Nobody Does It Better (19 page)
"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
"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.
Pam 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
Her life without Devin. No wonder she felt melancholy.
She reassured herself 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
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.