by J. Kenner
Shit.
Without even realizing that he was on the move, he’d reached the door and thrown it open. She was in the shower now, the outline of her body visible through the steamy glass. The room was lit only by a tinted skylight, making the scene before him look like one from an erotic movie.
Despite his irritation, he felt his body go hard. Despite? Hell, maybe it was because she frustrated the hell out of him. He wanted to claim her again. Bend her to his will. Feel like maybe—just maybe—he had some iota of control over the maelstrom that was beginning to swirl around them.
And if that really did make him a goddamn caveman, well, so be it.
Her head was tilted back, her face in the spray, and she hadn’t noticed him enter.
He untied the sweats and let them drop to the floor, then kicked them aside. He was already hard, and he couldn’t even see her clearly. He reached down, slowly stroking his cock as he watched her. Had there ever been a moment in his life when this woman hadn’t turned him on? She’d been only sixteen when they’d met, and the impact of seeing her that first time had been like a kick in the gut.
She was his weakness, he knew that, and he didn’t like being a weak man. But it was worth it because she was his.
No matter what, she was the manifestation of everything he had fought for in his life, everything he was still fighting for, love and goodness and hope and a future. All wrapped up in one woman who belonged to him. A woman he would always fight for, even if it meant fighting her.
He crossed the steam-filled room and slid the shower door open, startling her. Then he looped an arm around her and tugged her toward him just as she was sagging with relief after that initial surprise.
“Dev—” she began, but he silenced her with a punishing kiss, then released her long enough to press her against the black tile wall, one arm caging her in place as the fingers of his other hand slipped between her legs. She was so damn slippery, and her lips parted in a soft moan that shifted into a gasp as he thrust two fingers inside her while pressing the pad of his thumb against her clit.
“If this is how you act when you’re pissed,” she murmured, “I’m going to make it a point to keep irritating the hell out of you.”
He bent forward and nipped her ear. “Sweetheart, I’m barely irritated. You haven’t seen me pissed. I doubt you really want to.”
He pulled back long enough to see her face, expecting a lashing from her sharp tongue. Instead, all she said was, “Ditto.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“I’m only doing my job,” she said. “And someone sent that message to me. I want to know who. And why. Why does someone want to scare me off you? Why should they even care about us? For that matter is it about us? Or is it about what I am—a reporter—and who you are? Is someone trying to position me to expose you? Or is there something bigger going on here?”
She reached down, holding his hand more firmly in place, then holding his eyes as she ground against him, her mouth parting as a tremor cut through her. “Maybe they think I’m their ally. That I’m just using you to get what I want.”
“And what’s that?” His cock was so hard he could barely form words.
“Maybe I want the danger,” she said. “Maybe I just want a good fuck.”
“Well,” he said casually, “who doesn’t? But, sweetheart, if it is danger you’re craving, you need to back away. Because you may not like what you find.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “Won’t I?”
His heart pounded in his ears as if his blood was screaming at him to tell her. To tell her every goddamn thing. But all he said was, “Do you think I can stand to lose you again?” He moved his fingers inside her, gratified when she writhed against him and bit her lower lip in an obvious effort to keep from crying out.
He bent to kiss her, his cock so hard now he thought he would explode. He wanted to flip her around and take her from behind, the weight of her breasts filling his hands as he sank deep inside her.
But when he started to pull his hand free, she caught it, then met his eyes and shook her head. “The only way you can lose me is if you’re the one walking away,” she said. “And just for the record, no matter how much I might want to feel you inside me right now, there is no way in hell you’re going to fuck me into submission.”
She ducked under his arm and moved nimbly to the shower door. “I have work to do now,” she said. “And, I think, so do you.”
Chapter Four
“Ellie?” Brandy’s voice pierces the quiet hallway.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I shout, kicking off my shoes.
“What the hell?” she asks, appearing around the corner in pajamas and an apron. Her blond hair is now tipped in blue, the pink apparently abandoned. Jake bounds into the hall at the same time, and I bend down to rub the scruff of his neck as he whines and writhes with pleasure. A tawny Labrador-mutt mix, Jake is almost eleven years old, but still convinced he’s a pup.
“Jake, cushion,” Brandy says, then strokes his coat as he obediently heads for his giant pillow by the patio door. She returns her focus to me. “Why aren’t you still at Devlin’s having wild make-up sex? Or do you need more clothes? I was assuming clothes really weren’t an issue…”
She trails off with a sly wink, and I roll my eyes. “Cute,” I say, “but I came home to see you. And because Devlin has meetings all day. I mean, the man runs a multi-billion dollar philanthropic outfit. You’d think he could shift his schedule, right?”
“It’s a screwed-up world.”
“It really is.” I sniff the air. “If those are muffins, then you can have the honor of lifting my spirits.”
She shakes her head in mock exasperation. “You’re practically walking on air. Whether he has a meeting or not, your spirits are just fine.”
“Yeah,” I admit, following her to the kitchen, “they are. And they’ll be better when you pass me one of those.” Brandy is a whiz in the kitchen. And at the sewing machine, too. She’s carving out a solid career with BB Bags, the business she started on Etsy to sell her oiled canvas totes and purses.
