Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Of course.” Gabe barely restrained himself from breaking into a victory dance right there in front of his boss and everyone else at the damned festival. Devin might not want to admit she loved him, but the fact that she’d leaped to his defense spoke volumes. “We don’t have any secrets.”

  “Touching.” Holcomb nodded, an amused expression on his face. “And idealistic.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Devin asked, licking powdered sugar from her lip. Gabe thought he saw Holcomb clench his hands for a split second before releasing them.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Holcomb said. “The campaign trail can test even the strongest relationship. Speaking of which...”

  He held his hand out to a middle-aged woman striding briskly toward him in a crisp, white pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. “Here’s my beautiful wife.”

  “There you are.” She took her husband’s hand, bestowing him with a bright smile before fixing her eyes on Gabe.

  “You must be Gabe. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, her voice polite but measured, like every word was calculated. The perfect political wife, a carbon copy of Kara in twenty years. “All good, of course.”

  He looked at Devin in her sexy-as-hell, so-not-corporate-America clothes, her ink proudly displayed, chowing down on fried dough, then back to Holcomb’s wife, standing rigidly, one hand extended for him to shake. For what seemed like the millionth time he said a silent prayer of thanks he’d dodged that bullet. Sure, he wanted to be district attorney and kick Jack’s ass to the curb in the process. But not enough to change who he was. Or who he loved.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Gabe shook her hand. Before he could introduce Devin, Holcomb gave his wife a gentle push.

  “What do you say we let the ladies explore on their own while we press the flesh. No need to bore them with politics.”

  Now it was Gabe’s turn to tense up. How was he supposed to do this without her?

  “You’ll be fine.” Devin stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Just like at the pub crawl. And the ballet.”

  “I had you with me then,” he muttered, low enough that Holcomb wouldn’t be able to hear him.

  “And I’m with you today. Metaphysically speaking, that is.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and dropped to her heels.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine, too.” She nudged him toward his boss. “Go. Mingle. Just remember, good communication is more about listening than talking. People want to know you care about what they have to say. And if that doesn’t work, picture them in their underwear.”

  “She’s right. Except for the underwear part. That never works.” Holcomb checked his watch. “We’ll meet back here at four. That should give us plenty of time to greet the masses.”

  Devin gave him a cheery wave as his boss’s wife led her down the street.

  Holcomb threw an arm around Gabe’s shoulder and steered him in the opposite direction. “Don’t worry, my boy. You’re in good hands. And so is your young lady.”

  Right, Gabe thought. Just what I’m afraid of.

  17

  THE MINUTE SHE was sure the men were out of sight, Devin let her smile falter and her shoulders drop.

  Damn. Keeping up appearances was tough. Now she understood why movie stars lost it on the paparazzi.

  “Exhausting, isn’t it?” The older woman put a sympathetic hand on Devin’s forearm.

  “You can say that again.”

  “How about we find somewhere we can sit and talk?”

  Great. Just what Devin wanted. A cozy chat with her boyfriend’s boss’s wife. She ignored the way her insides churned at the word boyfriend and pasted her phony smile back on, praying it looked authentic. “Sounds good.”

  They fought their way through the crowd for a few blocks until they spotted a restaurant across the street with available sidewalk seating. A short wait later, a hostess showed them to a table under a red-and-white-striped awning and handed them two menus.

  “What do you say to cappuccino and tiramisu?” Mrs. Holcomb closed her menu and laid it on the table. “My treat.”

  Devin wet her suddenly dry lips. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Holcomb.” Devin put her menu on top of the older woman’s.

  “Please. Call me Louise. No need for formalities between fellow political wives.”

  Devin jerked back so hard she almost knocked over the table. She reached out a hand to steady it. “Oh, Gabe and I aren’t married.”

  “Not yet.” Louise’s smile reached her twinkling, honey-brown eyes. “But I saw the way he looked at you. That boy didn’t want to leave your side. It’s only a matter of time before he pops the question.”

  No, no, no, no, no. She had to be wrong. They’d been clear from the start that whatever they were doing, it was all fun and games, nothing serious and definitely nothing leading to the altar. Hadn’t they?

  “And from the way you looked at him, I’m fairly certain what your answer will be.”

  A waiter came, took their order and spirited their menus away. Devin smoothed down her skirt, which had the added benefit of allowing her to wipe her sweaty palms. “We’ve only been dating a few weeks.”

  “Sometimes that’s all it takes. I knew Teddy was the man for me after our first date.”

  “Must have been some date,” Devin mumbled.

  Louise chuckled. “He took me bowling. I beat his pants off. Twenty-seven years of marriage, and he still won’t admit he let me win.”

  Twenty-seven years? Devin didn’t think she knew anyone married that long, except maybe Gabe’s parents. In her world, the average life expectancy of a marriage was measured in single digits.

  “So.” Louise sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

  “About what?”

  “About life in the political spotlight.”

  “Spotlight?”

