by J. Kenner
“Oh, please,” she says. “I swear I won’t sell it.”
I almost laugh, because the thought that anyone would pay for my signature is beyond funny. The owner, Inez, catches my eye, her head tilting in question. Shall I get rid of her?
I shake my head just enough to let her know it’s fine. “Yeah,” I say to the woman. “Sure, I’ll sign.”
I do, and she looks so ridiculously grateful that I think she must have mistaken me for a movie star. “That was weird,” I tell Inez and Brandy after the woman’s hurried outside, probably to go put my signature in her safe deposit box.
“People collect things,” Inez says with a shrug. “That’s part of why the line of turtle jewelry I sell does so well.” She flashes a teasing smile that reaches all the way to her pale blue eyes. “When I read about Devlin Saint before, I used to think he collected women. But I guess I was wrong. He seems very content with only one trophy in his collection.”
I do a fake curtsey and the three of us laugh. I’ve liked Inez since she saved my ass by finding me an affordable cocktail dress right after I’d arrived in Laguna Cortez. Now, Brandy and I invite her to come get a coffee with us.
“Rain check,” she promises. “I have a stack of paperwork to get through. Running a business can be a pain in the ass. Plus, I’m expecting a delivery. But thank you for the offer.”
“Any more stops?” I ask Brandy when we’re back on the street.
“Not unless there’s someplace you want to go.”
I think about it, but shake my head. There are dozens of cute stores on Pacific Avenue, but we’re working our way toward the Devlin Saint Foundation. Which means that right now, the only thing standing between Devlin and me is a short break for coffee.
Fortunately, she’s just as eager to see Christopher, so we forgo sitting and chatting in favor of getting to-go coffees from Brewski and continuing on.
We cross the Pacific Coast Highway, then walk the short distance south to the DSF parking lot. I’m about to veer toward the main doors when Brandy comes to a stop, calling for me to hold up, too.
“What?”
“Who’s that with Anna?”
I follow her line of sight toward the beach, then shrug. “I have no idea.”
“He’s hot,” Brandy says.
I squint. “Maybe. They’re too far away to tell.” All I can see is that he has light brown hair and an ass that fills out his jeans. Not a bad start, but until I know more, I’m not calling him hot.
“Doesn’t look like Anna cares anyway,” Brandy says when I tell her as much. “She looks annoyed.”
Brandy’s right. Anna’s arms are crossed over her chest, and her head is cocked to one side. I think they might be arguing, but between the sound of the ocean and the roar of traffic behind us, I can’t make out a single word.
“Boyfriend?” Brandy suggests, then lifts a hand when Anna turns a bit in our direction.
She doesn’t react, though, and Brandy lowers her hand as I say, “I don’t think she saw us. And as for who he is, I haven’t got a clue. You could ask Christopher. Maybe he knows.”
“I guess,” Brandy says as she shrugs. We turn away, and I know she won’t ask. That’s fine by me. I’m curious in the moment, but who Anna dates or argues with is very low on my list of things to worry about.
“I think I’m going to see if Christopher wants to blow off writing and go see a movie,” she says as we wave to Paul and head toward the elevator.
“You just saw The Maltese Falcon.”
“No, we made out during The Maltese Falcon,” she retorts.
“Seriously?” I press a hand over my heart. “I’m so proud.”
“I felt so naughty. You should try it.”
“I have no trouble feeling naughty all on my own, but I can’t say it’s a bad idea. Look at you,” I add with a grin. “You’re turning into a wicked bad influence.”
“Really?” She rolls her shoulders back. “I’ve never been anyone’s bad influence before.”
“Ha. Stick with me. I’ll teach you all the tricks.” I give her a quick hug as the elevator door opens on three, then watch her head into the Research Room before I continue in the elevator up to four. The doors slide open and I step out into the reception area to find Tracy sitting at Anna’s desk.
“Hey! I’m so glad to see you.” I hurry over and accept the hug she offers. “So?” I continue as we break apart. “A little bird tells me things are heating up at a certain condo building on PCH.”
