Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  Which was when she cried for real. Sitting on the edge of the bed in the swimsuit bottoms that didn’t fit anymore, either, clutching the serene cream-colored duvet cover, no doubt made out of fleece combed from the belly of some exotic animal that lived only at extreme elevations in the Himalayas and was tended by Buddhist monks. She wasn’t looking out the window at an endless vista of evergreen forest, with Mt. Hood starting to glow with the colors of twilight, because it wasn’t helping.

  She had a new job that was beyond anything she’d ever thought she’d get. She was living in the fanciest house she’d ever seen. She was sort-of-dating the hottest, sweetest man she’d ever known. And all she wanted was to put her head in her mom’s lap, feel her mom’s fingers smoothing through her hair, and hear the voice she’d never hear again saying, “It’ll be OK, baby. It’ll be better in the morning. You can do this.”

  She couldn’t. She couldn’t. Her mouth was open, and she was sobbing.

  When the tap came on the door, she barely registered it. When it came again, she thought, I can’t let Dyma see me like this. I need to be the mom. Frantic with it, and not a single bit more in control. And when she heard the door opening and Harlan’s voice saying, “Jennifer?” she couldn’t manage to do more than try to pull the duvet over her. It was trapped under the too-heavy, fancy Euro pillows, and that made her cry more.

  “Jennifer?” Closer now. Right here. In the doorway behind her.

  “Yeah,” she said, and tried to control her voice. “Sorry. I’m just … did you need something?”

  “Hey. Baby, what’s wrong? Job no good after all?” He came around the bed, sat down beside her, and didn’t put his arms around her. Instead, he took off his shirt and pulled it over her.

  All right. Now she was really crying. Also incredibly embarrassed.

  She said, “My bikini top doesn’t fit, so I can’t swim,” and tried to laugh. “Last … straw. Low … low point.” She grabbed a bunch of tissues from the bedside table and mopped up. “I’ve cried … around you so much.” Another sniff. Yep, she was irresistible, all right. “You weren’t supposed to … see this one. It was just … I missed my mom.” Which made her tear up some more.

  “Well, I can’t be your mom,” he said, “but I can solve the bikini problem. We do some more shopping, that’s all.”

  “No time. I’ve got so much homework. It’s … I’m not an assistant, it turns out. I’m an assistant logistics manager. How did I get to be a manager? How do I be a manager? Why didn’t Blake tell me?” She did her best not to be self-conscious, but it wasn’t easy. She wasn’t just a blotchy, weeping redhead now, she was a blotchy, weeping, half-naked, pregnant redhead with swollen breasts and a belly that seemed to get bigger every day. Whereas he was also half-naked, but looked like he should be on a firefighter calendar.

  She said, “Why do you have to look that good? It’s unfair.”

  “Aw, baby.” He was laughing, and she was, too. In a watery sort of way, but she was laughing. He said, “I was just thinking that today, when you came home. I’m thinking it now, if you want to know the truth. Not quite as good as when you’re all fired up and hot at me, because that’s still my favorite, but on the other hand …” His hand landed on her thigh and held on. “Not wearing much at all. Here’s a thought for you. It’s a private pool. It’s indoors. Ever swum naked?”

  “Uh …” She did her best to look sidelong at him. “No.”

  “Totally different experience. Stimulating, too, you could say. The kind of daring thing a logistics manager might do. And of course you can be one. If you ask me, you already were one. Blake’s just putting a ring on it. So to speak.”

  “Not what you said today. What did you say to him? He looked kind of stunned.”

  “He’s got to learn that you don’t always get to be the quarterback, that’s all. Also, there’s this online-shopping deal nowadays, and all it takes is a credit card and a one-click finger. We could do some of that together. Another date. Call it—Saturday, over breakfast? Maternity lingerie shopping? Sign me up. Also—body-conscious. That’s your word.”

  “You’re a sick, sick man,” she told him. “Maternity undergarments are not hot. You’re also strangely metrosexual. Body-conscious? They’re going to kick you out of North Dakota.”

