All here. Now. In front of him.
Damn.
He was as pleased as he could be with the layout following a frantic two hours of rearranging and repositioning specific works, and he was finally content with the placings and the “flow”, as his agent so aptly put it. Needless to say, all the previous placing and aforementioned positioning had been carefully worked out in advance but, hey, it was his show and he’d change it as much as he wanted.
There was a low buzz going on in his belly, perhaps, he ruefully admitted to himself, owing to an overdose of coffee. But he suspected it was more like a touch of opening-night nerves and a large dollop of Francesca Jones that was responsible for the slight discomfort. The kind that’s like sore muscles after a previous day’s workout – ouchy but so good at the same time.
Hell, he couldn’t think straight any more . . . He strode to the large table being set up with glasses and catalogues, wine and soft drinks. He spoke briefly to the staff and thanked them for all their hard work and cooperation with the changes and the duties still to be performed. There was an hour to “showtime” and his parents promised to be early. The girls would probably come en masse via taxi and Flynn would get here when he could.
They had talked strategy earlier about promoting Frankie’s attendance in the hope of perhaps flushing out her stalker, if he was even still in play, but hindsight showed he usually struck following a celebrity event. Dev was adamantly against it – anything that could put Frankie in potential danger wasn’t going to fly with him and he vetoed the idea instantly. Not that he considered himself a celebrity – God, no! But her attendance this evening could make it so. And in fairness to his agent, a lot of the capital’s “glitterati” had also been invited and just this morning, a “leak” to an entertainment morning show announced her possible appearance this evening.
Dev reached for his jacket hanging over the back of a chair and slipped it on over his white linen shirt. His mum would most likely kill him for not wearing a suit, but he knew he wouldn’t enjoy the evening if he was spruced up in a suit and tie. The jacket was a deep navy lightweight wool, a single-breasted piece from a wonderful tailor in the city. His mum would approve the make and forgive him the open-necked shirt and jeans as long as his shoes were polished.
Shit. Mental head-slap moment.
He quickly rubbed the front of alternate shoes against the back of his opposite jeaned leg and hoped for the best. He looked at his watch anxiously. His mentor from college was due to co-open the exhibition. He was looking forward to catching up and showing him the work before the expected onslaught. They’d been together on a photographic expedition to Antarctica the previous year and two of the images for the show had been taken on a particularly memorable day that had been a mixture of fear and fun. God, that trip had been a blast. He owed his ex-tutor so much and hoped to make him proud.
He looked at his watch again. Ran his hand through his hair. Looked again. God, he needed to calm the fuck down. Leaning back against the wall in the rear hallway, Dev closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. His work was good. He knew that. He’d exhibited countless times before but never like this, a solo show, in his hometown. This was . . . different – this was exposure at its basest level.
An image of Frankie waiting in the wings to go on-stage, or for her next take on a film, popped into his head. Now that took courage. How the hell did she do it, time after time, project after project? No wonder she was so slim – her stomach must constantly be twisted from nerves if his gut was any barometer. He tilted his head back and whooshed out a breath. What happens next? That was the real question, wasn’t it? That’s what was niggling at him.
Understatement?
Oh yeah, it was bloody tormenting him. What on God’s earth was he to do next? He pushed away from the wall at the sounds of chatter and laughter from inside. He knew that for now, for tonight, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, that fate and experience had brought him here, to this.
Showtime.
The noise level was intense, the wine flowing, the compliments overflowing, and his head was about to burst. Devlin thanked yet another patron and took a sip of the not-too-shabby wine. Caro had insisted it would raise the tone of the opening if he served decent drinks and nibbles, and he had thankfully taken her advice. There was no doubt, even an hour into the show, that it was a resounding success.
He’d been interviewed and photographed by several of the newspapers and TV stations. He could, in theory, relax now. His agent was beaming and personally showing two “big wigs” around the various parts of the space. Dev’s stomach settled briefly, only to tighten again with each new arrival, but she wasn’t here yet. Where the hell was . . . His thoughts came to a halt as a flurry of activity heralded the arrival of new people.
And there she was.
Oh. Oh. Fuck. Gliding through the room, her arm linked with Flynn’s, she turned her head slightly to smile benignly at some gawker. Flashes from cameras lit the area one after another and the mumbles, oohs and aahs followed. Ever the professional, Frankie was dressed in a simple silky black dress, just to the knee, with a string of pearls to the waist as the only adornment that he could see. Her signature hair was shining in a glossy swathe as she turned her head this way and that. Her shoes were almost severe in their plainness of black suede with a kitten heel.
Flynn wore a suit, the bastard, and looked, even Dev had to admit, like something from the pages of GQ Magazine. Those aqua eyes fringed with sooty lashes caused many female hearts to wobble on sight of him and he pretended not to notice. Bastard, Dev smiled to himself as he raised his glass in silent toast to his brother. Go, Flynn!
