Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "Are you implying," he asked quietly, "that I took advantage of you?"

  "Didn't you?"

  "I came home to shower and change. Believe it or not, when I slipped into your bed, I was thinking of—" He stopped. A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. "—comfort."

  "Comfort—" she sputtered.

  He held up a hand. "Granted, comfort for a male does involve sex, but that wasn't my primary goal."

  "That's why you were wearing a condom," she said sarcastically. "In case your primary goal was lost along the way."

  "I deal with reality, Miranda." His gray eyes captured her gaze. "Since my body demands sex as soon as I'm in your presence—" He shrugged. "It seemed best to be prepared."

  She scooted back on the bed, clutching the sheet to her neck like a violated virgin. "That's not supposed to make me feel better, is it? Like I'm your own personal blow-up sex doll."

  "For God's sake." He blew out a long breath. "What exactly were you expecting to happen after we finished?"

  She stared at him for a long moment. A hug? A kiss? Some cuddling? Had he ever engaged in any of those normal after-sex behaviors? But those weren't things you could ask for. Either they happened, or they didn't. And if they didn't, well, she'd said it herself. Hump and dump. She wouldn't need it spelled out for her a third time, would she?

  "Never mind, Devon," she said. "Scurry on back to your own bed."

  He stepped into his pants. "I'm returning to the hospital."

  "At this ungodly hour?" Her gaze flew to the window. There was no trace of dawn edging the drawn curtains.

  "The hospital is open 24/7." He zipped up his pants and buckled his belt. Despite everything, she felt a pang to see all that hunky manliness tucked away. Her inner imp wanted to drop the sheet, just to see what would happen, but she managed to restrain herself.

  "Godfrey was sleeping when I left," Devon added, "but I want to be there when he wakes up. Also, the doctors will be deciding this morning whether he can be released, or whether he'll need to stay for further observation or testing. I need to be present for those discussions, and also to give permission for anything they might want to do." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have a lot of responsibilities, Miranda. I'm not a good candidate for…expectations."

  Expectations? Her hand tightened on the sheet. She'd give him expectations.

  "I understand, Devon. We commoners should be grateful merely for the opportunity to serve you." She leaned forward. In her agitation the sheet slipped a bit.

  Or she let it go.

  Either way, he noticed what got exposed. Good. She wanted to leave him with something to remember her by. Her only hope was that he might regret what he'd tossed away so carelessly. Because she would never, ever, have sex with him again. She didn't care how hot he was or how good he made her feel. She would not be used.

  His mouth tightened. "You understand nothing."

  Chapter 19

  The ambulance brought Devon and Godfrey home shortly before lunch. Charlotte made it out to the front hall, where she watched two medics carry the boy in on a stretcher. The little group halted in front of her.

  "Dear child." Charlotte's hand fluttered as if she were patting him on the head, although Miranda couldn't be sure she actually made contact with any part of her son.

  Godfrey opened his eyes. "Mum—"

  "I'm sure you don't want your mama fussing over you," she said firmly. "Go along with Devonwood."

  The boy rolled his head a little to look for Devon, but clearly, he was in considerable pain. "I'll be all right," he said in a gruff voice that broke at the end.

  Miranda wanted to give him the big hug that he needed, but she'd probably shock them all.

  "Chin up, Godfrey." Devon's deep tones could not be mistaken, as he entered through the front door, but Miranda was still shocked. Did no one see that the boy needed some hugs and reassurance?

  Sharmie moved into action. Her heels click-clacked across the marble floor. She picked up Godfrey's hand where it was lying on the gray ambulance blanket.

  "I'll go up to your room with you." She smiled down at the boy. "I want to hear all about your grand adventure."

  Godfrey looked at her, doubt and uncertainty in his expression. "Uh—"

  "Call me Sharmie," she said. "Now none of us know our way around this place—" She waved at the attendants carrying the stretcher. "You can help us, right?" She pointed toward the wide staircase and the attendants began moving.

  "Sure." For the first time, a little confidence entered Godfrey's tone.

  "This castle isn't haunted, is it?" Sharmie asked. "I want you to show me any secret passages you have so I don't get scared to death by a ghastly surprise."

