Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  “Twenty-four hundred.”

  Her heart beat faster just hearing that number. “How do you know?”

  “What I said. You get to declare your own value. You aren’t the bargain bin. Don’t put yourself on sale.”

  “Is that what all the quarterbacks say?” she asked, trying to rally.

  There was something rueful in his smile. “That’s what the agent says about his guys who are quarterbacks. I’m not a quarterback anymore. But it’s the same deal with the resort. You can be mass-market, or you can be high-end. If you look high-end but you price mass-market, you’re just confusing folks. Let ’em know you’re there, and that you’re the real deal. The girl who walked by me last night like she owned the room—where did she go?”

  “I was…” She had to swallow. “Maybe faking a tiny bit.”

  “Maybe fake it a tiny bit more. Fake it until it’s real. Don’t give ’em room to doubt. And I want the eagle.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “The eagle in your workroom. I want it. How much?”

  “Uh…” she began.

  He held up a palm. “Stop right there. Don’t move the number down. I can see you doing it. Don’t think about what’s wrong with your work, either, why you really can’t charge that much. And if you say the number and I try to bargain you down, you say, ‘This isn’t a clearance sale. That’s the price. If you can’t pay it, I’ll take it on over to the gallery.’ Let me know that I’d better buy it now if I want it, because you know it’ll get snapped up.”

  “Has anybody ever told you that you’re annoying?”

  He laughed this time, his eyes gleaming with what she could swear was appreciation. “Oh, maybe a couple hundred people. How in particular?”

  “It’s like you’re in my head. And why would I move the number down? You’ve got more money than God.”

  There he was, smiling that crooked smile again, looking so damn good in that white T-shirt, all lean hips, biceps, and brown skin. “Well, that’s true, darlin’. I do. And yet you were still moving that number on down.” He beckoned with one hand, a come-to-me gesture that was way too compelling. “Come on, Dakota. Give me a number. And then give me one for that iris, and, no, there’s no discount for two. And I don’t care how many pieces are in the iris. I care that I want it.”

  Her knees were weak. “Maybe I don’t want to sell them to you.”

  He smiled so slow, and she didn’t want to analyze what that smile did to her. “Nah.”

  “Dakota.” It was Evan’s voice, and she whirled, as flustered as if he’d caught her in Blake’s arms.

  Evan’s face was at its most expressionless. “Salmon’s ready.”

  “Oh. Salad.” She put a hand up to smooth her hair, then realized she was doing it and dropped it.

  “I made it.” Evan wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at Blake, the tension stretching between the two of them like a rubber band. Evan didn’t say anything else, just stood back and waited, and Dakota headed for the door. But before she got there, Blake touched her shoulder, and she turned.

  “By the end of dinner,” he told her, “I want that number. Be ready to give it to me.”

  Not the life plan, Blake reminded himself as he followed that orange almost-mini out the door. He tried to ignore the way the knit skirt showed off her absolutely gorgeous… curves. You weren’t supposed to eat at a guy’s table and think about his daughter’s ass, and you sure weren’t supposed to think about how much you wanted to take her skirt off and how you’d do it. When she was lying across your bed with her hair spread around her and breathing hard, because you’d been chasing her through the house in the best game of non-football a man could play.

  But, see, this was why he needed a refined woman to rein him in. This was the exact reason for the new plan. He needed a woman to get him to where a thirty-five-year-old man ought to be once he didn’t have the excuse of being a professional athlete anymore.

  No more wild side. Marriage plan. Family time. Making a thought-out, rational choice. It had been so hard to remember, though, when he’d been looking at that silky skin above Dakota’s neckline, at the hollow above her collarbones, and imagining how she’d shiver when he kissed her there. The same way she’d shivered when he’d held her hand. A woman who was responsive enough to shudder like that just from your thumb caressing her fingers, passionate enough to feel the colors in her owl piece all the way to her soul, and sensual enough to come up with those flowers? That spelled “wild side” all the way, and the push and pull he felt from her, the resistance and the response—that spelled “wild ride,” too. She’d play that game of chase. He knew it. And he had a big house.

