Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “Yes. And maybe if I can, too.”

  His smile hurt her heart. “I know you can. Me, though? I don’t know. I know I want you with me. I want to take care of you. I want to see this baby. So I think we should date.”

  Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. “Uh … date?”

  “Yeah. You know, that thing where you go … I don’t know. To the movies? Bowling?”

  “Bowling?” Now, they were both laughing.

  “Swimming,” he said. “Out to dinner. Picnics. Help me out here. I’m running out of ideas. Skiing. Whoops. That’s out.”

  “Also, it’s spring.”

  “Not in the Southern Hemisphere.”

  “Uh … OK. Wow. You want to date a pregnant woman, though. And not have sex. Even if you wanted to have sex with a pregnant woman.”

  He grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t say I don’t want sex. It’s all about working toward the goal, though. And are you kidding? The pregnant woman works for me. In case you haven’t noticed—you bet she works for me. Partly because that’s my baby growing in there, which gives me all kinds of dangerous feelings, and partly because it’s you, and sorry, but you’re hot as hell.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say about that.

  “But here’s the deal.” He tightened his hold on her hand again. “I’m kind of an exclusive dater. So if you want to do this, I’m afraid the big, strong new boyfriend is out.”

  She did her best to look skeptical, even though her heart was racing. Her heart had never learned to be cynical, it seemed.

  “Hey,” he said, “if Owen can do it, I can do it. Even though I know what I’m missing, which makes it harder.”

  “So what do we get to do?” she asked. “Besides bowl. Because I notice you’re still holding my hand.”

  “I notice you still kissed me back today, too,” he said. “So holding hands and kissing are all good, I guess. And I might not have as much control of my hands as I’ve always thought, so maybe some hands, too, do you think?”

  “Oh, do I get a vote here?”

  He grinned. “Oh, baby, you know you do. You get the final vote. Every time.” He lifted the hand he held to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, then turned it over and kissed her palm. Which was completely unfair. Which made her just melt.

  “So …” She cleared her throat and tried again. “So this exclusivity works both ways.”

  “Hey,” he said. “I thought that was the point. That it’s only good if it works both ways. Isn’t that what you told what’s-his-name?”

  “You know his name.”

  “I don’t want to know his name.”

  “And how long are we doing this?” she asked. “This dating thing?”

  No laughter now. His eyes, a blue as deep and bright as sapphires, were level when he said, “As long as it takes, that’s how long. Exactly as long as it takes.”

  47

  A Fun Time

  At five o’clock the next day, Dyma burst through the oversized doors of Harlan’s house like a whirlwind, or possibly a tumbleweed, since her hair was sticking up more than ever. She and Annabelle had probably rolled the windows down and sung along to the radio half the way here. Jennifer was familiar with Dyma’s preferred driving mode, which could be summed up as “loud.”

  “We made it,” Dyma announced unnecessarily. “Without a rollover accident, even. And, whoa. This house is crazy.” She and Annabelle headed over to the S-shaped almost-couch where Harlan was reading a book and Jennifer was studying financial reports on her laptop and trying to convince herself that, yes, she could definitely handle this job. She closed the computer with gratitude. She couldn’t study any more, right? Not if she needed to help Dyma settle in.

  Dyma went on, “I thought Blake’s house was fancy. This is just insane. Annabelle opened the gate with her thumbprint. And the front door looks like …”

  “Boxcar,” Harlan said. “Bank vault.”

  “Exactly,” Dyma said. “And the rest of this is … Hang on. Show me, Annabelle.” They took a quick run around the main floor, with its stainless-steel railings surrounding the galleries overhead, its floor-to-very-high-ceiling glass, and its acres of stone. So much stone. A quarry’s worth of stone. Dyma did some exclaiming over the kitchen and a whole lot of opening and closing unfamiliar appliances. Warming oven. Two-drawer dishwasher. Refrigerator drawers, just in case the massively oversized fridge you already had wasn’t enough. Wine fridge, in case ditto. Built-in espresso machine and coffee bar. Grill and griddle on the stove, along with four burners and pot-filler faucet. The works.

