Best of Temptation Bundle

by Tori Carrington

  She remembered the financial magazines he was always thumbing through and decided to try another approach. “Did you really buy the pub with money you’d made in the market?”

  He leaned back against a slot machine. “Looking for stock tips?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Didn’t that kill the cat?”

  He wasn’t even trying to hide his grin anymore. Infuriating, really. He wasn’t helping her in the least. She stood straighter, huffing up a bit. “I’m trying to have an interesting conversation and you’re teasing me.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Devin!”

  He leaned over and kissed her nose. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

  Paris tapped her foot and glared.

  “Okay, I surrender.” He grinned at her. “Now I’ve forgotten the question.”

  Had she said infuriating? She’d meant exasperating. And irritating.

  And fabulously handsome, but that really wasn’t the point.

  She blinked and frowned at him for getting her off track. “I asked if you really made money in the market.”

  “Yes. It’s true. I took every night class I could find to learn about investing. College credit, extension, informal classes. The works. Surprised?”

  “Not at all.” Devin had drive. He was smart. She didn’t doubt that he could do anything he wanted.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I guess trading in the market is a little like gambling, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose. A little. But at least you can study the markets, reduce your risk.”

  “Right. Exactly.”

  “Right, exactly, what?”

  “Well, if you were to lose, say, twenty-or-so thousand dollars in the market, that would be a pretty big thing to recover from, wouldn’t it?”

  “Twenty-or-so…” Devin trailed off, then cocked his head, looking at her. He put his finger against the side of his mouth and tapped lightly.

  “You know,” he finally said, “burning off steam at the blackjack table may not be such a good idea after all.” He reached over and trailed his finger in gentle strokes up and down her arm. Tempestuous heat reeled through her. All it took was a look, a touch, and she melted.

  “Uh-huh.” She yanked herself out of dreamland. Now wasn’t the time to get all hot and bothered. She needed to keep her mission in mind. “I mean, good. Good idea.”

  There was no reason on earth why such a smart, focused man couldn’t fight the urge to gamble. And she’d do anything she could to help.

  He flashed a lopsided grin. “Roulette would be much better. Even more mindless. Pure chance.”

  Plan B. She needed to come up with a Plan B.

  She could think of only one surefire way to keep his mind away from gambling. Luckily, Plan B had benefits for her as well.

  Calling up a sultry smile, she moved closer, then ran her finger along his collar. “The thing is, I’m not really all that interested in rehearsing or in having lunch.”

  “No kidding?” The look in his eye told her Devin knew exactly what she was up to.

  “No, I’m much more interested in betting on more pertinent things. Like exactly how hot I can make you with just my mouth.” She leaned in closer and flicked her tongue along his ear. “And I promise you that my odds don’t favor the house.”

  He swallowed, and she knew she’d won that battle. When they got to the room, the actual war promised to be a lot of fun.

  In the elevator, Devin grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her toward him. “It occurred to me that we never got to finish what we started on that elevator in New York.”

  “Oh, really?”

  A trill of excitement coursed through her, growing stronger as he reached down and stroked the back of her leg, starting with her knee. His touch was light, teasing, so soft that it was little more than a caress.

  When he reached her hem at mid-thigh, he pulled her in closer to him, until their bodies were melded together. There was no mistaking his arousal, and as he pulled her tighter against him, Devin slipped his hand up the back of her thigh, higher and higher under her short skirt until his finger grazed the edge of her panties.

  Madness loomed before her, complete and utter insanity brought about by the torment of his touch.

  “Devin. What if somebody…?”

  “Do you want me to stop? Say yes if you do,” he whispered.

  “I…I…” She couldn’t say it. And she didn’t want to.

  “Too late,” Devin said, then kissed her hard on the mouth. His hand continued to explore, bedeviling her, as she squirmed under the pleasure of his touch.

  “You do things,” she whispered, “to my control. My willpower.”

  He traced the edge of her ear with his tongue. “Good. I’ve got more things in mind when we get to the room.” As if to give her an idea of what kind of things, he slipped his finger inside her, silencing her cry of surprise and delight with his kiss.

  The elevator glided to a halt, and in one fluid motion, Devin pulled away from their embrace. He stayed next to her, his arm around her waist, and she leaned against him, anxious to reach their suite.

  The doors slid open and Devin led Paris past an elderly couple waiting to get on. Paris stared at the floor as she stepped out, sure that her face was bright crimson. The instant the doors closed behind them, Paris turned to Devin and laughed, a mixture of anxiety and relief.

  “Do you think they knew?”

  “No,” he shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “And if they did, they were just jealous.”

  It took an eternity for him to get the door unlocked. Probably her fault, really, since he kept fumbling with the card key every time she rubbed her hand down his groin or licked the back of his ear. The second the lock released, he threw the door open, pulling her in with him.

  “Now,” he growled, pressing her roughly against the wall. He dropped his slacks and had her panties down before she had realized what he was doing, then he grabbed her waist and lifted her. “Put your legs around me,” he said. Paris did as he said, arching her back so that her shoulders pressed against the wall.

