My Fallen Saint

by J. Kenner

  This time when he takes me over it’s even more powerful than before. I cry out as my core tightens, drawing him in, milking him, wanting him deeper and harder. Wanting this connection to never be broken.

  “Devlin,” I whisper, when I can finally speak again. He’s collapsed onto me, the weight of his body sweetly comforting.

  He shifts, then pushes up again so that he’s balanced over me, breathing hard, his face flushed from the intensity of his orgasm. I watch as his eyes open, then see the moment when he slides back into reality and his eyes find mine. “Oh, baby,” he says. “That was incredible.”

  We share a smile, and it ignites a whole new spark, sending a new wave of desire coursing through me, though I don’t think I’d survive another orgasm like the one that’s still tingling over every inch of me.

  But that heat—oh, God, what I see in his eyes. It’s longing and passion and need. It’s hot and primal, and I want more. So much more. Not just tonight, but forever.

  Except I can’t say that. Hell, I’m afraid of even letting him see it in my face. This horrible, guilty secret that I can’t stand the thought that this will end.

  Because now that I’ve found Alex again—now that Devlin Saint is in my life—I don’t think that I can survive losing him all over again.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake up, it’s dark and I’m alone. There’s also a draft, and I sit up, holding the sheet to my breasts to ward off the desert chill.

  I tug it off the bed, wrap it around me, then hit the light switch, but there’s no sign of Devlin in the RV. I find him right outside the door, sitting on the rough wooden step that leads up to the doorway.

  “Catch the light,” he says without turning around. I do, and the world fades into darkness, coming back into focus as my eyes adjust, the sand glowing under the light of a crescent moon.

  “Slide over,” I say, then settle in beside him, my hip pressed tight against his.

  Immediately, he slides his arm around my waist, and I lean against him. “Want some of my sheet?”

  He shakes his head. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs, and though I’d be freezing without the sheet, Devlin is a man who burns hot.

  “I’m not good for you,” he says after we’ve sat in silence, listening to the night and getting drunk on moonlight.

  I tense, wondering how much of my earlier thoughts he’d picked up on. Wondering, too, how much he’d been thinking along the same lines. Finally, I say, “You are.”

  “You know who my father is. You know some of the things I’ve done.”

  I reach for his hand. “I do. I also know you. And I trust you.”

  I can’t see his face, but I hear him draw in a breath, long and deep.

  “What’s going on? Today was perfect. Did you get a call? A text?”

  He turns his head to face me, then kisses me so gently it feels as if I’ll float away. “It’s not that you trust me,” he says. “It’s that you trust yourself. When you take control of a plane. When you drive a car faster than it should go. When you fuck a dangerous man.”

  He pulls his hand free, then cups the back of his neck, his head turned just enough so that I can see his eyes, sandy tonight since he’s not wearing his contacts. “You think you’re living dangerously, and you are. But there’s a cap to it. You trust yourself. You trust your own judgment. But you don’t go further. That’s why you wouldn’t let—”

  I frown, then shake my head, the smallest of movements. “What are you saying?”

  He exhales. “I’m saying that whatever you believe about me, you’re wrong. I am dangerous. More than that, I’m a danger to you. Just being associated with me puts you in the crosshairs. There are people who—if they knew who I really am—”

  “I know. Of course, I know. There’s no way you could have shut down your father’s enterprise entirely. If those people knew you were his son, they’d—”

  “It’s not just that. I’m—fuck.”

  I shift to see him better, alarmed by the heat in his voice. “Devlin?”

  He sighs, then rubs his temples as he shakes his head and I try to control the pounding of my heart.

  “Dammit, Devlin, talk to me.”

  He draws in a breath, then turns his head to look at me, and even in the dim light, I can see the storm brewing behind his eyes. “In bed, I would never hurt you. But in the world? In the world, I don’t have that kind of control.”