Frankie let go Flynn’s arm and turned to greet Jo and Patrick, who’d hailed her from slightly behind. Dev’s mouth dried up instantly. Everything in his body tightened and his eyes narrowed to slits. Mother of fucking Christ! The dress was so far from the nun-like appearance that it pretended from the front. There was no back! None. It barely hung on her shoulders and then scooped down to her ass in a deep cowl. The expanse of skin was more than tantalising – it was downright overt. Dev swallowed the last of his wine, put down the glass on a nearby tray and moved slowly but purposefully towards her.
Frankie kept her “work” smile on her face as she flitted from group to group, chatting and making conversation with all manner of people as they studied the works on the walls and discussed the intent behind each image. She got a bit of a jolt and inwardly reminded herself to kill Dev later, when she saw one of her taken during the past summer as she leaned over the top of his old jeep laughing directly into his eyes. She barely remembered him taking it, as he was never without a camera and they were all used to him clicking away constantly. No one in the Fitzgerald household ever commented any more and she didn’t, either. She looked so happy in the picture, so carefree. So unlike how she’d felt in early June when she’d first arrived. Clifden and Ireland and the “family” had done their job well.
She felt Dev at her shoulder and stiffened slightly. Here we go, she thought.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing wearing that dress to this?” he growled into her ear, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets as if to stop himself from grabbing her.
Frankie sighed, a curl of disappointment twisting in her chest. She refused to turn to him and instead made a comment on the picture in front of her, ironically the one of the otter he’d been shooting at the shore only a few months earlier.
“That’s really pretty, Dev.” She waved her hand at the image. “Lovely light.”
“Seriously, Jones? You want to discuss my fucking light filters when you turn up in that . . . that garment? You need to come with me. Now.” He grabbed her by the upper arm and began hauling her towards the side door marked private.
“Devlin.” His mother tried interrupting but was ignored.
“Later.”
He barely paused as he almost dragged Frankie through the crowd. The door to the private of
fice loomed straight ahead and Dev moved steadily nearer, his grip on her arm never loosening.
Frankie was pissed! How dare he haul her through the throng like some recalcitrant child! She was going to give him a piece of her mind and then, then she was going to kick him to the curb. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Furious, but with a fake smile plastered on her face, she gritted her teeth and made “nice” with the various people calling to her as she was unceremoniously dragged after Dev. He reached the office door, shoved it open and spun her in behind him. In one fluid moment, he had her back flat against the door, his mouth devouring hers.
Whoa! Frankie’s mind tried to scramble to keep up, but his mouth was moving at speed over hers, his tongue plunging into her silky depths and his hands gripping each side of her face as he held on for dear life. Melting, she reached up to clutch at his shoulders, to hang on somehow as he brought her on a sensual journey that was firing on hunger.
Giving in to the madness, she realised she was kissing him back, her hips arching into his groin, needing to feel his arousal pressed hotly to her body. Gasping out moans, the kiss deepened as one of Dev’s hands reached around to hold her head in place while the other reached to trail down her bare back, coming to rest on the fabric covering her ass. Squeezing gently, he pulled her even tighter against his throbbing body and slowly eased out of the kiss. Her eyes smoky with need, she gazed blearily into his burning blue depths.
“Jesus, woman, what the fuck?”
Frankie tried to make sense of what he was growling at her. She blinked slowly, trying to discern his mood.
“I cannot believe you wore that dress here tonight,” he started and she immediately jumped in.
“Dev, don’t you dare tell me . . .”
“Shh.” He kissed her hard on the mouth. “Let me drink you in for just another couple of seconds before we go back.” He paused and then that amazing Devlin smile appeared across his face. “You’re spectacular. Beautiful. And that dress is a masterpiece. Babe, you’re . . . beyond.” He rested his forehead slowly against hers making an obvious attempt to slow his breathing.
“I thought you were mad,” she mumbled.
“Mad? Jesus, yeah, I’m mad – mad with pure fucking unadulterated lust. I thought you looked so gorgeous when you walked in and felt so, stupid maybe, but so proud of you also.” He paused again and took another breath. “And then you turned around and I thought I’d just about die. Christ, every male, and probably some females, in the gallery tonight is wishing they were skimming their hands down your spine as I’m doing right now, wishing they were feasting on your body, as I’m doing now.”
His actions mirrored the words and Frankie arched her back from the door again to allow him access to her heated skin. Her breath, which had quickened in anxiety and then slowed, kicked up a gear.
Dev growled into her ear again. “Feel me, Jones, feel how much I want you. Right. Here. Right. Now.” He bit into the tender flesh on her neck and she moaned in response as her stomach flipped again.
His hands began to move, slipping the fabric of her dress slowly up her thigh. Oh, God, she thought, he means it – right here.
Now . . . Bloody. Hell.
Before she had time to assess how that stirringly hot thought made her feel, a hammering on the door sounded close to her head.
“Hey, Devlin. Get your ass out here. Now,” Flynn’s quiet voice commanded urgently. “Your old professor is here and looking for you.” He paused for second as inside the office two pairs of startled eyes stared intently at each other. “I mean it.” The knocking continued, low but insistent. “Get the fuck out here or I’m coming in. I imagine you’d rather I didn’t. You have one minute to open this door.”
They heard Flynn greet another potential buyer and ward him off with an inane comment.