  He entered her like that, and the passion was devastating, like bottle rockets and starbursts. Paris cried out and wrapped her legs tighter around him, never wanting the moment to end, but afraid she might die if it went on any longer.

  When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as he readjusted his hold on her. “Wow,” she whispered, wondering how this man could have come to mean so much to her so fast.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But…”

  “But?”

  “I can still hear those tables calling.”

  “Really,” she said, throwing a tone of mock horror into her voice. “Well, maybe it’s time to test my little wager.” She nibbled on the side of his neck, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt. “Gentlemen, place your bets.”

  By the time her kisses reached his waist, she knew he was fighting for control. As she drew him into her mouth, he groaned and called out her name.

  When she took him to the brink, he pulled her off and tugged her down to the floor. He entered her quickly, and she gasped when he shuddered inside her and collapsed next to her on the rough carpet.

  “I think the house won that bet,” he said.

  Paris snuggled closer and ran her hand over his chest, twisting her fingers in his hair. “If you feel like placing another bet…”

  She smiled and let her hand roam lower. Soon enough, they went from fireworks in the hallway to candlelight and roses in the bed. Intense and sweet, powerful and tender.

  Afterward, Paris snuggled against him. Vegas and Texas. The last week of the tour. The last week of their deal. In seven days, he would go back to being Devin full-time, and she’d have her book deal and could get on with her life.

  Her life without Devin. No wonder she felt melancholy.

  She reassured hersel
f that the deal she’d made with Devin was for the best. She had a specific life plan, and they were so different. Weren’t they? Just because he made her feel alive, just because he made every moment special, that didn’t mean she should abandon everything she’d planned. Did it?

  She pushed the thoughts away, determined not to think about it. Instead, she pressed herself tighter against him, coveting his warmth, especially now that their last day together was drawing closer.

  She remembered the men in the casino. He still hadn’t mentioned them. Was the uncle Carmen that kid mentioned the one to whom Devin owed the money?

  “Devin,” she murmured, rolling over so that she could look at him. “I saw you downstairs talking to some men.”

  Was that fear she saw in his eyes? “You did?”

  “I waved from across the room, but you didn’t see me.”

  “Sorry.”

  Something was wrong, but Paris couldn’t get a handle on it. “It’s no big deal. Who were they?”

  “Just some people I know from New York. Coincidence bumping into them all the way out here.”

  On top of the possibility that Devin owed those creeps money, another problem occurred to her. “They know you?” What would happen if they saw him spending the week in Montgomery Alexander mode?

  He must have understood. “Oh, they’re on their way out of town tonight. Don’t worry. They won’t blow my cover.” He kissed her, then pulled back and locked his eyes on hers. “I promise you.”

  She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m not worried. I trust you.”

  Devin sighed and rolled onto his back. “Why don’t you just come out of the closet and confess to writing the Montgomery Alexander books?”

  Paris propped herself up on one arm, studying him. “Where did that come from?”

  “I was just wondering,” he said simply.

  What was going on?

  She rolled over and lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought I already explained that to you.”

  He scooted next to her and sat up, leaning over her and looking down into her face. There was concern in his eyes. For her? Did he fear she was making a mistake with her life, her career? Or was there something more there?

  Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. “Explain to your father that you love writing these books. I’ve read all of them. And sure, they’re over-the-top, but the themes are all honorable. Courage and loyalty and patriotism. Your characters are strong. They’re self-sufficient and smart. If he doesn’t see that, then he’s the one who’s blind.”

  “It’s not just my father. The fans love Alexander’s image. I can’t just step in and say it was me all along. Maybe if I’d done that from the beginning and had just invented a co-author. But not now. It’s too late.” She winked at him. “Besides, I’d get laughed out of town. Who’d believe me as Alexander? Who could after seeing you?”

  He brushed a light kiss over her forehead. “Then don’t tell the world. Just tell your father and forget about this literary epic idea. That’s not you, no matter how much you think he wants it to be.”

  She started to argue, but he hushed her with a gentle finger on her lips. “I’ve seen you at night. I know about your new character, Joshua’s new partner, Vivian, and her stiletto blade. I’ve watched you with your eyes closed as you make up new adventures. You’re beautiful when you’re working. You’re alive because you love it.”

  Paris felt her eyes foolishly brim with tears. Stupid, really. She had nothing to cry about. “I’m just not used to writing in another style, that’s all. I’ll love that as much when I get good at it.”

  He kissed her then, and she took the kiss greedily, as if he were a fountain and she was drinking in his strength and courage. When he broke from the kiss, he looked deep into her eyes, silent, for a long time, so long that she began to squirm under his demanding gaze.

  “Promise me something, Paris.”

  “What?”

  “Just promise,” Devin insisted.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Okay, I promise. What?”

  “Do what your heart says is right.”

  She frowned. Was he talking about her books? Or about him?

  And more important, had she just made a promise she couldn’t keep?

  DEVIN OPENED HIS EYES and stared at the ceiling. He knew he was grinning, but he couldn’t help it. Despite the visit early on from Andy’s uncle Carmen and Bull, the last four days in Vegas had been a dream. Letting Paris continue to believe the twenty-thousand-dollar gambling debt was his, and not his father’s, had been a stroke of genius.