Now, she’s in several local boutiques, not to mention some seriously trendy shops in Los Angeles. But I swear she could have just as easily opened a bakery and have a line out the door every day. She’s tall and thin, and I swear she can eat everything she bakes and never see it on her hips. Me, I’m only five feet, five inches, and I’m risking a new jean size every time I indulge. But it’s a risk worth taking.
“Banana nut,” she says going around the counter to put one on a plate for me. “Pretty basic. Sorry.”
“Are you insane? That sounds incredible.” It’s still hot from the oven, and I peel the paper off, careful not to burn my fingers.
“So?” She starts to peel her own muffin. “What they’re saying is true? It all worked out? You and Devlin are back together, even though you’re not at his place this very minute having make-up sex?”
“Trust me,” I say. “There has been much make-up sex. And Back Together sex. And He’s Just So Hot and Tempting sex.”
“That’s a lot of sex for less than twenty-four hours,” she notes.
I make an innocent face. “You think so? Because if it wasn’t for those meetings, I could have gone on and on and on and on and—”
She tosses up a hand, cutting me off. “I get the picture. And I’m very happy for you and your still-unsatisfied libido.”
I’m about to ask about the new guy she’s been seeing, Christopher, and the state of her libido, but something she said earlier strikes me. “What did you mean by they’re saying? Who’s saying what?”
She’s just taken a huge bite, and now she hurries to chew and swallow as she aims a duh look my way. “The tabloid chasers. The Insta-hounds. The Tweeters.” I must look blank, because she rushes on. “You didn’t see them here? Or outside of Devlin’s place? I figured you had to run the gauntlet to get to the front door.”
I shake my head, and she gapes
at me as if amazed at my cluelessness. Then she pulls out her phone. She taps a bit, then passes it to me so I can scroll through a gazillion hashtagged images that run the gamut from yesterday—with me rushing out of Brandy’s house and into Devlin’s—to this morning with Devlin kissing me in his doorway less than an hour ago. As I’m looking, another pops up with me right here, shoving my key into the lock, blissfully ignorant of everything around me.
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice I was being watched.” I aim a frown toward Brandy. “Some cop, huh?”
“Former cop,” she says, and I’m about to point out that a reporter should keep a watchful eye, too, when she continues. “And to be fair, it’s not like they’re obvious.”
She goes to the small kitchen window that faces the front yard. “That green Toyota’s been there since before you left yesterday. And the driver’s so slunk down he’s totally hidden. See?” she asks as I slide off my stool and come up behind her. “And that red Subaru was gone for a while. I think it must have followed you to Devlin’s last night, then come back today. But it’s not like either of those cars is out of place. The street is packed.”
She’s right about that. Some of the neighborhoods lower in the hills have parking that is only reserved for the residents. This street is far enough away from the Arts District that the city assumes the tourists won’t be a pain and monopolize the street parking. They might be right, but whether it’s locals or tourists, there’s rarely a curbside spot in this neighborhood, and the various vehicles just fade into the scenery.
I head back to my stool, still carrying Brandy’s phone. There are a zillion comments on the various posts, and I’m not inclined to read through them all. Instead, I slide the phone back across the counter to her. “So what’s the consensus?”
“Well, yesterday it was that you were storming over there to give him a piece of your mind—and no, there wasn’t any speculation about what exactly you were pissed about. But now it’s turned around, and everyone’s saying how you two are back together. Most folks think that’s great, but there’s a lot of damn, the hottie is off the market chatter, too. So those folks think you’re a dream-crushing slut-puppy.”
“Fame is a fickle bitch,” I say, making her laugh since we both know that the spotlight is the last place I want to be. “Still, it could be worse,” I continue. “Considering who Devlin is, they could be getting in our face every time we’re in public. So far, they’ve been pretty invisible. Hell, I didn’t even know anyone was watching us at the track until that picture turned up.”
Early on, there’d been a few snaps here and there of Devlin and me together, but most of the posts said nothing more enticing than that I was a reporter who used to be a Laguna Cortez local, and I was writing an article about the DSF. It wasn’t until Devlin took me on an overnight trip to a desert racetrack that the media started paying attention. We’d made the mistake of sharing a deep, bone-melting kiss on the steps leading up to our trailer. After that, goodbye privacy, hello public eye.
Now I’m the girl who pulled the very eligible and enigmatic Devlin Saint off the market.
And that must have pissed some people off.
I frown, thinking of the mysterious text as I consider that.
“What?” Brandy asks, obviously noticing my change in mood.
“Take a look at this,” I say, then pull up the text and pass her my phone.
“You’re in over your head. Find the truth. Don’t trust anyone.” She reads it aloud, then meets my eyes. “Well, that’s super creepy. Who sent it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I smoosh some muffin crumbs under my finger, as if I were squishing the bastard who’s taunting me. “I’m assuming someone who doesn’t realize I know who Devlin’s father is. But maybe it’s about something else entirely.”
