Men of Intrgue A Trilogy

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “That’s the spirit. First, straighten up, don’t slouch. Relax your back muscles.”

  “How can I relax my back muscles and straighten up at the same time?”

  “Like this,” Devlin said, reaching up to run his hands down her spine, then position her shoulders. “Feel the difference?”

  “Yes,” Angela answered grudgingly. Damn him, he did know what he was talking about.

  “Now hold the reins loosely, tight enough to retain control but not tight enough to pull back on Blossom’s mouth.”

  Angela adjusted her grip.

  “Good. I’m going to smack Blossom’s rump, and she’ll walk forward. Just let her go, I’ll walk beside you.”

  “What if she runs off into the woods?”

  “Then I guess we’ll never see each other again.”

  Angela glanced down at Devlin, who was staring at her wide eyed in mock seriousness.

  “Brett, trust me. This is no time to get cute.”

  “All right, all right. She won’t run off into the woods unless you kick her into a gallop. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Devlin smacked Blossom, and she trotted forward easily. Angela hung on warily.

  “Don’t bounce,” Devlin instructed. “Sit steadily.”

  “How?” Angela called. “She jounces me with every step.”

  “Grip with your knees. Not hard, just touch her.”

  Angela did so and improved her balance.

  “Is that better?” Devlin asked.

  “I think so. Can I go faster?”

  Devlin grinned, jogging after them. “Sure. Jab her with your heels and she’ll pick up speed.”

  Angela complied, and Blossom shot forward, almost unseating her. Angela struggled to regain control as Devlin shouted directions.

  “Sit down!” he yelled. “Don’t lift out of the saddle. Grip the reins. Don’t yank on them!”

  Angela brought the horse to a stop, and then turned on Devlin. “Stop yelling at me! I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’re doing fine; nobody said you weren’t,” Devlin replied calmly, striding over to stroke Blossom’s flanks.

  Angela looked at him. “Am I really doing fine?”

  “Certainly.”

  “It didn’t sound like you thought I was.”

  “I was just trying to bail you out of trouble,” Devlin said, rubbing Blossom’s nose. “You’re eager and getting ahead of yourself.” He looked up at Angela, astride the horse, and his eyes were candid. “You’re no coward, Angela.”

  Angela waited a moment, then cleared her throat. “That’s a very nice thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth. You were afraid to do this but still went through with it. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, you know. That’s stupidity. Courage is being afraid, and going ahead and doing it anyway, because you think you must.”

  “You sound like you’re talking from firsthand experience.”

  “Everybody on earth has been afraid at some time or other.”

  “What scares you, Devlin?” Angela asked, watching his reaction.

  “Maybe just losing the good opinion of a certain red-haired girl,” he replied, not looking at her.

  Angela held her breath. What did he mean? She waited for him to go on, but instead he said, “A few more turns around the yard on your own and then we’ll give old Blossom a rest. Next time we’ll go out on the trail, and I’ll take another horse and ride along with you.”

  Angela trotted off happily. There would be a next time.

  Clouds were gathering as she continued her ride. Devlin looked on as she passed in front of him, and he glanced up at the threatening sky.

  “Hurry up,” he called, cupping his hands to make himself heard over the rising wind. “It’s going to rain.”

  Angela ignored him, entranced with her achievement. She kept going until the first large drops fell, plopping onto the dry earth.

  “That’s it,” Devlin yelled, waving her in to him. “The horse will take cold.”

  The horse will take cold, Angela thought grumpily, lowering her head against the now steadily falling rain. I could get pneumonia. She pulled on the reins to slow Blossom down, halting in front of Devlin, who grabbed for the pommel. He steadied the horse and then reached up for Angela as she slipped off Blossom and into his arms.

  She was clasped for an instant against his chest as they stood fused in the drenching rain. Then he turned her face up to his and smiled at her.

  “You are one soggy equestrienne,” he said softly. “Let’s get you and this wilting Blossom in the barn to dry off.”

  Angela unbolted the door and Devlin led the horse inside.

  “I’ll have to rub her down,” Devlin said. “I can’t put her up wet or she’ll get sick.” He surveyed Angela, who looked no better than the horse. “Let me see what I can find for you to change into. Your clothes are soaked.”

  The intercom on the wall buzzed, and Angela answered it. She had a short conversation while Devlin rummaged in a wooden chest in the tack room.

  “Was that Harry?” he asked, emerging with a bundle in his arms.

  “Yes. I told him that you would take care of Blossom. He asked if we needed anything and I told him we were okay.”

  “You could have used some dry clothes from his wife. This was all I could find.” He held up a scratchy horse blanket that had definitely seen better days.

  “No use in bothering Mrs. Colebrook about it,” Angela replied. “She’d only get wet bringing the stuff over here. It’s pouring out there.”

  Devlin shrugged. “Okay,” he said, handing her the blanket. “Just wrap up in this and spread your things on one of those hay bales to dry.”

  Angela obeyed, draping her jeans, sweater and underwear over the block of straw and cuddling into the blanket. It was rough but warm.

  “How do you feel?” Devlin called from Blossom’s stall, where he was rubbing her down.

