ve opinions to spare, amazingly enough.” Her tone was breezy. Her smile was not.
He’d never intended to hurt Marti; he still didn’t. He also didn’t intend to repeat his father’s mistakes. He wasn’t immune to Marti’s aspirations, but there was no way he’d put himself into the same situation his father had all those years ago. “So, idiocy aside, why the move?”
He heard the huff of breath she exhaled from across the kitchen. “You’re not going to leave.”
It wasn’t a question. He slowly shook his head. “I told you I came here to see you.”
Her lips pressed together for a long moment. Her gaze drifted behind him, then turned back to him. “Devlin, did you—”
“Lord, please tell me there is some lemonade left.” A slender woman with riotous blond curls sailed into the kitchen, only to stop short and stare at him. Her head tilted for a moment, and he recognized the look of a person trying to place him. “Good grief, you’re Devlin Faulkner,” she said taking less time than most people did. “Marti, what is Devlin Faulkner doing in Grammer’s kitchen?” Her eyes widened and she turned to look at Marti. “You’ve been holding out on us, haven’t you! You’ve actually gotten a gig outside of fashionista central.”
Marti’s cheeks reddened. “Deanna, please. Devlin, this is my sister, Deanna.”
The woman’s head swiveled again, her smile wide and as engaging as her sister’s. “Well? I know there is no story interesting enough to bring you here to humble Colman Key. So, what gives? My little sister wrap you around her finger enough to give her a shot at the serious stuff? Thank God, because she’s been a positive mope around—”
“Deanna!” Marti grabbed the glass back from the cupboard and shoved it into her sister’s hand. “The lemonade is on the table. Devlin wants to see the beach.”
Deanna took the glass, looking surprised. Marti grabbed hold of Devlin’s arm and hurried him out the room and through the cool, dim hallway to the front door. She practically shoved him out the door, barely taking the time to snatch up a pair of rainbow-hued flip-flops lying on the floor. As soon as they were on the front porch, she let loose of his arm and shoved her hair more firmly up into the clip. Without looking at him, she hustled down the steps and marched across the street toward the vacant expanse that afforded Edith Colman an unfettered view of the ocean.
He watched the sway of Marti’s tight hips in her brief red shorts, telling himself that he was a bloody idiot. Deanna’s words had hit too damn close to the mark, as far as he was concerned. He would not let an ambitious young woman lead him around by the nose to get a career the way his father had done. No matter how much Devlin liked Marti, he wouldn’t put himself at risk of that.
He’d had to live with the results of what similar foolishness had done to his father. So it was time for Devlin to get the weight of control back in his hands. He was in control of his life, of his thoughts, of his emotions. And to prove it, he would work this damned preoccupation with Marti Colman out of his system the only way he knew how.
He followed her across the street, and caught up with her on the path through the low dunes. He slid his arm around her waist, hauling her up short. She sucked in her breath, going stiff as one of the wooden planks that made up the path beneath their feet.
“Let go of me,” she snarled. “Somebody will see.”
He didn’t care. He turned her around to face him, lifting her right up to his height. “Last time I did this, you put your legs around my waist,” he said.
Her face was red, her eyes hot. “You arrogant, insufferable bastard.”
“No, my father didn’t cut out on my mother until after I was born.” He could feel her breasts heaving against his chest. He would have put her down if he’d really believed she wanted to go anywhere, but the hands that had curled into his shirt, holding onto him with a death grip, said otherwise.
“I’m amazed you admit to something so human as possessing a mother and a father.”
“People say I’m just like my dad,” he said, knowing she could have no way of knowing what a sentence that was. “Come with me to the Carib, Marti. We’ve still got a few weeks.”
She gaped at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Why?”
Her mouth worked. “I—I’m helping my grandmother, for one thing!”
“I’ll hire someone to help her.”
“If we wanted to hire someone, the Colmans are perfectly capable of doing so! I’m spending time with my sisters.”
“They’ll still be your sisters next month when I have to go to Europe.”
Her slender jaw set. “No.”
“You’re tempted. I know you are.”
“To kick you where it counts,” she said agreeably.
He smiled faintly and shifted his grip on her until her knees were out of kneeing distance. Just to be safe.
She made a face. “Must be nice to be large and strong enough to physically throw your weight around.”