  “I guess when you get your modern art collection,” Dyma told Harlan when they got within hailing distance again—this was truly the biggest and least cozy room Jennifer had ever seen—“you’ll be all set, because you’ve got the museum already. This house is curved. Who has a curved house? Why does anybody have a curved house? Corners. They’re a thing. It needs some weird art, though. Like—giant white mannequin wearing Japanese armor. Rope art hanging forty feet down from the ceiling, with knots tied into it, signifying—I don’t know, the difficulty of life, maybe. Some kind of huge colored-glass deal. It needs installations.”

  “I know,” Annabelle said with delight. “Isn’t it crazy? Just wait. I’ll take you on a tour. You should see Harlan’s bathroom.”

  “A tour that starts with our place,” Jennifer said. “Where we will be living.”

  “Oh, we already looked at that,” Dyma said breezily. “And, yeah, it’s about ten times nicer than any apartment I’ve ever been in. Not as weird as this, though. I’m all about the weird vibe.”

  “I think Dyma should move into the room next to mine,” Annabelle said. “We talked about it. We’re sharing the tutor and everything—”

  “Although I don’t need a tutor,” Dyma said. “Seeing as how I have projects to do for my AP classes, plus my programming final, and that’s it. Other than that, I just need you to sign off on my P.E. hours, Mom. But I can help Annabelle with Precalculus and Chemistry when the tutor isn’t here, since that’ll just be fun.”

  “Fun, huh?” Harlan said. “First time I’ve ever heard those subjects described that way. And you don’t need anybody keeping you on track on those projects? You sure?”

  “Well, yeah,” Dyma said. “Calculus is exciting. It’s, like, sexy, the perfection of it. The precision of it. And if I need somebody keeping me on track to do my projects, how’m I supposed to handle engineering school? I’m motivated, Harlan. It’s a thing.”

  “You’re also rude,” Jennifer said. “Also a thing.”

  “Really?” Dyma asked. “How?”

  Jennifer said, “I’ll tell you later. We’ll diagram your sentences for rudeness factor. You also have to ask Harlan about staying in the house. That wasn’t our deal. Harlan, please be honest.”

  “Excuse me,” Harlan said, “but that was my suggestion, remember?”

  “Ha,” Dyma said. “I’ll bet I wasn’t the one you wanted over here, though.” She took a seat and bounced in an experimental fashion. “This couch is very strange. I feel like it should recline, at least. Surely something with this much leather on it, that I’ll bet was custom made, because who else would want it, should be more comfortable. Cows died for this?”

  “Yep,” Harlan said. “Exactly.”

  “The chairs in the theater recline,” Annabelle said.

  “Excuse me,” Dyma said. “The theater?”

  “Every NFL player has that,” Annabelle said. “And a gym, too. I’ll bet you anything Owen has a theater. I’ll bet you his gym is bigger than the one here, too, because he’s a lineman. Also that he has a pool table and probably a whole game room. There is a pool here, though. An indoor pool, but it feels like it’s outside, because glass. Want to go swimming? It’s so cool that you’re here,” she burst out impulsively. “It’s going to be so much better. It’s supposed to be the offseason, but Harlan does all this volunteering, and then he reads and runs and works out and coo
ks and watches sports, in this routine that’s almost exactly the same every day. It’s better here than home,” she hastened to add. “It’s so much better. But I’m really glad you’re here.”

  Her voice trembled a little on the last sentence. Of course she was lonely. Of course she was.

  “I totally want to go swimming,” Dyma said. “That was a long, boring drive. You owe me, Mom.”

  “Boring, huh?” Harlan asked. “Didn’t hang your legs out the car windows? Didn’t wave at any passing semis? Didn’t flash anybody?”

  “Excuse me,” Dyma said. “I’m a safe driver. And I have a boyfriend. I’m not flashing some random trucker. So what do you think? Will having Annabelle and me here be way too much actual, dangerous fun? We could go live in the other place, I guess, and you and Mom could stay here. Quieter for you, but then we can’t try out all the appliances and rearrange your kitchen cabinets, because they’re set up pretty inefficiently now, and hog the theater. That would be a downside.”