  “Wonderful,” Angela called back, sitting on the bale next to her clothes in the empty stall. “But tired.”

  “You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Devlin observed.

  “Thanks for telling me,” Angela said, settling down sleepily. “I’ll have that to look forward to in the morning.”

  There was silence for a while as Devlin dried and curried the horse, shrugging out of his damp shirt as he warmed to the work. He hummed under his breath, enjoying the feel of the animal’s body under his hands. It took him back to his boyhood on the farm. Sand Dancer watched him impassively from across the barn.

  Devlin finished his task and got Blossom water and some oats. He left her munching in quiet contentment and went to get Angela.

  He found her in the stall near the door, fast asleep.

  Devlin leaned against the wood frame, his arms folded, watching her slumber. The blanket had slipped in her sleep to expose one creamy shoulder, and her hair fanned out from her head like a vivid stain on the pale hay. She was sprawled carelessly in the limp, boneless manner of an exhausted child.

  Too much activity on two hours sleep, Devlin thought. He was feeling pretty beat himself, since he’d had even less sack time than Angela. He turned away and went to the small window next to the door. The rain pelted down in sheets, limiting visibility to a few feet. He glanced back at Angela, who slept on, heedless of his scrutiny.

  He might as well let her sleep. Driving would be difficult now anyway. Angela could take a nap while the storm blew itself out, and then he would take her back to the city.

  Devlin walked back to her side, studying the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He sighed. The sound caught in his throat, like a smothered sob.

  What a mess. He loved this girl, and he was in real danger of losing her once the true reason for his presence in her life was revealed. He wished he could take her away now, anywhere, just someplace where his job and the responsibilities it imposed on him could be forgotten.

  But there was no such place. His conscience follow
ed him everywhere. And who deserved the greater loyalty, the government and the people it served, or this pale, fragile young woman who slept so peacefully a few feet away from him, unaware of his inner turmoil? No one should have to make such a choice.

  He ran his hands through his hair, tempted to join Angela on her bed of hay. He moved toward her slowly, trying to talk himself out of it. But he couldn’t. What the hell. An hour or so of holding her close couldn’t do any harm and he felt that it would do him a great deal of good.

  He knelt next to her in the straw and slipped his arm under her shoulders. She turned to him instantly, sighing in her sleep, and snuggled into his bare chest. He lay down gingerly, settling her into the curve of his body. She murmured incoherently and relaxed completely, going back into deeper sleep as Devlin stretched out and pulled the corner of the blanket over both of them.

  In seconds they were unaware of the storm that raged outside the barn.

  * * * *

  Angela woke an hour later, unsure of her surroundings. She half sat, startled, unable to see clearly in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. Devlin’s arm slipped from her body and rested on the hay.

  She glanced down at herself and remembered the storm, the reason for her nakedness. She didn’t recall Devlin joining her.

  He was still asleep, his dark hair speckled with bits of straw, his lips parted to show a glimpse of white teeth. His lashes brushed his cheeks like miniature fans of black lace.

  Angela’s fingers curled with the overpowering urge to touch him. He looked so young, so vulnerable, the cautious, watchful look gone from his face. The effect was to make him seem more accessible, more within her reach than he ever had been. She surrendered to impulse and gently stroked his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

  Devlin stirred, his lids lifting lazily. He surveyed her through amber slits, his expression hooded, his eyes still unfocused with sleep.

  Angela didn’t speak but ran her fingers over his face, trailing his cheekbone down to his mouth. She traced his lips with a probing forefinger. They opened under her touch and she felt his tongue. He reached up with both arms and pulled her on top of him, kissing her as her body descended to his. The blanket fell unheeded to her waist.

  Angela responded eagerly, all the love she felt pouring forth in physical expression. She gripped Devlin’s hard shoulders, pressing herself to him, fitting her body to his lean contours. He ran his hands over her silken skin, up her bare arms and across her back, crushing her breasts to his chest. His mouth absorbed hers, caressing, never still, until she was gasping for breath, overwhelmed by the tide of passion she had unleashed in this guarded, complicated man.

  “Don’t pull away,” he murmured when she raised her head. “Come back to me.”

  Angela bent again, seeking his lips. He pushed the blanket to the ground and switched positions with her, rolling Angela under him. She moaned as she took his full weight, delicious, totally male. She was astonished, as she’d been before, at the well of turbulent feeling concealed beneath his calm exterior. Under that unruffled surface lay a seething lake of fire.

  Devlin lowered his head and kissed her throat, her shoulders, the hollow between her breasts. His lips traveled to a sensitive nipple and sucked gently. Angela’s head fell back and her fingers sank into his thick hair as he nibbled, his teeth grazing the sensitive tissue until she thought she would go mad. She pulled on his hair to raise his head and kissed him wildly, winding her arms around his waist, imprisoning him with her bare legs. The rough material of his jeans abraded her skin as she writhed against him.

  “I don’t care,” he whispered, taking her face between his hands and kissing her nose, her cheeks, her chin. “I don’t care about anything except this moment, and you.”