Dev looked at Frankie, a silly lopsided grin on his face. “We were this close . . .” he sighed. “How do you expect me to get through an evening in one piece when you’re wandering around out of my reach all evening?” He smoothed the fabric of her dress down her leg and slowly brushed his thumb across her swollen lip. “And in this fuck-me-now dress? Mean, Jones, really, really mean.” He rested his hands gently on her shoulders and pulled her into his arms for a long hug. “To be continued. Later. You,” he whispered, “are coming home with me and I’m going to peel this incredible dress from your body and make love to you till we’re both either really glad you wore it or really sorry.” He chuckled at her raised eyebrow. “Whichever comes first.”
Frankie pulled back from him and reached for the doorknob. “Sounds like a plan. And, Dev, just so you remember what this feels like as you spend the next few hours turning on the charm with all these potential punters,” she said huskily, her voiced pitched so that as they exited the office he was the only person to hear her. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
Chapter 16
Belly fizzing, heart pattering, eyes sparkling, Frankie moved about the bustling happy room meeting and greeting, her antennae totally tuned to exactly where Dev was at any one time. She spied Caro and Toby standing next to a photo of themselves and being photographed in front of it by some magazine people.
How weird was that?
Deciding that she simply had to discuss the latest developments with her best friend, she sashayed towards them, a determined gleam in her eye.
“Darling.” She grasped Caro by the arm and, smiling enticingly at Toby as she pulled his mom towards the open door leading to a courtyard where guests were milling about sipping wine and having a permitted smoke, she said, “I need to talk to you.”
Never slow on the uptake, Caro grabbed a glass from a passing waiter and happily scooted along behind her pal.
“Ooh, details – I love details! Especially sex deets!”
Frankie looked at her, astounded. “How did you know this is about sex?” she asked.
“Ha! I didn’t till now. Score one for me.” She took a slug from her glass, contemplated the ruby liquid, contemplated what she was pretty sure she was going to hear about her own brother and quickly took another drink. “Here.” She bagged a couple of chairs and dropped herself into one. “Sit and spill. I’m all ears, but please,” she begged, “make it snappy – I’ve been waiting for this for what seems like ages!”
Frankie huffed out a sigh, pretending to be insulted, and then, unable to stop herself, she leaned forwards.
“We almost just did it in the office!” she announced, a silly grin on her face.
“What? Just now, you mean?” Caro was incredulous.
“Yup,” she said smugly, “up against the closed door in the office!” Frankie sat back in her chair, waiting to see the reaction filter over Caro’s face.
Caro’s mouth popped open. Frankie could practically see her thinking back over the last half-hour of the opening and remembering seeing Flynn standing guard at the office door.
“People were looking for Dev, and you and he were . . . were, having sex?”
Frankie tossed her hair out of her eyes and admitted reluctantly, “Well, unfortunately, your other brother put a stop to that, as he began hammering on the door and kinda took the mood away, but we were damn close.” She paused and smiled sweetly. “And I didn’t even analyse it. Not once.” Another smile broke free as she continued. “You know me, Caro, always overthinking every bloody thing and how it may or may not reflect on my career plans, my fan base, my future, and I didn’t give it a thought! All I could think was hurry the hell up and do it!” She huffed out a breath, her own clarity surprising herself. “I wanted him to have sex with me in that office. With everyone outside. And damn, it felt hot!” She sat back in the chair, a girlish giggle escaping her.
Caro eyed her carefully. “So, no sex yet, then?” she surmised disappointedly.
“Hell, yes! There was plenty of sex. Last night. At his apartment.” She paused as Caro clapped her hands together and whooped loudly. “Shh!” Frankie warned her, anxiously looking around to see
if anyone was close enough to hear their conversation. Caro’s loud reaction could have captured anyone’s attention.
“And?” Caro took a turn leaning forwards excitedly.
“Oh, God, Caro, he was amazing,” she sighed softly. She could feel a blush spreading over her cheeks as memories, feelings, tingles, swam to the surface. Feelings she’d refused to decipher during the busy day they’d just spent.
“And?” Caro prompted again.
“It felt, I don’t know . . . magical? We just worked together. It was messy, and awkward at times, but we fit.”
Caro laughed. “I assume you’re using that term metaphorically?”
Frankie spluttered on the wine she’d just sipped and started coughing. “Ha ha,” she said, sticking out her tongue before taking another sip.
“Well, I’m so, so glad to hear you two finally got your act together, sweets, you both deserve each other.” Caro raised her brow at Frankie’s questioning look. “Oh, please! Really? You think we haven’t known this was coming down the tracks? Jesus, Frankie, do you think we’re all blind?” She laughed at Frankie’s stunned look, took pity on her. “Yes, you and Dev have been discussed as an item for ages. It was obvious you two are good for each other. But we didn’t want to raise our hopes. And to be honest, when you and Stephen got engaged we just assumed we’d put that little plan to bed.
“Christ, Frankie, you should have seen Dev when he got that news – let’s just say his temper was in full force and it wasn’t a pretty sight. But we all had to pretend we didn’t know what was going on with him or he’d have totally flipped. But,” she leaned forwards and took Frankie’s hands, “that’s all in the past now.”
Family Affairs Page 22