by Regina Kyle
“Look, your brother and I are hanging out. Having fun. Neither one of us wants anything complicated.”
Devin’s heart cracked a little more with each word. Damn, she’d really been starting to fall for the guy. Served her right for trusting someone. Even someone as basically decent as Gabe. Because in the end, everyone left.
Everyone.
She fought the urge to lash out, not at him but at her own stupidity. For one brief, insane moment she’d forgotten the lyrics inscribed on her wrist. She looked down at them, the script blurring.
Not afraid to walk this world alone.
“Are you sure?” Holly’s voice, tinged with worry, broke through the haze.
“Is a whiskey sour sour?” Devin unfolded her arms and rested them on the table. “You okay with this?”
“Do I have a choice?” Holly shrugged. “Seriously, the last time I checked you’re both over eighteen. Free to do what you want. I admit I’m surprised, but I can’t say I’m opposed.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Holly reached across the table and covered Devin’s hand with her own. “I love you both. You know that. I just don’t want either one of you to get your heart broken.”
Too late for that.
Devin’s cell chimed and she grabbed it from her purse. She swiped the screen and saw a text had come through.
“Gabe?” Holly arched a brow over the rim of her cup.
“Mmm-hmm.” Devin tapped the screen and the message flashed across.
“He’s interrupting our girl talk.” A frown creased Holly’s forehead. “What does he want?”
Devin started to read, her lips moving silently.
Sorry our plans for today got scratched. Make it up to you? Dinner. My place. 8:00. Wear those tall, black boots. I’m dying to—
“Hey!” Devin glared at Holly, who was clutching the stolen phone in one traitorous hand.
“Nothing complicated, huh?” Holly looked down at the screen and read aloud. “Dying to fuck you in them? Sounds pretty complicated to me.”
“Give it back.” Devin flexed her fingers, ready to snatch the damned thing out of her friend’s grasp.
“My brother’s a regular Lord Byron.” Holly shuddered and handed the phone over.
Devin tossed it into her purse. “That’s what you get for reading a private text.”
“Point taken.” Holly raised her arms in surrender. “Are you working tonight?”
“No.” Devin drained her coffee. “But I’m not having dinner with Gabe.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t want your brother in pieces, do you?” Devin set her empty cup down on the table with a hollow thunk. “Because if I see him tonight, I’m going to rip him a new one.”
“One thing marriage to Nick has taught me is that communication is key.” Holly took Devin’s hand in hers again and squeezed. “Go. Talk to him.”
“I’m more of a doer than a talker.”
“If my brother wasn’t totally honest with you about Kara—”
“He wasn’t.” Devin wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and chucked it into the garbage can behind her, her appetite suddenly nonexistent.
“—then he must have had a good reason.”
“I can’t imagine what.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Devin groaned, knowing what was coming next.
“Ask him.”
* * *
THE DOORBELL RANG just as Gabe was about to start making the béchamel sauce for his mother’s famous chicken fettuccini Alfredo. He checked the clock above the professional-grade stove.
Seven thirty. Devin was early. Hopefully that meant she was as eager to see him as he was to see her.
“Be right there.”
He put the heavy cream, butter and parmesan cheese back in the side-by-side stainless steel fridge, gave the counter a quick wipe down and headed for the door.
“You’re early,” he said as he flung it open to find her standing there in typical Devin attire—a purple crop top, black leather miniskirt and hot pink combat boots that had him straining against his zipper in seconds. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“You might be when you hear what I’ve got to say.” She flounced past him, her purse swinging from one shoulder and almost hitting him in the ass.
So much for being happy to see him.
“Okay.” He followed her into the living room. “Let’s talk.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you proposed to Kara?”
His stomach plummeted. She sure as hell didn’t waste any time getting to the point.
“Let me guess. Holly let it slip?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” She planted herself in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.
Gabe rubbed a hand over his chin. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important.”
“Wasn’t important?” Devin held her arms stiffly at her sides, clenching her hands into tight little balls. “You asked her to spend the rest of her life with you, for Christ’s sake.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Don’t you mean kissing me was the mistake?”
“No.” He crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders, grateful she didn’t shrink away from him. “Kissing you was the best damn decision I ever made.”
“Just answer one question.”
“Anything.”
“When?” She stared at him, her mouth set, her gaze unwavering.
“When what?” he asked uncertainly.
“When did you propose to her?” She tilted her chin defiantly. “Was it the night you found me and Freddie in the park?”
Shit. She wasn’t going to like his answer. But he wasn’t going to lie to her. Not after he’d all but forced her to open up to him. “Yes.”
“I knew it.” She shook his hands off and stepped back, crossing her arms. “I’m your fucking rebound girl. Sloppy seconds.”
“That’s not true.” He moved toward her but she held him off with an outstretched palm.
“What else do you call the girl you hooked up with mere hours after your would-be fiancée dumped your sorry ass?”