  Jennifer said, “None of that is happening. I’m living in the apartment, and I think you should, too. Also, they’re not your kitchen cabinets, miss. If you want to rearrange something, get your own place.”

  “Nope,” Harlan said. “As far as I’m concerned, go on and unpack your stuff into that guest room. I guess I can put up with a little noise. It’s a big house. As for my cabinets—hey, arrange away. I’m all about the beauty of change.”

  “‘If you realize that all things change,” Dyma said, “there is nothing you will try to hold on to.’ Also, ‘Cultivate peace and order before confusion and disorder have set in.’ Which would be your cabinets. Lao Tzu,” she told Annabelle, who looked impressed.

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “Well, maybe not all the way, on the change part. There are some things that are worth holding on to, I’ve decided. And, hey, Jennifer—want to come for a walk with me?”

  He had kissed her on the cheek last night, after they’d gotten back from that dinner. When she’d been wearing that pretty green dress with all those tiny fabric-covered buttons, and he’d ridden up in the elevator with her and seen her breasts rising and falling with what he hoped was anticipation. Excitement. The subsonic rumble of that thunder coming closer, raising the hair at the back of your neck, leaving you holding your breath and waiting for that flash of lightning.

  When they’d got to her door, he’d kissed her on the cheek, and when she’d sighed and put her hand on his shoulder—well, hell, of course he’d kissed her on the mouth. And then he’d kissed her some more. Right there in that hotel hallway, until she was up against the door and his tongue was in her mouth, and all he wanted was to unbutton those buttons, nice and slow. Preferably while she was on her back, though he’d take it standing up, too. Oh, yeah. He could do that. What was it about undressing Jennifer that was so incredibly hot? It let you slow things down, that was what, and appreciate what you were uncovering. And the way she’d hold her breath while you did it, the surprised little noise she’d make when her dress fell away …

  Well, yeah. She made him want to take his time.

  “He can do things with his tongue that you can only dream about,” she’d told the asshole. “He’s got positions.” What had he shown her so far? Not nearly enough. He had a list, and he wanted to get started on it. Right the hell now.

  The ding of the elevator button penetrated, finally, and he stood back half a pace and fought to get himself back under control. He still had hold of her waist, though. She was pressed up against the door, one hand flung up by her head, her eyes half-closed and her hair all messed up, breathing hard. He said, wanting to laugh but also not wanting to laugh at all, “If you keep on looking like that, baby, they’re going to think you need help.”

  “I … do need help,” she said. “Clearly.” She put her arm down, though. Straightened her dress. Tried for composure. “Right. Dating.” It was an attempt at brisk, and it absolutely failed. “So I’ll … just go in now. After our, uh, good-night kiss.”

  It was so hard to stand back. “Yep. Want to have breakfast tomorrow?”

  She smiled, then, getting that spark of sultry mischief back, that peek at the bad girl only he got to see. “Only if you buy me something really good.”

  “I will buy you,” he promised, “anything you want.”

  What she wanted, of course, turned out to be restrained. Nothing like strawberry crepes with mascarpone cheese, which had been on the menu, and which he could tell she wanted. Instead, she went for a veggie omelet. Her inner hedonist was taking its own sweet time to emerge, but then, it had been locked down for a long, long time.

  He went with her afterwards to supervise the movers, and waited while she said goodbye to her grandfather, too, which was a predictably short visit.

  “You’re not going to China,” he said. “I’m not going to die the minute you leave, either. Stop worrying about me and go.”

  “I’m going to miss you, though,” she persisted. The tears were close to the surface, and she held her grandfather’s spotted, wrinkled hand like she wanted to memorize it. “I’ve spent my whole life with you. What am I going to do when I need somebody to yell at me?”

  He barked out a laugh. “Call me up, of course. Or make this guy send you up to visit me on that jet he’s always flying around on.”

  “I’ll do that,” Harlan said. “Say the word, Jennifer.”

