Shit. Shit. Shit. This can’t be happening.
I scramble for a way out of this, my mind desperately craving an escape plan. For years, I’ve pined for these arms. Cried myself to sleep with a suffocating pain in my heart because I missed him so much. I need to get out of here, and pronto, because I’m scared I’m not strong enough to resist temptation.
Sensing my panic, in that innate way Devin always had around me, he strengthens his arm around my waist. I look down, still avoiding eye contact, my gaze latching on the tattoo on his wrist.
My God. It’s really him.
He’s found me.
“Don’t run,” he whispers in my ear. “You can’t run from me again.” My internal panic meter cranks to the max
The client frowns. “What’s it to you?”
“I know her, and the show’s over.”
“The hell it is,” I exclaim, attempting to wriggle out of his arms. “I don’t get paid if I don’t finish the gig.”
“You’ll be paid,” Dev coolly replies, and the muscles in his arms bulge as he maintains a firm hold of my waist.
I keep my eyes pinned straight ahead, too afraid to look at him. His arm is broad and tanned with defined muscles and thick black hair, and if it’s any indication, Devin’s all man now. If I couldn’t resist him before, I sure as hell won’t be able to now. But I can’t let this happen. I haven’t suffered through the last few years to cave now. “Let me go.”
In a super quick move, he spins me around, sliding a white T-shirt down over my head. Then he pulls me into an organ-crushing hug. Like he can scarcely believe it’s me either. I inhale sharply, the mix of musk and pine filling my nostrils with nostalgia. He still smells the same, and he still feels like home, and that thought drives the first knife deep in my heart.
Might as well just kill me now.
It would be effortless to give in to this; to melt into his loving arms and never leave. His body is warm and solid against me, and images of him naked unhelpfully flood my mind. No guy has ever stacked up to Devin. Not even close. He feels good, he smells good, and he feels like home and safety and a host of beautiful things I’ve missed so much. I close my eyes, fighting tears and the urge to grab him and never let him go. We hold each other tighter, and my chest heaves with pent-up emotion. His muscles quiver underneath me, and I can tell he’s all twisted up on the inside too.
How did this happen? After all this time, how the hell did he find me?
Because this can’t be coincidence. I don’t believe in such things anymore.
“Morgan, what the hell is going on here?” the client asks, his black mood evident in his challenging tone.
I try to pull away, but Dev keeps me locked in place, fastening a hand to my back and pressing me into his chest, as if he’s afraid to let go of me. “Devin, please. I can hardly breathe,” I muffle into his shirt.
Reluctantly, he loosens his hold. “Look at me,” he whispers, blatantly ignoring his friend. “Please, baby doll, let me look at you.”
The tears spill softly over my cheeks as I raise my head slowly to lock eyes with the man I still love after all these years. I suck in a gasp. We stare at one another, and even though the music is blaring in the background, and the drone of many voices surrounds us, all I hear is silence. All I see is him. Nothing and no one else exists in this moment except Devin Robert Morgan.
Jesus. Devin’s always been drop dead gorgeous, but the man standing in front of me is a knockout. His good looks have matured, and he seems to fit his skin more comfortably. He’s even more gorgeous than he was growing up. His hair is shorter in the front now but still clipped at the sides, and it’s still glossy and jet-black. Those long, thick lashes I used to love blink in fast succession as he rakes his gaze over me. His sea-green eyes glisten with raw emotion as he peers deep into my eyes. A coating of dark hair covers his jawline, giving him a rugged, purely masculine look. His skin is smooth and unblemished, and he looks so damn good. I can’t help it. I reach up, running my fingers along the soft stubble on his cheeks, cupping his face.
“Morgan,” the client growls, slicing through our moment.
Devin glares at him, and I almost laugh at the all-too-familiar menacing scowl on his face. “Do me a favor, Rick, and just fuck off.”
Rick does not take too kindly to that. “This is my bachelor party, asshole, and I have every right to know why the fuck you stopped my fun.”