“Look, I admit that first kiss was...” A shudder ran through him at the memory of how she’d felt in his arms that night, her tongue dueling with his, the delicious friction of her thigh moving against his hard-on. “Impulsive. I was trying to prove something, mostly to myself. But only at the start.”
“Wait, don’t tell me.” Sarcasm hung from her words like icicles. “The minute your lips met mine birds sang, the earth moved and the angels wept.”
“That’s not the half of it.” He took another step toward her and was relieved when this time she didn’t fend him off. “That kiss was the beginning of my end. You destroyed me, sweetheart. I couldn’t get you out of my head. If you hadn’t walked into my office that day, it was only a matter of time before I came looking for you.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“It’s called trust. Remember how I said I’d never try to hurt you? And that if I did, I’d do everything in my power to make it right?” One more step and he was able to reach out and take her small, soft hands in his larger ones. Her fingers were surprisingly cold, and he pressed them together and rubbed them for warmth. “This is me. Doing everything in my power to make it right.”
He inclined his head toward the mahogany leather sectional against the wall. “Please. Sit down. Let me explain.”
Her eyes narrowed and she pulled her hands away.
“Okay.” She stalked over to the sofa and sat, crossing her long, bare legs in a slow, sultry way that made his cock twitch. “Explain.”
He took a deep breath, willing his uncooperative dick to behave, and sat next to her. Close enough for him to smell her almond shampoo, but not so close that they were touching. That would be like pouring gasoline on a forest fire, and he needed to be operating on all cylinders if he was going to get through this in
one piece—with Devin still speaking to him when he was done. “I should have told you about Kara. But I knew the minute—the second—I kissed you that she was all wrong for me.”
“You needed a kiss to figure that out?” Devin rolled her eyes. “I could tell just from watching her work the room at the pub crawl.”
“What can I say?” In a move he’d been practicing since high school, he eased an arm over the back of the couch. “I’m not as people-savvy as you. But I’m smart enough to realize there was no way I could be right about her and kiss you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.”
The hand on the back of the sofa dropped down to the nape of her neck, his fingers working through her thick dark hair to caress the skin underneath. He dipped his head, inching toward her.
Her cornflower eyes darkened to a midnight blue as his lips crushed hers. After a brief hesitation, she opened her mouth in welcome and he breathed her in, wanting to inhale her essence, taste every soft, sweet inch of her, indulge in the feel of her lush curves molded to his body.
His tongue circled hers greedily while his free hand snaked around her waist, drawing her closer. A moan erupted from deep in her throat and she collapsed against his chest, surrendering. Desire coursed through his veins and he wanted to pound his chest and roar like some caveman laying claim to his woman.
His woman.
As a warm tingle spread through his body, his head recognized what his heart had known since their first night together.
He was in love with Devin.
He raised his head to stare at her, longing to tell her but knowing it was way too soon. Pushing her too hard, too fast would only make her bolt. Glassy eyes, drunk with passion, met his and his chest swelled with the knowledge that he’d put that look there.
“Damn you,” she whispered, pulling his head back down for more.
This time the kiss was slower, sweeter, like a welcome home, a promise of things to come.
“See what I mean?” he asked when they broke apart again. “Definitely not the kiss of a man in love with another woman.”
“Point taken.” She tucked her legs under her and shifted so that her face nestled in the crook of his neck.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. “As long as we’re doing true confessions, there’s one more thing I should probably tell you.”
“You didn’t propose to anyone else, did you?” She trailed a hand down the buttons on his shirt.
“Hardly.” He chuckled. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I asked my inspector to track down some leads on Victor.”
“What kind of leads?” The hand on his chest stilled.
“His last known address. All the hospitals, group homes and residential facilities in the tristate area that take patients with autism.”
She sighed. “Been there, done that.”
“Murphy’s got connections you don’t. He can cast a wider net. Dig deeper.” And he would. Gabe had made sure of that when he’d called to tell him about Victor’s autism.
“Is that legal?” Devin lifted her head and looked at him. “Won’t you both get fired for misusing state resources or something?”
“He’s doing it off the clock.”
“For free?” Her voice started to rise. “How can I repay him?”
This was the part that was really going to piss her off. Gabe scraped a hand through his hair and charged ahead. “You don’t have to. I am.”
She tensed in his arms. “Why would you do that?”
“Because that’s what friends do. They help each other out.”
“Is that what we are?” She pursed her lips. “Friends?”
“I’d like to think so.” He kissed her nose. “Isn’t that how all good relationships start?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, it’s about time you found out.” He laid a hand over hers, still on his chest, needing her to feel the erratic beating of his heart, to understand without words how much she meant to him. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
It seemed like a lifetime went by before she answered.
“Okay.” She relaxed almost imperceptibly against him. “But I’m paying you back. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I am.”
