by J. Kenner
He meets my eyes and I see an unexpected flicker of warmth. He looks away, gesturing for me to step off the elevator ahead of him. “My goal is to mitigate that pain. It always has been.”
My heart does a little flip, and I pause to look at him as he steps into the hall beside me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about me. About the way he left. But unless that’s the most backassward apology ever, I don’t get it.
I could ask. Could push him to explain what he means. But I don’t. Maybe I’m afraid to hear the truth. Maybe he’ll say that he knew leaving would destroy me, and the moment he does, it will be even more real than it’s been in my heart.
Or maybe he’ll say that he had to go, because it was the only way to protect me. But that’s no better, because I’m not ready to believe that. And I’m sure as hell not ready to forgive him.
So instead, I go with, “Were you part of the rescue?”
His brow furrows and his head tilts slightly to the side as he asks, “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Ronan said you met in the military.” I shrug, feeling sheepish. “But since you obviously aren’t in uniform these days, I guess that was a stupid idea.”
He doesn’t answer. Just strides down the corridor, me walking quickly beside him. We head to the end of the hallway where two bellmen are taking our luggage into a room.
“Wait—aren’t we in separate rooms?”
“I moved us to the Davis suite.”
“Us?”
His eyes narrow, and I see just the hint of a smile on his lips as he says. “Don’t worry. We each have our own bedrooms.”
“Why?” I ask, not sure what answer I want to hear.
There is no expression whatsoever on his face when he says, very slowly, “Because I want you nearby.”
“I—oh.” I swallow, and I’m about to ask why again, but the bellmen return to the doorway.
Devlin tips and thanks them, then holds the door open as he gestures me inside.
I take one step, then stop dead, soaking it all in. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I saw the lobby, but I’d still been walking with that picture of the room I’d shared with Brandy. Roomy, but drab.
This room is the polar opposite of drab.
“Wow.” I stop in the doorway, breathing in the scent of roses that top an ornamental table in the entryway. “This place is incredible.” And it is. With overstuffed sofas and chairs, bookshelves filled with a variety to rival any library, a bar cart, and French doors that open onto an outdoor sitting area.
He nods toward a door to the left. “Your room,” he says. “Why don’t you go unpack? We have just enough time for the grand tour before we go meet the Beyond team for appetizers.”
“I thought it was dinner.”
“Change of plans. Turns out I’ve been double-booked.”
“No problem.” I want to meet the Beyond Team, but the idea of a full-on business meeting is a bit intimidating. This sounds just as useful from a story perspective. I’ll get the basics, along with contact info for follow-ups.
“I brought a black cocktail dress,” I tell him. “Is that appropriate? I can run down to one of the boutiques…” I’d seen several shops advertised in the lobby. Apparently there’s a retail section just off the casino.
His eyes skim lightly over my body, warming me from the inside. “I think a black dress sounds perfect.”
“Don’t,” I whisper. I press my lips together, then breathe in deep through my nose. Then I tilt my head up and face him. “Are you sleeping with Anna? Is that it?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“You want me. Not forever—I get that. But you want me. I see it in your eyes. Hell, I felt it in your cock. On the plane. In the parking lot. I even saw it in your goddamn office when you were trying so damn hard to shut me down.”
I take a step toward him, forcing myself to go on. “And you know perfectly well what I want. A hard, fast, ruthless fuck, Mr. Saint. I want you to take me hard enough to burn you and Alex and my goddamn memories from my brain. Just in case you weren’t clear on that point.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “I think I got the message.”
“Did you? Because I don’t see you slamming me against the wall. I don’t feel your tongue in my mouth or your cock in my pussy. And after every invitation I’ve given you the only reason I can think is that something’s holding you back. Because God knows, you’re no gentleman. I learned that one the hard way.”
“Ellie—”
“Which is why I figure you’re fucking your assistant. So I’ll ask you one more time. Are you banging Anna Lindstrom?”
“No. Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not.”
I stand there for a moment, a little wobbly. I’d been so sure. “Well, then,” I say. “I guess it must be me.”
A moment passes. Then another.
“I guess it must,” he finally says. “Now go get changed. I don’t want to be late.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time,” Nora Prescott says as Devlin signs for the check. “It’s been wonderful catching up with you, Devlin. And such a pleasure to meet you, Ellie.”
“It was great to meet you, too,” I tell her. “Both of you.” Nora and Franklin Prescott founded The Beyond Project five years ago, and, as I learned today, they were the first organization that received a grant from the then-newly endowed Devlin Saint Foundation. “I appreciate you answering so many of my questions. I’m afraid this wasn’t quite as social an evening as you three may have planned.”
“Nonsense,” Franklin says. “We’re happy to help in any way we can. Knowledge is like sunshine in this world. The more light that shines, the more darkness we conquer. This man knows that,” he adds, pointing to Devlin. “Don’t you?”
“I do my best,” Devlin says now, though he doesn’t look in my direction. I’m not surprised. He’s hardly been shining that light on himself, after all. Not to me. Not to the world.
