by Sandra Brown
But James Lawrence Tyler wasn't only lucky, he was eternally optimistic.
Nothing was impossible. He simply wouldn't accept this situation. Fate couldn't play a bad joke on him like this and get away with it. It couldn't end this way, with Devon just quitting his life and both of them being miserable about it. No way. He wouldn't allow it.
Hell no.
* * *
Chapter 19
"Visits are limited to fifteen minutes."
Lucky was shown into the room where, a week earlier, Devon had met briefly with her husband. "I understand," he said to the official. "Thank you for arranging this meeting on such short notice."
During the bleak hours of the night before, it had occurred to Lucky that the manly thing to do would be to confront Devon's husband.
He wasn't yet sure what he was going to say to Greg Shelby. Was he supposed to say that he was sorry for making love to Devon? What an appalling thought. He wasn't sorry for it in the slightest. To say so would be a lie. He supposed he would just come right out and tell the man that he was in love with his wife.
That, too, had occurred to him during the bleak hours of the night.
For all his philandering, he'd always figured that one day there would be a woman who would make sexual fidelity not only an obligation but a pleasure. Devon Haines was that woman. She had made monogamy the only form of sexual activity he wanted to engage in.
As Tanya had done for Chase, Devon had made all other women pale in comparison. She could fulfill his every need and make fulfilling hers a lifetime challenge that he would look forward to meeting.
The idea of his child growing inside Devon gave him goose bumps. It was probably the goose bumps, and the lump that had formed in his throat at the thought of making a baby with her, that convinced him it was love.
Hand in hand with love came honor. That was one lesson the Tyler children had been taught by both their parents. If you loved people, you might hurt them, disappoint them, anger them, but you never, ever, dishonored them.
It was that code of honor that had compelled him to drive through the gates of the country club prison to meet with her husband.
"Are you Tyler?"
At the sound of the voice, Lucky came around and got his first look at Greg Shelby. Mentally he sighed with relief. He'd dreaded meeting a Mel Gibson lookalike garbed in righteous martyrdom and prison stripes.
Instead, facing him was a tanned, nice-looking guy—but not one Sage would deem a hunk. It pleased him to note that Shelby's hair was thinning.
"Mr. Shelby?"
"That's right."
Carrying a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Rushmore, he moved into the room and sat down on the sofa, laying his arm along the back of it. His nonchalance surprised Lucky. Surprised and provoked. Why wasn't the son of a bitch going for his throat? Didn't Devon deserve that?
Shelby said, "I don't have to ask what you want to see me about, do I?"
"I guess you don't. You read all about it in the newspapers."
"So did everybody else," he remarked bitterly.
Lucky sat down in a chair adjacent to the sofa. The two men squared off and eyed each other. "I'm sorry you found out about it that way," Lucky said, meaning it. "I know it couldn't have been easy on you, but it was a helluva lot worse on Devon."
Shelby snorted. "She's not in prison, though, is she?"
"She didn't commit a crime."
Lucky's bluntness momentarily took Shelby aback. Then he grinned slyly. "Some would think that what she did with you was a crime."
"I don't. And you don't either."
"How do you know what I think, Tyler?"
"If you were torn up over her adultery, we wouldn't be discussing it so casually."
Shelby gave him another wily grin and said sarcastically, "You're right. Devon's a veritable saint. Her only crime was marrying a guy destined for prison."
Lucky leaned back in his chair as though they were discussing the baseball season instead of an issue that, depending on the outcome, could determine his future.
"I wonder why she did that?"
Shelby regarded him shrewdly, then shrugged. He left the sofa and went to pour himself a cup of coffee from the dispenser. "Want some?"
"No thanks."
He blew on his hot coffee, then sipped. "Devon wanted an inside, in-depth story on a white-collar crime that most people would merely label good business. Because I claimed to be innocent, the victim of manipulators too smart to get caught, the case made damn good fodder for her column."
"She's got talent."