A muscle pops in Devin’s jaw. “How long have we known each other, Rick?” He gestures toward me. “Use your brain.”
Rick frowns, trading looks with the tall, dark-haired guy standing beside him. I catch his eye, and he winks.
“Danny?” I splutter.
He grins. “Hey, Ange. Long time no see.”
Rick startles. “Wait up? You’re Ange.” His eyes almost bug out of his head. “As in Angelina?”
A flash of red on the outskirts of our little group captures my attention. Cara is looking at me with a puzzled expression on her face.
Great. This is just what I need.
Rick cracks up laughing. “Oh my God. This is priceless.” He grins at Devin. “You’ve put your whole life on hold to find your childhood sweetheart, and she’s whoring herself out for a cheap buck?!” He slaps his leg, as if this is the funniest thing ever. He’s doubled over, almost pissing himself he’s laughing so much. If I gave a crap, I might feel offended. Predictably, Devin erupts, launching himself at the guy with his fists swinging.
A few other guys jump in, Danny included, and chaos ensues. I seize my opportunity, not stopping to talk myself out of it.
I race toward Cara—not easy to do in towering seven-inch stilettos—grabbing her urgently by the arm. “We need to get out of here.”
Cara is sharp as a tack, and we always pair up at gigs, so she trusts me, and vice versa. We flee into the night without any explanation asked for or given. I fling my bag in the back seat of my car and dive into the driver’s seat, yanking the killer shoes off my feet and slipping on my flats before cranking the engine. Cara has barely closed the door before I take off.
An hour later, we’re in a dingy club over on the other side of town, knocking back shots, and I’m counting the cost of my near disastrous encounter. The quarter bottle of vodka I knocked back before the gig has helped, and I’m already more than nicely buzzed, but my hands are still shaking like crazy, and my heart is beating way too fast. We’ve ditched the nasty stripper outfits for tight black dresses, and we’re occupying our usual corner booth, watching the idiots attempting to dance on the scuffed hardwood dance floor.
“So,” Cara says, dragging the word out. “You gonna explain what that was about back there.”
I throw back another shot, but I’m still not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. “Nope.”
She pouts, but I know my friend. She’s not giving up that easy. “Who was the hottie?”
“No one.”
She purses her lips, draining her shot. “Is that so.” She sends me a wicked grin. “So, you won’t mind if I take an Uber back to the club and drag him home to my bed.” I growl, like a legit deep-throated growl not heard since caveman times. She laughs. “Yeah, thought as much.”
“He’s off limits. Permanently.”
Her expression turns more serious. “Tell me what’s going on, Ro.” She cocks her head to the side. “If that’s even your real name.”
I bury my head in my hands, groaning. I’ve managed to keep my cover for almost five years, and, in one night, Devin is unraveling everything.
She leans across the table. “I’m your friend. You can tell me, and I promise I won’t breathe a word.” I lift my head, mortified when tears pool in my eyes. “Hey, you, don’t get upset.” Her expression softens as she reaches over, lacing her fingers through mine. “Who is that guy?”
I sniffle, removing my wallet from my
purse and extracting the dog-eared photo. I slide it to her. “His name is Devin Morgan, and I’ve been in love with him forever.” I spend the next hour telling her everything, and she listens attentively, never interrupting.
“Holy fuck, Ro, or do I call you Ange now?” she asks, after I’ve finished speaking and I’m hunched over the table, physically and mentally drained from reliving the sordid details of my past.
“Ro. I’m still Roberta. Angelina Ward died years ago.”
“Does Scott know all this?”
“Fuck no, and you can’t tell him.” I pierce her with pleading eyes.
“Chill. I already told you I’ll keep your confidence.”
I crick my neck from side to side, trying to loosen some of the tension. “I know. Sorry, I’m just really on edge right now.”
“Why’d you keep Scott around anyway? It’s not like either of you are faithful.” She lights up a cigarette, blowing smoke circles into the air.