Her brow furrows. “Like what?”
I hesitate, but Devlin has never asked me to hold back around Brandy. He understands that I need someone to talk to. And right now, I need someone more than ever.
I draw in a deep breath, then lay it out for my bestie. “Devlin told me he has more secrets. But he also said he’s not going to tell me. Not ever.”
She tilts her head and stares me down. “Seriously? And you were okay with that?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “It was like he was warning me off, but I can’t walk away again, Brandy. I can’t.”
“I know.” Her voice is gentle. “I get that. But still, if he has secrets that are going to put you in the crosshairs for creepy messages, then it’s only fair he tells you the damn secret.”
I almost smile. Brandy’s not big on cursing, so the extra punctuation only underscores how indignant she is on my behalf.
“Not arguing,” I assure her. “And I don’t believe he’ll keep his secrets forever. That’s just not us, you know?”
“This is all new, Ellie. He’s not Alex, remember? You’re working from a completely different us now.”
I don’t answer, because she’s right, and my chest tightens in response to the truism.
Brandy frowns, then passes me another muffin, like it’s a consolation prize. “You’re probably right. After all, the man is head over heels. He wants to protect you now, but he’ll tell you eventually.”
“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.” I shake off the melancholy. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. The point is this might not be about his dad. This might be about those secrets.”
“I get that. But what good does it do if you don’t know what the secrets are?”
“It doesn’t matter. The secrets themselves aren’t relevant.”
“Then what is?”
“Who else knows them.”
For a moment, she looks confused. Then her face clears. She circles the bar and comes to sit beside me, swiveling her stool so she can face me. “You’re saying someone sent that text to scare you off. Someone who knows the rest of Devlin’s secrets and doesn’t want you to learn them?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay, maybe. But how will you ever figure out who?”
I meet her eyes. “I have an idea already.”
Her brow furrows. “Who?”
“Ronan Thorne.” Considering how much Devlin relies on him, I feel a little disloyal saying the name, but I can’t shake the sense that something is up with him. And one thing I always do is trust my instincts.
Brandy frowns. “But they’re total buds.”
“All the more reason. They had each other’s back in the service, so he’s going to have Devlin’s back now, right?”
“I guess, but this—”
“He doesn’t trust me.”
She sits up straighter. “What are you talking about?”
“Or, I don’t know, maybe he simply doesn’t like that I’m a reporter.” I drag my fingers through my tangled waves. “All I know is that he tried to warn me off Devlin early on. Said I was a distraction.”
“Ohhh.” She draws out the word as she nods her head. “Distracting him from all that other secret stuff he does.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. And he was in Vegas when Devlin and I were, too. They were talking in the lobby bar super late. And when I went down to join them, Ronan didn’t seem happy to see me.”
“Maybe you interrupted an important meeting. Or maybe he’s protective of his friend. Like the way you and I watch out for each other.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But it feels like more than that.”
“Okay, so you work backwards. What could the secret be? Something that affects them both, right? Not their military service, because that’s over. But there’s foundation stuff, right?”
“Exactly. But what? The foundation supports a lot of causes. I know about how it helps trafficking victims, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”
“But Ronan was in Vegas, and that’s where that rehab center is for the victims. Maybe something there?”
“Possibly,” I say. “But it’s a
quick trip. He could have come to Vegas simply because he needed to talk to Devlin.”
“Are you going to try to figure it out?”
I swallow, unsure. Devlin’s made it clear that he intends to hold his secrets close, so poking around trying to uncover them would surely be a breach of the relationship rules. At the same time, I want to know what that text means, and unless I know what the secret is, how can I figure it out?
“Shit,” I say, making Brandy frown. “Of course, the text is about some other secret. If it wasn’t, why would Devlin be so insistent that he be the one who investigates?”
Brandy laughs. “Now you’re overthinking,” she assures me. “You may be right. Or it could just be that Devlin’s a protective guy who’s used to being in control. It must be making him crazy knowing that some jerk is sending you cryptic messages. Of course, he wants to find out who’s behind it. The man’s your white knight, after all.”
“Tarnished knight,” I say with a smile, remembering what Devlin had called himself.
“Huh?”
“Never mind. The point is, you’re right.” I squeeze her hand. “Thanks. I’m going to take it one step at a time and wait to see if Devlin learns anything about the sender’s identity.”
“Good for you.”
“What about you?” I ask as she slides off the stool and goes back around the island and into the kitchen. “On the boyfriend front, I mean?”
“Me?” Her voice squeaks a little, which tells me everything. Or, at least, it tells me a lot.
“Spill it,” I say, rising up off my stool to grab yet another muffin despite her feeble attempt to slap me away. “Is there something new on the Christopher front? Oh my God, did he stay over last night?”
She hadn’t said a word to make me think that, of course, but I can tell that something has shifted between them from the way her cheeks flush pink. Now, she says, “No. Well, okay, yes. But we didn’t—you know.” Her cheeks bloom all the way to red. “But I want to,” she adds, her voice such a low whisper I can barely make out the words.