“I’ll tell you how you can start.” With his free hand he cupped her face, caressing her cheek. “Come to the New York City Ballet fundraiser with me next week. Noelle’s performing.”
“That doesn’t sound like payback.”
“Have you ever been to one of those things? It can be torture.”
“I thought you liked the ballet.”
“I do. It’s the ballet patrons I can’t stand.”
“Won’t the rest of your family be there? You don’t need me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He slid his hand to her shoulder, one finger toying with the strap on her tank top. “I always need you.”
“I don’t have anything to wear...” She tipped her head to one side, all but begging him to explore the elegant column of her neck with his lips.
So he did, starting at the spider web tattoo behind her ear and traveling down to the crest of the phoenix’s head on her breast. “Wear whatever you want.”
“But the people at those things...”
“Are just people. Say. You’ll. Come.” He punctuated each word with a kiss on her shoulder, her neck and finally her jaw.
“Now who’s distracting who with sex?”
“Not distracting. Persuading.” He smiled against her skin. “Is it working?”
She moaned and grabbed his shirt in her fist. “Fuck, yes.”
“And you’ll go with me?”
She answered by climbing into his lap, taking his face in her hands and soul-kissing him. And it was a long time before he got around to making dinner.
13
“HEY, DEVIN.” MANNY POKED his head through the curtain that separated the waiting area of Ink the Heights from the work space. “Some guy’s up front with a package for you.”
“Tell him to leave it at the desk.” She didn’t look up from the thigh she was tattooing with an intricate, black-and-white maple tree, complete with roots and leaves, that ran from her client’s hip to just above her knee. “I’m busy.”
“No can do.” Manny clucked his tongue. “He says you need to sign for it.”
Devin glanced at the clock. Two fifteen. Shit. Less than five hours before she was supposed to meet Gabe at Lincoln Center, and she still had no idea what the fuck she was wearing. Leo had promised she could take off as soon as she finished with this client, but she couldn’t afford any interruptions if she wanted to be even halfway presentable for Gabe.
And his family.
And all the muckety-mucks who were certain to be at the benefit.
Shit squared. Maybe even cubed.
She must have been on a precoital high when she agreed to this date. She had no business being at a society event—would probably scare off all the potential donors with her tats and piercings. And her general disdain for the upper crust.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out. She could always use the tried-and-true headache excuse and hide in her apartment with a family-size bag of chips and season four of The Walking Dead on Netflix.
Except running and hiding wasn’t Devin’s style. She was an in-your-face kind of girl. She was also the kind of girl who kept her promises, and she’d promised both Gabe and Holly she’d be there.
“I can’t stop now.” She almost laughed out loud at the unintended double meaning of her words. She couldn’t stop in the middle of a complex tattoo, and she couldn’t stop the wheels that had been set in motion for tonight. She concentrated on outlining a particularly tricky branch. “Sign for me.”
“Tried that. Guy wouldn’t budge.”
“Fine.” Devin blew a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute. I’ve got to finish this section.”
Manny disappe
ared, and she worked for another few minutes before laying down her needle on her sterile tray and pressing a gauze pad over the freshly inked area. “Okay, Jazmin. Hold that in place and hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
Devin whipped off her gloves and tossed them into the garbage on her way out to the reception room.
“I hope you’re going to tell me I won the Publisher’s Clearing House grand prize,” she said as she burst through the curtain. “Because nothing short of that is worth the interruption.”
“Sorry, no.” The delivery man set a long, flat box on the counter and held out a tablet and stylus for her to sign. “But the package is from Bergdorf Goodman, if that’s any consolation.”
Devin paused midsignature. The super high-end clothing store was definitely not on her shopping radar. Or in her budget. “I didn’t order anything from there.”
The delivery dude took the tablet from her hands and checked it while the nosy buscavidas scattered around the reception area set aside their magazines to watch the unfolding drama.
“Says right here to deliver to Devin Padilla at Ink the Heights, 1443 St. Nicholas Avenue. That’s you, right?”
“Right.”
“Then sign.” He returned the tablet to her.
“But...”
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “There’s a note, too. Maybe that’ll explain everything.”
She scrawled her signature and fished a couple of ones out of the tip jar and handed them over, making a mental note to replace them later.
“Thanks.” He tucked the tablet under his arm and pocketed the money. With a mock salute for Devin and a nod to the waiting customers, he left.
She stared from the card in her hands to the package on the counter, not sure which to open first.
“Open the card,” a middle-aged woman with a full sleeve of tats on her right arm piped up over the June issue of Inked. “See who it’s from before you decide whether to accept it.”
“No way, open the box,” another woman disagreed. “Then if you like it you can keep it no matter who gave it to you.”
“I say don’t open either one,” a heavyset man on the other side of the room chimed in. “The whole thing’s probably a practical joke. Or a bomb. I read last week a guy in Queens got a letter laced with anthrax.”