“Stop it,” she says, but it’s clear she’s fighting a smile.
“I’m just teasing,” I assure her. “But I am glad that you and Lamar hit it off.”
“Me, too,” she says, then settles back behind the computer.
“Covering for Anna?” Tracy is actually Tamra’s intern in the PR department, but the DSF has a small enough staff that it makes sense that the intern would cover Devlin’s desk when Anna’s away. “Where is she?” I ask, feigning innocence.
Tracy shrugs. “She said she had to step out for a second. So here I am. He’s in with Tamra, but I can buzz and let him know you’re here.”
“I don’t want to interrupt. He’s not expecting me. I’ll hang with you for a while, and if he’s not free soon I’ll shoot him a text.”
“Sounds good to me. And, hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. I’m going to drag Lamar to some of the Fall Festival events. I love perusing jewelry at craft fairs.” She reaches up to flick a dangly copper earring. “I got these at a street fair in Santa Barbara right after high school.”
“I forgot that that was even this month,” I admit. The multi-day festival features music, food, arts and crafts. Pacific Avenue shuts down for car traffic, and booths line the street. It’s fun and always draws a crowd.
“Do you and Devlin want to go? Brandy and Christopher, too, if they want.”
“I can’t speak for Devlin, but I’d love to.”
“Fabulous,” she says, with a little clap of her hands. “We can firm up plans later and—”
She’s interrupted when the doors glide open on silent hinges and Tamra steps out, impeccably dressed as always in a linen pant suit and this season’s Louis Vuitton flats. Her head is down, her eyes on the notepad she’s reviewing. Then she looks up and smiles. “How are you doing, sweetheart? Devlin told me a bit about the texts, but he said you’re bearing up.”
“Texts?” Tracy asks.
I scowl. “Just some idiot harassing me. I’m surprised Lamar didn’t tell you.”
Tracy laughs. “No, you’re not.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. I’m not.” Lamar would never share my secrets without permission. “But tell him I said it’s fine to share. I don’t care if you know, but I don’t want to be the one to talk about it.”
“Where’s Anna?” Tamra asks.
“She had to step away,” Tracy says.
Tamra’s mouth curves into a quick frown, gone almost as quickly as it arrived.
“Is he free?” I ask, nodding at the doors that had closed behind her.
“On the phone,” Tracy says, and I glance down to see the lit-up line go dark. “But now he’s free,” she adds. She punches the intercom. “Ellie is here, Mr. Saint. Shall I send—”
She doesn’t have the chance to finish the question, as the doors start to glide open again, apparently under Devlin’s command.
I grin at Tamra and Tracy before I step through the widening gap, then listen to the subtle change in pitch as the doors change direction and begin to close.
Devlin’s standing behind his desk, and I feel my muscles relax at the sight of him. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been, as if deep down I’d feared that he wasn’t really in here and I’d never see him again.
He’s glancing at something on his desk, but when he looks up at me, his entire demeanor shifts, his smile lighting the room and going straight to my heart.
“You are a sight for very sore eyes,” he says as I hurry to his side.
> “Bad day? What’s going on?”
He brushes my words away. “Just a series of issues spreading out from Nevada like a spiderweb.”
“Oh, no.” Anna had mentioned the security breaches to me the day Devlin went to Vegas, but I’d gotten so lost in my own drama that I’d forgotten to ask Devlin if he needed to vent. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Eventually,” he says, “but not now.”
“I’m here whenever you need me,” I promise. “But that reminds me. I was checking my phone in the elevator and I saw this.” I reach into my bag for my phone, then scroll to the news bite I’d seen after I’d left Brandy. “Some up-and-coming crime boss into drugs and trafficking was killed while you were there. Or later, actually. I guess you would have been on your way back to me. Anyway, his name was Adrian Kohl. Did you hear about it?”
“I did.”
“Did you know about him? Through the foundation, I mean?”
