Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  She was burning up. His fingers… oh, that felt good. His tongue was in her belly button, swirling around the barbell, licking into the holes of her piercing. One of her hands was in his hair already, and she was halfway to losing her mind.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. She jerked upright like somebody had pulled her strings. Somebody was pounding on the door. And then they were ringing the doorbell. And she was naked.

  What was she doing?

  It took Blake a moment for the noise to register, but the doorbell finally got through.

  Whoever it was, they could forget it. He shoved himself up so he could kiss Dakota, took her lower lip between both his own, and sucked on it. Go away, he told whoever was at the door. I’m busy.

  The doorbell rang again, and this wasn’t working. Dakota was stiffening under him.

  “Ignore it,” he murmured. “They’ll go away.”

  “Orbison!” He heard the bellow, and she heard it, too, because she was pushing off, struggling to sit.

  Damn it to hell.

  She was pulling the robe back on, tying the sash, trying to smooth out her hair, not looking at him. “Aren’t you going to answer the door?” she asked when he didn’t move. “It’s Evan.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I already figured that out.” He got up, reached into his jeans, and gave himself a quick, not-so discreet adjustment. His body was screaming at him, but Dakota was about to do the same thing, so his body was losing this one.

  He went to the front door and opened it, and Evan had to spin to pull his punch. “You might want to watch it,” Blake said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Not beat the door down.”

  Evan didn’t answer that. His face was hard. And he had his baby daughter in one big arm, which made this Showdown at the OK Corral faintly ridiculous. “Is Dakota here?” he asked. “Or do you know where she is?”

  Blake sighed, stood back, and swept out an arm. “Come on in.”

  Evan walked into the living room, and Dakota was already up. Her hasty attempts to put herself to rights hadn’t worked too well, though, because she still looked decidedly rumpled. Lips swollen, hair tousled, feet bare, and with the silk of the robe clinging to her. She looked like what she was—a woman who’d just been getting kissed hard and loved up good.

  Blake was a fan. He didn’t think Evan would be.

  He was right. Evan looked her over and asked, “Just what are you doing?”

  She crossed her arms. “Just what do you think? And why is it your business?”

  “I came,” Evan said, “because Russell was worried. You said Orbison would be gone tonight, and you were going to finish up here and would be home for dinner by seven. When you weren’t home by seven-thirty, Russ called you, and it went straight to voicemail. Then he kept calling, and same thing. That’s when he called me.”

  “Oh.” She looked discomfited, pulling on the sash of the robe as if that would make her more dressed. “I sort of wrecked my phone. I didn’t think to use Blake’s to call.”

  “Obviously.” Evan was getting worked up, which was another way to say that he was finally registering an expression other than “frozen.” “You keep saying that you’re an adult. How are we supposed to treat you that way when you’re acting this dumb? Russell thought the truck had gone into the lake or something. He kept saying, ‘It’s not like Dakota. She’d know I’d be worried. She’d call.’ And instead, you lie about being with him”—he jerked his head at Blake—“and get Russ that worked up? Just because you don’t have the guts to tell him the truth?”

  “I wasn’t lying,” she said. “Blake wasn’t supposed to be home. I finished up, and he… surprised me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Evan’s voice was flat as he looked at the wine on the coffee table. “Surprised the clothes right off you, too. Haven’t you learned one single thing in all this time? Riley told you. Russell told you. I told you. You think we were kidding? Messing with you? How many times has somebody asked you to marry him? How long does it take before you stop putting yourself out there like this? Letting some guy laugh at you, laugh about you? How many damn times do you have to get hurt?”

  The baby had started to fuss, and Evan put her onto his shoulder and started to pat her back and sway back and forth. It was so incongruous with the tension he was showing, it was almost ridiculous. Except it wasn’t.

  “Hang on,” Blake started to say just as Dakota said, “You don’t know anything. You sure don’t know Blake.”