  This time, he laughed for real. “Yep.” He got up, pulled her to her feet, and said, “Put on a robe or something, come on over, and get that swim. You’ll feel better. Something about all that rhythmic breathing. Meanwhile, I’m making wild salmon with roasted root vegetables and crispy kale. I do a mean crispy kale. You know you want to work up an appetite for that.”

  “I see what Annabelle meant. About the extremely healthy cooking. Seriously? Kale?”

  “Omega-3 fatty acids. Folate. Vitamin A. All essential nutrients for pregnancy. I looked it up. I have menus now. Wait and see.”

  “You know,” she told him, “for a ridiculously hot guy, you have a definite mom side.”

  “Nope,” he said. “I’ve got a dad side.” And while she was still reacting to that, added, “Also a daddy side. By which I mean … a daddy side.” He smacked her on the butt, and when she jumped, said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long. Be even better on your bare ass, though.”

  “I said date,” she said. “I didn’t say kink.”

  “Aw, baby. That’s not kink. Now, a padlock and chain …” He lifted her hair and kissed her neck. “That could be kink,” he murmured in her ear, and then went back to kissing her neck. Right … there.

  Oh, yeah.

  Somehow, her arms were around his neck, and she was saying, “I thought you said it was just …” She gasped as his mouth found the best spot. Why had it taken her thirty-four years to discover the thrilling roughness of a man’s scruff of beard on your most tender skin? “Uh … edgy. So if I wear the padlock …”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I might have to get edgy with you if you wear the padlock. So come on. Swim naked in my pool. Give me something else to dream about. Oh, wait. Whoops.”

  “What?” she asked, pulling back.

  “Uh …” He scratched his jaw. “I was supposed to be tender tonight. I forgot.” He grinned. “Oh, well. What the hell. Go with what’s working.”

  50

  Ward and June

  It was Friday night, and Jennifer was swimming.

  She had a new swimsuit now. It was appropriate. It was one piece. It had come two days ago in one of the boxes.

  One of the many boxes.

  She had it. She just wasn’t wearing it. Because she was alone, which was novel in itself. She was never alone. She was alone in a house that had a private pool, and she’d wanted to find out what it felt like to swim naked.

  Outside the wall of glass, the late-afternoon June sun slanted over the Forest Park. Somewhere out there, Harlan was running endless, impossibly fast miles, probably bench-pressing random logs along the way, just because it wasn’t hard enough.

  She’d seen him run. That one hadn’t been a date. It had been her taking a lovely, cedar-scented stroll in the trees, and him starting out with her, running something ridiculous like eight miles, then turning to walk back with her.

  Well, he’d held her hand on the walk back, so maybe it had been a date. She was honestly getting a little confused.

  She knew where he was tonight, because he’d left her a note, along with the fresh-as-summer smell of homemade tomato-basil soup on the stove and the promise of chicken paninis when he came home. Dyma and Annabelle, one week away from the end of the school year and feeling freer every single day, were off at an outdoor concert featuring the genre of music generally described as “the kind that hurts your ears.” Dyma, Jennifer hoped, would dance hard and sing loud and possibly even howl at the moon. By this point, she was like a puppy who hadn’t been to the dog park in too long.

  That could be due to the upcoming end of her high-school career, which she’d been anticipating for at least three years, champing at the bi
t for that freedom that she was positive would be wonderful. It could be the thought of seeing Owen next week at her graduation, and the fact that he was coming to Portland the next week for a Devils minicamp. It could even be the fun that was hanging out with Annabelle, doing their PE on trail runs on which Dyma complained the whole way, her shorter legs moving like a terrier’s, and Annabelle strode like a Valkyrie, and having daily gym sessions supervised by Harlan, where he’d stand over them holding a clipboard and dressed in football shorts and a T-shirt, giving calm orders and correcting their form in an assured sort of way that made Jennifer go weak inside.