  Paris had been more than willing to abandon the casinos in order to keep Devin away from those demonic blackjack tables. He’d known exactly what she was up to, and she knew that he knew. And, of course, that made it all the more fun.

  For the entire week, whenever they weren’t working, they’d been in the hotel suite, sipping wine, watching movies. Making love. Glorious, satisfying, over-the-top love.

  Devin felt a little guilty, sure, but not enough to own up. He’d never said the debt was his, after all. She’d only assumed. And the proper time to put his real cards on the table was after he was sure she’d admit to being head over heels in love with him.

  He rolled over and kissed her cheek, then slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom for a shower. He pictured Paris naked under the stream of water, slick with the strawberry scented shower gel the hotel replenished daily. For a second, he paused and considered waking her, but then dismissed the idea. He’d kept her up way too late the night before—he grinned at the memory—and they had a long couple of days ahead of them. A two-hop flight to Dallas, five bookstores to hit and drinks and cocktails with various reporters. Fly to Austin the next morning and repeat the process. Then Houston, and six more bookstores.

  And looming at the end of all that was the party. Thrown by Paris’s father, the federal judge.

  The chasm between their upbringings mocked him, reminding him that Paris had insisted their arrangement be only temporary. He was playing way out of his league. And even if her dad liked him, that didn’t change anything. Judge Sommers wasn’t meeting Devin. Montgomery Alexander would have the pleasure of his company.

  A hell of a mess.

  He cast one last glance at Paris before closing the bathroom door. Somehow she’d managed to cocoon herself in the sheet, except for one leg that dangled over the side. He shook his head, smiling. He’d been right. She was a notorious covers stealer.

  A needle-fine spray of water worked the kinks out of Devin’s shoulders and back. He hoped he’d done the right thing in not telling Paris about Carmen’s threats.

  He was furious that Carmen had dragged Andy into his life-style. The kid was smart. He deserved better than to grow up thinking Carmen’s way was the best way. Carmen and his flunkies sure as hell weren’t going to let the boy expand his horizons.

  Bastards.

  They’d seen Devin on television and pried the whole story out of Jerry. Devin couldn’t blame Jerry, who’d spewed apologies for not keeping a lid on the secret. Devin knew just how persuasive Carmen and his lackeys could be. He was just grateful Jerry escaped with little more than a few bruises.

  To think that Devin had actually believed he was nearly free from Carmen. With the money he’d get from Paris for playing Alexander plus the money Jerry’d been able to round up from friends, he had enough cash to satisfy his dad’s debt.

  Then Carmen had thrown in the monkey wrench, threatening to reveal Paris’s secret unless she agreed to pay monthly hush money. Devin had said Paris didn’t give a rat’s ass about anonymity, that she’d reveal the truth herself rather than pay them.

  It was a big lie, a whopper, and Devin hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

  He adjusted the showerhead to shoot thick, massaging pulses, letting the water pummel his chest and face. He hadn’t heard another peep from the hometown thugs. Maybe his bluff had worked. That was fortunate, considering he’d struck
out trying to convince Paris to come clean with Alexander’s fans, much less with her father.

  Her father. Forty-eight hours before he met the man, and already Devin’s nerves tingled. He decided to stay in the shower a few minutes longer, letting the powerful spray soothe his nerves and hoping it would wash away any sign of Devin’s heritage, his neighborhood or his upbringing.

  11

  “YOU MUST BE MONTGOMERY ALEXANDER,” the judge said, extending his hand. “Patrick Sommers. I’m so pleased you could make it to Houston. It’s an honor having you in my home. And it’s a pleasure to finally get to meet the man who’s been keeping my little girl so busy.” With his free arm, the judge gave Paris’s shoulder a squeeze. She smiled at her father and looped an arm around his waist.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Devin said, with an Alexanderish tip of his head. He liked the man already. Paris might fear that her father wouldn’t approve of her life-style, but Devin would be willing to bet that Judge Sommers would forgive Paris just about anything.

  Rachel elbowed in and planted a quick kiss on the older man’s cheek. “So, where’s the bar set up?”

  The judge laughed. “It’s good to see you again, too, my dear.” He looked over his shoulder. “Catering is set up in the guest house.”

  Rachel grinned at Paris. “See, this is why I love visiting your dad. He understands my basic needs.”

  Paris raised an eyebrow. “Try not to single-handedly triple the bar tab, Rach.”

  “I’ll do my best. But since you two got us here an hour late, I’ve got some serious catching up to do.” She slipped into the crowd and headed for the quaint stone guest house.

  Paris winked at Devin and then looked up at her father. “Making up for lost time.”

  Devin could see bits of Paris in the trim, distinguished man. Like his daughter, Patrick Sommers’s facial features were well-defined. But it was their eyes father and daughter shared most prominently. Deep brown eyes that held infinite potential. Warm and welcome one minute, sharp and commanding the next.

  “I read one of your books last night,” Judge Sommers announced, looking straight at Devin.