by Tiffany Snow
I slipped on my shoes and combed my fingers through my hair. I approached Devon once I was dressed.
“Ready, darling?” Devon asked lightly, glancing at me. Reaching out, he briefly cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin.
“I-I guess,” I stammered. I hadn’t expected him and his sudden appearance set me off balance. But even so, the frisson of excitement he always made me feel fairly crackled along my skin like a shiver of static electricity. Though he held a gun on a man, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I must be crazy to be so obsessed with a man like him.
Dressed full-out in a gray suit so dark it was nearly black, he wore a white shirt and striped tie, the knot perfectly tied in a full Windsor. The single button on his coat was done precisely up and the crease of his pants looked like they’d just come from the dry cleaners. He had light-brown hair that could be blond in the right light, and blue eyes so light they were akin to ice. Energy and menace oozed from him, drawing me in like a moth to the flame that would ignite me.
My memory never did him justice.
“Then we’re off,” he said to me, though he was still looking at Scott. “And I’d take it quite personally if you were to follow or attempt to stop us, mate.”
I gulped at the threat, then grabbed my purse. Devon headed for the door, gun still in hand, and held it open for me.
“Ivy, wait,” Scott said, vaulting out of bed.
I paused.
“Don’t go with him,” he pleaded. “Stay. For your own sake.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m as dangerous to you as he is to me.”
Our gazes held for a long moment.
“I have to go,” I said. “Thank you. Be safe.” I hurried through the door before Scott could stop me.
We were in the elevator when Devon spoke. “I was wondering if you’d actually stay with him,” he said, almost conversationally, as though he didn’t care one way or the other.
“Did you want me to?” I asked stiffly. I wasn’t happy about him holding a gun to Scott’s head. Though my question was blunt, I doubted I’d get a straight answer. To my surprise though, I did.
“If I wanted you to stay with him, I wouldn’t have come for you.”
Our eyes met and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
“Let’s go,” he said, tucking his gun into the holster at his side and taking my hand in his.
I was tall, but Devon still loomed over me by several inches. He led me out into the darkness to the street where his Porsche was parked. After opening the passenger door and letting me settle inside, he got behind the wheel.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked as he pulled out and headed down the street. Devon never drove the speed limit and tonight was no exception.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“It’s not like you call or text me just to see how I’m doing,” I retorted. “For all I know, each time I see you could be the last.”
“That’s true, but not for the reason you think,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced my way. “If I die, no one will show up on your doorstep to inform you of my untimely demise.”
That shut me up. I hadn’t considered that, or maybe I hadn’t wanted to. I’d rather hate Devon for leaving me than consider the possibility that he could be dead.
“So where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Tonight to a hotel,” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror and making an abrupt left turn. “And you can tell me what’s happened, including the dismal extent to which the FBI agent failed to protect you.”
“I didn’t know it was his job to protect me,” I retorted, stung at his insinuation. “I thought it was yours.”
His gaze snapped to mine, but he didn’t reply. I saw him glance at the bandage on my arm and his jaw tightened. I had the inkling that I was becoming a liability for Devon, and I didn’t know how well he tolerated liabilities.
“I need my things from Scott’s house,” I said. “Take me there first.”
I wondered if he’d know where Scott lived, and somehow I wasn’t surprised to see that indeed, he did. He followed me to the door, and I didn’t ask how he got the door unlocked, just stepped past him when it swung open.
It didn’t take me long to pack and I hesitated when I saw the ten thousand dollars in the suitcase. Making a quick decision, I took out the money and left it sitting on the bedroom bureau. Scott’s car was utterly wrecked. Leaving the money seemed the least I could do as an apology.
Only minutes after we got there, we were leaving, Devon hauling my suitcase to his car and stowing it in the trunk. Across town, he pulled in to a really nice hotel lot and handed his keys to the valet. Sliding an arm around my waist, he guided me inside and to the elevators.
“Don’t you need to check in?” I asked, confused.
“I have a room,” he clarified, punching the button to call the car.
I stared at him and felt my face grow pale. “For how long?” I asked. How long had he been staying just miles from me?
His gaze was unflinching when he looked at me. “A week.”
I felt as though he’d slapped me. I was so stunned, I didn’t move when the elevator doors opened. Placing his hand on the small of my back, Devon had to guide me inside. The door slid shut.
“You’ve been here a week and didn’t tell me?” My voice sounded strangled.
“I’ve been working,” he said. “And I came to see you when I could.”
I didn’t speak as the doors opened again, and he guided me out and down the hall to a room. He unlocked the door, and we stepped inside.
My mind was spinning, trying to figure out what I was going to do with this information. I was hurt that he’d been here and hadn’t told me, hurt that he’d not been to see me more than the few hours he’d been in my bed the other night. And I didn’t want to hurt, so I channeled it into anger.
“I’m so glad you could spare some time,” I said, uncaring at the bitterness in my voice. “I’m sure it was hard to squeeze me in.”
Devon pulled the drapes closed, then discarded his jacket on a nearby chair before replying. “I told you what you were getting when I agreed to continue our relationship,” he said evenly. “I promised you nothing. You have no cause to be upset.”