  He shoved the thoughts aside as he sat down at the picnic table. First off, it was rude, and second, Evan was looking at him as if he knew what he was thinking and didn’t like it one bit. Business partner? Maybe, and maybe he had ideas of his own, because that look was “hands off” all the way. And if that made Blake’s own hand want to fist—well, that was just another example of the exact wrong kind of response.

  “Dakota show you the owl?” Russell asked.

  “Yeah,” Blake said with relief. “You were right. That’s a beautiful thing.”

  Russell grunted and said, “This salmon’s not looking bad, either.”

  It was true. The fish was so buttery and tender it was almost sinful, the pink flesh flaking under his fork and melting on Blake’s tongue. The four of them sat under a sky slowly fading to dusk and ate in silence for a few minutes. Either the silence was normal for them, or they were constrained by Blake’s presence. “Cedar planks worked,” Blake finally said. “This came out perfect. Looks like you know how to man a grill.”

  Dakota had been digging in herself, he’d noticed. She looked up as if she’d felt his eyes on her and said, “Dad’s a great cook.”

  “Got to do something around here,” Russell said. “You were hungry, miss. You forget to eat lunch again?”

  She smiled a little. “Maybe. I guess that’s why I need you. I got wrapped up.”

  Russell shifted in his seat, a spasm crossing his face, and Dakota sat up straighter and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right.”

  “You sat too long today, I’ll bet,” she said. “You were gone forever. Did you take an Advil out there, at least?”

  “Don’t coddle me.” It was a growl, and she snapped her mouth shut.

  Evan hadn’t said anything, although Blake suspected that wasn’t unusual. He spoke up now, though. “I’m surprised you’d go out fishing with him.” He didn’t look at Blake when he said it. “Want to explain that?”

  “Why should I explain it?” Russell said. “I don’t answer to you, or to Dakota, either.”

  Dakota had put her fork down. She said slowly, “I’d like to know too, though, Dad. And maybe it’s better if you tell us while he’s here. Maybe it’s better if he knows. I’m not saying you’re a terrible person,” she said to Blake. “Personally.”

  Evan muttered something that sounded like, “You think?”

  Dakota ignored him. “But you did a terrible thing,” she said, “even if you didn’t make every decision yourself. It’s your company. You’re responsible for Russell being hurt, and you ought to know that.”

  “The man’s a guest in my home,” Russell said. “Both of you need to shut up.”

  “It’s my home, too,” Dakota said.

  “No,” Russell said. “It’s mine. My house. My rules.”

  Dakota flinched, and Evan said, “Russ.”

  Russell started to stand up, then had to grab the table. Dakota was up, too, uttering an exclamation, but Russell stared her down. “My back might be broke,” he said. “The rest of me isn’t. I’m still a man, and this is still my house. And if somebody wants to hire me as a fishing guide, I’ll be a fishing guide. Just because I’m not able to paint anymore, that doesn’t mean I can’t still work. The check might say ‘disability.’ It doe
sn’t say ‘useless.’”

  “Dad. I never said you were useless. And, wait. Hire?”

  “I’m nobody’s passenger.” He was still hanging onto the table for support, and Bella was on her feet, too, pressed against his side as if to hold him up. “I’m not your responsibility. Now or ever.”

  Now, she was more than flinching. She was white. Evan said, “That’s not fair.”

  Russell turned on him. “I’m not yours, either. I know you think so. Well, you can stop. I can’t change what happened, and neither can you. Shit happens. It’s over. Right here and now, I’ve got a mortgage that’s one more goddamned missed payment away from foreclosure, and both of you know it. The man paid me two hundred dollars. I’m a working man who doesn’t have a job and can’t get one. I’m taking that two hundred bucks, and the hell with what either of you have to say about it.” He looked at Blake. “I apologize for my daughter. Seems nobody ever taught her how to treat a guest.”