“The foundation and my father.” His expression is as hard as his voice. “I need to go back Vegas tonight. Will you be okay? I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, feeling both guilty and special about the way he left Vegas to come to my side. I’m sure he expects new residents at the rehab facility, victims of Kohl’s enterprise. Devlin’s very hands-on about the work The Phoenix does, and I assume he wants to greet the incoming survivors. I almost ask if I can come with him and help, but DSF volunteers go through rigorous training. I’m afraid I’d just be in the way.
So instead of asking to come, all I say is, “I hate that you have that kind of thing in your head all the time.”
“Not all the time,” he says, looking at me with such exaggerated heat that I have to laugh, lightening the moment for both of us.
Then again, why only laugh when I can play the game instead. “Poor you,” I say, making my voice low and sexy. “Maybe I can make it better?” I move to sit on the edge of his desk. I’m wearing a flowy skirt, leather thong sandals, a tank top with a built-in shelf bra, and a light jacket. I kick off the sandals and shrug out of the jacket, pushing it off the desk behind me.
He cocks a brow, the one with the scar, and it’s such a deliciously sexy look that I feel myself melt. I put my hands back on his desk blotter and spread my legs in what can only be interpreted as an invitation.
He moves closer, and as I arch back to emphasize my breasts, he puts his hands on my knees and pushes my legs even further apart.
“I never thought I’d be a cliché,” he says, as he slides one hand slowly up my inner thigh, pushing up the material as he goes, “but right now, all I want to do is fuck you on my desk.” His voice drops to a whisper as he says, “Want to pretend to be my secretary?”
I squirm a bit, my pussy already throbbing as I spread my legs even wider. “You are being a cliché. How about I be the boss? You can be my assistant. If you get the job, that is. I only hire the best. You’ll have to prove yourself. I have a lot of applicants for this position.”
“I bet you do.” He slides his hands off my legs and repositions them on the desk at either side of my hips. Then he bends forward so that his mouth brushes my ear as he whispers, “What kind of duties does the job entail?”
“Well, I’m a difficult boss to satisfy. If you want to remain employed, you’re going to have to work very, very hard.”
“Hard work doesn’t scare me.”
“And I like my team to have initiative. If I have to tell my subordinates every little thing to do, that’s definitely not going to win points.”
His brow rises. “Good to know,” he says, holding my gaze. He puts one hand on my thigh, but slides the other up my torso until he’s cupping my breast through the tank. He uses his thumb to stroke the swell of my breast, and I bite my lower lip, trying very hard not to whimper. “I promise you want me. I’m the kind of man you can count on to get the job done.”
I draw in a ragged breath as he tugs my tank down, freeing my breast. I close my eyes and arch back as he teases my nipple with his thumb. “I take very little on faith,” I say, my voice breathy. “If you want to impress me, you’ll have to show me more than just idle chatter.”
“I admire an employer who values action over words.” He rolls my nipple between two fingers, and I squirm, moving to draw my thighs together to quell the ache growing at my core. He defies me by stepping between my knees and ensuring that my legs stay spread.
He slips his hands under my skirt, his palms warm against my skin, then slowly slides up my thighs until his thumbs reach my panties. I bite my lower lip as he lazily strokes the soft skin where my thighs meets my sex, then gasp in surprise when he teases my clit through the thin cotton.
“Take them off. Please,” I beg. “Take them off.”
“Now?” The pad of his thumb moves in a small circle, the pressure and motion sending sparks shooting through my body. “You’re not nearly ready.”
“The hell you say,” I protest, then gasp as his fingers slip beneath the material, teasing my entrance and making me crave more. So much more.
“Arch back,” he demands, and I shift so that my arms are behind me and I’m leaning back, my eyes closed as his fingers continue to play and tease, making my hips move of their own accord. I’m so wet, my panties soaked, and he plays with me mercilessly, tugging the crotch aside as he thrusts into me.
At the same time, he bends forward, his mouth closing over my breast. His tongue dances over my nipple, and when he draws me in, sucking hard, I feel it all the way to my core, then gasp as he fingerfucks me, abandoning the lazy strokes for hard, deep thrusts.