  A quick smile crossed Godfrey's face. "Devon told me our secret passages aren't for girls."

  "He did, did he?" Sharmie pursed her lips. "No fair hogging all the fun stuff."

  "You just said you'd get scared to death," Godfrey pointed out, his voice fading as they climbed the stairs.

  Miranda turned to look at Devon. Why had he been so cold to the boy? He'd stayed up all night finding him and helping him at the hospital. Then, abruptly, he'd withdrawn, as if he'd used up all his reserves of caring.

  Devonwood raised his brows, as if daring her to comment. "I have work to do," he said abruptly. "I'll be in the office wing."

  His heels rang on the marble as he vanished through the front door as quickly as he'd arrived.

  Chapter 20

  Saturday morning, Miranda gave a final tap to Sarah's hat. "Lovely," she said with a laugh, "if I do say so myself. You'll be the belle of the garden party tonight."

  Sarah twirled across the room to fetch up in front of the floor length mirror. "Perfect." The frothy white organza on the hat softened the effect of the clean-lined blue silk dress Sarah had made for herself. With her summer blue eyes and pale hair, the effect was fairy-like.

  "I do hope you have a special guy coming to the party," Miranda teased her.

  "So many men, so little time." Sarah twirled in place, as fresh and delightful as a flower-perfumed breeze on a summer day. "I'd better get downstairs. Mother's fretting herself to death about Devon's absence."

  "I wonder where he is?" Miranda was actually dying to know, but she didn't want to pique anyone's curiosity about her interest in him. She hadn't laid eyes on him since he'd dropped Godfrey off on Wednesday. Now it was Saturday, the palace was full of weekend guests, Charlotte's garden party was due to start, and no one seemed to know what had happened to the duke.

  "Pooh. It doesn't matter," Sarah answered. "He said he'd be here for Mumsie's party, and so he'll be here." Sarah kissed the tips of her fingers and swirled out of the room.

  Miranda followed more circumspectly. She was wearing the same white dress and gold-veiled hat in which Devon had kissed her the other night. It was probably just as well he wasn't here, because she didn't want him to think she was issuing an invitation.

  She arrived in the grand hall to hear Charlotte's crisp English voice carrying as clear as a bell.

  "—party needs a host. Why must he be so difficult? Is it too much to ask that he consider my feelings for once?"

  Charlotte looked up as Miranda came down the broad staircase, and pressed her lips together tightly, as if holding in angry words. Then she took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and said, "You look charming, my dear. Isn't Sarah clever?"

  "Clever, and talented," Miranda answered. "I expect great things from her."

  "Of course, she needs money," Charlotte said, her mouth pinching on the words. "If only her brother could show some interest in his siblings."

  Miranda didn't have to wonder which brother she was referring to.

  "I hope we can change his mind," Miranda said to Charlotte, trying to smile. "I think he'll be impressed when he sees these dresses." She gestured toward herself and Sarah.

  The two dresses Sarah had fashioned were very different, thereby showcasing her abilities. Sarah's blue
dress skimmed her long and slender body like a lover's caress. Miranda's was edgier and sexier with its suggestive detailing.

  When Sharmie appeared, she was modeling yet a third look – that of a svelte, fashionable, woman of a certain age who was supremely confident of her allure. She offered a finger wave to Miranda as she crossed the foyer to Sarah. "Thank you for the gorgeous dress! I don't know how you got it finished in time."

  Sharmie's dress was the only one made especially for this event. The bias cut allowed the dress to skim her body without clinging to it. Hand-sewn silver beading at the neckline transformed the dress from pretty to elegant. The dress had been designed to match a silver hat Miranda had made last year and Sharmie had luckily brought with her.

  "Fortunately, the village woman who taught me to sew when I was a child was willing to work overtime to get the dress done," Sarah responded. "She's positively gifted with a needle. I couldn't do anything without her."

  "It's time for us to go into the drawing room," Charlotte interrupted. "The guests will be arriving any minute." With one last look at the front door, she shepherded them out of the hall.