  “He’s… not… a… guest,” Dakota said. She was still pale, but her teeth were nearly clenched, those cheekbones standing out again. “You took his money? I’m handling things, Dad. I’ve got it. You can’t throw away your pride like that.”

  “Wait,” Blake said. “I need to know what this is all about. I want the whole story, and I want it now.”

  “No,” Russell said. “It’s over. It’s decided, and it’s done. I’m no crybaby victim out to sue the world because I got hurt and it isn’t fair. I’m going to watch baseball. Blake, you’re welcome to come join me. Dakota, you can clean up.”

  It’s mine. My house. My rules. I’m not your responsibility.

  Russell might as well have said, “I’m not your father.” Dakota knew that was what he’d meant. And she wasn’t going to cry, because the man whose responsibility all of this was, the man who had caused it, was sitting next to her, and she wasn’t going to show him that kind of weakness.

  He’d flirted with her, had taken her hand like that would make her forget the whole thing, like she was just another woman to fall at his feet no matter what he’d done. Like being hot and rich could get him anything, including her.

  Well, it didn’t. It didn’t get him her. She told Evan, hating that the words came out pinched, “You take Gracie and go on home. I’ll clean up later. I’m going for a walk.”

  She didn’t care about Blake. She wasn’t going to say goodbye. It wasn’t her house? Well, she wasn’t his hostess. He was the cause of everything, and if she’d forgotten that for a few heady minutes, she wasn’t forgetting it now.

  Evan said, “I’m here anyway. I’ll clean up. Go take your walk.” He didn’t look at Blake either, and Dakota figured Blake was smart enough to get the message. He was smart enough to make millions of dollars, or hundreds of millions of dollars, or some number that regular people with regular lives couldn’t even dream of. He was smart enough to know how to manipulate people and towns and review boards and get his way. He could be smart enough to know when he wasn’t wanted. She was out of here.

  She was around the side of the house on the thought. She only realized she was barefoot when she hit the sidewalk. Too bad. She wasn’t going back until he was gone.

  “Dakota.” Like a bad dream you couldn’t shake, Blake was there beside her. “Hang on.”

  It wasn’t an entreaty. It was a command. What right did he have to command her? “Go away,” she said. “Go home.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking to your dog.”

  She whirled on him. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m talking to a dog who doesn’t think it’s enough to cripple my fa— my stepfather, who wants to rub salt in the wound.”

  She started walking again, and he stayed right with her. She was barefoot, and he was wearing boat shoes like some preppy from Maine with a sweater tied around his shoulders. Because he’d been out on his yacht.

  “What kind of boat do you have?” she demanded.

  He didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “Hatteras.”

  “Of course you do. And you took Russell out on it and showed him the difference between the two of you. You paid him to guide you like he was your… Sherpa. Your native bearer.”

  “No,” Blake said, and damn it, he didn’t even sound rattled. “I paid him to guide me like he was my guide. Like he was a good fisherman who knew the lake. Which he was. I learned a lot, I enjoyed his company, and he earned his money. And I’m still waiting to hear the rest of it. Tell me how he got hurt.”

  She was walking faster, ignoring the chill settling into the evening air, the rough surface of the asphalt under her bare feet as she crossed the street. “You don’t even know.” It only made her angrier. “Does that happen on every job, then? That must be a pesky problem for you, but hey, that’s what you pay workers’ comp insurance for, right? So they can give the guy some pitiful amount that isn’t going to let him pay his mortgage, so he’ll lose his house, but you don’t care about that, because you earned another million dollars? The job came in under budget! Yay, you!”

  He said, “You don’t know how much I want to grab you right now.”

  She turned on him. “What? What did you just say?”

  He ran a hand though his dark hair and exhaled. “I don’t mean ‘grab you.’ I mean grab your arm and make you shut up and talk to me.”

  “If I shut up,” she said, “I won’t be talking to you.”

  “You know exactly what I mean.” She stepped off the curb again, stepped on a rock, cried out, and hopped, and he said, “Stop. Stop walking. You’re killing me here.”

  “Ask me if I care.”

  “Now you’re acting like a little girl. You’ve got something to tell me? Then sit down and tell me.”