That fact, however, hasn’t made me any less aware of his presence beside me. If anything, it’s added an extra buzz to the already vibrating air between us. It’s as if now that we’ve acknowledged the desire—now that we’ve opened the tug-of-war—the sparks are going to continue to burn until either he gives in or we return to California.
With any other man, I wouldn’t doubt my odds. But Devlin Saint has lived a lie for over a decade. And I’m not sure that my desire is any match for his determination and willpower.
“Call me for whatever you need,” Nora says. “You have my numbers.”
“Thank you,” I say, patting my phone, which is face-down on the table, no longer recording the conversation. Earlier, she’d texted me her contact information. So even though much of the conversation was chatty and social, I know that I can circle back if I need to know more about the Beyond Project.
We’d met them here just over an hour ago after taking a quick tour of the middle tower where the rescued women and children live, as well as the bustling satellite office for the DSF.
“What about men?” I asked
“We have a separate facility,” he said. “We don’t take their trauma any less seriously, but we do understand that the female victims need the space. We have a converted house just outside of town for the male victims.”
He told me more details as we’d walked through the tower’s public area where mothers and children played, single women read, and small lectures took place in corners, complete with white boards and digital enhancements.
The Beyond Project, I’d learned, brought volunteers in to do the actual teaching and then to help with job placement. “It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Devlin told me as Anna joined us, then led a quick tour through the office space.
I’d been impressed and told him as much before we met Nora and Franklin. Now, walking back to our suite with all the additional information crammed into my head, I’m even more impressed.
“I shouldn’t be,” I sa
y after telling him as much.
“Why not?” he asks as we step onto the elevator. “At the risk of seeming immodest, what we’ve accomplished is damned impressive.”
“I just mean that I know you. What you can accomplish.” I’m showing my heart too much, but I don’t care. I saw a bit of his tonight, albeit reflected through Nora and Franklin. “You’ve done yourself proud.”
He blinks. It’s such a tiny reaction, but it warms me up, like cocoa on a winter’s night. Because it’s the first time I’ve truly disarmed him. And when he smiles and says, “Thank you,” I want to hold the moment close to my heart and cherish it.
“I miss it, you know,” I say softly as the elevator glides to a stop at our floor.
“What’s that?”
“Times like tonight. Our conversations. The way we would spend hours sitting and talking. I used to think I could tell you anything.”
“You could,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “But not now.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not now.”
Chapter Twenty
I consider going down to the casino to gamble since Devlin has a meeting tonight, but he suggests I stay in and work on my article. “I’ll take you around the casino tomorrow,” he promises. “Trust me. It will be more fun if you’re with the owner.”
That’s when I realize that, like the fleet of jets, Devlin owns this casino personally, and he donates the space for the foundation. It’s another fun fact that I put in the warm and fuzzy column, and I’m not sure that the growing list of Good Things About Devlin is making it easier to like him or harder to know he’s not mine.
None of which matters in the grand scheme of things. I’m here to write an article, and he’s here to work. And since he’s actually right, I go into my bedroom to change into sweats and a T-shirt, then come back into the living room so I can stream bad reality TV while I work on my article.
I’m booting up my computer when the room phone rings. I start to call for Devlin, then decide to just answer it myself.
“Ellie,” Tamra says. “How good to hear your voice. I hope you’re enjoying Nevada.”
“So far, so good,” I tell her. “The Phoenix is amazing.”
“It really is, isn’t it? I’m sorry I had to stay in California. I hope everything’s going smoothly.”
“On my end, absolutely. Devlin’s changing clothes to go to some meeting. Do you need me to get him?”
“Don’t bother. Just tell him everything is set for the casino meeting.”
“Will do. Poor guy.”
“I’m sorry?”
There’s a hint of alarm in her voice, and I hurry to explain. “No, no, I’m just teasing. He offered to take me to the casino tomorrow. If I’d known he had to go to one tonight I would have held off and told him I could just go by myself.”
“Oh!” Her laugh is thin. “We’ll, it’s Vegas. I don’t suppose you can get too much of the casino life, can you?”
“Guess we’ll decide that after I tally up tomorrow’s losings.”
She laughs, and I hang up then cross the room and knock on Devlin’s door. “Tamra called,” I begin at the same time that he says, “Come in.”
“She said to tell you that the casino meeting —” I push open the door, then stop dead in my tracks, completely and totally enraptured. Because right now he’s wearing only jeans, the fly half-open as they sit on his hips, his upper body completely, deliciously bare.
I knew he was gorgeous—hell, he always has been—but I’d been holding the memory of a boy in my mind. Nineteen, true, but still a boy.
Devlin Saint, however, is a man, and a very ripped one at that. Where once had been a skinny torso there’s now the broad chest and well-defined abs of a man who works out regularly. I’d seen his strength when he’d pulled me off of Mr. GT, then felt it when he’d held me tight in his arms. But he’d been covered then, that impressive body hidden under a veil of clothes.
He doesn’t look like a saint at all. Instead, he’s a fallen angel. A man with power and poise and a dangerous edge. And right now, he’s looking at me with so much heat it’s a wonder I don’t melt into the floor.
“The meeting?” he prods, and it takes a short eternity for me to figure out what the devil he’s talking about.