"She sure as hell does. She had everybody in Dallas rooting for me." He frowned into the Styrofoam cup. "Too bad the judge and jury couldn't read the newspapers. Maybe we should have put her on the stand as a character witness. She might have convinced them of my innocence."
"Like you convinced her?"
Again, Shelby shrugged noncommittally. He was too clever to admit anything or to be caught in a verbal trap. Lucky wanted to pound his complacent smile to mush.
"Devon got out of our marriage what she wanted," Shelby said.
"If you're suggesting that all she wanted out of it was a good column or two, you don't know her at all."
Shelby actually laughed. "Maybe you're right, Tyler. You probably know her at least as well as I do."
Lucky wasn't going to discuss Devon and their relationship with this man, whom he was despising more each minute they spent together.
Shelby finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the wastepaper basket. "I've been a model prisoner, you know," he said conversationally. "I don't complain about the food. I keep my quarters neat. I don't pick quarrels with the other inmates. I had a good chance for an early parole."
He turned a menacing stare on Lucky. "Then you banged Devon, and she didn't even have the good sense to keep it quiet."
Lucky's hands balled into fists, but Shelby was so caught up in his own wrath, he didn't notice that or the flexing motions of Lucky's jaw.
"I didn't want any wrinkles in my plan. My lawyer said I had a good chance to get out the first time I was reviewed for parole, if there wasn't a blemish on my record. Now this," he spat. "Of course, it has nothing to do with me personally, but they're bound to figure that our hasty marriage was a gimmick to try and keep me out of here by swaying public opinion in my favor."
"Which it was."
Lucky was fully enlightened on Shelby's character now. He had manipulated Devon into feeling sorry for him and marrying him on the spur of the moment, as girls marry soldiers on their way to the front trenches. He hadn't thought a man could stoop that low, could use someone so unconscionably, but Shelby didn't have a word of regret for how this scandal had affected Devon. All his concerns were for himself.
He was saying, "I mean, if my wife's bedding other men, it sure as hell doesn't say much for our marriage, does it?"
"No, it doesn't." Lucky came to his feet. "Tell me something. Did you ever love her?"
"Love her?" Shelby repeated scornfully. "That's the real joke on me. There was a possibility that Devon's stirring prose might keep me out of prison, so I milked that for all it was worth. It didn't work.
"Then I married her on the chance that would help, but lost that gamble too. So what have I got? A wife who's no use to me at all. In fact, she's a liability now that she's made her own notorious headlines. And the real kicker is that I haven't even availed myself of the consolation prize, her sweet body."
Lucky's heart slammed against his ribs. Only excellent control kept him from audibly gasping. His ears rang with Shelby's words. A shudder passed through his body.
"Stupid bitch. If she's going to pass it around, the least she could do is keep her affairs secret until I'm released."
Lucky, elated and furious in equal measure, had to get out of there or he was going to ram his fist through Shelby's front teeth. Over the last few weeks he had learned the wisdom of exercising self-control.
He stretched his arm s
traight out in front of him and aimed an index finger at the center of the prisoner's chest. His eyes were as cold and blue and still as a fjord.
"When you get out of here, I'm gonna beat the hell out of you."
Having made that promise, he pivoted on his bootheels and stalked toward the door. There, he turned and, almost as an afterthought, added, "Before long, it won't matter to you who Devon is sleeping with. She's getting an annulment."
* * *
When the office door was pushed open, Chase glanced up from the paper work he'd been doing. He was surprised to see Tanya come in, followed by a tall, attractive woman.
"Goosey!" He stood and rounded his desk to greet his former classmate with a handshake, then a quick, hard hug.
"Hi, Chase," she said, laughing. "It's good to see you."
"Why haven't you been to any of our class reunions?" Smiling down into Marcie Johns's face, he said, "You look fantastic."
"I can't believe you're calling her by that horrid name!" Tanya exclaimed.
"You didn't take any offense, did you?" Chase asked.
