by Tiffany Snow
“I can help, too,” Devon said quietly to me, getting to his feet. He’d discarded his jacket in the car, which was good because a full suit was way too overdressed for lunch at Gram’s. But even so, his slacks, dress shirt, and leather shoes probably cost more than the table we’d eaten on. He looked very out of place, but seemed at ease. An odd dichotomy.
“It’s okay,” I said to him. “Grams won’t approve of you clearing plates.”
“Logan is helping.” He sounded disgruntled as he cast a jaundiced glare at Logan’s retreating back.
“Yes, but Logan’s family. You’re a guest and you’re a man. No way will she let you help.” Grams was old-fashioned like that. “Just wait for me. We won’t be long.”
Grandpa was already heading back into the fields and I heard the slam of the screen door. I guessed he was done quizzing Devon, for the moment, at least.
After doing dishes, I found Devon sitting on the front porch swing. I sat down next to him. His arm was stretched along the back, but he moved it to my shoulders, drawing me closer to his side.
“Where’s Logan?” he asked.
“Grams has him cornered, giving him what-for about his love life and how he should settle down and stop being a tomcat.”
Devon laughed lightly. His fingers traced circles on my shoulder, bared by the sleeveless summer dress he’d bought me. His touch made me shiver, which he felt, because he traced a light path down my arm and back up.
“Do you think Clive will come tonight?” I asked.
“No. Too soon. Tomorrow night, perhaps.”
I nodded. Didn’t speak. The late afternoon was beautiful, the sunshine bright and cheery. The weather neither too warm nor too cold. Bees buzzed and I could hear birds singing. It was the perfect country spring day. Devon gently pushed the swing, causing us to sway slowly back and forth.
“Why don’t you come home?” he asked.
And suddenly, the day seemed a lot darker.
I swallowed before answering. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“You’ve told me things before,” he reminded me. I didn’t answer. “Is it because of Jace?” he prodded.
“Shh!” I quickly glanced to make sure Grams wasn’t around. “Don’t talk about it,” I told him in a low voice.
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because they don’t know.”
Devon’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You mean you’ve never told them what he did to you?”
I shook my head. “It was hard enough when my mom died. She was their only daughter. Then Jace and I came to live here, until he crashed his car and went to jail.”
“I see.”
And I knew he did. I’d been upfront with him about what Jace had done to me. Devon knew all my secrets. Almost. An image of the journal sheets with the vaccine formula flitted through my head. Why I was keeping them instead of destroying them, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I didn’t trust that Devon could keep me safe forever and someday, those sheets might be my only bargaining chip.
“Scott’s been texting me,” I confessed.
That got his attention. So much so that he stopped the swing.
“What has he been texting?”
“He wants to know where I am. Says the FBI is offering protective custody.” I paused. “That I don’t need you in order to be safe.”
Devon snorted. “The protective custody of the FBI will be like having a spotlight on you. And they never offer something for nothing. Did he say what they want?”
“All that I know about the virus and vaccine.”
I didn’t tell him that Scott had sent personal notes as well, wanting to know if I was all right, telling me he’d come get me if I wanted out of Devon’s shadow, that I should consider what Devon was getting from this and how I would be wise not to trust him. I hadn’t replied to much, other than to tell him I was okay, but he persisted in texting every few hours. He’d also found the money I left, and though I told him it was for his car, he just said he’d keep it for me and I could have it when I came back. If I came back.
At least Scott was a realist, I supposed.
“Did you text him back?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“You realize he’s one of those men who want to save you,” Devon said bluntly.
I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Some men love to be the knight in shining armor and a tragic female is irresistible to them.” He glanced at me. “One as beautiful as you, even more so.”
I didn’t answer. I’d already realized that what Scott felt for me was based on my unfortunate past and what he saw in my life now. And who was I kidding? My life was messed up. I had issues with a capital “I,” not the least of which were my feelings for Devon. Was it any wonder that Scott and Logan were constantly trying to “save” me? Until now—until Devon had stepped into my life—I hadn’t seen it.
“Is that why you like me?” I asked.
The corner of Devon’s mouth lifted. “I don’t see you as a tragic, fragile flower, darling. You’re much more of a steel magnolia to me.”
I liked that. I didn’t feel tragic or fragile, though I’d been blinded to the extent of how dysfunctional my relationships were with men before I’d met Devon. He treated me the way I thought a man should treat a woman, and it had opened my eyes.
To my relief, Devon seemed to be entirely at ease with my grandparents and being in a rambling farmhouse. Things didn’t get awkward again until after dinner when Grams started sorting out the sleeping situation.
“. . . and Logan, you can have Jace’s old room. Ivy, you have your room. And Devon, I can fix up the couch in the den for you,” she said, bustling around with an armful of sheets and blankets.
Wow. Okay, I really didn’t want to have Devon sleep on a couch. “Grams, Devon can share my room,” I said, even though I felt my face get hot. Devon was indeed the first man I’d ever brought home, besides Logan. This was a new situation for me.
