Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  Meg’s eyes went wide as she pressed a palm to her lips, a disbelieving smile peeking through. “Oh, no—poor Devin!”

  “Yes,” Bonnie said with a touch of drama, delivering a hug before she sashayed to the door. She threw a sassy grin over her shoulder. “But not as ‘poor’ as you, I’ll wager, when he learns yours will be finished tonight.” She blew Megan a kiss. “Don’t stay too late.”

  “I won’t,” Meg whispered, debating whether she should just hightail it home now or face the dragon head-on. A second drawer slammed, harder than the first, and empathy won out, nudging her down the hall on tiptoe. Sucking in a quiet breath, she peeked around the corner and couldn’t stop the tiny tug of a smile. Eyes closed, Devin lay sprawled in his chair like a man who’d been shot, a sheet of paper dangling limp in his hand. Normally meticulous and stylish to a fault, he appeared as wilted as his once freshly starched shirt, which now sported a loosened collar and tie. His dark hair, usually so neat and precise, looked like he’d tangled in a catfight, no doubt from the constant gouge of his fingers, a habit she’d noticed whenever he was stressed. His crack-of-dawn arrival this morning—unusual for a man who enjoyed late hours with women and friends—meant that the dark stubble on his face was now more pronounced than usual, coaxing her smile into a grin. With an impish grate of her lip, she just couldn’t resist a tiny, little tease. “Ah, so this is your method of study and research,” she said in a mock serious tone, hoping to rib him into a good mood. “I wondered why I always came in first.”

  The eyelids snapped open with a scowl that assured her the attempt at humor was a total bust. Dark coffee-brown eyes normally stirred with mischief and tease now boiled hot, indicating a mood brewing that was bitter and black. “If that’s your sad attempt at cheering me up, Miss McClare, you’d have better luck with a cup of Conor’s three-day-old sludge.” He crumpled the paper and aimed it for the wastebasket, scowl deepening when it bounced off the rim to plunk on the floor. “Figures,” he muttered, snatching a fresh sheet from the credenza by his desk.

  Meg’s heart softened as she watched him jerk his tie even more off-kilter before he hunkered down to begin his report again, brows beetled and eyes squinted like that determined little boy she’d known growing up. Thumping the attaché case on her desk, she paused, tempering her smile. “Well, then, how about a freshly brewed cup of coffee with a sprinkle of cinnamon and half of my famous peach cobbler left over from lunch—would that cheer you up?”

  “Nope.”

  She folded her arms, determined to make him smile in spite of himself. “All right, then. How about a nice, hot cup of peppermint tea—guaranteed to soothe the grouchiest of bears—along with some of Bonnie’s leftover sugar cookies to sweeten the deal?”

  “Not interested,” he snapped. The sullen press of his mouth tightened.

  She pursed her lips in thought. “Well, then I’d be happy to help you with—”

  His dark gaze lifted to singe her with a glare. “No-thank-you, Miss McClare,” he said in a clipped tone, “I am perfectly capable of finishing my own report.” He paused, eyes thinning considerably. “But I’ll just bet you’re done, aren’t you?”

  Fire scorched her cheeks as she grabbed the attaché and hugged it to her chest. “Uh . . . no,” she fibbed, backing toward the door with a nervous slope of brows. “I have a lot to do tonight, so I think I’ll just . . . spread out . . . in the next room.” Bolting into the conference room, she placed her attaché on the table with an extended exhale, thinking she’d never seen anyone so grouchy. A veritable grizzly bear. Goodness, was this how he’d felt every time he’d competed with her over the years? No wonder he couldn’t stand her!