  “Devlin—”

  “No. Listen to me. That’s why no matter what you want—no matter what I want—this is going to end.”

  My gut twists, but I can’t argue, even though I want to. But my voice is still choked when I say, “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m not still sixteen and clinging to fantasies.”

  “I just want to say it. I want it out there. Because I think we both need to hear it.”

  I sag a bit. “Right. Okay. Noted.” I swallow. “The profile is almost put to bed, and pretty soon Roger will insist I work on a story other than just the one about Peter. And I am paying hefty rent on an apartment in New York.” Every word out of my mouth depresses me.

  I suck in a breath to gather my courage, then say aloud the truth that’s been twisting around inside me for days. “You’re right. Danger doesn’t scare me. But losing you again does. Devlin, I don’t want to go.”

  “I know. But you will. Because even if you stay, you won’t be with me.” He turns to face me. “I will always protect you, El. No matter what the cost. Even if it means I leave you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Is SoCal’s Most Reclusive & Eligible Bachelor Off the Market?

  That headline and a dozen variations on the theme scream at us from the screens of our phones as we land at the executive airport. And if that’s not bad enough, each and every headline is accompanied by a photo. Devlin and I in front of the RV with his hand between my legs. Devlin and I in front of the RV with his hand on my breast and our lips locked together. Some clever posters even turned the two photos into a gif, and one even has us burst into flames before the video starts over again.

  Most posts identify me as an unknown woman. But one names me and identifies me as a reporter for The Spall Monthly. Which not only makes me queasy, but also makes me want to punch someone.

  The only saving grace is that the airport near Laguna Cortez is private. Which means that we’re able to get in the car Anna has sent for us—one with nicely tinted windows—and get hurried past the crowd that has gathered outside the gates, cell phones in hand.

  As soon as we’re past them, Devlin lashes out, kicking the back of the empty passenger seat in front of him. There’s a soundproof barrier between us and the driver, but I have a feeling the driver’s not at all surprised by the soundless outburst.

  I take his hand, and he squeezes hard. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so damn sorry.”

  “What on earth for? For kissing me? Because I’m not sorry at all.”

  “For this. All of this bullshit. And for the fact that I took us there.”

  “This bullshit sucks, but it’s part of your life. It’s not like I didn’t know that. Hell, I tried to research you before I came. It wasn’t easy.”

  “Ellie…”

  “And it’ll blow over. You’ve been photographed with women before, right? I’m just one of the crowd.”

  His head whips around, and he faces me, his expression fiercer than I’ve ever seen.

  “I am,” I insist. “You said yourself I’m going back, right? Whether I want to or not,” My voice is low. Intentionally steady. “You said last night you won’t be with me.”

  He doesn’t answer, but he turns slowly forward, then bends at the waist and buries his face in his hands.

  I watch him, grappling for something to say, but I can’t find the words. Thousands upon thousands of words in print, and I can’t even conjure one that fits this moment.

  For a moment I just sit there feeling helpless, then jump as my phone rings. It’s Roger, a
nd though I consider letting it go to voicemail, I answer it.

  “Hey, kid,” he says. “Hell of a day, huh?”

  I bite my lip. Apparently he’s seen the posts. “I’ve had better,” I admit.

  “Yeah, well, I hope it was worth it, because I’m about to make it worse. I’m killing the profile.”

  I wince, my entire body pulling inward in a full body cringe. “Roger, please. Just let me—”

  “Not even open for discussion,” he said. “It’s dead. Come on, Ellie. What else can I do?”

  “Let me rewrite it. Take out the references to Devlin. Focus on The Beyond Project and not the DSF. Hell, take my byline off. Those women, those kids. They deserve to have their stories told.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “They do. And I’m still killing the story.”

  Devlin’s looking at me, and I turn away, not wanting him to see my face, because I know this is going to feel like another stab in his back. “Are you firing me?”

  “Let’s say you’re on probation. And I need you back here for a new assignment.”