“Oh. Set. The casino meeting is set.”
He nods. “Good to know,” he says, then pulls on a long-sleeved black Henley.
He looks at me, and I see the naked desire on his face. But he only cocks a brow and says, “Is there something else?”
I want to cry out that yes, yes, of course there’s something else. I want to trail my fingers over his bare skin. I want to feel his lips against mine. I want to burn with this man, so hot and fast and wild that every memory of our past turns to ash, the pain and loss scattering like so much dust in the wind.
But I say none of that.
All I do is shake my head as I whisper, “No. That’s all.” And as I walk silently back to my room, all I can think is how damned unfortunate it is that after everything he took from me, he still won’t give me closure.
I wake disoriented, unsure what roused me. The room is dark except for a single shaft of light cutting across the living area, and I sit up, groggy, and realize that I fell asleep on the sofa while watching the news and working on my article.
The television, however, is off.
My mind’s still fuzzy, and so I don’t realize that Devlin must have turned it off when he returned until I hear a muffled curse, a sharp bang, and the musical clatter of broken glass.
I’m on my feet and through his cracked-open door in an instant. I stop cold, drawn up by the shock of seeing the most together man I’ve ever known standing with his body so tense it’s a wonder he doesn’t snap, his hair wild around his face, and his unseeing-eyes burning like a feral creature. He’s in the far corner, his body angled toward me and the desk opposite him. The wall behind it is stained. Shards of glass from a shattered vase cover the desk, and the air is heavy with the pungent scent of rose petals.
I must make a sound, because he shifts his weight toward me, and I see the moment when he realizes I’m standing there. When he’s no longer lost in the fury that has grabbed him, and I become the object of whatever passion has overtaken him.
He takes a step toward me, but I don’t move. My heart is pounding, and I don’t know if it’s fear or excitement or lust or need. All I know is that this moment is charged. Intense. Wild.
And, damn me, I want to burn in the heat of it.
Another step, so he’s right in front of me, a wall of pent-up energy. Anger, maybe. Frustration, definitely. Regret, probably.
He looms above me, and though reflex almost sends me backwards, I plant my feet, stay right where I am, and tilt my head back so that my eyes meet his. Earlier, I’d changed into sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra, and now my nipples are hard against the thin material.
His gaze locks me in place, and my breath comes hard. I want to speak—hell, I want to beg—but I don’t want to break the spell.
Slowly, he lifts his hand, then trails his fingertips lightly down the side of my face, just barely brushing my lips before descending further to graze my neck. He cups me there, his hand encircling my throat as he moves closer, the pressure of his hand steering me backward until I’m against his bedroom wall, unable to go any further.
He keeps me pinned there with his hand, then slowly rakes his gaze over me as his other hand follows, trailing up my bare thigh, then over the thin cotton of my shorts. His fingertip teases the strip of skin between shorts and top before skimming lightly upward, only to end up cupped over my breast, his thumb brushing lightly over my tight, sensitive nipple.
“Closure, Ellie? That’s not what you need, and it sure as hell isn’t what you want.” His hand tightens on my neck, and I lift my chin. I can breathe just fine, but there’s no denying I’m at his mercy, just as there’s no denying that I’m so wet I can feel the slickness on my thighs.
“It’s not closure,” he repeats. “You want the danger. The knife edge.” He leans closer, then whispers, so close I feel the scratch of his beard against my ear, “You want me to throw a match into the gasoline and make you burn.”
I whimper. Because oh, dear God, he’s right.
“Do you have any idea how vulnerable you are right now?”
I swallow, my throat moving against his hand as electricity crackles between us.
He pulls his hand from my neck, but doesn’t release me. Instead, he holds me in place by gripping both shoulders, moving even closer to me as he does, so that I feel the brush of his jeans against my thighs, the heat of him penetrating my thin shorts. I’m bare underneath, and I’m aching for him, both craving and dreading the moment when he releases the tight hold on whatever fury is roiling around inside him.
He runs his hands down my arms until he reaches my wrists. Then, in one rough movement, he tugs my hands above my head, pinning them to the wall with one hand as his body presses against the rest of me, trapping me completely.
I was a cop, and I grew up in a cop’s household. I’m no stranger to self-defense. But I’m a small woman, and I’m no match for this man. I know it. He knows it.
I’m breathing fast, but he’s perfectly calm as he bends his mouth to my ear and whispers. “Right now I own you. You’re one hundred percent at my mercy, and you don’t have a clue what I’ll do. That turns you on, doesn’t it, baby? That danger? That fear. I need to hear you say it, baby. Whisper it and make me hard.”
I close my eyes, wishing I could deny it. But there’s no point. He knows the truth. It does scare me. That vulnerability. The loss of control.
I’ve been calling the shots with the men I fuck for years now. Forceful. Demanding. Taking what I wanted and then walking the hell away.
But this—oh, God—this is what I’ve craved. And Devlin is the only man who’s ever seen it.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You know it is.”
“I do,” he says, sliding my tank top up so that my breasts are exposed and my face is covered. I suck in a breath, then start when I feel his tongue on my nipple.
