Devil in a Dark Blue Suit
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What if this announcement wasn’t marriage or a baby, but rather an engagement? There’d be wedding rehearsals, the ceremony, speeches and playing happy families. Which meant he and Eden would need to shelve their sparring gloves for an extended period, even if the truce was all show.
This short stint of forced proximity might only be the beginning.
Rubbing the ache at his temple, he angled back.
‘Eden, I have a proposition.’
She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, arms ravelled tightly before her, glaring out at Sydney’s spectacular cityscape, the sleek arched line of the Harbour Bridge to the left.
‘If it involves playing strip poker until the kids arrive,’ she said to the view, ‘count me out.’
‘Strip poker hadn’t crossed my mind.’ Although now she’d mentioned it…
He smothered the idea and cleared his throat. ‘I want to put something to you, something that’ll be in the best interests of your sister and my brother.’
Her wary gaze slid over. ‘Go on.’
‘Whatever’s coming, we need to be supportive.’
After a thoughtful moment, she sighed and dragged the towel turban from her head. ‘Agreed.’
‘We won’t seem too supportive if we can’t speak to each other without reaching for the closest poison-tipped spear.’
Her teeth worried her plump lower lip before she absently finger-combed her wet hair and draped the towel over a chair. ‘I guess not.’
‘Let’s at least try to get along for Sabrina and Nate’s sake. Surely it’s not that difficult. We’re mature adults.’
‘Well, I am.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry. You’re right. This won’t do.’ She sent a brave smile. ‘I’m more than happy to put our differences aside and play nice for their sake.’
Exhaling, he put out his hand. ‘Deal?’
She stepped forward. ‘Deal.’
He took her hand. The sizzle, crackling up the cords of his arm, was the same high-voltage zap he’d enjoyed earlier when his mouth had claimed hers. When the charge reached his shoulder, crackle turned to burn, racing through his system and hitting him hard where his blood already blazed and beat.
Her eyes flashed, her breath audibly hitched. Their fingers were as good as fused, but if he didn’t let go soon they’d both be in big trouble.
If he didn’t know there’d be lasting repercussions—if he didn’t know he’d regret it—he’d make love to Eden in a heartbeat. But, even if by some miracle she agreed to succumb and satisfy this rabid sexual urge, becoming involved again wasn’t worth the drama.
Was it?
An unconscious primal impulse tightened his grip before he pried his fingers from hers. He needed to put them somewhere; his hands went to his pockets.
He shot a glance south.
Right. He wasn’t wearing trousers. More to the point, neither he nor Eden were wearing clothes. One towel, one robe, stood between him and a woman whose thrall, near or far, refused to cut him free.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he tossed a look around.
Man, he needed a drink.
Striding to the granite wet bar, he swung down a couple of wine glasses hanging from their overhead rack. ‘Want a drink?’
His throat felt drier than the Simpson.
She replied, ‘I really don’t think that’s such a good—’
His gaze shot to hers and she sucked back the retort at the same time her features softened with a convivial, almost understanding smile that said if he was fighting so hard to keep this platonic—friendly but impersonal—so would she.
‘That would be nice, Devlin. Thank you.’
Opening the fridge, he reached for champagne. Then, remembering the unfinished Cristal, he uncorked and poured domestic Chardonnay instead. A lifetime ago, champagne had been their drink. Eden would drop a strawberry into her glass and when the bubbles were gone, she’d share her fruit—one bite for her, one bite for him. He would draw the flesh into his mouth, suck the nectar from her fingers, kiss the sweet juice from her lips…
Something wet dribbled onto his toes.
Jumping back, he swore aloud. Off with the fairies, he’d over-poured the second glass. Wine had puddled on the counter, was pooling on the floor.
Of all the stupid, careless—
Eden had swung around. ‘What’s wrong?’
He muttered something about losing his grip, then joined her again. He handed over her wine, careful not to let their fingers touch this time. Putting an effort into appreciating the vibrant harbour view, he brought his glass to his lips. ‘The rain’s stopped.’
Her finger drew a curve in the air. ‘There’s a rainbow.’
A far-reaching arc of red, violet and every colour in between bowed over the giant Opera House shells, touching the glistening harbour waters either side.
Nice.
‘Did you know that the colours of a rainbow are a result of light refracted off of raindrops?’ he said.