  I swallow. “When?”

  “Soon.” He makes a rough noise in his throat. “Sorry, kid. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’ve got your back. And the best way for this to blow over is for you to get back to the office. I’m only your editor, remember? I’ve got eyes on me, too.”

  “Right.” It feels as if all the air has left my body. “Yeah. I get it.”

  “Hey. I am sorry. And for what it’s worth, Devlin Saint seems like a class act. God knows his foundation does a lot of good. But, well, you know the mandate, and perception plays a huge part in credibility.”

  “I get it.” I sigh. “Thanks, Roger.”

  “For what it’s worth, we miss you around here.”

  I tell him goodbye, then end the call.

  “And I fucked that up for you, too.”

  “Stop it.” The words come out harsher than I intended. “In case you missed it, I was kissing you back. And God knows I would have fucked you right there on those stairs if you hadn’t suggested we go inside.”

  He actually laughs. “And thank goodness I did. I’m sure those stairs were full of splinters.”

  We lock eyes for a moment, then I reach out and stroke his beard before gripping his chin and pulling him in for a kiss. “It’s going to be fine,” I say. And I almost even convince myself.

  “I’ve got Tamra working on a press release right now,” Anna says as we arrive at the DSF office. “Or we can just post a comment on a few of the accounts and assume it will get shared.” She looks more harried than I’ve ever seen her, and she follows as Devlin heads straight into his office, not even slowing.

  “The goal, of course, is to slow the speculation,” Anna continues as Tamra joins us, her digital tablet in hand. “The photo was more graphic than the photographers usually manage to catch, but it’s still the same. Nothing serious. Just another fling. Saint’s just a sinner after all.”

  She laughs at her own joke, though the rest of us don’t. After a moment, she clears her throat.

  That’s when Devlin says, very simply, “No.”

  Beside me, I see Tamra look down, a small smile tugging at her mouth. I frown, not yet caught up with the gist of the conversation.

  “No?” Anna repeats, because apparently she’s as confused as I am.

  “No,” he repeats. “No statements. No press releases. Just business as usual.”

  “But the comments—the speculation—it could get out of control.”

  “Let it.”

  She clears her throat. “Mr. Saint. Devlin. I don’t think you’re looking at the big picture. You’re in the public eye for more than just this foundation. Your personal wealth has made you a celebrity, even if a reluctant and reclusive one.”

  He walks to his desk, then turns around, leaning against it. He meets my eyes, then grins before looking back at Anna and answering. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Well, obviously you do. But the media will think you’re together. It will get complicated. From a publicity standpoint, I mean.”

  “It’s not complicated at all,” Devlin says, speaking to me and not Anna. “We are together.”

  My breath hitches. “What?” My heart is pounding so hard I barely notice that Anna has voiced the exact same question.

  “Well, aren’t we?” Devlin asks, coming toward me. He stands only inches away, so close I can feel the heat of him. “Haven’t we always been?”

  “But last night? All that talk about danger. About being in the crosshairs. Doesn’t that—”

  “Kind of moot now, isn’t it?” he says. “The press did the dirty work themselves.”

  I swallow. He’s right. No matter what statements the DSF makes, I’m out there in the public eye. And if anyone cares to turn over rocks, they’ll find plenty of fodder for a relationship just from the time I’ve been back in Laguna Cortez. Which makes me unlike all those other women who’ve shown up in social media with him.

  Still, I need him to be absolutely clear. “What are you saying?”

  He nods toward the door. Anna looks shell-shocked, but Tamra gets the message right away, then takes Anna by the elbow and steers her out. Moments later, the doors slide closed.

  “Devlin,” I press, my pulse pounding so loud in my ears I can barely hear my own voice. “What do you see happening here?”

  “I want you to stay,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I still don’t get it. I’m only in danger if you’re exposed. So how does this change anything?”