  The drawing room shone in all its glory, with each of the four massive crystal chandeliers sparkling overhead, enormous bouquets of beautifully arranged flowers perfuming the air, and liveried footmen standing at the ready, their round silver trays gleaming with a patina of old money and gracious service.

  Miranda couldn't help wondering what it would be like to live in such a luxurious manner, but she could see the lifestyle didn't always bring happiness. Charlotte's lips were tight with annoyance, Devon clearly didn't care enough to bother attending and—

  The butler threw open the double doors and announced the first guests. "Lord and Lady Hopkinton."

  A stooped, white-haired gentleman guided in an even more stooped, diminutive lady dressed head to toe in peach. At the same moment, Miranda's nose sharpened at a well-known scent. A gray-suited, black-haired man glided up from behind her and slid perfectly into place beside Charlotte.

  Devon extended his hand smoothly just as Lord Hopkinton reached him.

  Charlotte managed to smile and greet her guests politely. But her blue eyes were cold. Miranda could hardly blame her. She was annoyed herself, though she hated to admit it. How dare he disappear without a word after sleeping with her? She didn't expect an avowal of love everlasting after a night together, but it wasn't fun being treated like a piece of the furniture. She hated knowing she was of no importance to him at all.

  Her eyes strayed to him more often than she liked, especially because he never once looked at her. He was cordial to his guests, but not warm. His reserve did not deter the ladies, young and old, from flirting with him, flaunting themselves, and in general behaving like moons revolving around a superior planet.

  Miranda was grateful when Jack finally appeared. He would soothe her wounded pride. Of course, she saw immediately what Sarah had meant when she'd said Jack, also, was popular with the ladies. Several immediately surrounded him, chattering and preening for him. But Miranda was not afraid to enter the ranks. She approached, and he immediately wrapped an arm around her and drew her into his circle.

  "Here's my newest friend," he announced. "Miranda Foxglove, fresh from New York City. Doesn't she look lovely in one of Sarah's dresses?"

  Several exclamations from the girls greeted his words, and more than one of the handsome young men in the group stole quick glances at Miranda. Silently, she thanked Sarah for the sexy outfit.

  If Devon didn't want to notice, it was his loss. There were plenty of attractive men at the party.

  "How do you two know each other," a fluffy blonde in candy pink asked. Her eyes, flickering constantly to Jack, were more than a little possessive.

  "She's some sort of relation to Devonwood," Jack announced. "Don't ask me for the details because I don't know 'em."

  "That means you can't hog her," a young man pointed out.

  "No reason we can't be kissing cousins." Jack winked at Miranda.

  Miranda laughed. "I'd have to kiss you, Jack, and I haven't done that yet."

  He swooped over, wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, bent over and kissed her soundly on the lips. His friends all hooted and cheered.

  "There." With a grin, he looked around the circle. "Solved that problem."

  "You are a bad boy." She meant to tap him on the arm, but her gesture turned into a clutch as she saw Devon approaching.

  "Relax," Jack said under his breath. "He won't bite."

  "Do you enjoy him having financial control of your life?"

  "Good evening." Devonwood nodded and glanced around the group. "Are you all welcoming my ward, Miranda?"

  "Your ward?" She managed to choke out a laugh, although fury was blossoming within her. How dare he treat her like his property in front of the most attractive gathering of men she'd ever encountered? "You make me sound like a teenager waiting for my allowance."

  He raised his brows. "Except, of course, you aren't a teen."

  "You're lucky if he manages your money," one of the men interjected. "We all know you have the Midas touch, Devonwood."

  Miranda remembered the man's name was Beaucastle. Sarah had introduced them a few minutes ago. He was a tall, thinnish man, with gray eyes. She was grateful he'd spoken, which gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.

  "I shall count myself lucky," she said, "if his grace doesn't misplace the fortune my father left me."

  "Fortune?" A man who reminded her of a yacht captain approached. He had dark blonde hair and merry blue eyes, but something serious lurked behind the laughter in his gaze. "Let me introduce myself." He bowed dramatically. "The Marquess of Waverly, at your service. The whole world knows I need a fortune to save the family manse."