"Of course not. If I could bear it as a sensitive, self-conscious adolescent, I can bear it as a mature adult. As for the class reunions, I lived in Houston for several years, and it was never convenient for me to make one."
Chase regarded her approvingly. "You're really looking terrific, Marcie. The years have been more than kind. They've been generous. I hear your business is going great guns, too."
"Thank you, and yes, I've enjoyed being in business for myself. The economy has slowed things down the past year or two, but I'm hanging in there."
"Wish I could say the same," he remarked good-naturedly.
"Oh, I understand you've got something very happy to celebrate."
"I told her about the baby," Tanya informed him. "And she's convinced me that even though our budget is tight, we can afford a house, and that now is an excellent time to buy. It's a buyer's market," she said, repeating Marcie's words.
"Should I be reaching for my checkbook?" he asked teasingly.
"Not yet. Marcie and I want you to come see the house she showed me yesterday. I think it's perfect. Will you come?"
"What, now?"
"Please."
"Sorry, sweetheart, but I can't." Tanya's animated face became crestfallen. "If it was any other time, I would, but I'm expecting a rep from the insurance company. He was supposed to be here right after lunch, but called to say he was running late. I need to be here when he arrives."
"I read in the morning papers that your brother had been cleared of those ridiculous arson charges," Marcie said.
"Is there another problem, Chase?"
"No," he said, reassuringly pressing Tanya's hand between his. "We just need to go over the inventory list of all the equipment we lost and discuss our claim."
She sighed with disappointment. "Well, maybe tomorrow."
"Or even later today," he offered. "Why don't you go look at the house again, and if you're still excited about it, call me. Maybe I can meet you there after he leaves. That is, if you're free, Marcie."
"I blocked out the entire afternoon for Tanya and you."
Tanya was smiling again. She threw her arms around Chase's neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "I love you. And you're going to love this house."
With his arms around her waist he hugged her tight. "I probably will, but not as much as I love you. Call me later."
Following them to the doorway, he waved them off.
* * *
"I know you're looking at me through the peep-hole. I'm not going to leave until I see you, even if it means climbing over your fence again. Save us both the trouble, okay?"
Devon unlatched the lock and pulled open the door. "You shouldn't be here, Lucky. You're only making things worse by—"
Her words were stifled by his mouth, which swooped down to claim hers in a scorching kiss. With his arms locked tightly around her, he walked her backward into the nearest wall. Securing her in place by tilting his body forward at the hip, he cupped her head between his hands and held it still for his plundering mouth.
The kiss left her breathless and unable to speak. He used that to his advantage. "I drove straight here from the prison where I had a chat with Greg Shelby." Ignoring her sudden intake of breath, he doggedly continued, "Notice I didn't call him your husband, because in the strictest sense of the word, he isn't, is he, Devon?"
"Yes," she cried mournfully.
"No. I'm more married to you than he is." He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, keeping his gaze riveted on hers, which was wide with disbelief. Depositing her gently on the bed, he followed her down.
"I knew there was something odd about that night, something I should remember." He spoke rapidly, the words tripping over each other. "But I could never pinpoint what it was. Now I can. You were a virgin. I was your first and only lover. Not Shelby. Not any man. Me. Right, Devon?"
She closed her eyes. Tears leaked from them and rolled down her cheeks. She nodded. Lucky released a long-held sigh and bent down to rest his forehead on hers.
"Your marriage to him was never consummated?"
She shook her head no.
"Thank God." His breath ghosted over her tear-streaked features. He sipped a cloudy, salty droplet from the corner of her lips, then whisked them with his tongue.
Their open mouths sought each other. It wasn't as tempestuous a kiss as the previous one, but it was deeper, longer, wetter, more meaningful, their searching tongues conveying unspoken emotions.
Slowly, article by article, he removed her clothing, stopping occasionally to admire, pet, kiss areas of her body that up till now he had only imagined. He had explored them first in darkness and knew them only by touch. Now his eyes had a sensual feast as he marveled over each curve and contour.
