Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  “Like what? I’ve looked at it every way. I’ve done nothing but look at it.”

  “Let me ask you a question, then. You think an adult life has to look like your dad’s and mine, like some idea you have of ‘family life’ and ‘marriage’ and how those things are supposed to work. Is that about it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? What do you mean, why?”

  “I mean, do you imagine that’s the life everybody would have if they could choose it? Or is that their life because they have no choice? What kind of life would you choose if you could have exactly what you wanted?”

  “What?” This wasn’t helping a bit. “Why can’t you ever just answer, instead of asking more questions? I have enough questions.”

  “Oh, you probably know that, too.” She stood up, stretched, and yawned in her fleecy robe and slippers. “Because my answer doesn’t matter. What matters is your answer.” She bent and gave him another kiss. “Goodnight, honey. I think I can sleep now. I hope you can.”

  He put his arm around her waist and said reluctantly, “I’m never sure whether you’re incredibly annoying, or you’re brilliant.”

  She laughed out loud. “Oh, honey, I imagine I’m both. Just like you.”

  It was the Fourth of July, his resort was opening, and it was crazy. Blake was a veteran of opening days, of events, of pageantry. This was different, though, and it was new. This was his event. And Dakota hadn’t arrived.

  The grand lobby of the resort was a sea of people. Townspeople and hotel guests, and here and there, an oversized hulk representing the NFL. People drinking and talking, seeing and being seen, being photographed for every bit of media his publicity department had been able to come up with. All those people, but no Russell, and no Dakota.

  “Hey. How you doin’,” he said to the mayor. He shook hands and saw the mayor’s nephew, one Steve Sawyer, near the entrance, part of a group clustered around Dakota’s eagle. He hoped they noticed the plaque on the wall, realized who’d made that thing, and burned.

  He didn’t see Steve’s cousin the sheriff, but he was here somewhere, too, together with two deputies. Supplementing Blake’s security force, he hoped. So far, the night had been uneventful, and he wanted it to stay that way.

  The mayor said, “This is quite the turnout. Did you sell out the hotel?” But Blake barely heard him.

  There she was, coming through the front door with Russ.

  Russell was wearing his turquoise string tie and white shirt again. And Dakota? Dakota was wearing her dress. Black, with huge pink flowers. And the shoes. Four-inch heels, a delicate ankle strap, and the top cut out in a dainty flower pattern all the way to the pointed toe.

  Those shoes were black, and they were killer. All that body, all that bare leg in four-inch black heels… Lord have mercy.

  She’d turned, then, to talk to somebody. Evan, in a white shirt and black jeans. Cowboy black tie. Blake wasn’t looking at Evan, though, because he could see Dakota’s back now. That pink ribbon drifting down to her hem, the curve of her hips. The devastating flash of honey-colored skin from her bared shoulder, the wing of her shoulder blade. And the vulnerable, sweet nape of her neck. He could see that because her hair was up, pulled softly into a knot that was just rumpled enough.

  She’d worn her hair up. Just like he’d asked her to.

  “. . . wouldn’t you say?” the mayor asked.

  “Excuse me,” Blake said, and took off.

  It took him a while to get to her. People turning, men putting their hands out to shake. A question about football, an introduction.

  No, not a while. Forever.

  Blake was near the door at last, and there was one last obstacle. Ingrid, talking to Dakota like they were friends.

  “I’m sorry you heard that,” Ingrid was saying. “Melody can be so bitchy, I know.”

  “Excuse me,” Blake said again. He was going to be civil, because this was a small town. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to be. “Hi,” he said to Ingrid. “How you doin’. I need to borrow this lady a minute.” He had Dakota’s hand and was pulling her to one side of the crowd, then turning his back on the room.