  A little girl? A little girl? She stepped back onto the curb, but only because her heel still hurt, and said, her voice low and trembling, “I am not a little girl. I am a woman who’s justifiably angry.”

  “Right, then.” He sat his butt down on the curb and stuck his long legs out into the street. “Sit down and lay it on me.”

  Karen McCallister was across the street watering her window boxes and staring at them. Dakota didn’t want to have this conversation here. On the other hand, she was the one who’d walked out of the privacy of her backyard. Russell’s backyard. And it felt so much better to be mad at Blake than to think about what Russell had said. Thinking about that made her throat close up tight and her chest hurt.

  She sat down a good foot away from him, which made her skirt ride up, which she tried not to care about, and said, “He got hurt on your job. Painting your Sundays over in Coeur d’Alene.”

  “He told me that.” Blake still sounded so calm, she wanted to hit him. “But that was all he’d say. I was going to check it out on Monday.”

  “Sure you were.”

  He exhaled. “I don’t have to prove myself to you, you know. Think what you want. Why is that my fault? The project’s fault? Didn’t OSHA investigate it—an injury that bad?”

  “Sure they did. And everybody lied up and down. Said Russell had changed the planned rigging of the scaffolding himself, because he wanted to get it done faster, because he was in a hurry.”

  “And that wasn’t true, I’m guessing. Wasn’t your… his… your company, whatever it is, the contractor on the job?”

  “No. He and Evan were working that job for the company you hired instead.”

  “Which was…”

  “Sawyer Contracting. Steve Sawyer.” Even saying the name made her shoulders tense up.

  “The guy who had the contract for the painting on the resort at first,” Blake said. “I wondered if I’d been too much of a micromanager on that one. I don’t usually supervise this close. I haven’t been able to.” It sounded like he was talking to himself. “You can’t be a football player and a hands-on CEO.”

  “You can make decisions, though,” Dakota said. “I know you can. Like that there’s a bonus for on-time and under-budget, and never mind how that happens.”

  “I never
said ‘Never mind how that happens.’ I don’t say that.”

  “Well, that’s nice for you.” She was getting agitated again. He was so calm. But it wasn’t his stepfather. It wasn’t his life. “Nice to have your hands clean. Russell would never have taken that job. He knew what Steve was like to work for, but they needed the hours. Evan’s girlfriend was pregnant, and the winter’s always slow. So they took it, and Steve cut every corner he could, because that’s the kind of contractor he is, but the client doesn’t care if he’s cheaper. And do you know what? Do you realize one thing?”

  “Uh… no,” he said. “Not until you tell me.”

  She stood up again. She couldn’t stay sitting down. And he stood up with her like he was some kind of gentleman. Like your manners mattered if you ran a company that way. “Evan was supposed to be up there. Russell went up high himself because he didn’t trust that scaffolding.”

  “Why didn’t he say something at the time, then?”

  “He did. Of course he did. And nobody cared, and they needed the work. So Russell went up there instead of Evan, because Evan’s girlfriend was pregnant, and because Russell’s that man. You must have seen that he’s that man. And Russell was the one who fell. He’s the one who’s still hurting, and he’d still tell you that at least it was him and not Evan.” The tears were standing in her eyes, but she didn’t care. “He’s lucky if the physical therapist even shows up. I keep thinking that there’s something else they could do, because he hurts so much, but I can’t get anyone to listen, because it’s workers’ comp, and everybody knows that everyone getting those payments is a scammer who doesn’t want to work. They wouldn’t even give him hundred-percent disability, because he can still walk. He can still use his hands. But what good does that do if he can’t paint, and he can’t sit, and he hurts that much, and he won’t even take pain pills?”

  Blake was silent for a long time. “But you weren’t there.”

  “So what? So what? You mean Russell lied? And Evan lied, and Steve Sawyer told the truth? Like he’s told the truth about everything else he’s done, all the way back to high school? Like it didn’t really happen, and the other person’s lying anyway because she’s out to get him?”