I buck against him, wild with desire. Crazed with need. I want to be naked beneath him. I want to feel him inside of me. I want everything. Every stroke, every sensation, every pleasure. Him.
But I can’t find the words. And all I can say is, “Now. Please, please, now.”
I watch as he lifts his head and meets my eyes, the desire on his face so palpable I almost come right then. “Do you know what the best part of sex is?”
I shake my head.
“Anticipation,” he says. And then, without warning, he steps back, leaving me untouched and very needy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Oh, God, Devlin,” El protested. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He had no intention of stopping. But he wanted this moment. This certainty that she was completely his.
His greatest fear—maybe his only fear?—was losing her again. But here she was, his in every way. It was a gift. And damned if he didn’t cherish it.
“Devlin, please.” She’d shifted to the edge of the desk, and now she reached for his hand. “Screw anticipation. I want you now. My interview, remember? And if you think you’re getting the job by leaving me hanging, you’re not the man for this position.”
She was teasing, of course, but it didn’t matter. He took her hands and pulled her off his desk, taking some loose papers with her. They fluttered to the floor—contracts, reports, he didn’t even care. He pulled her to him, then tilted her chin up. “I am,” said. “Tell me.”
He felt the shift in the air between them. The frustration in her melting into something dark and primal. “Yes. You are. You’re the only man for me.”
“You’re mine.”
“I’m yours. Devlin.” Her eyes searched his face, but he knew she wouldn’t see his fears there. With her, he could be vulnerable, true. But not now. Now, he only wanted her. Needed her. Needed to claim her and use her to help shift his world back onto its axis.
“Take off your clothes.”
She took a step back, stopping when she hit the edge of his desk. “What? Here? Now?”
“Here,” he said. He sat in his desk chair, then rolled it back a bit, watching her.
He expected her to protest, but when she reached back and unzipped her skirt, he realized he should have known she’d comply. This was El, after all, and the idea of submitting to him in his office where—a
t least theoretically—anyone might walk in, would be a new kind of temptation for her. A new thrill.
She matched him so well, even more than she knew. She was so strong, willing to face her fears. To take no shit from anyone except under her own terms. She was like lightning in a bottle, and the simple knowledge that he could have her completely—that he was powerful enough to compel a woman like her—that she would let him—made him harder than he’d ever been.
She kicked the skirt aside, then lifted the tank top over her head and dropped it on his desk. Now she stood in front of him in only her panties. Plain white cotton bikini style panties. Hell, he’d never seen sexier lingerie.
“Off,” he said. He was so damn hard, and it took all of his willpower to stay in that chair, to not stroke himself as he watched her. Instead, he held onto the armrest, his fingers digging into the leather as his desire grew with every tilt of her head, every flash of her eyes.
She shimmied out of the panties, then tossed them onto his lap, raising a brow when she met his eyes. He held her gaze, then lifted the panties, still warm from her body, and breathed in her scent.
He heard the catch in her throat as she said, “Devlin.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
“I’m yours.” She tilted her head. “And you’re mine, too.”
“I am,” he said. “And if I want you to prove it?”
She lifted her chin. “Whatever you want.”
God how he adored her. He knew she meant it. Knew that, like him, she would bend to any whim. “Even if I told you to step out onto the balcony? Even if I said I wanted you to stand there naked, a thing of beauty for anyone to see?”
He saw the movement in her throat as she swallowed. Then she stepped toward him, veering slightly as if to go around his chair. He caught her hand as she was passing. “Why?”
“Because that’s the game,” she said, and damn him, he burst out laughing. She wasn’t wrong.
With a wicked grin, she settled on her knees in front of him, her hands on his legs. Her eyes dipped to his cock, then she looked up at him, the question clear in her eyes. “I could be under the desk. You could be on a call. Or we could pretend Anna came in. Hell, she could come in. And your cock would be hard in my mouth, and you’d have to try to concentrate on what she was saying. What you needed to do, to sign, and all the while I’d be sucking, drawing you in deeper and deeper, and she’d be standing right there, never suspecting a thing.”