  “Thanks,” Dakota said. Her eyes were flashing dark fire. She was made up tonight, eyes and lips and cheekbones and smooth skin. She’d dusted her shoulders and chest with some sort of sparkly powder, too, and she glowed and glistened like she’d been painted. “I shouldn’t care, but the gall. Like she can open her eyes wide, act so innocent, such a perfect girl, and say she didn’t mean it, and I’ll be grateful because the popular girl’s talking to me.” She took a deep breath and put a hand to her hair. “That’s enough of that. I’m not letting her wreck my night. Are your parents around? I should say hello.”

  Blake had to laugh. “Now, honey, I’m a little insulted. What am I, the furniture? Here I shaved just for you, wore your favorite outfit, and you not only don’t notice my gorgeous looks, you want to go talk to my mom?”

  She was laughing now herself, her mood shifting just that fast. “Right. There are probably three hundred people here, and you shaved for me.”

  “Yep.” Now that the moment had come, his heart had picked up the pace. “Because as soon as I saw you, all those people faded out, and right now? They’re gone. You look real pretty, baby. Those are the shoes, and that’s the dress. We did good. You almost knock my socks off, in fact.”

  “Almost? Excuse me?” The fire was back. “This is my best effort. This took hours. This is as good as it gets.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pulled the box from his pocket. “See, now, I think we can do better.”

  He’d planned on doing this in a back room. When he’d seen Ingrid and Steve, though, he’d known he had to do it here. He opened the velvet box. “Take off those earrings, and we’ll see.”

  Her mouth had opened. “Blake. You’re kidding. Are those real?”

  He put his hand to his heart and staggered. “How about just shooting me right now, baby?”

  “Sorry. I just…”

  “Still waiting. Take those out and put these in. I want to see.”

  Finally, she did it. She unfastened the delicate triple hoops in her lobes first, then took care of the chain up above. He held out his hand, and she put them in his palm.

  And then he got to watch her take two one-and-a-half-carat diamond studs out of the box and fasten them into her ears, one by one. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “You said… I never thought…”

  “Less talk, more action,” he said. “Do the rest.”

  “I need a mirror.” She laughed, and surely only Dakota would laugh at a moment like this. “Blake. You’re crazy.”

  “Yep. I seem to remember telling you so. Wait. I think I said ‘crazy about you.’ That too.” He had her hand again and was taking her over to an ornate mirror set between potted trees, decorated with tiny white lights tonight. “Here you go. Show me.”

  She fastened them into her ear, then. Twin diamond-studded hoops, and a chain that appeared to be made of tiny diamonds. “Where did you get this? It’s so beautiful, I can’t…”

  “Had it made, of course. I did it when we were in Portland. I’ve been wanting to see you like this for so long, and now I get my wish.”

  She turned to him, all sparkle and flash, and smiled, and his heart just about left his chest. “Well, thank you.” And then she laughed. White teeth, cheekbones, dark eyes. Full of fire. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome, but you can’t really thank me for this. I had to do it. And, baby… now you knock my socks all the way off, because it seems you’re just too beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. Her mouth was trembling a little, even though she was smiling. “I’m trying not to cry and wreck my makeup. Thank you.”

  “See,” he said, “the problem is—if you’re going to look at me like that, I need to kiss you. And I can’t kiss you here. It’s what you’d call a dilemma. I’m going to have
to settle for keeping you right beside me all night long. And by the way.” He grinned at her, because he had to do that, too. “Melody and Ingrid? They’re both watching.”

  If Dakota had ever had a better night, she couldn’t think when. She even had the satisfaction of having Eric Halvorsen come up to her and say, scratching his chin, “So, uh… I guess I screwed up. Sorry.”

  “You think?” Blake asked. “But then, I screwed up some myself. I should’ve made the situation much clearer. Dakota, this lump of meat is Eric Halvorsen, offensive tackle, who protects his quarterback except when he doesn’t. Eric, this is my girlfriend, Dakota Savage. Dakota’s an artist. Is that better, sweetheart?”

  “Hello, Eric,” Dakota said demurely. “And, yes, that’s much better.”

  Eric said, “So maybe we can forget about the, uh… position thing. Except if you know some other stained-glass person who could do it. I still think it’d be cool.”

