In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1)

by Tiffany Snow

  The words curled in my ear like the sweet, silky promise of a viper. I stiffened, but before I could push him away again, Devon pulled back.

  “Good night, sweet Ivy.” Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

  How the hell was I supposed to sleep after that?

  And yet, sleep I did. When I woke, I realized I’d slept longer than usual and it was already late in the morning. I showered in the master bath but didn’t have any clean clothes. Devon’s shirt came down to mid-thigh, so I put that back on. My black pants went on right over my bare skin—looked like I was going commando for the time being.

  When I emerged from the bedroom, I smelled food. Following the scent to the kitchen, I was momentarily taken aback at the sight of Devon with his back to me as he cooked something on the stove. His upper body was bare. Though he wore pants, his shirt had been discarded and the sunshine lighting up the apartment threw his skin into stark relief.

  Three bullet-wound scars decorated his back. A long scar that must have been from a knife arched across his shoulder blade before disappearing around his torso. The thick muscles rippled underneath his skin as he moved, the pants riding low on his lean hips.

  I sucked in a breath as I avidly drank him in. Usually scars would be a detriment, but Devon’s only added to his appeal—badges of honor earned through his pain and blood. I questioned again what he’d told me about being a spy. He definitely did something dangerous, but maybe he just hadn’t wanted to tell me it was illegal so had made up the spy thing.

  Did it matter to me? No. Not really. Should it matter? Without a doubt.

  “Sleep well?” he asked, still cooking something on the stove.

  I frowned, wondering how he’d known I was there when I was sure I hadn’t made a sound.

  “Um, yeah, I guess,” I replied, sliding onto one of the barstools at the granite counter.

  Devon reached for two plates and slid some food onto each, then turned and set one in front of me. He’d made omelets.

  “You can cook,” I said, stating the obvious, but it surprised me. It seemed like such a mundane activity for a man like him.

  “Everyone has to eat,” he said, taking a good-sized bite of his omelet.

  My mind churned as we ate in silence. Devon wasn’t the chatty type, but my thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute and I couldn’t help expressing the most worrisome of them.

  “It doesn’t seem to bother you, killing people,” I blurted. “You don’t even hesitate. I’ve only known you a couple of weeks and I’ve seen you kill . . .” A pause while I counted. “Six men.”

  He glanced at me, then took another bite before responding. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I hesitated or if killing people was bothersome to me.”

  “Are you good at your job?”

  Devon’s eyes were steady and cold. “Very.”

  Suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. I pushed my plate away. “I think I’d better go,” I said.

  “I told you, it’s not safe,” Devon replied.

  I gave him a look. “Somehow I don’t think I’d be safer here with you.”

  Devon wiped his mouth with a napkin and picked up the plates, setting them into the sink. “I wasn’t attempting to frighten you,” he said, walking toward me. I swiveled the seat so I could track him, which might have been a mistake because he didn’t stop until he stood right in front of me. He wedged his body between my knees, forcing my legs apart to accommodate him.

  “I’m not frightened,” I managed to say, “but I don’t know what to believe. This could all be a lie for all I know. Maybe you’re the bad guy.” My eyes were drawn to his chest, the width of his shoulders. I knew I should feel afraid, and perhaps I was, a little. But the fear only made me want him more, which was a red flag waving on the path of self-destruction if I ever saw one.

  “Quite right. I suppose it would depend on who you asked,” Devon quipped, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  He smelled like soap and spice, the nipples on his chest begging me to lean forward just a little and lick them. He’d shaved, the tinge of musk from his aftershave teasing my nostrils as my fingers itched to test the smoothness of his jaw.

  “So why do you care what happens to me?” I asked.

  “Because I like having sex with you,” he said, his bluntness making my jaw gape. “Last night was a bit rough, so I let you have your space.” His hands moved to the buttons of the shirt I wore. “However, knowing you’re not wearing anything underneath those clothes has me rethinking my efforts at chivalry.” The buttons slipped easily through the holes, and before I’d even had time to react, Devon had it undone to my waist.

  Devon had saved me—pursued me—only because he’d thought I’d known something about Galler . . . and because he wanted to fuck me.

  Talk about a blow to a girl’s ego.

  He felt absolutely nothing for me, even after we’d slept together. In fact, Devon gave the adage about men thinking only with their dicks a whole new level of meaning. Perhaps some women might have found it flattering. I did not.

  “Yeah, listen,” I said, pulling my shirt closed just as Devon was about to slip his hand inside, “I thought I could do the sex-without-strings thing, but it’s not really me, so I’ll just be going.” I swiveled on the stool again and hopped down. I buttoned my shirt on the way to the door to put on my shoes, then grabbed my cell from where Devon had set it on a table and slipped it into my pocket.

  “Even after what I’ve told you, you’re just going to leave?” Devon asked, following me.

  “I own a gun, so I’ll be sure to have it on me,” I replied, keeping my gaze averted. I didn’t want to get sucked into the almost-magnetic pull he had on me. “Besides, you don’t care, remember? You have the pendant. You’ve had me.” Now I fixed him with a fake smile. “I doubt I’ll cross your mind.”