She gave me a look. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Is there a ring on your finger that I missed? Honey, men don’t buy the cow if the milk’s for free. He’ll sleep on the couch.” She disappeared into the den.
Logan glanced at Devon. “I think Grams just cockblocked you . . . mate,” he smirked.
“And I’m pretty sure she called me a cow,” I mused.
Devon didn’t have a chance to reply before Grams returned. His only response was a slight twitching of his lips as he assured her that the couch was fine and wished everyone a good evening.
“He sure has pretty manners,” Grams said, staring at the closed door to the den.
“Manners are only skin-deep,” Logan retorted with more force than necessary. Grams gave him a look and he flushed. “I’m going to bed, too,” he said. “’Night.”
“’Night, Logan,” I replied. He hugged me and Grams, then headed upstairs.
“Your grandpa’s already sawin’ logs,” Grams said with a sigh. “I’d better join him. You let me know if you need anything, you hear?” She kissed me on the cheek and bustled off to bed.
I turned off the remaining lights, delaying the inevitable. I didn’t want to go upstairs, had avoided my room for the entire day. I debated sleeping on the couch in the TV room, but decided that then I’d have to answer uncomfortable questions from Grams, and I didn’t want to do that.
I climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling as though I was wading through quicksand. My room was at the far end of the hall, the closed door staring silently at me. I passed by Logan’s room, noticing it was dark underneath his door. He must already be in bed asleep.
My door creaked ever so slightly when I opened it, and I shuddered. That sound had been a foreboding one when I’d heard it in the dead of night. I broke out in a cold sweat, hesitating on the threshold.
Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath. Jace was dead. He would never hurt me again. But that thought didn’t ease the breakneck speed of my pulse. Stepping into the room
, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
And saw a man sitting on the bed.
CHAPTER SIX
I would have screamed, but in the next instant, a lamp flicked on and I saw it was Devon. I stood, staring at him in disbelief.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, my voice breathless. “You were just downstairs. I saw you go into the den.”
“The window,” he said, casually tipping his head toward the glass casement.
I stared. “You climbed up to my room?”
“How else was I to bypass Grams?”
Normally, I would have laughed, but my anxiety was still such that it was hard to clear my head. My eyes were drawn to the bed, then quickly skittered away. Avoiding it, I sat down at the small antique vanity my grandpa had painted white. The bench was padded pink velvet and I absently picked up the hairbrush. Drawing its bristles through my hair, I brushed the long strands until they gleamed.
I stopped thinking, instead becoming immersed in my nighttime ritual. I’d done the same things every night before bed when I’d lived here, until they were a compulsion. Opening my makeup case, I began doing my face, taking great care to get my eyeliner just right. The blush was a light dusting of pink on my cheeks, my eye shadow a blend of grays and deep blue. It wasn’t until I was tracing my lips with liner that Devon spoke.
“What are you doing, darling?” he asked.
I started at the sound of his voice. I’d forgotten he was even there. He was watching me with a bemused expression.
“Putting on my makeup,” I said. I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing.
“Why? You’re going to bed. You take off your makeup before going to bed, not put it on.”
Our gazes met in the mirror’s reflection. I gave a tentative shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“But why?”
I carefully used a brush to add lipstick to my lips. “It makes me feel better.”
“You don’t do this in St. Louis,” he said.
“No.”
“But you do here.”
I didn’t answer. I’d put a little too much on and now had to use a tissue to blot some of the color. There. Perfect. I turned around.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Beautiful,” he said. “But why don’t you take the makeup off, darling, and come to bed with me.”
I shook my head. “I like the makeup. It makes me feel clean and pretty. Nothing bad can happen to me if I’m wearing it.”
Devon stood and walked to me, then crouched down so our faces were even.
“I understand,” he said softly. “I really do. Come with me.”
He took my hand and I got to my feet. Drawing me to the bed, he sat me down on the edge. I was jittery with nerves, though not because of him. I always felt this way in here. Devon removed my shoes and his, then folded back the covers. He lay down and pulled my stiff body into his before tugging the blankets over us. His arms surrounded me and I could smell the scent of his cologne. It was something new in the room and I took a deep whiff, the aroma easing the knot of lead in my stomach.
“I remember the first man I ever killed in cold blood,” he said.
That got my attention. “Who was he?” I asked. Our voices were quiet in the room, the house still and silent around us.
“His name doesn’t matter,” he replied. “He had lied to me and betrayed my trust. Betrayed the trust of the woman I work for.”
“Vega.”
“Yes. He had sold us out for money. They came in the dead of night and took me. I endured three months of torture and beatings before I was able to escape. When I did, I went hunting for him. I found him at home in bed, a woman at his side. I didn’t hesitate. One shot, center of the forehead. He was dead scarcely moments after he realized who I was.”
Devon had been tortured for three months. Those words rang inside my head, making my chest ache. I held on to him a little tighter.
“Did you feel better?” I asked.
“Quite.”
“What about the woman? Did you kill her, too?”
“No. She was just a prostitute.”