  “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?” Louise paused for the waiter, who had returned with their drinks and desserts. He set them down and she dismissed him with a nod and a quick but warm “thank you” before continuing. “During the campaign, you’ll be living under a microscope. Every word you say, every move you make, will be dissected and analyzed in the court of public opinion.”

  Devin nibbled at her tiramisu, not sure how to respond.

  “Then, if Gabe is elected, he’ll be the face of the criminal-justice system for the entire city. And so will you, by extension.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Devin let her fork fall to her plate with a clang. “That I can’t hack it?”

  Louise smiled indulgently and sipped her cappuccino. “To the contrary. You strike me as a young woman who can handle just about anything. But you should know exactly what you’ll be up against.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The press will pick you apart. Your clothes, your hair, your lifestyle. And it’s your job to smile, nod and look pretty. You can’t respond, can’t defend yourself. It can be frustrating, maddening even. But worth it, if you love him.” Louise cut off a tiny corner of her tiramisu and lifted it to her mouth. “And I can tell you do.”

  There she goes again. How could this woman know with such certainty what Devin herself was so unsure of?

  Devin started to deny it for a second time, but Louise cut her off with a wave of her fork.

  “Never mind me. I’ve scared you, and that wasn’t my intention. Let’s enjoy our dessert. Tell me about your artwork.” She gestured at the nymph on Devin’s shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Something discreet, maybe on my ankle or my hip. Does it hurt much?”

 
They passed the rest of the meal talking about more comfortable topics, like music and art and the annoying habit men had of not putting the cap back on the toothpaste. When they were done eating, they walked the fair, stopping occasionally to look at the displays. Devin was surprised to find that Louise was recognized a few times in her own right.

  “For my charity work,” she explained after talking with one particularly enthusiastic fan. “One of the few benefits of notoriety. You can use your fame to bring attention to causes you believe in. It’ll also get you prime seating at Estela.”

  For a moment Devin pictured herself handing one of those ridiculous, oversize checks to Ariela for Turn the Page. Then she brought herself up short. What the hell was she thinking? There wasn’t any future for her and Gabe. And there wasn’t going to be any money for Turn the Page, either.

  Louise stopped in front of a souvenir stand packed with everything from Italian cookbooks and postcards to religious figurines. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and checked the time. “It’s almost four. I think we’ve given the boys enough time.”

  She headed off down Mulberry Street with Devin at her heels. Man, the woman could move, even in four-inch pumps. And after hours at the festival, eating, drinking and rubbing elbows with the crowd, her white suit remained as pristine as it was when Devin had first seen her.

  Devin looked down at her own outfit. Her favorite Docs—pink, with vintage daisies—looked like someone had stepped all over them wearing steel-toed work boots. Her blouse had slipped dangerously low on one boob and her skirt had a coffee stain the size of Long Island Sound.

  In short, she was a hot mess. Definitely not power-wife material.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to adjust her shirt and keep up with Louise at the same time. “The festival goes on for blocks. They could be anywhere.”

  “If I know my husband—and I do—I know exactly where they are.”

  Devin followed her to the corner of Grand and Mott, where festival organizers had set up a makeshift stage. Clusters of people stood listening to three tenors singing “O Sole Mio.”

  “There they are.” Louise pointed to a group at one corner of the stage, and Devin could pick out Gabe’s close-cropped, dark head above the rest.

  “Just as I suspected,” Louise said, picking up the pace. “Teddy’s a sucker for Italian music. You’d never know his family dates back to the Mayflower. And look, Senator and Mrs. Humphries are with them. Wonderful. I haven’t seen them in ages.”

  A distinguished-looking older couple stood with Gabe’s boss. As she got closer, Devin saw they weren’t alone. A younger version of Louise was chatting with Gabe a short distance away, one hand clinched possessively on his forearm, her perfectly styled blond bob swinging as she laughed at something he said.

  Kara.

  Devin lagged behind Louise, who continued at full speed toward the group. After a few paces, she stopped to observe the drama. It was like watching a silent movie. The older gentleman—Senator Humphries—motioning for Gabe and his daughter to join them. Laughing, pumping Gabe’s arm, congratulating him for something or another. Gabe’s boss joining in, patting Gabe on the back, shaking his hand. The women, smiling, nodding, standing by silently and looking pretty, just like Louise described.

  The tenors launched into “Volare” and someone jostled Devin from behind. She started moving again, slowly but steadily.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” Louise sidled gracefully up to her husband, slipping an arm around his waist. “We’re a little early. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” He bussed her cheek then turned to address the others. “I think I see the governor on the other side of the stage. Please excuse us for a few moments.”

  He guided his wife through the crowd.

  “So.” Devin stood awkwardly next to Gabe, not sure what to do with her hands. She settled for clasping them behind her back. “Nice to see you again, Kara.”

  “Darcy.” Kara strengthened her grip on Gabe’s arm and shifted closer to him. “Or is it Diana? I’m terrible with names.”

