by J. Kenner
Not that I tended to let any guy take me home. I was more about dark alleys or the backs of cabs, depending on how hyped up I was on a particular night.
That night, I remembered a club that a lawyer I’d fucked had taken me to. I’d headed that way, determined to dance off some of my excess energy, then finish the night with the hardest man I could snag.
I found him lingering outside the club. Max. He wore tight jeans and a white button down. He looked like an accountant pretending to walk on the wild side, and I almost ignored him when he called out to me. There was something in his voice, though. Something hard. Commanding.
Something dangerous.
And so I’d gone to him. “Won’t they let you in?”
He took a long drag on his cigarette and then tossed it onto the sidewalk. “They won’t keep me out. But that’s not where you want to be.”
I heard the edge in his voice and felt my heart race. All too often, I was the one calling the shots on these nights, even though the guy invariably thought he was in charge. This guy, though…well, he promised a new kind of danger.
“Where do I want to be?”
“With me,” he said. “I’m Max. You’re Elsa.”
I remember swallowing. I used my given name at clubs, but I hadn’t shown my ID in this line yet. Which meant this guy had seen me before. He’d been watching me.
“You look like a girl who knows how to have a good time,” he said before I could ask how he knew my name. “I think we have similar tastes, you and me.”
“Is that so? Like what?”
“Like not this place.” He jerked his head. “With me.”
I’d told him that I wasn’t going back to his place, and he wasn’t going to mine, and he assured me that he had something else in mind. “You like clubs? Trust me. You can do better than this.”
He’d led me down the block, his hand at my back as if he owned me. I let him because he had an edge about him, but something wasn’t ringing my bell. Still, this was the way the game was played, and so I walked with him.
The street was dark, and I remember passing a few people, including one who had a familiar stride. A familiar shape.
I’d shivered, realizing that this was one more night when my mind was conjuring Alex.
“You cold?” Max had asked.
I shook my head. It was September, but the night was warm, and I forced myself not to think about Alex and concentrated on the guy beside me. A guy I barely knew but who wanted me. A guy I could fuck and leave, knowing that—once again—I’d be the one making the choice.
I’d be the one doing the leaving.
We ended up about half a mile from the original club. A seedier area, with dark, stench-filled alleys. “Down there,” he said, nodding toward a metal door illuminated by a single, dim bulb. “Loud music, strong drinks, dark corners.”
He pulled me to a stop and cupped my breast as he said the last, moving closer so that his hips brushed against me and I could feel his erection. “I think we’ll have a damn good time.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” I said. “But you’re going to have to do better than that.” I pushed past him and continued toward the door, wanting to take back some of the control. Needing that push, pull. I wanted him desperate for me. And I wanted to be the one who said when and how. Mostly, I wanted to be the one to end it.
Maybe Max was the best I’d get that night. Or maybe there was someone better waiting down in that dark, basement club.
My hand reached the handle, and I pulled, but it didn’t give way.
“Fucking bitch.”
He was right behind me, and I heard the words at the same time I felt the steel blade at my throat. “Do you think I don’t know what you are, you little slut? Do you think I haven’t watched you? Oh, don’t worry, bitch. I’ll fuck you just like you want it. I own you, bitch.”
The blade pressed harder, and I tried not to swallow, because I didn’t want my throat to move. I knew how to defend myself, but he was bigger and knew what he was doing. One wrong move, and he’d slice my throat.
Of course, he was planning to do that anyway. I was certain of it.
The ice-cold memory washes over me as I draw a ragged breath, my eyes on Devlin.
“Yes,” I say. “I was terrified. And angry.” I add the last with a shake of my head. “I was so, so angry.” I hiccup, and it’s only then that I realize I’m crying. “And then suddenly he was off me.”
The other man in the alley stopped him. The man I’d noticed before who reminded me of Alex. A tall man, dressed all in black, including a black baseball cap, the bill slung low to cast a shadow over his face. He wore a bandana over his nose and mouth, but I could see his green eyes and just a hint of dark hair that gleamed under the dim light of the single bulb.
A man I now know was Devlin.
He held Max against him, the blade now at Max’s throat. “Go,” he’d said to me, his voice a low, raspy whisper. But even then, there was something familiar about it. “Run,” he’d said. “You’re strong, dammit. Get the fuck out of here.”
You’re strong. Alex’s words to me. I knew they had to be a coincidence, but I wrapped myself in their sweetness anyway.
And, yes, I ran. And, yes, I knew what the stranger would do to Max. And I didn’t fucking care.
Now, I feel the whisper of tears down my cheeks as I look at Devlin. “You were right there. Right. There.”
“Do you think it was easier for me? That close and not able to say a word? Do you think I walked away unscathed?”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “No. I think we’re a goddamn Shakespearean tragedy.”
“Not a tragedy,” he says. “An epic romance. The kind that has a happy ending.”
“Do epic romances ever end happily?”
“Ours does,” he says firmly, then stands, holding out a hand for me. “Come to bed, El. I need you.”