  Coffee, I need coffee! Once her papers were carefully spread out in order, she quietly snuck into the coffee room, not even sparing a glance in Devin’s direction. Heaven knows she didn’t want to risk another growl from a man she now nicknamed Grizz. Her mouth curved in a tiny smile at the thought as she scrubbed the pot and filled it with fresh water. Finishing up, she hurried back to the conference room until she sniffed the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. On her way to the coffee room, she chanced a peek at Devin, and immediately her heart squeezed in her chest. The poor guy appeared utterly defeated, shoulders hunched over his desk and tousled head buried in his arms. Releasing a wavering breath, she poured him a cup of coffee just the way he liked it, taking extra care to include a sprinkle of cinnamon from the cabinet. She caught her breath when she spotted half of George’s Hershey bar wrapped and tucked in the back—Devin’s favorite as well. In no time, she had a pretty plate arranged with her muffin surrounded by several sugar cookies and pieces of chocolate fanned around the perimeter. Eyeing it with approval, she carried both his coffee and his snack into their office and laid it on the desk beside him, the fragrant steam rising over his rumpled head. Satisfied, she left him to his nettlesome behavior, returning to the conference room to finish her task.

  While proofing the fourth page, she sensed his presence hovering at the door. Body completely still, only her lashes lifted as she peered up with gentle eyes. “Are we better, I hope?”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips as he stood cocked in the door, arms folded and shoulder braced to the jamb. “Some.”

  She rumpled her nose. “I knew I should have gone with the peppermint,” she said with a shake of her head. “Mother always said cinnamon for energy and peppermint to calm a mood.”

  Hard eyes defied the quirk of his mouth. “And what does she recommend when someone annoys you to no end?”

  She blinked, lips parting when his barb found its mark, the old, familiar hurt and rejection stinging in her eyes. “Devin, if I annoyed or offended you in any way, please forgive me . . .”

  “Not you, Miss McClare,” he said with a voice that was more of a growl, “your so-called best friend.” He strolled in and straddled the corner of the table, arms stiff across his chest.

  “Bram?” She peered up, totally confused. “What on earth has this got to do with him?”

  His scowl compressed. “He claims to be your friend, but I’ve never seen a man fawn over a woman more, or vice versa for that matter, and him with another girl, for pity’s sake.”

  Her jaw literally dropped, a rare flash of anger gilding her tone. “Pardon me? Fawn? Not that it’s any of your business, Devin Caldwell, but Bram Hughes is my very dearest friend.” She huffed out a raspy breath and bowed her head, eyes closed while she counted to ten. Expending a quiet sigh, she lifted her gaze, voice gentle. “Why are you acting like this?”

  She jumped when he slammed a hand to the table. “Because I’m jealous, blast it!”

  He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d tossed cold coffee in her face. Her lips parted to emit shallow breaths while her eyes circled wide. “Of what?” she whispered. She suddenly noted the moody look in his eyes, and immediately she sensed a thread of that same insecurity he’d expressed when he’d told her about his family. Sympathy stabbed, along with more than a little twinge of her own shame and regret. “This is about the competition between us, isn’t it?”

  Mouth open, it was his turn to stare in disbelief as the merest trace of a smile formed on his lips. “See? This is only one of a million things that drives me crazy about you, Meg—you have no earthly idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  She stared, barely able to blink. “Uh . . . no?”

  He shot up from the table and began to pace, hand slashing his hair until it fell across his forehead in reckless abandon. “Dash it all, that’s because you aren’t like other girls. You’re beautiful and smart and so blasted naïve you have no idea the effect you have on men.” He halted to expel a harsh breath, bowing his head to swab his face while his voice trailed to a whisper. “Especially me.”

  The blood iced in her veins while her body froze in the chair.

  His shoulders slumped as he continued on, hands buried in his pockets. The fury faded from his voice along with the rakish confidence that was so m
uch a part of who he was. “I suppose I’ve been spoiled—I’ve always seemed to have the upper hand with women,” he said quietly as if talking to himself, “most of them easy pursuits and no challenge at all.” With a loud exhale, he faced her, his eyes as humble as she’d ever seen. “Until you.” He assessed her from several feet away, his gaze intense as if studying every hair on her head, every curve of her face. And then those full lips tipped into a semblance of a smile so reminiscent of the rogue that he was. “Do you have any idea what that does to a man?”

  A knot jogged in her throat as she shook her head.

