by J. Kenner
Light arcs over us as a car enters the lot, but I just ignore it, holding Mr. GT’s head in place on my breast, because maybe this extra bit of risk will finally, finally send me spiraling up to that magical, mindless place I’m so desperate to reach.
He pulls back, meeting my eyes, and I can see that even if I haven’t hit nirvana yet, he damn sure has. I can tell from the heat in his eyes that he’s never done anything like this before, and I’m like a goddess to him right now.
I should feel a rush of sensual power, but I don’t, dammit, so I grab his hair and pull him to me, trying to force that connection. That explosion. I suck on his lower lip as he groans and slips his finger under my panties. I close my eyes, craving the moment when his fingers enter me, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I gasp as the guy jerks back, and I don’t even have time to wonder what the hell happened before I see Alex holding Mr. GT by the throat, their faces only inches apart. But this isn’t the Alex I knew. This man is coldly dangerous, his eyes like daggers, and simply from the way he’s standing there, he owns the entire goddamn parking lot.
The hell he does.
I shake myself as anger replaces confusion. “What the fuck?” I snap, as GT looks sideways at me, obviously assuming the crazy man with the death grip belongs to me. “Let him go.”
Alex releases him with a shove and my emasculated hook-up lands ignobly on his ass. “Go.”
That’s all he says, but it’s enough. Mr. GT stumbles to his feet then turns toward his car.
I’m still on the trunk, my breast exposed, but he ignores me and clambers into the driver’s seat. As the engine fires, I adjust my shirt, then slide off the car and stalk toward Alex as the BMW starts moving backwards, eager to be free of the crazy people. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, then shove him hard with both hands.
He catches my wrists and pulls me close. “What am I doing?” His voice is lower and harder and more dangerous than I remember. If I’d been courting danger, I definitely found it. “What the hell are you doing?”
“None of your goddamn business,” I snap as Mr. GT squeals off into the night.
I’m only inches from him, my heart pounding as he continues to hold me tight. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t react. Not a twitch of a muscle. Not the slightest change in the diameter of his pupils. He simply stands there, his eyes hard on mine, as a firestorm of electricity crackles around us.
Then his hand relaxes, and I jerk my wrist away. I smile, knowing perfectly well that I won this round.
“Don’t push me, Ellie,” he says, his low-pitched voice as sharp as steel. And that’s when I realize I haven’t won a single, goddamn thing.
I take a step back, trying to gather myself. “Push you? You’re the one who barged into my party.”
“You were just going to fuck him? Here? In the parking lot.”
“Technically, he was going to fuck me. But that’s the general idea, yes. Why not? He seems like a nice enough guy. And you know what I was going to do afterwards?”
I step closer so that I’m only inches from him. So that I can practically feel the waves of fury rolling off him. “Leave,” I say. “I was going to walk away and never see the guy again. But you’re an expert at that, aren’t you?”
“This?” There’s fire in his tone and in his eyes. “You’re comparing some guy fucking you on the trunk of his car to what we had?”
“What we had?” My voice rises with incredulity. “We didn’t have shit.”
“The hell we didn’t.” He reaches for me again, and though I should back away, I don’t. I let him capture both my wrists in one hand, then pull me even closer, so that my elbows are bent and my hands are fisted between my breasts and his chest. He’s so close that I can smell him, all musk and sweat and memories, and my bare arms brush lightly against his shirt as he breathes.
“We had an illusion,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the heat rising from his proximity. “Fuck and run, right? But it doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Doesn’t it?” He bends closer, lowering his head so that his lips are by my ear. “I know you, Ellie. I know exactly what it means.”
I swallow, grateful he can’t see my eyes. “You don’t know me at all. And considering the circumstances, I think it’s safe to say I really don’t know you.”
He twists us around, the quick motion making me gasp as my back lands hard against the side of a car.