  “The question is, though,” Blake said, “whether any woman in the known universe would think it was cool.”

  “Well, not her,” Eric said, pointing a thumb at Dakota. “But that’s the point. It’s for a woman. It’s a menu.”

  Blake put a hand over his face and groaned. “No. Just no.”

  “You’re not a woman,” Eric said. “You don’t count.” He asked Dakota, “Don’t you think?”

  “Sorry,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But if it were me? I’d be thinking, ‘Kill me now. Just kill me now.’ And then running. But then, I’m not… ah… attracted to football players.”

  “Excuse me?” Blake asked.

  Eric ignored him. “Oh.” He looked crestfallen for a minute, then said, “Well, at least I didn’t waste my money.”

  Pretty much the best night ever.

  There was only one tiny hitch. When the crowd finally headed outside into the lingering twilight for the fireworks display over the lake, she took advantage of the moment to hold Blake back and say quietly, “I should probably wait to tell you this, but I’m going to be raining on your parade later tonight. You know that issue we had last week? It’s not an issue.”

  He looked confused, and she pulled his head down and whispered in his ear, “Condom. Or not. I’m not pregnant.”

  “Oh,” he said, and that was all.

  She didn’t say anything else. She wasn’t about to tell him about the unexpected wave of disappointment she’d felt. She’d tried to pass it off to herself as regret for wrecking his big night, but she couldn’t fool her heart. Her heart… it wanted so many things. Freedom and adventure and fun and glass. But it also wanted Blake. And Blake’s baby.

  Stupid heart.

  She shoved her heart aside and said, “I went to the doctor, and you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Meanwhile, the timing could be better. Sorry I’m out of commission.”

  “Aw, no, honey.” He wasn’t bothering to whisper. “Not unless you want to be. Not if it’s up to me.”

  If she’d been the blushing type, she’d have been doing it. She couldn’t swear it wasn’t happening, and she was revealing enough skin to show every inch of it. “You don’t want that.”

  His eyes were lighting up again, and he had an arm around her waist. “I’m a football player, baby. It’d take more than that to put me off. That’s nothing a towel and a sense of humor can’t fix. There’s nothing in this world outside of a ‘no’ that’s going to put me off you tonight.”

  “You’re not getting a ‘no.’” She had to be blushing now, and she couldn’t help it. It was the look in his eyes. He got her every time. And whatever happened after tonight, tonight was good. Tonight was perfect.

  He seemed to feel the same way, because he sighed. “I knew this was going to be a good night.” His hand drifted down a little until it was resting just above the curve of her bottom, and then it stopped. “We’re watching these fireworks, because I’ve got no choice. And then we’re going home, and I’m locking the bedroom door, laying you down, and taking everything off of you except those earrings. And I can’t wait.”

  They did go outside, and Blake was surrounded again. The fireworks show started, and it was spectacular, but what Dakota felt, through every thunderous explosion, was Blake’s hand around her waist and the diamonds in her ears. And what she saw through every shower of stars was the look in his eyes when he’d given them to her.

  She felt the moment it changed, too. When his arm stiffened around her and his hand went to his pocket and pulled out his phone.

  Something was wrong. He was turning, shoving the phone back in his pocket, starting to push his way through the crowd. And she followed him.

  It was all just fine until Blake got the call. The fireworks, the crowd, the lake. And Dakota beside him. And then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Hello?”

  He had to press it hard against his ear to hear. “This is Logan Mansfield. I’m over at the northeast end of the property. You said to let you know if we spotted Jerry Richards around, and I think I just did. Saw him going around the corner of the building.”

  “You sure?” Blake was already turning. He’d given those orders a long time ago. He hadn’t expected his former chief of security to turn up tonight.

  Or maybe he had. He'd expected something to happen. But his money had never been on Jerry. It still wasn’t.

  Logan said, “Not a hundred percent. He's wearing a ball cap. I could swear I recognize his walk, though. Hang on.”

