by CP Smith
Her breathing evened out as he caressed her hip, and he knew he’d fucked her to exhaustion. Pulling her deeper into his body, Devin closed his eyes and let a contentment he’d never known, as well as the past two days of sleepless nights, pull him under.
A few hours later, a seagull squawking broke through his dreams and he opened his eyes to the fading light invading the cottage.
Devin rolled, pulling Calla with him, and listened to his surroundings. He could hear the high tide thunder, beckoning him to take a dip in the cool water. Running his hand up Calla’s back, he tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged until he could reach her mouth.
He kept his eyes on hers as he kissed her awake, mumbling, “Hey,” as her eyes opened.
When they’d cleared of sleep, a blush spread across her ivory skin, and she dipped her face to his neck, burying it there in embarrassment.
His little firecracker had a shy side.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
Devin pulled her head from his neck, pushing the hair from her face. She darted her gaze to the headboard to avoid looking at him, so he mumbled, “Baby, look at me.”
She obeyed, but bit her lip.
“What’s runnin’ through that head of yours?”
She hesitated for a half-second and then rushed out, “I have a bad feelin’ I’m gonna turn into a wanton woman because of you.”
Devin blinked, blinked hard again, then shoved his face into her neck and howled with laughter.
“Are you laughin’ at me?” she asked snippily, which made him laugh harder.
Drawing a breath so he could speak, Devin choked out, “Baby, you gotta know, as long as it’s with me, you can fall from grace any time you want.”
He felt her warm breath on his neck as a giggle escaped, so he rolled her to her back and kissed his way to her mouth.
“You hungry?” he asked, brushing a kiss across her lips.
“Starving.”
“This island have decent restaurants?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, “especially if you like crab cakes. A-J’s Dockside has the best in the south.”
He’d rather stay in bed with her for a week, but with food being a necessity, he pushed up then grabbed her hand, pulling her from the bed.
Calla moved to the closet, mumbling, “I keep a change of clothes in here,” then headed for the bathroom down the hall.
He threw on his jeans and headed to the dining room, where he’d left the rest of his clothes. By the time he was cleaned up and dressed, Calla came out wearing white shorts and a navy crop top that bared her sexy midriff. She wore flip-flops and her hair was pulled high on her head in a sexy ponytail.
His woman didn’t take for-fucking-ever to change, thank Christ.
Flipping on the overhead light so he could get a better look, he grinned as he scanned her body. Then his mouth ran dry when a crystal of light glistened from her navel.
Jesus, she had a belly button piercing.
“Get over here,” Devin growled.
At his tone, her eyes grew wide.
When she didn’t move, he closed the distance in two steps and pulled her into his arms.
“What?” she gasped, dropping her head back to look at him.
He crushed his mouth to hers, growing harder by the second as he palmed her ass. Ripping his mouth from hers, he looked down into her lust-filled eyes and replied, “Just makin‘ sure you’re real.”
She blinked, caught off-guard, then answered breathlessly, “You keep kissin’ me like that, you’re gonna find out how wanton I can be.”
His grin turned smug.
He let her go then pulled her to the door. He’d worked up an appetite and needed fuel for round three with his wanton woman.
“I’ll secure that after we eat.”
Calla looked at the door. The trim had popped off and the jamb was split down the center. When she pulled on the knob, the door popped open with little resistance.
“I don’t think it locks now. In the future, there’s a key under the turtle out front.”
Devin wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into his chest. “In the future, don’t tell me to take you hard, and I won’t kick the door in.”
She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Fair enough.”
Feeling more relaxed than he had in years, Devin picked Calla up, stepped through the open door, and closed it, depositing her on the porch. He nipped her neck before taking her hand and dragging her to his bike.
A-J’s Dockside was five minutes by bike in the evening traffic. They ordered crab cake sandwiches then sat on the dock and watched the fading sun kiss the horizon.
The sunset cast Calla in a warm glow, but he could see she wasn’t watching God putting the world to bed.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Penny for your thoughts.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth then sighed and placed her sandwich on the handrail.
“I think my grandfather is the one who caused your accident today. Well, not him personally, it’s more likely he had someone do it for him.”
“Calla,” he began. He needed to tread lightly. For one, he couldn’t compromise Strawn’s investigation. And secondly, he didn’t understand what part she played in Maria’s abduction and subsequent death, and he didn’t want her blaming herself. “Tell me why you think that?”
“Before you arrived today, he insisted that I marry Bobby Jones to ensure the family legacy at Armstrong Shipping. When I refused, he told me if I didn’t marry Bobby, he would destroy you.”
An image of Calla on her knees after being struck burned in Devin’s gut. “That’s why he struck you, isn’t it?”
She raised her hand to her cheek, and a fleeting look of pain crossed her face.
“Hey,” he said gently, cupping his hand over hers. “He’ll never lay a hand on you again. I promise you.”
She looked into his eyes, and he saw the sparkle of tears she would not allow to fall. “I’m fine,” she lied, “but knowin’ what he’s truly capable of got me thinkin’ about my aunts.”