  “I don’t believe in things like love and forever, and I don’t apologize for it,” Devon said with a shrug, pushing his hands into his pockets.

  “I barely know you,” I retorted. “I’m not asking for either of those things.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “In exchange for what?” I asked. “Sleeping with you?”

  Devon didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. The cold fire in his eyes as his gaze raked me from head to toe said enough. My skin prickled as though he’d touched me, and I clenched my fists, angry at my body’s response to nothing but a look from him.

  “Sorry,” I sneered, “but I’m not a prostitute. Find someone else to scratch your itch.” Then I was out the door.

  A cab ride and a quick call to Logan to bring down my purse to pay the driver and I was back home.

  “You’ve got to be freezing,” Logan said, holding the cab door for me while I climbed out. “I can’t believe you didn’t even take your coat last night.”

  “I know,” I said, wrapping my arms around my torso and shivering. I glanced up at Logan as the cab drove away. “Thanks for bringing down some money for me.”

  “It’s not a—” Logan’s voice cut off and his eyes went wide. The blood drained from his face as he stared at me.

  “What the fuck did he do to you?” Logan’s hands gripped my upper arms as he hauled me closer, his gaze inspecting my bruised face. “I swear to God, I’m going to kill him!”

  Alarmed, I hurried to explain. “Logan, it’s not what you think!”

  Logan didn’t reply, his face livid now with anger.

  “Let’s go inside,” I pleaded with him.

  Relenting, Logan pulled me into the building. To his credit, he didn’t say anything more until we were in the apartment and I was ensconced on the couch. Wrapping a blanket around me, he said, “I’m waiting for this explanation.”

  I winced at the leashed fury in his voice. Time to tell all. Logan had been with me
too long, had seen too much in my life, for me to wait any longer. So I spilled the whole tale. From when I’d first begun seeing Devon in the bank, to the night I’d watched him kill someone and right on up to my abduction last night and the car crash.

  At some point, Logan sat down next to me, the anger on his face turning to surprise, shock, then back to anger. When I finished, Logan was quiet for a moment as I nervously waited to hear what he’d say.

  “This guy has broken into my apartment, assaulted you in your bedroom, killed several people, and I’m just hearing about it now?” Logan’s voice rose until he was nearly shouting at me. His fury was palpable and I flinched away from him. Seeing that, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though trying to regain his calm.

  “I’m sorry, Logan,” I said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It was just so strange. And he didn’t assault me.” I swallowed. “I was . . . willing.” My cheeks burned. We discussed Logan’s sex life all the time. Mine, not so much, and there were good reasons for that.

  “I don’t understand it,” Logan said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You don’t like this guy, tell me he scares you, yet you slept with him and you say he didn’t force you. Why would you do that?”

  Logan was my best friend, but it felt weird discussing this. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just . . . happened. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  He stared at me and I had to look away. “You know what I think?” he asked, as if I wasn’t going to hear it anyway. “I think this guy has some kind of sick hold on you, and you can’t even see it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The only man you’ve allowed to touch you in years is me,” Logan retorted. “And now you’re screwing some guy you barely know after he threatens you? It’s too much like your past and you know it.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “Did you just say that to me?” I whispered.

  Logan shoved a hand through his hair. “Christ, Ivy. I’m sorry. Can you blame me for being upset? This guy sneaks around, scares you, and I’m not supposed to be concerned when you tell me you slept with him?”

  I threw off the blanket and leapt to my feet. “This conversation is over,” I snapped. “I wish I hadn’t told you at all.” I hurried back to my bedroom.

  “That makes two of us,” Logan called angrily after me. I slammed my bedroom door shut.

  I was shaking, I was so angry, and I was crying. I’d known Logan wasn’t going to react very well, but I hadn’t expected this level of anger. I got that he was concerned, but he was treating me like I was a brainless idiot who didn’t know what I was doing.

  Well, if the shoe fits . . .

  Shoving that traitorous thought away, I stripped off my pants and borrowed shirt, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a thick, cotton sweater. It had been beyond the pale for Logan to bring up my past, especially in this context. I was appalled and dismayed that he thought that about Devon and me. Not that there was a “Devon and me.”

  I flopped down onto my bed, sniffing away the tears. I stared listlessly out the window until I drifted off to sleep.

  I woke when it was already dark, and for a moment I didn’t remember the fight. When I did, my mood plummeted. How was I going to face Logan, knowing he was thinking there was something wrong with me for sleeping with Devon?

  Who were we kidding? There was something wrong with me.

  I brushed my teeth and hair, then went in search of Logan to apologize and talk things out. But the apartment was quiet and empty, save for me. I found a note on the counter.

  Had to go in to work. Sorry we argued. Talk tonight. —Love, L

  That made me feel a little better. At least I wasn’t the only one upset that we’d fought, though I didn’t know how we’d talk through it. What was done was done. It wasn’t like I was going to see Devon again. He’d made it quite clear that I was useful for only one thing. Well, two things if you counted the pendant, which still pissed me off when I thought about it. I’d rather Devon had just told me what he was after instead of lying.