His words flutter against my heart. “Yes,” I say, twining his fingers with mine. “I need you, too.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
My body aches pleasantly after making love, and with a satisfied sigh, I roll onto my side and hook my bare leg over his torso. “You still haven’t told me about Carrie. She was your date in New York, and now she thinks you’re the devil.”
His face hardens. “I think it’s fair to say that Carrie qualifies as one of my regrets.”
I ease my leg off of him and sit up, pulling the sheet up to cover me as I lean back against the headboard.
He shifts so that he can see me better, then slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says gently. “There wasn’t anything between us—not that way. I told you. There’s only ever been one woman I’ve been serious about.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say, though I am a bit, and I’m sure he knows it. “Just feeling a little awkward. Carrie is Carrie, and we were never going to be besties. But she was still a friend, and—”
“I know. I knew it then, too. Believe it or not, that’s part of the reason I took her to New York.”
I cock my head. “Now you’re really not making sense.”
“She was the friend of a friend who lived in Manhattan. Jon. He knew I was coming up for the weekend. It was a conference for various non-profit organizations, and I’d been invited to speak. There was a formal dinner, and the expectation was I’d have a date. Carrie wanted to come visit Jon, and Anna was busy on-site with the final stages of construction. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You weren’t worried she’d recognize you?” Though none of my friends except Brandy knew that Alex and I’d had a relationship when I was in high school, they did come to the house where Alex worked. Which meant they saw him—and often commented on how cute he was.
“I didn’t worry about you, did I?” he counters. “And if anyone could see Alex beneath the mask of Devlin, it would be you.”
“It’s not a mask,” I say, reaching out to stroke his cheek.
He catches my hand, holding my palm f
irm against his beard and the sharp angle of his jaw. “Not now,” he agrees. “Back then, though…”
I nod. At that time, Devlin would have been about three years out of the gate from when Alex disappeared on paper and Devlin emerged from the shadowy past that Devlin’s military and intelligence friends had created for him.
“Carrie was okay with it just being a friendly trip? She always thought Alex was hot. I have to assume she’d have been even more attracted to Devlin.”
“She was,” he says.
“Which?” I’m not sure if he means she was okay with the plan or that she was attracted to him.
“Both,” he says, and we share a laugh.
“Well, I should have expected that.” When he moves so that his back is against the headboard, I straddle him, letting the sheet drop away. He cups my breasts, and I bite my lower lip, my hips undulating in a way that’s designed to entice both of us. And to signal very clearly that we’re on a break and not done for the evening.
His fingers tease my nipples as he says, “You must not want this story very badly.”
“On the contrary.” I ease down, so that his cock is nestled between my legs, then lean forward at the waist, until I’m propped up on his chest, my head tilted to look at him. “Tell me the rest.”
His hands go to my waist, then he slowly strokes the swell of my ass as he continues his story. “The first night was fine. We had dinner and appetizers with Jon. She went to her room after and I went to mine. They were connecting, but the door was closed. I spent the next day in seminars, and she spent it shopping. That night, she had drinks with a girlfriend from college. And while she was out, I did something I shouldn’t have. Something I always did when I visited New York, even though each time I knew it was a dangerous mistake.”
He meets my eyes, and my breath catches. He’d gone to see me. The realization hits me even as he says, “It was a compulsion. I couldn’t have not searched you out any more than I could have willed myself not to breathe.”
“Every time you came to New York?” My heart is beating so loud, I fear he won’t be able to hear the words.
He nods.
“And I never saw you. Or, I guess, I never knew that I saw you.”
The muscles around his mouth move, but I can’t tell if he’s fighting a smile or a frown. “I never wanted you to. But I watched you. Every time I came to the city, I found a way to watch you.” His eyes lock on mine. “That night—with Max—you saw me, but you didn’t really see.”
“I had a sense of you, though,” I tell him. “The way you moved. Walked. I don’t know. I caught a glimpse of you before the alley, and Alex was on my mind. I thought I was a little crazy, actually, but—” I cut the words off, my mind back on that horrible memory of Max and what he tried to do.
I draw a breath, forcing myself to shake it off and continue. “Afterward,” I say, then pause before starting again. “Afterward, I felt like the guy I’d seen was a guardian angel. It made sense, right? After all, for all I knew, Alex was dead.”
He winces at that.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It wasn’t then, but I have you back now.” I flash a flirty smile. “So long as this story doesn’t get too crazy, then all is forgiven.”
I regret the words the moment I see the hard glint in his eye.
“Devlin,” I say. “Just tell me. I already know she thinks you’re the devil. I want to know why.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to stay silent. Then he says, “That night—after I saw you—after I stopped Max—I went back to the hotel. I was wired. I’d killed that man. That fucker who’d wanted to hurt you. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. I went into the room and had a couple of drinks. Slammed them back, one after the other just to dull every nerve in my body. Then I showered, wanting to wash it all away. The blood. The memories.”
I tense, scared of where this is going, but not wanting him to stop.
“I told you our rooms connected, but we’d kept them locked at night. Earlier, though, we’d been talking, and it was still open. I was in a towel when she passed by the open doors between us. She’d been drinking—a lot. I had, too. I can handle my liquor, but I didn’t want to that night. I wanted to get dead drunk. Blind drunk. I wanted to forget.”