  Especially yesterday. She’d broken down, was the only way she could put it. She’d come home from work, changed into an actual pair of maternity shorts and a sports bra that fit, seeing as she now had an entire closet full of new clothes, thanks to Harlan’s one-click finger, and found the three of them just like that. Dyma was doing chest presses with a barbell while Harlan stood at the end of the bench above her head, his hands under the bar, counting off reps and telling her, “Keep your whole back flat. Suck in your abs and press the small of your back right down there.”

  Dyma said, “I am,” and Harlan smiled and said, “You are now.” Annabelle, meanwhile, was doing pushups. Many pushups. Harlan had put her on a training program for rowing, and Harlan didn’t mess around.

  He glanced up when Jennifer came in, but kept counting reps, finally grabbing the barbell and helping Dyma put it back in the rack. Dyma lay still a minute, breathing hard, and Harlan said, “Arms out to the side. Let them hang so your chest stretches out, and we’ll do another set.”

  “Wow,” Jennifer said. “You know—could you hook me up with some of that?”

  He got alert. That was the only way she could describe it. When his attention sharpened and his eyes seemed to lock onto yours. Exactly like the white wolf. That look still made her knees weak, and he didn’t even seem to know it.

  “You want a pregnancy workout?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “I have that first OB appointment on Monday, and when she asks me if I’ve been exercising, I want to say, ‘Oh, yeah, I have a gym routine.’ It sounds so much better than, ‘I stroll in the woods and swim extremely slowly.’”

  He smiled, his expression still calm and fully controlled, and told Dyma, “Last set.”

  “Too hard,” she said. “My arms are like spaghetti.”

  “Nope,” he said. “One more. Six reps, that’s all. I’ve got my hands on your bar. Let’s go.” Without looking up, he said, “And if I set that program up for you, Jennifer, I’ll be your witness. That the idea?”

  “Yep. That’s my plan.”

  “All right,” he said, “but we’re not getting crazy. We’re starting easy, and I’m doing some research to make sure I keep you safe. Two more, Dyma. Annabelle, abs next. On the slant board. And Jennifer, you could get on that elliptical machine and get yourself warmed up. Start slow, and take it easy. If you get lightheaded, stop.”

  “Do you realize,” Dyma puffed out as she shoved the bar up again, “that this is my mom you’re talking to? She’s … not going to be getting crazy. Not with fitness. Not with anything.”

  Harlan racked the barbell again and said, “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, because your mom’s as tough as they come.”

  Dyma, who was stretching her chest and arms again and doing a little moaning about it, said, “Uh, excuse me? Are we talking about the same person? Redhead? Pregnant? Extremely conservative dresser?”

  “Yep,” he said. “The day I met you, what was she doing? Get on that machine, Jennifer, if we’re doing this. Bug, ride the bike for twelve minutes when you’re done with those. Hill program, level nine. Time to push it.”

  “Uh …” Dyma said, “What was she doing? Whining about skiing, you mean?”

  “Nope. Planning how she’d fight the wolves so you could escape. You don’t get much tougher than that.”

  “She was not,” Dyma said.

  “Well, yeah,” Harlan said. “She was.”

  Jennifer thought, Ha. After that, she just did what Harlan said for about half an hour, after which she felt more sympathetic toward Dyma. He had been careful, she guessed, checking in with her during every exercise, but “easy” wasn’t how she’d have described that. She could barely move her arms today. She was going to have great muscle definition, though. Eventually.

  Which was why, right now, she was stroking languidly through the pool, focusing on stretching out her sore muscles. She hadn’t turned the lights on in here, and the corners of the room were shadowy, while the sky outside glowed the kind of deep blue that made your heart happy. Tomorrow was Saturday, she and Harlan were going to the farmers market, and she was wearing the prettiest dress they’d bought, one she absolutely wouldn’t be wearing to work, but that Harlan had insisted she needed anyway. It was a white sundress with an empire waistline and crocheted strings that tied under your breasts, with delicate pale-blue crocheted edging around the hem. It looked like an old-fashioned petticoat, and it was purely pretty.

  After the farmers market, though, she was going to … She had no idea what. But something.