‘That’s such a clinical way of looking at—’ She cut her jibe short and rephrased. ‘What I mean is, I’d always looked at rainbows in a magical rather than scientific light. It’s good to get the other side.’
He grinned, then softly chuckled. She was trying so hard. Trying to do the best by her sister.
His gaze veered away from the sky—spent grey streaking westward to leave newly washed blue—and settled on the equally mesmerising sight beside him.
His heart fisted in his throat.
No contest. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered.
His next words were unintentionally husky. ‘So you believe in magic?’
Concentrating on the rainbow, she hesitated before her chin picked up. ‘Sure. Why not?’
His gaze drank her in. ‘Then you’d believe there’s a pot of gold at every rainbow’s end.’
Her brow pinched and her throat bobbed before she murmured so faintly he barely heard.
‘I believed it once.’
CHAPTER THREE
HER cheeks caught light as a withering feeling fell through her middle.
Good one, Eden. Try to sound a little more wistful and pathetic next time.
But, rather than comment on her whimsy, thankfully Devlin only turned his attention back towards the colourful view.
Still, no one could deny the heady awareness throbbing between them. Hot, alive. But different this time. Different from when they touched. This was more a swift warm current swirling around them, washing up memories of what they’d once shared…what they’d let slip away…
Loosening the grip on her glass, Eden laughed at herself.
Good grief. Next thing she’d convince herself that Devlin had actually loved her once.
As if responding to her thought, Devlin downed the rest of his glass and walked away. ‘It’s warm in here.’
The room had felt icy when they’d first entered. Now…yes, it was warm and getting warmer, despite both their efforts to keep the temperature down. But great sex—even bone-melting, unforgettable sex—wasn’t the answer.
So why did her gaze insist on trailing the broad expanse of his back as he walked off…? Why did she imagine her mouth tracing the salty heat of his skin?
Dragging her gaze away—needing to douse the tingles chasing over her flesh—she gulped down half of her drink.
They’d tried arguing, being nice. Maybe it was time to put up a wall. Quit communication altogether. Get as far away from Devlin and his maleficent magnetism as this enormous penthouse suite would allow. That wouldn’t be rude, merely smart.
After a harried search, her gaze landed on a glossy magazine. She passed a monstrous gilt mirror, a postmodernist sculpture of lovers embracing, and, at the far side of the room, swiped the heavy magazine off the coffee table. In the nick of time, she stopped from lowering into the damask couch. Too much opportunity there. Devlin might sit down beside her. Way too close for comfort.
She glanced towards the balcony.
Not in a robe.
One of the two bedrooms?
Oh, Lord, no.
Her gaze dropped.
The carpet certainly felt soft enough. She eased down onto the pile and, back against the sofa, crossed her ankles of her outstretched robe-covered legs then buried her nose in the magazine.
At the bar, Devlin topped up, but then set the glass aside.
‘I’m starved,’ he announced, as if he too had found the answer to their problem. ‘Want something to eat?’
Although she’d lost her appetite, her stomach felt empty. She really ought to eat something.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll have a salad.’
After ordering, Devlin settled down for a few minutes to do some work on his BlackBerry. When he was finished, he slid the phone back onto the polished table. In her peripheral vision, she saw him thatch his fingers behind his head. He stretched his washboard waist one way then the other before letting those impressive arms drop to his sides.
‘You look engrossed,’ he said.
She didn’t look up. ‘I always find fashion interesting.’
He wandered closer. ‘When did you open your boutique?’
‘The month after—’ She caught herself. She didn’t need to mention their break-up again. ‘A couple of years ago now.’ Three to be precise.
‘So that dress-design course paid off?’
She gave a wry smile. Actually she’d earned an advanced diploma in fashion design and technology at East Sydney College.
‘The business degree I’m doing part-time helps too,’ she told him, ‘as well as trips to Paris, Milan, New York.’
He let out a low whistle. ‘You’ve been around.’
‘If I want to compete with the top outlets, I need to.’ Although boarding a plane was always a battle, especially long international flights. Bad turbulence could make her whimper. And seeing Red Eye hadn’t helped her phobia one bit.
He piped up, ‘I thought you were afraid of flying.’
Unlike ultra-light skylarking, ‘Boarding airbuses is a necessary vocational risk.’
‘Risks can pay off.’
She finally met his gaze. ‘Risks can kill.’