Placing her hands above her head, he ran his fingers down the pale undersides of her arms. His hands brushed across her breasts, causing the nipples to peak, then down her belly, over her navel, to her thighs. He caressed the satin texture of each one, delighting in their slender shape. The muscles of her calves perfectly fit his palms. He stroked her slender ankles, the arches of her feet, and ran his thumbs along the pads of her toes.
She was lovely all over, but between her thighs she was so beautifully, wonderfully woman, it made his heart ache. Palming her soft mound, he bent over her and made love to her mouth with his tongue, delving and withdrawing with a tempo that fired their imaginations and their blood.
With anxious longing, she quietly cried his name. He removed his expertly caressing hand and calmed her by dusting her face with light, airy kisses. Leaving the bed, he undressed.
The blinds were open. Afternoon sunlight streamed in, casting alternate strips of light and shadow across his flesh, limning his body hair with gold.
He had never known an ounce of modesty. Yet, standing at the side of Devon's bed, as he stepped free of his jeans and was left naked, he experienced a twinge of uncertainty and self-consciousness. Would his tall, lean body appeal to her? His chest was hairy. Some women didn't like hairy chests.
But when he returned to the bed and stretched out beside her, she allayed his misgivings by imbedding her fingertips in the crinkly pelt on his chest.
To his supreme satisfaction, she explored him with bashful but lustful curiosity. Her deft caresses were driving him slowly mad, but he forced himself to lie still and let her explore to her heart's content. Dying of pleasure wouldn't be a bad way to go.
At last, unable to take any more, he captured her hand. Keeping his eyes on hers, he sucked her fingertips while stroking her palm with his thumb. He then carried her hand down and folded it around his steely erection. He held his breath, wondering if she would accept or reject the gesture.
First with wonder, then with pleasure, then with desire, her hand explored and caressed his sex—the strong root, the smooth length, the bead of moisture at its tip.
Groaning his ecstatic misery,
he lowered his head to her breasts. They were beautiful, and he told her so as he rubbed his open mouth over one flushed crest, then the other, until they were stiff. Wantonly he kissed her belly and that alluring delta of soft curls. She murmured a low, throaty "Please." He said that this time she had to be very ready, very wet.
She said she was. He tested her to see. He waited no longer.
As her body closed around him, milking him like a silken fist, he learned the difference between having sex and making love. This wasn't taking, but giving. It wasn't temporal, but lasting. It wasn't just physical, but emotional and cerebral. He was involved with her, totally involved, from the tip of his straining manhood to the outer perimeters of his soul.
They mated eye-to-eye, smile-to-smile, heart-to-heart, body-to-body, moving together with sublime compatibility. She matched his even strokes with a subtle undulation of her hips. The closer they moved to climax, the tighter she clung, the deeper he penetrated. Gritting his teeth, he held back until he felt the waves of sensation shimmy through her, felt her gentle contractions around his manhood, and saw the lights of ecstasy explode and glimmer in her green eyes. Only then did he release the rigid control he had imposed on himself. He buried his face in the soft fragrance of her hair and gave himself over to the encompassing pleasure that erupted from within him and into Devon.
* * *
"Are you all right?" He felt the affirmative motion of her head where it lay next to his on the pillow. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered, "You're still so small." He kissed her throat. "It's wonderful for me, but I know it can't be very comfortable for you."
He was already becoming aroused again, and there was nothing he could do about it except withdraw, and that was out of the question. Readjusting their bodies slightly, he heard Devon whimper, but not with pain. With pleasure. He smiled into her neck.
"Did I hurt you that night in the motel?"
"No."
"I must have."
"Not much."
"I remember thinking that something wasn't right. Something was out of sync. But I was so sleepy and so caught up in you that I didn't stop to sort it out. I should have known. You were so tight. So sweet." Of its own accord, his body stirred inside her and her muscles contracted reflexively, leaving them both breathless for a moment.