  Silence on the other end, then, at least Blake thought so. It was too hard to hear. The fireworks were going off, the crowd oohing and ahhing. Laughter and cheers and shouts. He was pushing through the tight knots of spectators with his free hand, trying to get out of it and call Walt, his new chief of security, when he thought he heard something.

  “Hey.” It was a shout from the phone. “What are you doing? You can’t—” That was all. And Blake was almost through the crowd.

  He’d cut through the building and call on the way, he decided. He shoved through another knot of people, and there in front of him, blocking his path, was Steve Sawyer. Not with his wife now, but with a bunch of good ol’ boys. His posse, probably the same guys he’d been hanging around with all his life.

  “Leaving your own party?” Sawyer asked.

  “Not now.” Blake kept moving, but Sawyer stepped to his left and blocked him.

  “Blake?” The voice came from behind him. Dakota. He’d forgotten all about her.

  Sawyer had seen her too, because he said, “Bud, you don’t have to be in a hurry for that.” His boys closed up around him. “All you need is a few trading beads or some firewater, and she’s good to go. Isn’t that right, Dakota?”

  Sometimes, you made a plan. Other times, it was instinct. When you saw that unexpected receiver about to get open and you let the ball go, your arm and your hand seeming to act independently of your brain.

  That was what happened this time. Blake’s arm had gone back, and his fist had gone forward. It met Sawyer’s grinning face, and he dropped to the ground. Just like that.

  Blake reached back and grabbed Dakota’s hand, stepped over Sawyer, and took off. He wasn’t thinking anymore—about calling Walt, about anything. He was through the hotel lobby, out the front doors, and turning right, toward the northwest corner of the building. Toward the spot where Logan had spotted Jerry Richards in a place he shouldn’t be.

  The resort’s forecourt was deserted except for a solitary bellman who’d drawn the hard duty of missing the action out back. Blake snapped at him as he passed. “Call Walt Harris and tell him to get to the northeast corner and bring his troops,” and then he’d let go of Dakota and was running. Not fast enough, but as fast as his knee would let him.

  Why? Because there was something happening up there. A shower of sparks where there shouldn’t be sparks. And then flame.

  Stupid shoes. Dakota couldn’t keep up.

  She wasn’t even halfway to the end of the building, having fallen far behind Blake, whe
n she saw the sparks. Her first thought was, How could that go off that wrong? It got shot all the way over the building? But how could a firework be shot exactly backwards? How could it land there?

  She didn’t wait for the whirling thoughts to settle, just grabbed her phone from her purse and dialed 911.

  “Operator,” she heard. “What is your emergency?”

  “Fire at Wild Horse Resort.” She was breathless from running, but she didn’t stop.

  “Ma’am, there’s a fireworks show tonight.”

  “No. It’s not the fireworks. I’m here. The building’s on fire. It’s burning. Tell them to hurry.”

  “What area of the building is this? Are you sure?”

  “The front. Outside. They’ll see it. I’m sure. Send them now. I’ve got to go.”

  The phone missed her purse when she tried to put it back. She heard it clatter to the ground behind her, but she couldn’t stop to pick it up. Blake was up there, backlit by the flames, and he was grappling with somebody. And then he was going down. Into the fire.

  She forgot about the shoes. She dropped her purse and ran. Straight into the man who was bending over Blake, raising something overhead. She was screaming, and as he turned, she kicked.

  Side of the knee. She got him there hard, he staggered, and his arm came down. He was holding a hammer. She saw it in a split second, his body backlit by the flames. The steel head struck her forearm, and the world blossomed into white-hot pain. But she was still going, her other knee driving into his groin, and he was down. On his knees.

  Blade of the hand to the neck. She chopped, and he went down on his face. Kidneys. Hard. She was kicking him again and again, the toes of her shoes meeting heavy flesh.

  Jerry Richards. Who’d hit Blake with a hammer. Jerry was down, but where was Blake?

  She turned and saw him. Crawling on both hands and one knee. Toward the flames. Her arm was screaming at her, but she was running to Blake. The world had closed to a tunnel, and only he was inside it. He was all she could see.