“Don’t I? You really think I don’t know you? I know you want the rush. The danger. But sweetheart, you don’t have a clue about danger. That guy you picked up? There’s no risk there. None at all. But me?” His words are like a knife edge, and he’s slicing me to the bone. “Me, I could destroy you.”
“Too late for that.” I practically spit the words. “You broke me a long time ago.”
He pulls back, and for a moment I think I’ve won. He’s going to let me walk away, smug in my Pyrrhic victory. But then our eyes meet, and in the next moment, his mouth crushes mine as he releases his hold on my wrists.
I have the idle thought that I should slap him again, just for show. But I don’t. Instead, I bury my fingers in his hair, pulling it free from the loose tie at the base of his neck so that it falls over my hands. I pull him closer as our mouths war with each other, tongues sparring and teeth clashing as if all either of us wants is to be consumed by the fire that now rages inside me.
This was what I’d needed tonight. And though some voice in my head tells me to run—to escape this surreal nightmare—I stay rooted to the spot. Craving heat. A connection. Anything to burn away that raw, hungry need inside me.
With my other hand I cup his ass even as he roughly shoves his hand into my jeans, still conveniently unzipped. I’m incredibly wet, and I break our kiss to suck in air as he thrusts three fingers inside me, and I grind against his hand, so lost in sensation that my only cogent thought is more.
“Dangerous enough for you?” His words are low and sensual but edged with fire. “You don’t even know what danger is, Ellie. Forget getting caught. You play with me, and you really will get burned. And this skin,” he adds as his other hand caresses the swell of my breast, “is far too beautiful to scorch.”
I whimper, trying to process his words. Telling myself that I should stop this. That this is a very bad decision, and I shouldn’t want him.
Except I do want this, and my brain is far too lust-hazed to make any distinction between the man and the sensations he’s rousing in my body.
And so I do the only thing I can do—I surrender. I let myself slide away into the pleasure of his lips, his touch. I want more than his fingers inside me. I want him to strip me bare and take me on the hood of the car. I want his hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming and drawing attention as he makes me come.
I want all of that, and I hate myself for it. Because this is how I’ve both punished and rewarded myself for so many years, and it was all because of him.
Now he’s the one holding me, touching me, and I’m melting with pleasure when I should be running. Hell, I should be slapping the shit out of him and demanding explanations. But I’m not. I’m giving in to animal instinct. Wild pleasure. And though I will surely hate myself tomorrow, right now all I want is what he’s giving.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, and I realize that my hips are moving of their own volition. I tell myself to stop, but I only grind faster. Harder. I want him deep inside me, his fingers teasing my most sensitive spots. And oh, God, this is so messed up. So seriously, righteously fucked up.
“Please,” I say, fumbling for his jeans.
“No.” His voice soft. Even gentle. “This is only for you. Come for me, baby. Let yourself go.”
I whimper, and though I know it shouldn’t, the idea that he’s doing this for me—that he’s giving me even a single moment of pleasure after all of our past—pushes me right over the edge. I gasp, then suck in air as I shatter, my body shaking and quivering as he pulls me close and I ride out the tremors that c
ut through me like sonic waves of bliss.
After what seems like an eternity, the tremors fade, and I’m left in the circle of his arms, trying to decide if I should be running or rejoicing. If I should be mortified or satisfied.
And somehow, I can’t seem to find the right answer.
“Alex…” His name slips out of my lips, as weak as a lost child crying for help.
He rests his finger over my lips. “Devlin,” he says in the voice of a statesman proclaiming the law. “My name is Devlin.”
“I—”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head. His other hand is still inside my panties, and my body trembles as he pulls free, then lifts his hand and sucks on one of the fingers that was just inside me.
My core clenches, and I hate myself for wanting—no, needing—more.
I bite the inside of my cheek as a reminder not to go too far down the rabbit hole. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and lift my head to meet his eyes. It’s a mistake. All I want to do is melt into him, a willing victim to the hypnotic power of those eyes.