“Thinkin’ what?”
“Parents are supposed to protect their children, be the only people in the world you can trust without question. My aunts never had that from my grandparents. I have that from them, but those beautiful, amazing women have lived their entire lives knowin’ that when push comes to shove, they have no one at their backs.”
Devin drew her into his arms and placed his chin on top of her head. Rubbing his hand down her back, he bent to her ear and whispered, “You’re wrong. They know if push comes to shove, the one person they can count on most in this world is the other. That’s why they’ve remained so close.”
She melted into him and nodded. “You’re right,” she admitted, looking up at him. “I never thought about it like that.”
“We make our own family in this world,” he continued, “with people we connect with. I’m closer to Nate and Megan than my own siblings. And though I’d do anything for them, I didn’t hesitate to move away from them, because I knew I had another family here.”
She thought about that a moment. “I can see Poppy and Sienna becoming my extended family.”
Devin chuckled. “I’d say they already are. I’ve never met women as equally matched, and nuts, I might add, as you three.”
She thought about that, too, and grinned. “You have a point.”
“I’m never wrong,” he added smugly, baiting her.
She scoffed. “Never?”
“Nope,” he grinned. “Knew the minute I laid eyes on you you’d be a handful, and I was right.”
“When have I been a handful?”
He cupped her ass and drew her firmly into his hips. “Good thing I like wanton women.”
Shoving him away, Calla groaned, “I’m never sharing with you again,” then turned to her sandwich and took a bite.
Devin smiled, glad he’d taken her mind off the asshole she called grandfather. He knew he couldn�
�t delay much longer, knew he had to warn her of possible danger, but not tonight. He promised to teach her how to relax, to just be, and he was keeping his word.
✿✿✿
It was pitch black when we arrived back at the cottage to secure the door. Normally, the moon would have lit our way, but clouds had rolled in after sunset blocking the stars.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to fix it,” I chuckled as we climbed the steps.
Throwing his arm around my neck, Devin pulled me in snug to his body and mumbled, “You doubt my ability to take care of your needs?”
A small grin pulled across my lips. “Needs, yes. Magically repair wood that needs to be replaced? I’ll believe that when I see it.”
A slight breeze kicked up as we approached the door and it swung inward.
“See,” I laughed, pointing out the door. “You closed it before we left and it didn’t hold.”
Devin stepped in front of me, pushing me behind him, then reached in and flipped on the light.
“I left the dining room light on,” he mumbled. “Someone’s been here.”
I peeked around his shoulder expecting to see the cottage tumbled like Maria’s apartment, but it looked neat and tidy like always.
My aunts had gone with a nautical theme for the cottage. White clapboard walls were covered with lighthouse prints in every shape and size. Every nook and cranny held a miniature lighthouse they’d picked up on their travels. Over the rock fireplace hung a huge print of the Tybee Island lighthouse, which they’d centered the living room around. The kitchen was small, with pine cabinets that had been pickled white to match the rest of the cottage.
I could see all of those rooms in a single glance, and nothing looked out of place.
“The cottage looks fine to me. Maybe your cop’s nose is working overtime?”
Devin looked down at me and cocked a brow. “My cop’s nose?”
“Former cop’s nose?”
He grinned. “I think you mean my instincts are tellin’ me someone’s been inside?”
“Those, too.”
“If I ask you to wait here, will you listen?”
I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “I think I’ve already established that I think the safest place for me is right behind you.”
Devin rolled his lip between his teeth and glared.
I shrugged. “I can be headstrong.”
“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he sighed. “Keep right behind me, no rushin’ off unless I tell you to run. I want you were I can reach you.”
“Isn’t this a little overboard? I mean, what’s the worst we can find? That kids took advantage and tossed the place looking for valuables?”
“I don’t have a clue, which means I want you where I can reach you.”
I pushed him in the back to enter the cottage. “Fine, fine. Lead on, PI man.”
Devin balked then looked down at me. “You’re gonna be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?”
I thought about it a moment. “Is that better or worse than borin’?” I asked, referring to our conversation the night before as Devin started heading for the bedrooms. I took hold of the back of his jacket and followed close. “Because I’ll remind you that last night you said, and I quote, ‘You’re fearless, not borin’.’ If I’m to take that as a complement, then me bein’ a pain in the ass must be, too.”
Devin stopped outside the bedroom we’d vacated a little over an hour ago. As he reached through the doorway to turn on the light, he looked down at me and grinned. “Now you’re bein’ cute and a pain in the ass.”
I rolled my eyes.
Grinning, he flipped on the light, and we both turned to look inside. Then I screamed.
Someone once said that a memory is like a scene from a movie, forever frozen in time. In the past, memories for me were like monsters hiding in closets, ready to strike without provocation. That closet just grew fuller.
In the middle of the bed we’d just made love in lay a man in his mid-forties with a knife driven deep into his chest. His eyes were open, blankly staring at the ceiling, as his blood saturated the mattress.