  “It makes him crazy,” he said softly, stalling the beat of her heart with his slow approach. Nudging the chair next to hers out of the way, he perched on the edge of the table with arms loosely crossed, one leg braced to the floor and one cocked at the knee, so close she could see the pattern of thread in his slacks. “Day after day I have to work beside you,” he whispered, “drinking in your smile, breathing in your scent, flirting my fool head off to no avail because you’re not even remotely aware. For once I’ve met a girl whose beauty on the inside is so powerful and deep, the surface beauty is almost secondary, which is something I’ve never experienced before.” He shook his head, gaze roaming her face as if she were some priceless work of art. “You’re irresistible, you know that? And I have never been more jealous of a man than I am of Hughes right now.” She caught her breath when he reached to fondle a wisp of her hair, knuckles grazing her neck in the process. “I want to know you the way he knows you, Meg—be an important part of your life the way he is. Please say you’ll go out with me,” he whispered, “please.”

  “Devin, I . . . don’t think that’s . . . such a good idea,” she said weakly, her breathing erratic. “We’re colleagues, after all, so it wouldn’t be right . . .”

  He rose, lifting her to her feet along with him while he gently clasped her arms, thumbs grazing her sleeves. “No, Meg, what wouldn’t be right is denying the feelings I have—”

  She tried to step back, but his hold was as firm as the cut of his jaw. “I don’t deserve it based on our past, I know, but I’m asking you to give me a chance to get to know you better.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Her voice came out as a squeak as she tried to lean away, her words hampered by a gulp. “C-can g-get to know you b-better h-here . . . at w-work.” She swallowed hard, the motion almost painful. “As f-friends.”

  A twinkle of the rogue lit in his eyes as a hint of a smile shadowed his lips. “I was rather hoping for a wee bit closer than that, Miss McClare.” His gaze flicked to her lips and back, stealing what air she still had in her lungs. “Much closer, as a matter of fact,” he whispered, bending his head to slowly lean in.

  No! She lunged free of his hold, heart pounding so hard, her palm instinctively flew to her chest. Good night, if the man could quiver her belly with what felt like a near kiss, what could he do with the real thing? Totally disarm her, that’s what, leaving her defenseless and vulnerable to the charm of the most notorious flirt in St. Patrick’s history. A shiver whispered down her spine that compelled her to take yet another step back. And she was far, far smarter than that.

  Aren’t I?

  “Meg?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and glanced up, blinking several times in a row as if that could clear the daze from her mind. Her response was little more than a rasp. “Yes?”

  A trace of a boyish smile played on his lips, the same smile she’d seen him use on many a girl in her class . . . right before he stole their hearts. “Will you?” he asked softly, the hope in his eyes weakening her defenses. When she didn’t answer, he slipped his hands in his pockets with an awkward hunch of shoulders, indicating a hesitancy and uneasiness she’d never seen in him before. “Say something, please, because you’ve got me off-kilter here.” He cuffed the back of his head, mussing his hair even further while he mumbled under his breath. “Which frankly, has never happened before.” His sigh was heavy as he buried his hands in his pocket once again, glancing up with a transparency that revealed the lost little boy inside, so desperate for love. “Will you . . . go out with me, please? The theatre and dinner, perhaps?”

  She stared, pulse pounding while worry and wonder warred in her brain. Heaven help her, those subtleties she’d fretted over at the ball had apparently been valid, early warnings she should have heeded and nipped in the bud. But who would have thought it possible—Devin Caldwell, nemesis of old, seeking her company and favor! She studied him now, and for the first time ever, she felt her body relax in his presence, this tiny glimpse into his soul proving he was really no different than she. The self-esteem of both had been badly bruised—his by his family, and hers by his hand and others. She expelled a reedy breath, her reluctance dissipating in a swell of compassion that made her long to know him too. To impart a touch of the healing balm of God’s love, just like God had done for her. But . . . if there was one thing she’d learned in her life and learned well, it was that every decision she made—especially those of the heart—needed to be weighed on the scale of God’s will. At the thought, a familiar peace settled, coaxing the trace of a smile to her lips.

  He waited as if the very air suspended in his lungs, lips parted and a mix of hope and dread in his eyes. “Is that a . . . yes?” he whispered, the sound of his breathing suddenly shallow.

  Her soft laugh lured a grin to his face as she shook her head, her smile resigned. “I’d say it’s more of a maybe, Mr. Caldwell, contingent upon several very important things.”