  Angela sighed deeply, responding to his caress like a flower seeking the sun. What was he talking about? What did he mean? His mumbling didn’t make sense but she was too drugged with sensation to worry about it. He slipped his hands beneath her hips and pressed her closer. She adjusted her position to feel him more fully and he gasped against her mouth.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped in her ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy since the night I met you, and the torture is going to end right now.”

  “For both of us,” Angela answered, kissing his hair.

  He released her suddenly, sliding off her and standing, reaching for the buckle of his belt. Their eyes locked and there was no sound except their breathing: Angela’s light and fast, Devlin’s harsh, labored. His fingers slipped the leather thong through the loop.

  There was a knock on the barn door.

  Devlin froze.

  “Anybody in there?” a male voice called.

  Devlin bent swiftly and tossed the blanket to Angela, pointing to the corner of the stall where she wouldn’t be visible from the door. Angela clutched it to her bosom and scrambled out of sight.

  Devlin found his shirt and pulled it on, heading for the door. He glanced back to make sure Angela was ready, and then yanked it open to confront a small man in his twenties who said, “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Brett Devlin, an employee of Mr. Patria’s. I was just taking care of Blossom. I rode her today. And who are you?”

  The visitor surveyed Devlin critically. The taller man was a cool customer, but couldn’t quite conceal the fact that he was rattled. His dark hair was ruffled and he was breathless, his shirt hastily donned. Something was going on in this barn besides the grooming of a horse. But it was none of his business.

  “I’m Joe Thornton, here to exercise Dancer, but it’s still too wet to take him on the track. I was looking for Harry and saw the light. I thought he might be in here.”

  “He’s up at the house,” Devlin said, jerking his head in the direction of the gate. “Would you tell him that I’ll be taking Miss Patria home now, and he can lock up after us.”

  “Miss Patria?” Joe inquired, trying to look past Devlin.

  Devlin stepped forward, blocking his view. “That’s right. Thanks for conveying the message. Goodbye.” He stared the other man down.

  Joe turned away. He wasn’t about to tangle with anybody that size. The guy looked like he ate nails for breakfast.

  Devlin shut the door after him, calling to Angela, “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  Angela stood, wrapping the blanket around her. “Wh-what?” she said stupidly.

  “Get dressed,” he repeated, buttoning his shirt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he arrived just in time,” Devlin responded curtly, tucking in his shirt with savage precision.

  “In time?” Angela wailed. “In time for what?” She stared at him, unable to believe that he was doing this to her. Again.

  “Come on,” Devlin said, picking up Angela’s sweater and tossing it to her. “Put your clothes on and let’s go.”

  “What is it, Brett?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. “What’s wrong with me?”

  Devlin closed his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “Yes, there is. There must be.”

  “Angela, there are things you don’t know, things you don’t understand.”

  “Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Tell me why you won’t make love to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  Angela blinked and hot tears slipped down her face. She wiped them hastily with the back of her hand. She would not do this. She simply would not. But her body betrayed her and cried anyway. She swallowed noisily, fighting back a sob.

  Devlin stepped forward, his hand extended, and then stopped, clenching his fists.

  “Don’t, Angela,” he said in an agonized voice. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” she responded, sniffling loudly. He looked at her as she stood there clutching the ratty blanket like a homeless refugee and felt like a monster. She looked so pathetic, and yet beautiful at the same time, like the statues of sorrowful madonnas in Eastern rite ch
urches.

  “All right,” she announced, as if in response to something he had said. “I’ve had it. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I won’t be throwing myself at you ever again.”

  “You haven’t been throwing yourself at me—” he began, but she interrupted.

  “Yes, I have. By comparison with my behavior in the past I’ve been chasing you with regulation track shoes.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  She smiled bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to spare my feelings now. That would make a change.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  “Ah, the man of few words has decided, as usual, not to speak,” she said sarcastically. “A wise choice. As I was saying, I never knew before how degrading it is to beg like this, to want someone so badly that you’re willing to make a complete fool of yourself.”

  “Angela, for God’s sake.”

  “Shut up!” she yelled.

  He shut up.

  “Thank you,” she went on calmly. “Now I am going to get dressed and I don’t wish to discuss this any further.”

  He turned his back as she struggled into her clammy clothes. When she was ready to go she followed him out in stony silence.

  * * * *

  Angela was as good as her word. Her attitude toward Devlin changed after that day. Her manner up until then had contained an element of resentment engendered by his previous rejection. But now there was an added note of defeated sadness. She had given up on him. And her acceptance, her unconditional surrender, was terrible.

  Devlin waited miserably for her to open the safe, and just when he thought he would have to devise a scheme to get her to do so fate intervened on his behalf. She was putting together a costume for the party she was hostessing for Philip, and decided to try on a pair of earrings she kept in the safe to see how well they would go with her dress. Devlin lingered in the hall until she returned to her room with the velvet box, and then went to his dresser to check his recorder.

  The counters on the machine had moved. He rewound the tape and listened to the noise of the tumblers turning and the click of the gears falling into place. It meant nothing to him but to the forensic experts at the Bureau it should be the key to the puzzle. Once he mailed in the tape and the description of the safe he would have the combination.