  “I don’t know him, huh?” Evan said over his daughter’s whimpers. “Tell me this. How many times has he taken you out? Sure, he’s happy to screw you on his couch. Let me tell you something, since you don’t seem to get it. That doesn’t take a whole lot of effort. You asked me if you repulsed guys. You don’t repulse anybody. You go lie down half-dressed on any guy’s couch in this town, and he’ll take that invitation. It doesn’t mean he likes you. Is Orbison picking you up at the house and taking you to dinner, though? Talking to Russ? You can bet he’s taking out other women. You saw him do it. But you? He doesn’t even have to make an effort. All he has to do is tell you to, and you’re taking off your clothes for him. That’s not the way any guy who cares about a woman does it. Wise up, Dakota.”

  Dakota’s chin was up, her eyes sparking. “Why don’t you ask him?” she said. “He’s right here. Go on and ask him.”

  “I’m not asking him,” Evan said. “I’m not looking at him. I’m trying not to hit him.”

  “Quit holding back,” Blake said, goaded past anything his temper could bear. “Go ahead and try it.”

  “If I wasn’t holding my baby,” Evan said, “you bet I would. Dakota’s worth more than that, and you’re a piece of—” He broke off and breathed a couple times. The baby was really starting to fuss now, and he spoke over her cries. “Tell me this. When was the last time you took a woman out?”

  Blake hesitated, then looked at Dakota. She stared right back at him. Challenging him to tell the truth, and he wasn’t a liar anyway. He finally said, “Last night.”

  He left it there. Anything else would sound like the excuse it was.

  Dakota closed her eyes and swallowed, and Evan told her, “Get your stuff. Let’s go.”

  “Now hang on,” Blake said. “You don’t need to leave, Dakota. Stay here and talk about this. Or better yet, go to dinner with me and talk about it. He says I haven’t taken you out? Here I am asking you.”

  “You forget.” Her lips were compressed, her dark eyes blazing. “I’m not dressed to go out. I’m dressed for the couch.”

  “That’s—” He always had an answer. He was famous for it. The quick, dry quip after the game, the quote that always got printed. But he didn’t have an answer for this. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

  She didn’t even get dressed. She grabbed her pile of clothes and said, “I’ll bring your robe back later. You can leave me a check for the shell, if you still want it, or let me know if you don’t. And if you want it? The price is a thousand dollars.”

  “I told you I’d pay fifteen hundred,” he said. “I said it was worth it. I meant it.”

  “And I know what I think that fifteen hundred was for,” she said. “I asked for a thousand. That’s the number I’ll take.” She told Evan, “The truck’s in Blake’s garage. Wait for me, will you?” As if Blake would stop her from going. As if Evan needed to protect her.

  She walked straight out of his house. And Evan looked hard at him, then followed her.

  Russell didn’t say much. But the way he looked when Dakota walked through the front door… it hit every single guilt receptor she had.

  He struggled to his feet from where he’d been sitting on a side chair, holding his phone, and Bella didn’t move from his side. And his face…

  She dropped the pile of clothes and walked straight over to him, then wrapped her arms around him and said, “Sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

  His arms closed around her and held her tight, and she blinked back the tears. Because she’d wo
rried him. Because she felt like something had been ripped away from her. Because everything.

  “Come eat,” he said.

  “It’s probably wrecked, though,” she got out through a throat that was trying to close.

  “Nah. Chili. Probably be better for the extra time.” He took in the robe. “Go change first, though. Take a shower, too.” As if he knew she needed to wash all of this away.

  When they finally sat down, though, she had trouble eating, even though it was nearly nine o’clock. She kept stirring her chili until Russell asked, “Want to tell me?”

  She looked up and tried to smile. “Do you want to hear?”

  “No,” he said. “But it hurts more when you hold it inside. Better to get some air on it.”

  Her eyes filled with tears despite every attempt to hold them back. “Why am I so dumb, Dad?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you think?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “You’re going to say something like, ‘Looking for love.’ ‘Feeling unworthy.’ It doesn’t feel like that. At least this didn’t this time. It felt like… hope. Like he saw me, and he liked what he saw. You know? And I thought I saw him, too. I thought he was letting me see him.”