I thought for a moment. “Three months is a long time,” I said. “How did you survive?”
“I wanted revenge,” he said simply. “I endured because I was not going to allow him to betray me and get away with it. If he’d tortured me himself, I would have had more respect for him. But he betrayed me. There is nothing worse.” He paused. “Like how your stepbrother betrayed you. He was supposed to be your family, but at his hands you found only torture. I understand how you feel.”
I was quiet, digesting this. Devon had gone out on a limb, telling me all that, just so he could share a bit of his pain with mine.
“You didn’t undress,” I said.
“No.”
“And I’m still dressed, too.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to be.”
Turning his body, Devon braced himself above me, his gaze on mine. His hand found the hem of my dress and lifted it, his fingers skimming the tops of my thighs and sending a shiver through me. He didn’t take his eyes off me, holding me in the present. I wanted to wash away the bad memories of this room and replace them with good ones.
The dress was drawn up and over my head, then tossed aside. The blankets fell back as Devon stripped off his clothes before removing my bra and panties. The light remained on and I think he understood I needed it to be that way.
His skin was warm against mine and I drew him to me with a sigh. This felt familiar. This felt right. He kissed me, a sweet brush of his lips against mine that said more than any words could that I was something special.
We didn’t talk and he went slowly, until I forgot where we were and only saw him, only felt him. His mouth was between my legs, his tongue inside me, when I came. Cries and moans fell from my lips as my body shuddered.
“Do you want me, darling?” he asked, his mouth pressing light kisses to my abdomen.
It was sweet of him to ask and my eyes stung with tears. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said.
I shifted my thighs wider to accommodate him as he moved back up my body. I felt the hard press of him at the entrance of my body and lifted my hips. We both sighed when he pushed inside me.
Devon and I’d had sex many, many times. We’d also fucked. This was different. It felt more real, more giving, more sharing . . . less taking. Not that it had been bad before. Sex with Devon had always been amazing. But in this moment, he held me and kissed me, his body moving slowly above mine, and it felt more like becoming one than it ever had.
I was already in love with him, but tonight he stole my heart.
He took great care to push me to another peak, prolonging my pleasure as I came apart beneath him. My senses were acute. Our bodies were slick with sweat, my legs curved around his back to hold him close, and his breath was hot on my neck.
“Beautiful Ivy,” he whispered by my ear. “You’re turning me inside out.”
I’d barely registered the words before he reached his own climax, his body jerking hard into mine. I memorized the feel of Devon losing control, the sound of his gasps and groans as he came, the tightly bunched muscles of his shoulders and arms as he held me tight to his chest.
Afterward, he went to the bathroom, returning with a warm, wet washcloth. Silently, he held me as he wiped off my makeup. I looked into his blue eyes as he worked assiduously, gently cleaning my face until my skin was bare.
“There. That’s better,” he said. “Pretty and clean without the makeup as well.” He set aside the cloth and the meaning of what he’d done wasn’t lost on me. We lay spoon-style, my back to his front, and he idly played with my hair.
“I love you, you know,” I said. It was hard to confess the words, sure as I was that I’d be rejected.
His fingers paused. “I know,” he said at last.
“Do you love me?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer, unable not to hope
.
“I care about you a great deal,” he said, his fingers resuming their path through my hair.
My heart sank and I said nothing.
“I’m incapable of loving anyone, sweet Ivy,” he said, and his voice was resigned and a little sad. “I told you that. You’re too sweet a soul to understand.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whispered. “You love Vega.”
“Not in the same way you’re asking me to love you,” he said. “She has my loyalty and yes, that’s a form of love, I suppose.”
We lay in silence while I tried to process this. I was bared to my soul and couldn’t help the sharp stab of rejection I felt.
“Shall I stay in here with you tonight?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“No. I shudder to think of what Grams would do if she caught us.”
“I would surmise I’d learn firsthand the true meaning of the phrase ‘shotgun wedding,’ ” he teased.
I forced a smile, realizing he had no idea how much he’d just hurt me. “Thank you for being in here. For understanding.” Because he had understood, and he’d helped me the way no one else had ever been able to.
He brushed a kiss to my forehead before getting out of bed. I watched him dress in silence, admiring the play of muscles underneath his skin. When he was done, he came back to the bed and pulled the covers tighter around me. My hair was splayed across the pillows and he carefully brushed it aside the way I always did before going to sleep. I hated the feeling of my hair tangled around my neck when I slept.
“I’ll see you in the morning, sweet Ivy.”
He left the light on for me.
I stared at the door once he’d gone, realizing with painful clarity how dependent I was on Devon, on our relationship. What would I do without him? He’d made me feel alive, had given me hope and life and love. I’d be lost without him.
And he’d never love me the way I did him.
I’d always felt I was dependent on Logan, but this was much more than my friendship with him had ever been. Would men always see me as Logan and Scott did? As someone tragic and sad, in need of a man to “save” me? It hurt to know Scott saw me that way, and that I’d been mostly blind to it. Devon had realized right away, of course.