He was right, which hurt even more and just made me angrier. I hadn’t counted on how his lack of emotional attachment to me was going to hurt. I’d been deluding myself into thinking that I was okay with just a physical relationship with Devon. Really, I’d been hoping if I waited it out, he’d grow to care more about me.
I’d been very, very wrong.
“Fine,” I said, trying to take all the emotion out of my voice.
Devon was watching me, his hands in his pockets. His tie was still knotted and he hadn’t yet removed his gun or holster.
“What happened?” he said. “The apartment is trashed.”
“Clive happened,” I replied, then I told him about Clive showing up in my car, how I’d been afraid to go home and called Scott instead.
“Why not Logan?” he interrupted. “Why call the FBI agent?”
“Logan and I aren’t exactly speaking right now,” I confessed. “Plus, I didn’t want to put him in danger.”
“You moved out and now he’s not speaking to you?” Devon asked, his eyebrows climbing.
“Pretty much.”
“What an arse,” he groused. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“I would’ve told you sooner, had you asked,” I said.
Devon silently studied me and I wished more than anything that I could see inside his head, but his thoughts and emotions were an indiscernible puzzle to me.
“Then what happened?” he asked, drawing me back to my story.
I told him about returning to his apartment and finding it trashed, how Scott had taken me with him, and how I’d picked Clive from their photographs.
“But Clive found us,” I said. “He cau
sed Scott to wreck the car, then . . . he shot me.”
Devon took a few steps toward where I sat on the bed until he stood in front of me. I tipped my head back to look at him. Reaching out, he gently brushed the back of his knuckles along my cheek.
“What’s going to happen, Devon?” I asked. “I have nowhere to go and . . . I’m afraid.”
A pained expression crossed his face before he replied. “You’ll stay with me for now,” he said. “Until I sort it.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to mine. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me.”
His touch was comforting, easing my tense muscles and relaxing my stiff posture. Devon would keep me safe, and I’d get to be with him. I shouldn’t want to, not after realizing that this relationship with him wasn’t good for me the way a normal, healthy relationship should be. But I couldn’t help it. I was an addict and he was my drug of choice.
To my dismay, there was a knock on the door and Devon pulled away.
“Who could that be?” I asked.
“The good doctor, of course,” he said, pulling open the door.
Doctor?
A man walked in who looked vaguely familiar. He was carrying a leather satchel.
“Ivy, this is Jensen,” Devon said. The man nodded politely to me. “He’s a doctor and I’d like him to take a look at your injury.”
Jensen was about a foot shorter than Devon and older, perhaps mid-fifties. He had dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. He was dressed in slacks and a plain white shirt.
“Um, okay,” I said, unsure as to what else I could do.
“We’re just going to take a look at this then,” Jensen said, motioning for me to sit on the couch. He took the seat next to me and carefully rolled up my sleeve before removing the bandage.
It took me a few minutes before I realized where I’d seen him.
“I know you,” I said suddenly. “You were there when I was sick. At Devon’s.” I remembered he’d had needles and had injected me with something.
Although I’d addressed Jensen, it was Devon who answered. “He gave you steroids and stimulants to try and help your body fight off the virus.”
“How do you know each other?” I asked, turning back to Jensen. “Do you work for—”
“We met a while back,” Devon interrupted. “Jensen helped me out and I did him a favor in return.”
I’d been about to ask if Jensen worked for the Shadow, too, but caught the warning look Devon shot me, so I just nodded.
“The stitches look good,” Jensen said, placing a new bandage on me. He dug in his bag and then gave me two bottles of pills. “This is for pain and discomfort, but you can switch to ibuprofen if the pain isn’t too bad. This bottle is an antibiotic to ward off infection. Take it for ten days.”
He smiled again before closing up his bag and retreating for the door. Devon followed him and they had a low conversation that I couldn’t make out, then Jensen left.
Getting up from the couch, I went to the bed as Devon closed and locked the door.
“You need to get some rest,” he said, turning away and unknotting his tie.
“Are you going to sleep, too?” I asked, scooting back on the bed.
“Eventually.”
He wasn’t looking at me and seemed to have dismissed me entirely as he removed his holster.
He cared enough to have a doctor come by a hotel, but didn’t appear to want to coddle me. It was a little strange, the distance I felt him putting between us. I didn’t know why, but I could guess well enough. My dreaded suspicions about what would happen if I became a tedious inconvenience to Devon—if my drawbacks outweighed my benefits—had come true. And there wasn’t sex good enough to draw him back to me once he’d made up his mind.
Well then, so be it. It was what it was and nothing I said was going to change it. Besides, I had a little pride left—although that was one thing Devon could strip me of so easily. I wasn’t going to beg again. I’d begged for this relationship, and look what it had gotten me.
I shucked my jeans but left on Scott’s shirt, then climbed underneath the covers. By now, Devon had stripped down to his slacks. I rested my head on the pillow and admired the view of his naked back and chest, dotted with bullet wound scars and a couple of knife slices that were thin, white lines. His muscles were even more well defined than Scott’s and the veins in his arms stood out in stark relief underneath his skin.