I shrug. “Better the devil you know, I suppose. Besides, he pays half the rent, and he’s a worse alcoholic than me so he doesn’t care if I stumble in the door barely knowing my name,” I half-joke. Her pitiful look sours the vodka sloshing around in my stomach. “He’s low maintenance,” I add, feeling a need to justify myself, “and it’s better than living alone.” Not that it really makes much of a difference.
You can be surrounded by people and still be the loneliest creature in existence.
She props her elbows on the table, blowing smoke out her mouth with a pensive look on her face. “I think you should talk to him,” she says after a bit. “You didn’t see the look on his face when he first noticed you. I did. That Devin guy has missed you like crazy. Loves you like crazy. I’d bet any money on it.” She stubs out her ciggy, and her expression softens. “I get why you ran away, but maybe it’s time to put it behind you. You can’t still feel responsible.”
“I do,” I rush to confirm. “I am still responsible. I made bad choices and those choices led to someone I loved taking his own life. He doesn’t get a do-over, so why should I?”
She takes my hand in hers again. “For a smart girl, you sure are fucking dumb sometimes.”
I yank my hand away, irritated at her cutting remark. “I didn’t tell you so you could sit in judgment or lecture me.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts, chica. You’re purposely hiding away in this shithole with a shit for brains lowlife as a boyfriend and a dead-end job instead of facing facts. And you have options, girl. Options I would kill for. You don’t have to live this life. You choose to. Why the hell can’t you see you’re just making more bad choices?”
I toss the last shot down my throat, slamming the glass so hard on the table, it splits and cracks up one side. “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you the truth before.”
She grabs her wallet and slides out of the booth. “I love you, you idiot, but sometimes you are your own worst enemy.”
A couple hours later, I’m three sheets to the wind, blissfully plastered, and being towed out to the corridor leading to the bathrooms. The guy’s hand is warm but callused, dwarfing mine. He’s older but still hot with dirty blond hair, gray-blue eyes, and he wears his jeans well. Haven’t a clue what his name is. Didn’t stop to ask before I launched myself at him out on the dance floor. He didn’t complain, instantly shoving his tongue into my mouth and grinding his obvious arousal against me. After fifteen minutes of sweaty dry humping on the dance floor, I didn’t object when he suggested we take this someplace a little more private.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he exclaims, slamming my back against the wall as he kneads my tits through the thin material of my dress.
“And you’re not moving fast enough,” I taunt, flicking the button on his jeans.
“In a hurry to get off, sweetheart?”
“Stop talking,” I hiss, irritated by the rough cadence of his voice. He was much more attractive when he wasn’t speaking. Shoving my hand down the front of his boxers, I grab his erection, happy it’s long and thick in my hand.
He moans. “Fuck, yeah, baby. That feels good.” His hand creeps up my thigh, finding my lace thong, and he shoves it aside, plunging two fingers inside me. “Nice, baby. Real nice. Do you want Daddy’s cock now?”
Rolling my eyes, I ignore his pitiful attempt at dirty talk, tugging his jeans and boxers to the floor.
He rolls a condom on and then lifts my leg up and out to the side, ramming into me in one swift thrust. I ignore the brief sting of pain, wrapping my leg around his waist while steadying my other foot on the floor and flattening my back against the wall. My hands dig into his shoulders as he starts thrusting in and out. He doesn’t hold back, grunting and groaning as he fucks me hard, just how I like it. My head falls back, my eyes close, and I lose myself to the carnal act, ignoring the way my head is spinning and my empty stomach is slopping copious liters of vodka around.
Tiny tendrils of awareness seep into my semi-comatose state, and my eyes flick open. The corridor is dark and camera-less on purpose. You can bet we’re not the only fornicating couple to have hidden in the shadows for sex tonight. A form moves at the far end of the corridor, nearest the exit to the club, and, even in the dark, I can detect Devin’s shape. He’s not moving, he’s simply watching, his body strung tight.