  “And those would be . . .” He took a step forward, the dimples in his cheeks deepening like his voice, which sounded hoarse and low.

  She folded her arms, head cocked to assess him with candor. “I’ll need to pray about it, of course, since God has a much better view of these things than I . . .”

  He gave a short nod, his Adam’s apple wobbling. “Fair enough. What else?”

  She paused, her smile hesitant. “I don’t know if you’re a prayerful man or not, Devin, but if you are,” she said quietly, “I would hope you might pray about it as well.”

  His grin bordered on dazzling. “Yes, Miss McClare, I am a prayerful man, especially of late in the hopes of making inroads with a certain brilliant and beautiful girl who has stolen my heart. But rest assured, if it means lighting candles until kingdom come, Megan McClare, I will pursue the Almighty until both you and He agree to say yes . . .”

  Her smile tipped off-center as she lowered her head a smidge, peering up beneath sooty lashes. “Well, regrettably for you, your dangerous reputation precedes you, Mr. Caldwell, as does your flirtatious nature, neither of which give me the comfort level I desire in a relationship.”

  The tendons in his throat convulsed. “All right, that’s perfectly understandable, and a situation I am more than ready to amend.” He cleared his throat, offering a tight smile. “That is, if you would kindly clarify exactly what that means.”

  She tugged at her lip with her teeth, a grin peeking through. “It means, Devin, I’m not of a mind to engage in wrestling matches, something I’m told is prone to happen where you are concerned. The devil in your eye, so to speak, like I just saw a moment earlier.”

  A flush swallowed him whole while he skimmed a finger along the inside of his collar. “Yes, ma’am, you have my word I will keep my distance.” He blew out a long shaky breath, a dimple winking when one edge of his mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “Unless, of course, I have your permission to express any ardor that’s sure to occur.”

  She grinned, his statement shoring up her trust considerably. “I certainly appreciate that, I assure you, so except for those points, there’s only two others.”

  His smile faded while serious brown eyes fixed on hers, squared shoulders and the swell of his chest telling her he was preparing himself for her answer. “And those are . . . ?”

  She drew in a deep breath, hoping to make the next point in a firm but gentle manner. “Bram is my dearest friend in the whole world,�
�� she said in a tone as soft as her gaze, “which means it would make me very happy if you and he were friends as well.”

  His jaw tightened a smidge before he gave a short nod. “All right, Meg. And the other point?” He lifted his head, body straightening as if bracing himself for her final request.

  Containing her smile, she elevated her chin in a sober pose, mischief twitching at the edge of her mouth. “You have to tell Mr. Grizz to stay away.”

  He blinked, a ridge in his brow. “Mr. Grizz?”

  “The bear I saw this morning and tonight.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s a grouch.”

  Her words apparently unleashed the scamp in him once again, given the dangerous twinkle in his eyes. He placed a palm to his heart with a flash of white teeth. “You have my word, Miss McClare, that Mr. Grizz will never show his face around here again.”

  She chuckled, her grin as wide as his when she shimmied back into her seat. “Well, let’s just test that out, shall we?” she said with a coy tilt of her head, every bit the imp as she imparted a wink. “Because, you see, Mr. Caldwell . . . my report will be finished tonight.”

  26

  The doorbell rang, and Caitlyn jolted in her cribbage chair, pulse racing as her gaze darted to the brass clock on the mantel. Six-thirty. She gulped. Merciful Providence, Logan is early! Her hands started to sweat as Hadley crossed the foyer to the door, the sharp staccato clip of his heels on the marble matching the painful thud of her heart. “Lord, help me please,” she whispered, eyelids fluttering closed when she heard the deep timbre of Logan’s voice, his husky laughter signaling a merry mood. A reedy breath quivered from her lips.

  But not for long . . .

  “This house is far too quiet, Mrs. McClare.” He strode into the parlour for the Monday family dinner—his first since the altercation at Meg’s welcome home party—striking as always in a stylish charcoal suit with striped crimson tie. His handsome face and commanding presence seemed all the more powerful given what she needed to do. A chill slid down her spine. And given that after tonight, his presence might be as scarce as the air in her lungs.