  “Not the best quality in a socialite.” Devin pressed her lips together, trying her hardest not to smirk.

  Gabe deftly removed himself from Kara’s grasp and draped his arm over Devin’s shoulders. “Senator and Mrs. Humphries, this is Devin Padilla. My girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” The senator frowned. His wife looked up at him, her eyes questioning.

  “Yes, Dad. Remember?” Kara shook her head at him. “I told you I met Gabe’s new flame at that pub thing for Turn the Page.”

  Mrs. Humphries looked from her daughter to Gabe and back again. “But I thought... You two are so perfect together. We assumed you’d get past this little spat and make up.”

  Devin almost swallowed her tongue. “I’d hardly call turning down a proposal a ‘little spat.’”

  “Proposal?” Mrs. Humphries stared open-mouthed at Kara. “You never said anything about a proposal.”

  Kara at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, Mrs. Humphries. Senator. But I’m with Devin now.” Gabe’s arm around her shoulders tightened. “And that’s not going to change.”

  The senator’s scowl deepened. “I’m sure you know this means I can’t support you in the election.”

  “Because he’s not dating your daughter?” Devin balled her hands into fists. “Or because he’s dating me?”

  “Both.” Senator Humphries’s answer was quick and certain as he studied Devin, his gaze lingering on her tattoos and piercings. “I wouldn’t do anything that might make Kara uncomfortable. And I have serious doubts about your suitability as a political partner.”

  “I disagree,” Gabe said before she could respond. “I think Devin will be a tremendous asset. She understands people and knows how to relate to them.”

  “I’m afraid the power brokers in this town won’t see it that way. And without them, you don’t stand a chance of winning.” With a dismissive wave, he turned to his wife and daughter. “Time to move on, ladies. The governor awaits.”

  He led his family away.

  “Enough business for one day.” Gabe steered Devin in the opposite direction. “I’m starving. Want to split a calzone?”

  “Sure,” Devin agreed even as her insides churned. The senator’s criticism kept running through her brain, sprinkled with snippets of Louise’s advice. Louise had been wrong about almost everything, but she’d gotten one thing right.

  Devin loved Gabe. A bone-crushing, soul-deep love that she’d never felt before and probably wouldn’t again. But she couldn’t handle the intense scrutiny of the campaign trail, or the guilt she’d feel if she cost him his dream. She’d drag him down, with her tats and piercings, her too-tight clothes and her big, fat mouth. He needed someone poised and polished and practically perfect in every way. A political Mary Poppins. He needed someone like Kara.

  There was only one thing to do. She had to break it off with him. Tonight.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE AWFULLY QUIET.” Gabe cleared their plates from the table and dumped them in the sink. He’d deal with the dirty dishes later. Hours later, hopefully, after he’d given her the key and they’d migrated to his bedroom, where they could take their time exploring each other’s bodies. They’d probably be there already if it wasn’t for his ex and her family. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what?” Devin swirled her glass of cabernet, staring into the purple liquid as if it had hypnotized her. “You heard what the senator said. He’s not going to support you after you broke his little girl’s heart.”

  “I did not break his little girl’s heart. And for the record, she didn’t break mine, either.” He wiped his hands on a dish
towel and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Besides, Senator Humphries isn’t the only shark in the political ocean.”

  “I hope so, for your sake.”

  “You’re not still worried about what he said, are you? He’s dead wrong. You’re fresh, honest. The voters are going to love you.”

  “So you’ve told me. But Gabe...”

  “No buts.” Gabe came over to the table and straddled a chair, folding his arms across the high back. “My boss is endorsing me, thanks to you. That’s cause for celebration. And others will, too. So stop worrying.”

  She put her glass down and slowly raised her head to meet his gaze. “We need to talk.”

  The four worst words in the English language.

  “Me first,” he said, his heart pounding so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard all the way across the Hudson River in New Jersey. He fingered the key still in his pocket, reaching for her with his free hand. “There’s something I’ve wanted to say to you all day.”

  “Stop. Please.” She jumped up, almost tipping over her chair in the process. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” His brows knotted.

  “Whatever it is you’re going to ask me to do.”

  “How do you know I’m going to ask you to do anything?”

  “You get this look in your eyes. They go all dark and broody, like you’ve got some sort of diabolical plan.” She shook her head. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I can’t do this anymore, Gabe. I can’t be with you.”

  The trofie al pesto he’d made for dinner rolled in his stomach. “What do you mean you can’t be with me? Why?”

  “I just...can’t.”

  “That’s not an answer. If this is about one idiot senator’s misguided opinion...”

  “It’s not.” She wiped a hand across her face. “Look, we had fun, right? But we both knew it couldn’t last.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know.” He shot to his feet and took her hands in his before she could protest. He raised them to his chest and held them there so she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. “I know we’re good together. I know you bring out a side of me I never knew existed, one that’s more relaxed, happier. I know I want your face to be the last thing I see every night and the first thing I see every morning.”