No. I need to stay focused, and I force myself to be steel and stone, stalwart against this man who hurt me. And no way is one good orgasm going to make up for what he did. On the contrary, I want answers, and before I’ve even fully formed the question in my mind, I blurt out, “What happened? Why the hell did you leave me?”
His lips part, and my heart stutters in anticipation of his answer. But he says nothing. All I see are the shadows in his eyes, the pain so deeply etched on his face that despite everything I want to pull him close and kiss his forehead.
But he only shakes his head slowly, his expression so sad my heart aches.
For a moment, our eyes lock, and I think that maybe whatever pain and betrayal was between us has been exorcised.
But then he takes a single step back, and I know that nothing has been repaired at all.
“Go back to New York.” His eyes meet mine, as hard and flat as a shark’s.
“I have an interview sched—”
“No. Just go, Ellie. There’s nothing for you here at all.”
My heart twists. The truth is, there’s not much for me in New York, either. Nothing but my work. But I push the thought aside and barrel on. “Al—Devlin,” I correct. “No. We need—”
But I can’t finish the thought. Not when he’s looking at me with those cold, empty eyes that are emerald green again, no longer that familiar, sandy brown.
He really isn’t Alex at all.
He steps closer, and I go tense, certain he’s going to touch me, and in that moment, I’m not sure if I desperately want him to, or if I’ll knee his balls if he dares to even try.
But that’s not what he’s doing. Instead, he reaches for the door handle and starts to pull it open. I step away, turning as I do so that for the first time I see the sporty black Tesla that he’d pushed me up against.
“Get in,” he says, holding the door open for me.
“What? Why?”
“I’m driving you home.”
Seriously? “I’m fine. I’ll walk.”
His hand closes around my wrist and he tugs me closer. “Just get in the car, Ellie.”
“Screw you. I said I can walk.” And the truth is I want to. Walk and think and clear my head. Most of all, I want distance from this man I once thought I knew.
For a moment, I’m certain he’s going to argue. But then he nods curtly, reaches into the passenger seat, and pulls out a small, canvas tote bag, the kind grocery store customers use instead of paper or plastic. He thrusts it at me, and I take it without thinking. “Have it your way. About the ride, I mean. But as for the rest of it…”
He trails off, his expression deadly serious. “I mean it, Ellie. Leave Laguna Cortez. Don’t play with fire. Put it all behind you for good. Me. This town. Everything. Leave,” he says, his eyes as hot and predatory as a wolf’s. “And don’t come back.”
Chapter Nine
I watch his taillights disappear, feeling a mixture of both relief and loss.
Relief at being alone so that I have the space to deal with my crazy emotions.
Loss that he hadn’t insisted on driving me. Alex would have. But Devlin?
I don’t know. How could I? Before tonight, I’d never met Devlin Saint. Not really.
To be honest, I’m not sure if I’ve met him now. Was that Saint who touched me? Saint who matched me breath for breath? Who took what he wanted as I’d intended to take from Mr. GT?
It must have been. The Alex I remember had always been tender, even when we’d clawed at each other, desperate to get undressed. We’d been wild and unbridled, but we hadn’t burned.
But oh, God, I’d burned tonight. And from little more than the touch of a finger and the heat of his mouth.
A shiver cuts through me as I remember, and I order myself to push it aside. I’d come out tonight looking for a fast fuck and a violent orgasm, but the point was that I’d be in charge. And, most important, that I’d walk away.
Saint had ripped my plan to shreds.
He’d stolen my control, shattered my will, made me long for a man I’d lost long ago, and then he’d coldly and firmly ordered me to go.
Why?
Why seek me out if he wasn’t going to stay? Why tease me with the knowledge that the man I’d once loved has been hiding in plain sight all these years? Why lift the mask when the revelation only raises more questions?
For that matter, why wear the mask in the first place?
And the biggest question of all, why reveal himself to me if he’s only going to order me to leave?
I start to lift my hands in frustration, then remember the bag hanging from my arm. For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe he’s given me something that actually answers those questions. I open it eagerly, only to find the Sperry Topsiders I’d abandoned by the beach.