  He’d been sweet. You bet he had. He’d shopped online with her last weekend, just like he’d promised. He’d shopped in person with her, taking her to Nordstrom for shoes and another swimsuit, even though they’d just bought one online. Also a pair of pink shortie PJs and a matching cotton robe trimmed with ivory lace that was the kind of thing you could live in, and a deep-blue nightgown with the prettiest Italian-lace racerback and tiny little straps, just because it was beautiful. He’d posed for a selfie and talked football very seriously with a bored six-year-old big-brother-to-be who’d had his day made and been temporarily rendered speechless with awe, and he’d taken Jennifer to lunch afterwards. He’d kissed her when they’d come back home, too, just like he’d kissed her every night this week when he walked her back to her place after their family dinner.

  He’d kissed her like some guy from the 1950s, that is. They were Ward and June Cleaver, and Dyma was the Beaver, the one who got to have all the fun. Any minute now, Harlan would start smoking a pipe and wearing a cardigan. Even when she’d been half-naked last week, all he’d done was kiss her neck! And when she’d been sighing and boneless and ready, he’d slapped her butt and told her to go swimming.

  Of course, she’d been tearstained and weepy, and she was also five and a half months pregnant and had the belly to show for it, so there was that.

  She didn’t notice him until he touched her hand as she hit the pool wall. When he did, she flinched, bobbed up like an apple, grabbed for the edge, and said, “Don’t do that!”

  “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “Those suits not working out for you, then?”

  “What?” He was still in his running gear, though he’d taken off his shoes and socks, and as she watched, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. He didn’t show off. He didn’t have to. He just … took his shirt off. The shorts rode low, and that line of darker hair disappeared into the waistband. She noticed that, because he was right there, lean and lithe and hard-muscled. Looking like he didn’t know it. Looking relaxed.

  When she didn’t move, he dropped down to sit on the edge of the pool and said, “Well, not to make a big deal of it or anything, but … you’re naked.”

  “Oh.” Well, yes, she was. She’d forgotten. He seemed completely casual about it, though.

  He said, “Mind if I come in and do a few laps?”

  “No. Of course. I was just finishing anyway.” She swam over to the ladder and hauled herself out, trying to do it with some modicum of grace, then reached for her towel.

  He was staring. Why was he staring?

  Oh. She said, “It got bigger, yeah. My belly. It’s not that big, though. My weight gain’s, uh, pretty low. Actually.”

  “You look great,” he said. “Beautiful. Actually.” He was still just sitting on the edge and staring at her. A smile on his
face, and that intensity in his eyes. Like the wolf. She pulled on her robe, and he watched that, too.

  She was about to tie the robe. She changed her mind. She said, “You know, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Pardon?” He blinked. Slowly.

  “This dating thing. The exclusivity. It’s stupid. Obviously, I’m not going to find somebody when I’m pregnant. As you’ve clearly noticed, it’s not all that appealing. There’s no reason you can’t find somebody yourself, though, just because we said that. It wasn’t some kind of solemn vow, and besides, you’ve done everything you promised. I’m all set. I’m good. I’ve got clothes, and a great job, and a place to live until after the baby. Dinners might be a little awkward, but we can change that. I’m used to cooking myself dinner, and …”

  His expression, which had been confused, started to clear. “Jennifer. Are you setting me free?”

  “Well, yeah.” Her arm was waving now. She willed it back down. “Of course I am. Do you know how … how …” She wasn’t doing too good a job at this. She took a breath and kept going. “Right. I’m being honest. I need you to be honest, too. Just do it, Harlan. Just say it.” She did tie her robe now. “You’re right that I’m a strong woman, and I know how to be a single mom, too. I know you’re worried about hurting me. I’m telling you, stop worrying. I’m tougher than I look. Sure, I’m in love with you. Of course I am. How could I not be, with the way you are? I’m sure lots of women have been in love with you. That doesn’t make you obligated. Love doesn’t have to go both ways, and I know it. You need to do what you want, because I’m fine. I’m giving you permission.”

  After that, she fled.

  51

  Physical Education

  She didn’t cry. She did not cry. She’d needed to say this all week, she’d realized as soon as the words had started coming out of her mouth, and now she’d done it.