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
I jerked my gaze from his washboard abs up to his face. He was staring at my chest.
“What?” I asked, glancing down. Did I have something on me?
“You’re not wearing his clothes to bed with me,” he said flatly. “Take it off.”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “No.” Scott had been good to me. I felt safe with him. Wearing his shirt was almost like holding a teddy bear or something. It comforted me.
Devon stepped closer. “I said, take it off.”
“What do you care if I wear his clothes?” I asked. “I don’t have to do what you tell me to.” My temper was flaring now and I glared at him.
The air between us fairly crackled with energy. Our eyes were locked together and I could tell by his tightly coiled muscles that he was angry. Not that I cared. He’d use and discard me, and then what would I have? Nothing and no one. Why should I let that happen?
“Oh yes, you do,” he growled. He stood right next to the bed, almost close enough for me to touch.
I could smell him, his warm scent that was spice and musk and danger all rolled into one. In spite of myself, I could feel the flesh between my thighs begin to ache, pulsing with a familiar need.
“Make me.”
He sprang before I could react, his hands catching hold of my waist and pushing me flat onto my back. He was on his knees, his body caging me from above. Before I could spit a retort at him, he was kissing me, and I forgot what I was going to say. His tongue pushed between my lips, demanding a response.
I hated and loved him in equal measure—I hated that he could bend me to his will, but I loved him for it, too. It confused me, so I shoved my emotions aside and turned off my brain.
I kissed him back with equal urgency, my fingers buried in his hair. He jerked the shirt open to bare my breasts, buttons flying off, then slid down to take a nipple in his mouth. I moaned in response, the wet heat of his tongue against my skin sending a bolt of pure pleasure through me, but then suddenly he pulled back.
Befuddled and aroused, I watched him push himself off the bed. His gaze was hungry and I felt it like an invisible touch on my skin, but then he abruptly turned away.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you stop?”
“You’ve been hurt and terrorized,” he said curtly. “You should be lobbing sharp objects at my head, not kissing me.” He shoved a hand through his hair, then went to the table in the corner where a half-empty bottle of gin sat. He poured a healthy shot into a glass and tossed it back in one swallow.
I watched him. Devon ran so hot and cold on me from one minute to the next, though I didn’t think it was a bad thing, not really. It might mean he was feeling more for me than responsibility and attraction. But a big part of our relationship was sex, and tonight I wanted that connection with him. I needed it.
After getting up, I crossed to him. He was unscrewing the gin bottle to pour himself another drink when I took it from him. Setting it back on the table, I said, “Well, I’m currently all out of sharp, pointy things.”
His lips twitched and I took that as a good sign. Stepping close to him, I twined my arms around his waist, sighing contentedly at the feel of his skin against mine. It felt so right, even more so when his arms slid around me to pull me closer. His hand inched up underneath my hair to cup the back of my neck.
His heart beat strong in his chest, the dull thud reverberating into me. I tilted my head back to look at him. When our eyes
met, I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I was glad to see him in spite of our argument.
“Impossible, silly girl,” he murmured, but his eyes were kind and his smile soft.
“Come back to bed,” I implored. “I’ve missed you. I need you.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked. “Even after Clive?”
“I don’t give a damn about Clive,” I said. “And I’m not about to let him ruin our time together. Now come. Make love to me. Don’t make me ask again.”
I took his hand and pulled him toward the bed, backing up as he followed me. He still seemed somewhat reluctant, but I saw his eyes tracing a path down my body and knew I’d won this round.
The backs of my knees hit the bed and I sat down, scooting backward as Devon climbed onto the mattress after me. His lips caught mine and I pulled him with me as I lay back against the soft pillows.
I wasn’t wearing any panties, and eagerly spread my legs when his hand slipped down my stomach. If I wasn’t beyond the point of embarrassment, I would have blushed at how wet I was. Instead, I just wanted him inside me. I gasped when his finger slid inside me, teasing my clit with gentle strokes as he pumped.
The restraint he’d shown earlier was gone as he kissed me with fierce abandon. I tore my mouth from his, sucking in air as his lips moved to my neck. Devon knew my body better than I did, bringing me to the edge and keeping me there. Keening sounds fell from my throat and I lifted my hips, seeking more friction, but he denied me.
“You were with the agent for two days,” he whispered in my ear. “Did he touch you?” Two fingers filled me and I moaned, but it still wasn’t enough.
“Tell me,” he said.
“N-no,” I gasped.
“Good,” he said. “Then I won’t have to kill him.”
I clutched at his shoulders, the muscles hard underneath my fingers. “Yes, I’d rather you not kill him,” I managed to say, trying to sound coherent even as his hand moved between my legs. “I like him.”
He growled a curse against my neck. “If you’re jealous, then you should have come back sooner,” I said. “Now stop talking already and kiss me.”
That achieved the desired result. In moments, he had shed his pants and was back. My eyes were glued to his cock, standing rigidly at attention. My mouth went dry at the sight. Devon was a large man, and his cock was proportionate. I thought he was probably larger than most men, not that I had a lot to compare it to. I’d only been with two men, if you didn’t count Jace, and I never counted Jace.