  That earned him some beetling-browed stare. “Don’t think you get to yell at her. Or that just because I’m old, I can’t kick your ass.”

  Jennifer said, “Grandpa. You can’t kick his ass.”

  “Sure he can,” Harlan said. “And I know it. Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take care of her.”

  “Make sure you do,” he answered. “Because I know where you live. Now go on and go. Make sure you take those vitamins, though, Jennifer, and don’t be driving after dark in that city traffic. It takes longer to brake in the rain, remember.”

  She gave him one last hug, and Harlan let her look away on the drive to the airport, because he’d seen her throat moving, had known she wanted to cry. Finally, though, when they’d climbed on board the jet and she was still looking out the window, he said, “I meant that, you know. If you need to come visit, say the word.”

  She nodded, gulped, and grabbed at her napkin to dry the tears that were leaking out. “I know it’s silly. And you’re not responsible for me, or for getting me back here, whatever Grandpa said. It’s just … I’ve always lived here, you know? I’ve always been with him, and when my mom … and now she … and he’s …”

  “Hey.” He wanted to hold her, but they were taxiing, so he had to settle for taking her hand. “Hey, now. I know.”

  She tried to laugh. “Of course you do. What am I saying? Your mom … how much worse is that? How hard is it feeling like you can’t go back?”

  “I don’t think it’s a contest,” he said. “It’s all pain, and pain hurts.”

  Now, she was clearly thinking about pain, because she was looking at him in that squinty-eyed way that always made him want to laugh and saying, “When you say, ‘Go for a walk,’ do you mean, go for a walk, or do some extreme activity that I’m going to hate? I’m pregnant, you know. I’m fragile. Well, not fragile. Maybe I’d like to be fragile, though, at least in your mind.”

  Whoa. That had come dangerously close to asking for something. Asking him to treat her like she was special, like she was precious, at least he thought that was it. He was going with that.

  “I mean,” he said, “we go for a walk at the Japanese Garden, just because it’s peaceful, and I hold your hand, and then maybe we head down to 23rd Avenue so we can look in store windows and you can tell me that some dress is pretty, or that you love rose-scented bath products, which means we have to go inside and check them out. There’s a Lush store down there that women seem to like, and some clothes stores, too. Levi’s store, I know that, because I’ve shopped in that one, but I think we can do better for you. There are also all kinds of restaur
ants, which means we could go out to dinner afterwards, celebrate you getting here, and let these two order a pizza and use the theater and make a mess.”

  “Harlan,” Annabelle protested, “we’re not nine. We’re not going to make a mess.”

  “You’re killing my casual, spontaneous vibe,” he told her. “Stop it.”

  “Mom’s not going to let you buy her clothes,” Dyma said. “Do you know her at all?”

  “That can’t be your idea of a fun time,” Jennifer said. A pretty weak effort, if you asked him.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I want you to like it here, and if it makes you happy, you bet it’s going to be a fun time for me. Also, I’m going to be hungry soon, and so are you. So come on.” He tugged her up by the hand. “We’re supposed to be dating. That was the agreement. So let’s go have a date.”

  48

  Exactly That Edgy

  Jennifer walked into the reception area of Blake’s headquarters and tried to calm her racing heart.

  You’ve been here before, she reminded herself. And it’s just Blake, not some terrifying tech company full of people who went to Harvard.

  She was wrong about that, and she knew it. There weren’t just Harvard graduates here, there were Harvard MBAs.

  You’re going to be an assistant. You know how to assist. That was the next reminder. That one helped. A little.

  “Hi,” she told the young woman at the sleek reception desk, which was made of some kind of exotic wood she didn’t recognize, each piece a gold and brown swirl of complicated wood grain. The receptionist was new, maybe, because she hadn’t met her. A Portland version of chic, with silver-blue hair almost as short as Dyma’s, a tiny stud in one nostril, and a henna-type tattoo on her inner forearm. “Jennifer Cardello, here to see Blake. I’m new,” she added with a smile. “A little nervous, too. First day at this location.”