  My stomach growled so I peered into the fridge, wondering if I should go to the grocery store. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

  I looked through the peephole first, then jerked back with a gasp.

  Devon was there.

  My palms immediately began to sweat and my heart rate kicked into overdrive. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

  “Forget how to break in?” I asked coolly, glad my voice didn’t betray my nerves.

  Devon’s lips twisted. “I was being courteous,” he replied, taking a step closer.

  I didn’t back up, my body still blocking the doorway, and had to tip my head back to look him in the eye. He was wearing a tuxedo, of all things, that looked like it had been lovingly hand-woven to fit his body. The bowtie was actually tied, rather than the pre-tied ones I’d always seen at weddings and such.

  “You’re awfully dressed up to be stopping by for a visit,” I said snottily. “Or were you hoping for a booty call?”

  Devon’s grin spread wider. “I came with a purpose, though I’m not opposed to a . . . booty call.” He said the words as though they were foreign to him, and maybe they were. He acted and spoke as though he came from a higher class of society than me, a farm girl from Kansas.

  “Forget it,” I said, then tried to shut the door, which came to an abrupt halt when Devon wedged his foot in the opening.

  “I brought a peace offering,” he said.

  “Not interested.”

  “And . . . an apology.”

  I paused. “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve been a bit . . . dodgy with you when perhaps being more forthright would have been the wiser choice,” he said.

  “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

  Devon’s eyes twinkled with humor at my dry response. “You have my most sincere apologies,” he said. Though the words were serious, his eyes held more than a trace of humor.

  I thought about it, how upset I’d been earlier. He was right, though, he had saved my life. Twice. And the sex had been good . . . very good.

  “Apology accepted,” I said finally.

  “Excellent,” he said, brandishing a hanger with a long, opaque plastic covering over it. “Now for the peace offering.” He held it out to me, but I didn’t take it.

  “What is it?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “A dress.”

  “What kind of dress?”

  “The kind you’ve only dreamed about wearing,” he said with a knowing glint in his eye.

  That perked up my interest and I eyed him. “Why do you have a dress for me?”

  “I was hoping you’d accompany me tonight,” he replied. “Dinner and dancing at a very fancy party.”

  “Is this a date?” I asked.

  “It is if I buy you dinner.”

  The excitement I felt at seeing him again couldn’t be denied, and the dress he held—still hidden from view by the protective plastic—was like catnip to me. Clothes—my Achilles’ heel.

  Wordlessly, I stepped back and allowed him inside. He gallantly handed over the dress, his lips still tipped up in a knowing smile.

  “I’ll just be a few minutes,” I said, taking it from him. I left Devon standing in the living room and hurried back to my bedroom.

  I unwrapped the dress carefully, hardly able to contain my excitement, and I gasped when it was fully revealed.

  It was a two-piece dress in an avant-garde Indian style, the fabric a thick silk tapestry in black with shades of bronze and silver. The top fit tightly across my chest and had short sleeves that reached almost to my elbows. A draping ruffle of fabric wrapped around me from underneath my breasts and stopped a few inches above my navel to bare my midriff. The bottom was a pair of snug shorts in the same material as the top,
overlaid with several layers of sheer, black organza that hung to the floor. The three-inch wide band at my waist hit right at my hips and was encrusted with tiny crystals that sparkled when I moved. You could catch a glimpse of the shorts I wore through the skirt, depending on the shift and thickness of the organza layers as I walked.

  “Wow,” I breathed in awe, eyeing the dress in the mirror. I scurried into the bathroom to put on my makeup. Heavy foundation concealed the bruise on my cheek and I was glad it wasn’t swollen any longer. I applied heavy eyeliner and smoky shadow along with a dusting of glittery powder. Pulling my hair back into a low bun, I added long, dangling earrings. A pair of sky-high heels with a strap that wrapped around my ankle completed the outfit.

  I had no idea how Devon had gotten this dress and probably didn’t want to know. It was a tiny size and for once I was glad of my smallish chest. If I’d been better endowed, there’s no way I could have fit into it.

  Grabbing a black clutch to use as my purse, I stood straighter, my shoulders back, as I emerged from the bedroom. A dress like this deserved to be worn with pride and I was determined to do it justice. And I must have succeeded in some measure because Devon had poured himself a drink and was taking a sip, but he froze when he saw me, his hand halfway to his mouth.

  I let a moment pass, then raising an eyebrow, I said, “So . . . I like the dress.”

  Devon’s gaze swept me from head to foot and back, then he tossed back the contents of the glass he held. I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

  “Me, too,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.

  Hiding a satisfied smile, I rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a pen, then flipped Logan’s note over to write on the other side.

  “What did you argue about?” Devon said, his lips at my ear. He’d come up behind me silently and his hands settled on my waist. The touch of his skin against mine was as though an electric current had gone through me. I bit my lip against the sigh that wanted to escape.

  “Um . . . about y-you, I guess,” I stammered. Focusing my attention back on the paper, I scrawled Went out for a while. Love—me. I didn’t want to say who I’d gone out with or when I’d be back. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t know if I’d turn down that booty call, despite the hurtful words Logan had said to me. “He thought you had hit me.”