The metallic smell of blood seemed to permeate the air, saturating my senses until I gagged. Devin shoved me out of the doorway and then rushed me down the hall to the bathroom. Running inside, I hit my knees, wrapped my hands around the toilet bowl, and retched up my dinner.
I heard the faucet turn on and Devin’s deep voice crooning, “Breathe, baby,” as he placed a cold cloth on my neck.
He kneeled behind me, his strong hands coming to my shoulders to steady me as I sat back on my haunches and closed my eyes.
“I need to check the house,” he whispered. “I’m gonna lock you in here. I don’t want you to come out until I come get you.”
Come out?
I was never leaving that bathroom.
I nodded, then lay down on the tile floor hoping the coolness would calm my stomach.
And here I thought I could waltz into that basement and ID Billy Ray. He’d been dead five days, so decomposition would have . . . Great, now I have another monster in my closet to contend with.
I heard the door open, so I turned my head and looked at him.
“Do you know that man?”
The muscles in his neck grew taut, and his blue eyes lit with fire. He nodded once.
“Who?”
“A reporter by the name of Charles Taft.”
✿✿✿
“I don’t understand why you have us in separate rooms?” I asked the sheriff’s deputy standing guard.
In a flurry of lights, reminiscent of the day we found Maria, Devin and I were separated into the back of two patrol cars then whisked away to the Chatham County Sheriff’s Office. I hadn’t seen Devin since we arrived, and that was more than two hours ago.
I’d made the mistake of accepting coffee from an attentive officer, only to have it sitting like a lead weight in my empty stomach.
“It’s standard in cases like these,” the deputy answered.
“But we didn’t see anything. I’ve told you this. We went for dinner then came back to find . . . that man.”
Just saying the words brought the smell of blood bubbling to the surface.
I turned my head and looked at the two-way mirror. “We didn’t kill that man,” I bit out, talking to whoever was behind the glass.
Another ten minutes passed before the door opened and another officer strolled in carrying a file. He was older by about five years, with light blond hair and kind eyes with crinkles permanently etched in the side from either laughing too much or extreme stress. Considering his job, I went with stress.
I heard arguing in the hall and gasped.
My grandfather was in the hall.
I stood and headed for the door, but Officer Kind Eyes grabbed my arm.
“What is my granddaddy doin’ here?” I hissed, yanking my arm away.
“You need to sit down, Ms. Armstrong.”
“This is close to police harassment or, or, deputy harassment,” I quibbled. “I haven’t seen Devin in hours and, in case you didn’t know, your coffee tastes like twiddle diddles.”
The man blinked, then blinked again before a smile pulled across his mouth. “Twiddle diddles?”
“Scrotums. Stinky ones to boot.”
At my explanation, the man threw his head back and laughed, and I knew then the crinkles were from laughing.
“Please,” he said pointing to the chair, “have a seat, then we’ll release you to your grandfather.”
I moved to the chair, mumbling under my breath, “I’d rather be locked up.”
“Sorry, did you say somethin’?”
“I said I’d rather be locked up, tortured with needles, or hung on a rack and stretched ‘til my bones dislocate before I leave with that man.”
Kind Eyes turned and looked at the other deputy when he grunted at my reply.
“I take it you’re not close?” he asked, turning back to look at me.
I
crossed my arms. “If by close you mean do I hate him, then the answer is yes.”
He cocked his head and stared at me a moment.
“Ms. Armstrong,” he began. “Your grandfather insists that Devin Hawthorne broke into his home this morning and abducted you. That he’s dangerous and fully capable of killing Mr. Taft. He also said that you’re engaged to a Mr. Jones, who is also waiting outside to take you home.”
“He kidnapped me, not the other way around,” I cried out.
“Pardon?”
“My granddaddy has some deluded idea that I have to run Armstrong Shippin’ to ensure our family’s legacy. So he kidnapped me this morning to force me to agree, and Devin came and rescued me.”
The man looked shell-shocked.
“What’s your name, Sir?” I asked.
“Justin Moore, Ma’am.”
“Justin—may I call you that?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Justin, I was with Devin all evening. We went to have dinner, which any number of people will be able to verify, then went back to my aunts’ cottage to fix the door before leavin’. Anyone could have entered while we were out, because the door was broken.”
“How was the door damaged?”
Oh. Dear. Lord.
“Um, what did Devin say happened?”
He rolled his lips between his teeth and shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “We were otherwise engaged and he sort of . . .” I raised my hands and shrugged.
“He sort of what?”
Heat rushed to my face, but I knew I had to tell the truth. “. . . Kicked in the door in the heat of passion.”
The other officer grunted again.
Justin tried hard not to smile.
Whatever. After what I’d been through that day, what did I care if they knew about my extracurricular activities?
Leaning in, I implored the man to listen. “Justin, there is no way Devin killed that man, no matter what my granddaddy says.”
He leaned forward as well and opened his file. Picture after picture of Devin lying in the middle of the road, cars and trucks stopped inches from his head, spilled out.
I picked one up and grimaced.
“Who took these?”
“Charles Taft.”