  "Don't get excited, Waverly." Devon's tone was dryer than Miranda's throat. "I think her father was hoping I could transform what he left into a fortune, but I'm not an alchemist."

  Everyone laughed. Waverly slipped an arm lightly around her waist. "I have more faith in Devonwood than he has in himself. If he's handling your money, you'll soon have a fortune, one way or another."

  "Give it up, Waverly." Devon's voice had an edge to it. "She's informed me she's not in the market for a title, and that's all you have to offer."

  Miranda tried to swallow her confusion. The conversation seemed joking, but she sensed something else going on. Was Devonwood deliberately bad-mouthing her? Why?

  She turned toward him, scarcely realizing she'd cut off the rest of the group, including Waverly, whose arm fell from her waist. "Feeling clever, are you?" she snapped to Devon.

  "He shouldn't put his arm around you." The duke bent his clear gray gaze on her. "He doesn't care about you."

  "You," she hissed, "put your you-know-what inside me. And you don't care about me."

  Unexpectedly, he grinned. "My 'you-know-what'?" He leaned down and put his mouth close to her ear. "Right now, I'm thinking how much I'd like to put my you-know-what inside you again." He licked the inside of her ear so quickly, she couldn't be sure he'd done it.

  Except for the buzz of delight that spiraled through her.

  "Stop that!" She yanked herself away from him with enough force to bump into a svelte redhead who was approaching.

  "Devonwood," the redhead purred. "It was so wonderful to run into you in New York." Ignoring Miranda, she sidled right up to her target and pressed her gold-painted body—or was that a dress she was wearing?–lightly against Devon's left side. Her hand came to rest on his forearm.

  Her accent was the perfect touch, slight but charming.

  "I'm glad you were able to attend our party tonight," Devon responded. His downward glance swept over the lush cleavage she was displaying.

  "Who," Red purred, "could resist a personal invitation from the man who is master of all this?" She tossed her head lightly to indicate the surroundings.

  Miranda gaped, even as she told herself to close her mouth. Was the woman actually
rubbing her breasts against Devon's arm?

  Devonwood laughed. "Subtle, Katerina. May I introduce my—ah—one of our houseguests, Miranda Foxglove. Miranda, this is my friend Katerina Olgashevy."

  So, the utterly charming accent was Russian. Miranda held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Katerina. I'm from New York. Do you live there as well?"

  "I live wherever I can find a divine man," Katerina cooed. Her body language left no doubt that Devonwood was her idea of a divine man, as she continued to drape herself over him.

  Miranda told herself she was not going to give in to this ugly feeling inside of her, which could only be jealousy.

  "I'm sure," she responded, "that Devonwood can find you—a bed, shall we say—here in this pile of rocks."

  Whoops, looks like the jealousy had gotten the better of her.

  "Naturally," Devon said, "I invited Katerina to stay here in the castle when I invited her to the party. We have plenty of room."

  Miranda turned to the redhead. "So you ran into Devonwood in New York? Was this recently?"

  "But of course," Katerina said. "I live only in the moment."

  "I was in New York tending to your affairs," Devonwood said. "Which we will discuss tomorrow."

  "I'm surprised you found the time to tend to my affairs," Miranda snapped, "when all these other temptations were so available."

  "You know I always do my duty," he said absently. He peeled Katerina off his arm. "Run along, honey. I'll see you later."

  Katerina didn't look happy, but she slunk away.

  "And you know I'd be happy to relieve you of any obligation you feel toward us," Miranda said, feeling her mouth turn down. The depressing fact was that she'd been reduced to his duty, a chore. While Katerina, no doubt, occupied his bed, at least for tonight.

  "Sheathe your claws, minx. I was in New York, fulfilling my duties as your trustee."

  "Does that mean you're prepared to grant us access to our money?"

  "No." His eyes focused on someone behind her.

  "If I can't get my money, then I'm not interested in whatever you were doing." She turned away, determined to approach another man, just to annoy Devonwood. Luckily, the Duke of Weston was standing right there. His eyes were a little round with shock, and she wondered if he'd heard their argument. Taken out of context, her words might be crass.