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks, but don’t wipe them away. Instead I sit perfectly still, wishing that things had been different, just as I’d wished so many times in my life.
“I don’t know what she wanted other than sex. And after a few more drinks, I was happy to oblige.”
I swallow, not sure I want to hear this, but at the same time hanging on his every word.
“I was … rough. And she liked it that way. I—I had a lot of things to work out, and the alcohol was making it easy to get lost.” He drags his fingers through his hair, then pulls me to him, resting his forehead on mine so that we’re touching, but I can’t see his eyes.
“I got lost,” he said. “But I managed to pull out of it. I realized I didn’t want that. Didn’t want her. And so the next night, when she came to my bed, I sent her away.”
“You’ve tied me up,” I whisper. “And I like it rough, too.”
He pulls back, then tilts my chin up, this time looking straight into my soul. “Because I want you. Want to claim you. To own you. And because I know what you like—that possibility of danger, even though it’s only a fantasy, because you know I wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
“Yes.” I swallow, not sure what he’s going to say next.
“With her, all I thought about was you. I was punishing her—punishing myself—because I’d lost you. I was using her, just the way my father uses people. Hurts people.”
I cringe. “You hurt her? It was an accident. She knew you—”
“No.” He almost laughs. “I didn’t hurt her.” He draws in a breath. “She wanted me to. She wanted me to take her where we’d gone the night before, and then some. And when I wouldn’t go there with her, she got angry. Explosive. Said I’d set her up. Used her. And she was right.”
I lean forward and kiss him lightly. “That doesn’t make you a monster, and you didn’t owe her anything after.” I press a palm to his cheek, holding his face steady as I look deep into his eyes. “You can use me, though. I want you to. You know there’s nothing you can do that will push me away. Nothing you can want from me. Sweet. Rough. Whatever you need,” I say gazing into his eyes. “Whenever you need it.”
He smiles, recognizing his own words to me. “Baby, I know.” He pulls me to him, holding me tight until, finally, he rolls me over onto my back, his arms on either side of me as he holds himself above me, those now-familiar green eyes studying me.
“What?” I feel the smile tugging at my mouth as I expect a flirty comment or a long, deep kiss.
So I’m not prepared when he says, very softly, “I love you, El. I’ve always loved you.”
I blink, holding back tears as I try to speak through the thickness in my throat. “I know.”
“I should have said it already. You did, and every time I heard those words, my heart swelled, and I felt like the luckiest man on earth.”
“You’ve said it a thousand times,” I tell him. “There’s ways to talk without saying words.”
“But you still like the words.”
I laugh as he pulls me close. “Yes,” I admit. “Very much.”
We stay like that, our bodies touching, our breath mingling, for what feels like forever. Then he says, “She could be a problem.”
It takes me a minute to shift gears and realize he’s back to talking about Carrie. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t realize she was holding on to so much anger.”
I nod. “When she first said something, I asked her if she was the one sending the texts. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, either.”
“Do you think it’s her?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “There’s so
mething else I have to ask you.”
He shifts, too, his brow furrowing. “This is becoming quite the night,” he says, and I laugh, grateful that he’s lightening the mood.
“Did you know anything about Uncle Peter being involved with porn?”
I know before he answers that he didn’t have a clue. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I admit, then tell him what Lamar told me.
“Just because Mulroy was involved in porn doesn’t mean that Peter was. That doesn’t sound like the man I knew.”
“Me either.” But what I don’t say is that working in organized crime and the drug trade wasn’t the Peter I thought I knew either. I’ve always known that everyone has secrets, but coming back to Laguna Cortez, that lesson has truly hit home.
Devlin has blueberry scone mix in his cabinets, and I watch as he stirs the batter. It’s barely eight o’clock, but he’d slipped out of bed just after six. I’d felt the loss of his warmth immediately, and once I realized he was up for the day, I couldn’t fall back asleep.
I’d pulled on one of his T-shirts, then gone in search of him. I heard him before I found him, and I spent a pleasant twenty minutes watching him beat the shit out of the punching bag on his back porch. He’d wrapped his hands, and I’m glad. I remember only too well the time I’d seen his fingers raw and red, along with the blood stains on the smooth, tan leather of that poor, beleaguered bag.
Last night, his knuckles had been red, but not raw and bleeding. He’d held back a bit with Walt, of course. Which is why the bastard isn’t dead.
“Better now?” I’d asked when he turned toward me, sweat dripping off his brow into his eyes. He wore only shorts, and his entire body glistened like an ancient god’s portrait spotlighted in a museum.
“Getting there,” he’d said, then took my hand. “Talking last night helped. Showering with you now will finish the job.”
“You have a one-track mind.”
“If the track is you, then yes,” he’d said.
Now, we’re showered and dressed for the day, and soon enough we’ll have scones together. Then he’ll leave for the foundation, and I’ll go home to check on Brandy and then dive back into my research about Peter, with reaching out to Cyrus Mulroy being the first order of business.