  Russell didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “This is Orbison we’re talking about, right?”

  She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. “Like I’ve been able to look at anybody else since he showed up.”

  He waited a minute. Thinking, apparently, because when he did speak again, he said, “You sure you’re wrong? You sure you’re stupid? Who said you were?”

  “Evan. Me. Every bit of common sense I have.”

  “Hmm. Not sure Evan’s a big winner in the love stakes himself. I don’t exactly see him taking over the Dear Abby column anytime soon.”

  That was the moment the doorbell rang, and the exact moment Bella barked. Dakota jumped so hard, she dropped her spoon into the chili bowl and splashed red sauce all over her green-striped white pajama top.

  She was exclaiming, grabbing a napkin, trying to wipe it off, and Bella was already headed for the door, tail wagging. Russell started to haul himself up, but Dakota said, “I’ll go.”

  “No. You’re hardly wearing anything.”

  “Shorts.”

  “Pj’s. I’m going.”

  He headed out into the living room, and Dakota went over to the sink, wet a dishrag and started to scrub out the spots, and hoped with no confidence at all that it wouldn’t be Evan. And knew it couldn’t be anybody else. Evan, coming over to yell at her some more, like she was still sixteen. Like she was still stupid, and he was still protecting her. This time, though, she was ready for him. She was going to set him straight.

  Her hand stopped moving, until the water soaking through her top made her drop the rag in haste. That wasn’t Evan’s voice.

  Oh, man.

  She was out of the kitchen on the thought. There was Russell, standing in the middle of the living room. And there was Blake, standing with him. Hands in his back pockets, frowning down at the floor, looking less confident than she’d ever seen him.

  Both of them turned as she came in. Blake’s eyes widened a little, and she looked down at herself and realized why. She hadn’t gotten rid of all the chili stains, but that wasn’t it. Her top was wet on one side and clinging to a breast, and it was just about transparent. She was wearing some very short boxers underneath it that were slung low and cut high. She was, in fact, way too close to naked.

  Well, tough. He’d already seen her naked tonight. Twice.

  “Hi,” he said, and didn’t smile.

  “Hi,” she said back, and stopped.

  “I was just telling Russ,” he said, “that we had a… misunderstanding, and that I’m here to make it right.”

  She glanced at Russell. He said, “Don’t look at me. You’re two grown people. You work it out.”

  Something was happening in her chest again, and she forgot all about Blake for a moment. She went over to Russell, kissed his cheek, and said, “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

  He cleared his throat. “The man’s waiting. You got this. You don’t need me. I’m going to do the dishes and go to bed. I’ll put your chili in the fridge.” He limped toward the kitchen with Bella following him, then turned to Blake and said, “Got no reason not to trust you with my girl. Don’t give me one.”

  “No, sir,” Blake said, and Russell nodded and left, shutting the door to the kitchen behind him.

  “Uh…” Blake said. He still had his hands in his back pockets, and he was still frowning. “I don’t exactly know what to do here. I tried to think it over, but it’s just a big ol’ confused mess. I thought I’d know once I got here.”

  “I’m guessing that’s a new feeling.” Suddenly, Dakota felt a whole lot better.

  He smiled, just a twitch at one corner of his mouth. “You could say that.”

  “So sit down and start.” She sank down on the couch, he sat down beside her, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and said, “I feel like we’ve done this before.”

  He smiled for real this time. “It does, a little bit. I’ve got to say—it’s easier with wine. But here goes. I get that O’Donnell wants you for himself, and I don’t care. He had his chance, and I’m not stepping aside for anybody. You’re not stupid, and you’re the very last thing from easy. Even though ‘easy’—that’s a crappy thing for a man to say about a woman, or to think. But it was what he meant, so I’m telling you. You’re not it. If you asked me what I think, it’s that you shouldn’t let him talk about you like you’re fifteen. Your dad’s right. You’re a grown woman. Decide for yourself. One way or the other. I’m a grown man. I can take whatever you throw at me.”