Our eyes meet, and he stares at me with dark intensity. His jaw clenches but he’s in control. Watching. Waiting. Biding his time.
Well then.
I guess he didn’t get the memo earlier.
Time to make sure I drill the message home.
I shove the guy off me, clamping his mouth shut before he can protest. Wrapping my hand around his slippery cock, I stroke it in deliberate, hard, long caresses. “No speaking,” I command, aware my voice is slurring a little. Still keeping my hand over his mouth, I deliberately raise my voice, making sure I’m heard. “I’m going to turn around and I want you to fuck me hard from behind. I want you to fuck me so hard that I scream the place down and people rush in thinking you’re fucking killing me. I want you to fuck me until I’m so sore I can barely walk. I want you to fuck me like you wish you were able to fuck your wife.” Yeah, asshole, I saw the indent on your ring finger. “Put your hands, your fingers, where you want. It’s your lucky night, Daddy.”
I turn around, placing my palms flat on the wall as he yanks my dress up to my waist. Ripping my flimsy thong off, he scatters the torn strands on the filthy floor. I spread my legs, angling my head in Devin’s direction. “Do your worst, Daddy,” I say, staring only at Devin. “You can’t make me bleed any more than I already do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Devin
I know what she’s attempting to do. But if she thinks this’ll scare me off, she’s clearly forgotten how stubborn I can be. Forgotten how much I fucking love her. This isn’t my Ange. The sweet girl I grew up with would never have fucked some cheating sleazebag in the public corridor of a nasty joint like this. What the hell has happened to her? And is there any of the girl I knew still left?
Her defiant stare bores a hole in my skull as she watches me, her body jolting back and forth as the asshole thrusts into her over and over. My hands clench at my sides, and the urge to knock the shit out of that douche is strong, but I’ve learned to rein in my anger over the years. Ange isn’t the only one who’s changed. Still doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here and accept this crap.
I’ve seen enough.
Stalking forward, I keep my focus on her as I approach. Her eyes narrow, and a flash of panic sweeps across her face until she controls it. Now, her expression is orchestrated fury. I smirk as I grab the slime ball by the shoulders, yanking him back and away from her. Caught unaware, he stumbles, landing flat on his butt, his dick poking upright, stoking my anger a level higher. Before she can swing for me, I position myself in front of her, reaching behind to grip her waist. “Get dressed,” I snap ove
r my shoulder. “You’re leaving.”
“Screw off, Devin. You can’t come in here and do this.” Her speech is garbled, and she reeks of booze.
The perv climbs to his feet, holding his pants up with one hand. “You heard the lady. Get lost, asshole. This is nothing to do with you.”
I prod my finger in his chest, silently cautioning myself to keep it together. Pulling my badge out of my pocket, I flip it open, flashing it at him briefly. “That’s where you’re wrong. Unless you want me to arrest you for indecent exposure, public lewdness, and adultery, I’d suggest you get your cheating ass out of here in the next five seconds.”
I’ve never seen a dude move so fast in my life. He doesn’t even cast a glance in Ange’s direction before abandoning her to her fate.
“You’re a cop?” I hear the incredulity in her voice, and if it was any other time, I’d find humor in this situation. Thank fuck, I’m a cop, or else I’d never have found her after she fled the bachelor party. When I realized she’d run, I hightailed it to the local station and got the CCTV footage pulled. I was able to trace her movements and follow her here.
I turn around, my heart pounding in expectation. This woman still has the ability to rattle me to my core. She’s always had this indescribable hold over me, and that hasn’t changed. She’s fixed her dress and smoothed her hair behind her ears, but she still has that flushed just-got-fucked look on her face, and I’m pissed. I want to race after the douche and beat the shit out of him, but I resist the temptation. I’m not jeopardizing my career because of a guy like that. “Yes, and you’re lucky I’m not arresting you right now.”
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