“If I put you down, you’ll run.”
“So? Nobody’s asking you to give chase. You’re the one who showed up here out o
f the clear blue sky. I still don’t understand why.”
“Then you weren’t listening.” He let her legs swing down until her feet touched the planks. Then he kissed her. Not nearly as long or as well as he wanted. But he could afford to be patient. For a while, anyway. Not that his body necessarily agreed, when he deliberately set her away from him and hauled in a harsh breath that was damnably embarrassing.
She looked shaken. Her hands trembled as she covered her mouth and stepped away. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why? Because you kissed me back? You haven’t forgotten the way it is between us. The chemistry has been there from that first day when I picked you up off the floor at the fashion shows. Come on, Marti, some things are meant to be, and—”
“What?”
“That night you wanted to make love, finally, you—”
“I was having a moment of insanity, I assure you.”
“—were upset about something.”
“I was,” she agreed readily. “Work. At Style, and you were very clear that you didn’t want to hear about my poor little problems at work. And why would you? Life at a fashion magazine is oh-so-beneath the vaunted career of Devlin Faulkner.”
“No. I didn’t want you in my bed just because you were upset about that weasel of an editor you had. I wanted you there because you wanted to be there. But you’d held me off for months already, and I knew you weren’t thinking straight—”
Her arms flew out. “Oh, that’s right. Of course little Marti Colman couldn’t be expected to make decisions for herself, to think straight. She’s just some stupid college kid!”
“College grad, now.”
Her lips pressed together. “I’m surprised you noticed, Devlin. Being so busy with Dr. Longlegs. I don’t recall seeing you at my commencement, and surely your celebrated presence would have caused its usual noticeable fuss. You didn’t waste any time at all replacing me. The only reason you’re here now is because I had the gall to end things before it suited you. Don’t try to convince me otherwise. And don’t think for one minute that pretty words like meant to be will make one bit of difference. I may be young, but I’m not gullible. And I won’t be man—” her voice went hoarse “—manipulated. Not by you. Not by anyone.”
Anger spewed from a hidden place inside him. “And I won’t be manipulated, either,” he said flatly. “Not by you. Not by anyone.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “As if anyone could manipulate you, Devlin. How could they? To be manipulated means you’d have to actually care about something! And we both know that the only thing you care about is your next story. The only reason you could possibly be here because of me is because I didn’t do what every other female you’ve ever set your sights on has done. I didn’t sleep with you.”
“Don’t exaggerate. You make me sound like I’m gunning for the sexual athlete hall of fame.”
Her sense of humor didn’t take the bait. She just eyed him, looking sad and much older than her years.
“I studied your work in school, Devlin. And every word you wrote about the injustices you’ve seen around the world has been written with honesty. Why can’t you apply that same honesty to your personal life for once? I didn’t sleep with you, and that bugs you, and that is the only reason why you are here. Not because you missed me, or because you were concerned about me, or because you loved me—”
“You don’t love me,” he countered, wondering how the hell they’d gotten so off-track. Love? The idea was enough to give him hives.
Her lips twisted. “Please.” She turned her back on him and he saw her slender shoulders lift and fall in a sigh large enough to carry the weight of the world. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, and I am no longer interested. Leave, Devlin. Go home. Go to the Caribbean. Go wherever. But just…go.”
He stared at her unyielding back. He thought about the other reason he was in Florida. He thought about the first time he’d seen Marti Colman and the lengths he’d gone to later in order to learn the identity of the pocket Venus he’d helped up from a paper-strewn floor amid neon lights, deafening music and half-naked runway models. Mostly he thought that if he didn’t get her out of his thoughts, he’d never write a sane word again in his life.
And that scared the living hell out of him.
“We’re not finished,” he said.
She didn’t reply. Didn’t turn around to face him.
And after a long, deafening silence, he finally did what she’d asked.
He left.
Chapter 3
“Another For Sale sign bites the dust.” Marti entered the Florida room and threw herself down on the wicker chaise beside her sisters. For several days, ever since Realtor Darby Keever delivered the first For Sale sign, the Colman sisters had been “conveniently” misplacing the darned things, hoping to prevent Grammer’s house from being sold before they could come up with an alternative plan. When they weren’t acting like serial sign killers, they were trying to keep any prospective buyers from falling in love with the house. Their methods had become rather…inventive.