I laugh as I slip them on, overwhelmed by the absurd irony. I’m not Cinderella. Alex hasn’t been my Prince Charming for a very long time. And from what I’ve both read and now experienced, Devlin Saint isn’t in line for that throne, either.
Don’t play with fire, he’d said, and in the moment, I’d thought he meant the heat between us. Now, I think he has something to hide. More than that, I think that Devlin Saint just gave me the story of a lifetime. A billionaire philanthropist with a new identity and a buried past? Yeah, I think The Spall will be all over that.
As I start walking toward the hill, I pull out my phone and dial Roger, certain he’ll green-light the story. Of course, I’ve completely forgotten the time difference, and the phone rolls to voice mail.
“Roger, it’s me. Listen, you’re not going to believe—”
I cut myself off, the reality of what I’m saying suddenly hitting me as that shining question once more lights up my mind: Why?
“—I, um, sorry,” I continue into the phone. “Got distracted for a sec. I just wanted to say that you’re not going to believe the bullshit they pulled on me today, rescheduling the interview with Saint. But I’m on it. All’s good. I’ll check in when I have more. Right. Well, bye.”
I click off, feeling like an idiot, not sure if I’ve done the right thing, either as a person or as a reporter. But I can’t throw Alex to the wolves. Not now. Not yet. Because story of a lifetime or not, I’m not ready to screw him over. I wish I were. I should be. I shouldn’t give a flying fuck if whatever spotlight I might have the power to create shines so long and hard on him that he withers under the glare.
But the truth is that I still feel something for that prick. For Alex, anyway. For the man I used to know.
And until I know why he’s now Devlin, I can’t risk mucking something up for him. I’m not sure if that makes me kind or foolish, but I don’t suppose it matters. The bottom line is that I’ve got another story to chase, even if Roger doesn’t know about it yet.
And there’s one other thing that I’m not going to do—I’m not leaving Laguna Cortez.
Did he really t
hink I would? Why? Because Devlin Saint— the Devlin Saint—asked me to? Not hardly. I’m a reporter, and that means it’s my job to get to the truth. Besides, I’ve never been one to bow to authority. I’ve been around cops long enough to know just how wobbly those with authority often are.
Or maybe he thought I’d leave for the Alex I used to know. In that case, he sorely misjudged. Alex ripped my heart out and fed it to the wolves. He might have been my first, but that didn’t give him a magical power over me. Then again, perhaps it did. He broke me, after all. But that didn’t exactly put him in my good graces.
So that was that. No reason to leave, and lots of reasons to stay. Brandy. Lamar. The profile. And, most of all, Uncle Peter.
All I have to do is let go of the past and treat Alex—no, Devlin—like any other source.
I can do that.
Absolutely, I can.
I’m breathing hard but I’m feeling more settled when I reach the crest of the hill. I turn the corner and walk the half-block to Brandy’s house. It’s a dark neighborhood. Quiet, with only a few streetlights and houses that sit back from the road.
As I reach her driveway, a light flickers on across the street, catching my attention. It’s the glow from someone looking at their phone inside a parked black Tesla.
Instantly, my resolve shatters. Alex isn’t just a source or a story, and no matter how much I try to spin that, he never will be. Hell, my heart is skittering, and I don’t even know if it’s him in that car. And though I try to make out the occupant, it’s no use, the light’s gone, and the street’s too dark.
Still, I’m certain it’s him, and a tiny spark of something suspiciously like hope sputters in my belly. I tamp it down. For one thing, I’m not sure what I’m hoping for. That he cares enough to see I get home safe? That he doesn’t really want me to go back to New York? Something else entirely?
All I know is that I spent ten years walking a tightrope of anger and hurt mixed with fear that he was dead—because who in my life wasn’t?—topped by fantasies that he’d return to me with a perfect explanation. Alien abduction or amnesia both ranked high on my fantasy list.