  I can’t believe I’m arguing against staying, but I don’t understand. Yes, anyone poking around about our time here and at The Phoenix and at the track might have a chance at pulling together a juicy story, but so what? It’s not like they know about our distant past. If I go back to New York it will all fizzle away, just like it has for every other woman he’s been photographed with, and I’ll be perfectly safe.

  But when I tell him as much, he rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

  “Dammit, El, don’t you get it? I want you because I want you.”

  “Oh.” The word feels small against the fullness of the emotion that fills me, but at the same time, I need to understand what’s going on here. I need to know what’s changed.

  “Why?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady so he won’t hear the hope that colors it. “I mean, we’ve had fun, yes. But—but you’re calling me El again, and it fills my heart to hear that, Devlin. It really does. Only I’m not the girl I was. So if this is about what used to be—”

  “Are you suggesting I’m that boy? I’m not, and you damn well know it.”

  There’s an edge in his voice, and I nod, but say nothing.

  “The man I am now wouldn’t have wanted that girl.”

  “Right.” I want to curl up inside myself at these words. “I get it.”

  “You don’t,” he says, taking my hand. “The girl you were was everything to Alex Leto. She was his dream, his fantasy, his salvation. She was his best friend, and his only love. And while you may not believe it, something in him died when he left, especially because he knew that you would hate him.”

  I say nothing. Just let the words pour over me.

  “But Alex Leto is dead. I’m a different man now, and Devlin Saint is fascinated by the woman you are. I want you, El. I want that sharp mind and quick wit. I want your loyalty and persistence and that irrepressible curiosity. I want the rest, too. Your fears and insecurities and the way you hide them by flirting with danger. All of you, El. Every part of you.”

  He shifts, taking my other hand, too, and I melt under the power of his words as he continues, his eyes both intense and soft, and never once wavering from my face as he continues. “Don’t you get it, baby? I want to hold on to you because you’re like living flame, and if I can do that, then I can do anything.”

  “Devlin—”

  “You’re a writer, dammit. Write from here. If The Spall isn’t
cool with that, then write a book. Hell, write a book about what you saw in Nevada. Write one about Peter. But stay, Ellie. I know it won’t be easy—”

  I laugh, the sound remarkably, wonderfully freeing. “Fuck easy. Easy bores me.”

  He takes a step toward me. “So now it’s my turn to ask. What are you saying?”

  “That I want you, too,” I say, tasting the salt of the tears that stream down my face. “And that I want to stay more than anything.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?” One of Devlin’s hands is on my waist while the other gently skims my hair.

  “I think I have some idea.” We’re still in his office, and I wonder if Tamra and Anna are huddled around Anna’s desk, taking bets on what we’re up to. “But you, Mr. Big Shot, have things to do. How long will those things take you?”

  “About five hours. But if I’m motivated, I can probably manage with two.”

  I take his hand from my hip and slide it up to my breast. “Motivated yet?”

  “Very.” He leans in for a kiss, but I scamper back, laughing.

  “Oh, no. I want you to stay motivated. Nothing until I see you again. Your house. Two hours. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I love a woman who takes charge.”

  I blow him a kiss. “Liar. You like being in charge. Even when you let me think I am.”

  “Look at that. You really do know me.”

  I laugh, then head out. Anna’s smile is thin as I wave goodbye. Not that I blame her. Devlin gets to pick and choose when he confronts the public. She and Tamra are going to be fielding calls for days from the tabloids and anyone else who’s curious enough to call in.

  Now, however, isn’t the time to worry about that. Devlin will be home in two hours, and I have things to do before he gets there.

  Since Shelby isn’t here, I call a rideshare, then have it head to the far inland edge of town with most of the big box retail stores. I pop into a hobby shop first, then hit the nearby grocery store since I’m not sure if Devlin has wine and cheese in the house. I’m back in the car, scrolling through the emails that have popped onto my phone in the last few days, when Millie calls.