In fact—
She dug her nose back into the Venetian spring fashion exclusive at the same time the doorbell rang.
Devlin set off. ‘Food’s here.’
She would have followed and, perhaps, pulled up a chair at the formal setting. But if they sat at the table, they might look into each other’s eyes, maybe accidentally touch. She shivered and brought the magazine closer to her face.
Far wiser to stay put.
Still, over the top of the pages, she cased out those remarkable muscled limbs as he sauntered towards the door, each languid movement perfectly in tune with his casually commanding style. The instant he turned back, silver-domed plates balanced in each hand, she buried her gaze again.
When he lowered her meal to where she sat on the floor, she set her magazine down. Dome removed, her appetite bit at the colourful fig, apple and pecan-nut salad. The yoghurt aioli smelled delicious. She was hungrier than she’d thought.
Devlin positioned himself on the couch, but with his back against the far cushioned arm, long legs stretched out along the seat, a club sandwich and fries on his lap.
Eden held her breath.
Maybe she should have sat at the table. In this intimate corner of the room, with the natural light barely reaching them, this seating arrangement felt far too…opportunistic.
But he seemed to be behaving himself. Given he’d made the affable gesture to join her, but not too close, jumping up now to eat at the table alone would look noticeably rude and, hopefully, unnecessary.
After a few moments of mutual munching, Devlin sucked the salt and sour cream off his thumb and noted, ‘That looks, uh, healthy.’ He offered a chip. ‘Want to try one of these?’
Her fork tapped her plate. ‘I prefer natural ingredients.’
‘Fries are natural too. Potato cooked in natural oil seasoned with natural salt. Three food groups, and I haven’t even started on the sandwich.’
A smile played around her mouth. She’d missed his dry humour…the slight burr in his speech whenever he teased through a crooked grin.
Letting her guard down a little more, she stabbed at some blue-vein cheese. They had time for a lesson in nutrition.
‘The calcium in dairy foods like cheese is terrific for healthy bones.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Mouldy cheese and I don’t get along.’
Fair enough. ‘Fruit is great for glowing skin.’ She held up a slice of apple. Then, remembering the champagne-infused fruit she used to feed him when they’d dated, she rethought the move.
But he’d already leaned forward to loosen the apple off her fork. ‘Glowing skin, huh?’ He flexed a brow. ‘How can I resist?’
He popped the slice into his mouth and slid down from the couch onto the carpet alongside her. His plate settled on the floor to his left as he chewed, swallowed, then licked his lips.
‘Nice.’ He tipped his chin at her plate. ‘And that?’
Although her stomach somersaulted and better judgement screamed to move away, she preferred to stay calm. She wasn’t a baby. She could handle Devlin Stone. She’d got him to back off earlier, hadn’t she? He knew she was serious. What was more, notwithstanding the chronic sexual pull, he didn’t want to get involved any more than she did. He was merely trying to get along for the kids’ sake.
She indicated the pecans. ‘Nuts are protein rich. They’re delicious mixed with cereal when you jump out of bed in the morning.’
‘What if you don’t want to jump out of bed? What if you want to take your time?’
She slid him an arch look. Was he being light or leading?
Looking offended, he pinned back his shoulders. ‘What? I’m only saying that I enjoy a good long stretch in the morning.’
Feeling her breasts swell, she sidled a little away. She knew very well how much he enjoyed his stretch in the morning.
He drew up his legs and angled one tanned forearm over a bare knee while he started on his sandwich. When his towel marginally slid up his athletic thigh, a pulse fluttered in her throat and she swallowed hard.
How on earth was she supposed to eat now?
After a few automaton mouthfuls—trying to keep her mind and gaze off her companion—she announced, ‘Delicious, but I’m full.’
He wiped his mouth on a napkin. ‘Me too.’ He leaned over to take more apple from her plate, then stopped to ask, ‘Do you mind?’
She forced a smile that didn’t betray how fast her heart was beating. ‘Silly to let it go to waste.’
Drawing away, he took a bite from the slice. ‘So, what’s next on the agenda?’
She smiled saccharine sweet. ‘We could see if our clothes are ready?’
He didn’t seem to hear as he slid the rest of the apple into his mouth. Resting his forearms on raised knees, he slowly chewed, seemingly lost in his thoughts, even as his eyes searched hers. Then his head dropped back and he chuckled.
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