  “Wow.” She blinked. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah. More or less. Go.”

  “First of all, Evan doesn’t want me for himself. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Not how it looks to me. I’d say that’s exactly what he wants.”

  “He was my brother’s best friend.”

  “Hate to tell you, but that doesn’t stop a guy.”

  “I don’t know how to convince you, but I’ll just say—no. Evan’s like my brother. He’s said so.”

  “As long as you aren’t in love with him, I don’t really care what he wants. What I want to know is what you want.”

  He was looking at her so hard, like her answer really mattered. “No,” she said. “I’m not in love with him.” She’d been having trouble with her heart rate since she’d heard his voice. Now, she was half-worried that she was going to have to ask for a paper bag to breathe into.

  Some of the tension seemed to leave him. “Good. That’s good, then.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So… I guess I should ask you out.”

  She wasn’t going to need the paper bag. “I guess you should.”

  “Right, then. I’m invited to this thing on Friday night. This dinner party at the Schaefers’. She—Michelle—invited me to bring a date. I think I’d better do that, if you’ll go with me. That seems public enough even for Evan. Even for you.”

  She was looking at him sideways again. “You realize that Michelle’s probably going to poison me if you take me along.”

  “Nah. Beth and I… we didn’t click. She’s a nice woman. She’s just not my nice woman.”

  “You know why, don’t you?”

  “Uh… my personality disorder? What?”

  “Nope. Because that’s who Evan’s still in love with, I think. Or still hung up on. It’s not me. It was never me.”

  “Oh.” He seemed to be digesting that. “Huh. So that night…”

  “Yeah.” She was smiling now. She couldn’t possibly have helped it. “Wrong partner.”

  “Mm.” His eyes were doing that golden gleam thing again. “All the way around, because, baby—I sure wanted you that night. When you walked by me like that, I about half lost my mind. If you want to take care of the other half, you could wear that perfume on Friday.”
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  “Did I say I’d go?”

  “Nope. You surely didn’t. I’m sitting here waiting.”

  It was more than a daunting prospect. It was throwing herself right smack into a part of Wild Horse that had never accepted her and never would. But she’d never have better insulation.

  It was that reckless streak again. It was her wild side, the side that refused to cower, that raised her head and her fists and fought back. And the side that wanted Blake Orbison with a ferocity beyond reason.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll go with you.” What was the worst that could happen?

  He smiled, then, and that smile did the same things to her it always did. And then he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and put it in her hand. “That’s for your shell. I meant what I said. That thing—it’s mine.”

  She unfolded it, but she didn’t have to. “I said a thousand.”

  “And I said fifteen hundred. I told you, darlin’. You’ve got to tell me you’re worth it. You’ve got to believe it. I’m telling you that I do.”

  He stood up before she could say anything else, and she got up, too. What else could she do?

  At the door, though, he turned to her. “So you know. Everything else I said tonight? That was true, too.”

  “Uh… what would that be?”

  He put a hand out, brushed her hair back from her face, and let his fingers drift down her cheek, and it was an effort to keep from leaning into that hand. He said, “Tell you the truth, I can only remember some of it. But I remember I meant it.”

  She fought to keep her eyes from closing. “I’m going to have to think about that.”

  She was falling into his eyes, drowning in his heat, and he wasn’t smiling now. “You do that,” he said. “You go to bed tonight and think about me. You can know that I’ll be thinking about you, too. And when I do… we aren’t stopping. You can think about me imagining how you’d look when you’re lying back on my bed with your arms up over your head, with your eyes closed and your mouth open, making all those little noises for me. You can think about how good your legs are going to look when I’ve got my hands on your thighs. You can think about how many times I’m going to make you come, and how many ways I’m going to wear you out.”