“Where’d it go?” Deanna was lying prone on the floor.
“Big John’s chipper. The sign will be mulch for Grammer’s flowers next season.”
Lacey smiled.
Deanna threw her arms over her head. “It is hot. How could I forget how hot it gets here?” Without missing a beat, she changed subjects. “Is your letter to the editor in the Colman Courier or not?”
Marti didn’t touch the newspaper that she’d fished out of the sidewalk flowerbed before sending the For Sale sign to a slivered end. It sat on her lap. The sisters were taking a break from sorting while Grammer visited a neighbor. “Why isn’t Grammer upset about moving?”
“Because,” Lacey answered, the soul of logic, “all of our father’s arguments have merit. The house is too big for her, its upkeep is monstrous and whether or not we want to admit it, she’s not getting any younger.”
“The retirement center was awful,” Marti muttered. They’d visited it the day after they’d arrived. The day before Devlin had shown up. She shushed the sly voice that needlessly reminded her of his visit.
“The center was…fine, and we all know it. It’s just not what we want for Grammer. None of us are happy about this, pipsqueak,” Deanna said. “Which is why we’re trying to come up with an alternative. Are you gonna look for your letter in the paper or not?”
Marti shook her head and pushed the paper to the floor, then leaned back against the chaise. “Everything is changing around here. I don’t like it.”
“Is that why you wrote the editorial about Lou Cox’s proposal to replace the bridge?” Lacey asked. “Honey, everyone is entitled to their opinion, but even you have to admit that old narrow bridge is a hazard. It’s constantly going out, stranding people either on the key, or off it.”
“It’s been going out for ten years,” Marti defended.
“Twenty, I’ll bet,” Deanna inserted. She rolled over to her side and flattened out the newspaper, lazily turning pages. “There’s a sale on throat lozenges at Wallace’s. Maybe I’ll drop by and get some. My throat is killing me.”
“Have some tea and honey,” Lacey advised.
“Nobody before has felt such a need to change the bridge with something as outrageously expensive as what Mr. Cox is proposing,” Marti said. “It’s been fine all these years, so why don’t they just fix the mechanism of the bridge they do have? He’s up to something.”
“You’re just looking for a story,” Deanna murmured. Her long curls drifted over the edge of the newspaper as she read. “The letter’s here, by the way. Does this mean we can call you a newspaperman now?”
“Very funny,” Marti grumbled. “The way things are going these days, I’m never going to be a news-paperwoman.” She’d have to convince somebody that she could string two words together in a coherent story, first. And how could she do that when she wasn’t even sure herself? Her parents would be so pleased to know her c
ollege education had gone to such good use.
“Speaking of which, you never did spill what business you had with Devlin Faulkner,” Deanna commented.
Lacey looked over with interest at that. “Devlin Faulkner? What’s going on with Devlin Faulkner?”
Marti shrugged. “Nothing.”
Deanna snorted. “Right. A ‘nothing’ who has her dream job and came down here to see Marti in person.”
Lacey looked worried. “Why?”
“Good question. Baby sister has been acting weird ever since.”
“I have not.”
“So explain what he was doing here.” Deanna closed the paper, clearly more interested in pumping Marti for information. Again.
“Screwing with my head,” Marti finally said.
“Come on, Marti. If you didn’t get a job offer from him just say so. You don’t have to hide it from us.”
Marti looked over at Deanna. “You know, I love you both. I envy Lacey her brains, and wish I had half your nerve, Deanna. But maybe it is none of your business.”
“Lovely sentiment, if ridiculous. And it doesn’t answer the question,” Lacey said, very much in attorney mode.
“I’m not hiding anything.”
She saw the look her sisters exchanged.
“I’m not,” she insisted. “No job, nothing.” She sighed heavily. “Believe me.”
“What about Style? You interned there all through college.” Lacey swung her feet to the floor and looked expectantly at Marti.
Marti stared at her hands. “As far as my boss was concerned, my primary purpose was to keep the editorial staff supplied in lattés and his ex-wife’s messages from ever seeing the light of day. Mother arranged the internship there.”
“No way.” Deanna sat up at that.
“Way. She was chums in college with the publisher, apparently.”
To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy Page 13
