Songbird (27 page)

“What do you mean?”

“What happened, Callie?”

Pissed. He’s gonna be pissed.

“He’s just really arrogant. And creepy.”

He eyes me carefully. “Creepy how?”

“How do you know him?”

“I’ve met him at a few charity functions. He has a problem keeping his hands to himself.”

“Some used to say the same thing about you.”

“Completely different. I was at least nice to the women I slept with. Dominic chews them up and spits them out. Rumor has it he left his wife for his campaign manager.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a rumor.” Taking a deep breath, I decide to test the waters. “Devin, would you say you’re the jealous type?”

He sets his laptop aside and turns toward me.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never really been in a relationship where I actually cared enough to be jealous.”

“Well, let’s say, hypothetically, that someone hit on me.”

His eyes darken. “Did Dominic Barkley hit on you?”

“Hypothetically . . .”

“Callie—”

“So you
are
the jealous type.”

Devin sighs heavily. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, the thought of another man putting his hands on you makes me want to punch a wall.”

Fantastic.

“But I know that’s completely hypocritical because you’re a beautiful woman. Men are going to notice. As long as you’re not uncomfortable with the attention—and as long as the guy doesn’t disrespect you or cross the line—then I suppose I can live with it.”

I nod. “That sounds . . . fair.”

Sending me flowers was completely weird, but was it disrespectful? I don’t think so. Maybe if I just pretend it didn’t happen, the entire thing will blow over. Dominic will take my silence as refusal and quietly go away. Besides, he has far more important things to think about right now. Like his campaign.

Devin pulls me down onto the floor and kisses me softly. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you because I’m a selfish man. But I’m too pretty to go to jail, so it’s probably not a good idea for me to kill every asshole on the planet who looks at you.”

I grin. “Good point. Besides, who’d help me raise the baby?”

“Exactly. But, if anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable, I want you to tell me. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Callie.”

“I know you won’t.”

His eyes burn with emotion. I slip my hand around his neck and pull his lips to mine. Our gentle kisses quickly turn frantic, and just as I’m getting ready to rip of his T-shirt, he suddenly pulls away.

“Banana peppers?”

I laugh and cover my mouth.
Oops.

“With turkey and mayo.
Extra
mayo. I told you that vomiting deal was a one-time thing.”

Devin grins and kisses my neck. “Can the banana peppers be a one-time thing, too?”

“Shut up. They made your baby very, very happy.”

“Good. I want both my babies to be happy.”

“We are. Blissfully and completely happy. Except for one tiny, little thing.”

His face grows serious. “What tiny, little thing?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

I kiss him quickly before wiggling out of his arms and running to the bathroom.

The next morning, I’m awakened by the feel of soft, wet lips against my bare shoulder. Warm hands find their way beneath my tank top, and the moan that escapes me is almost embarrassing.

Almost.

“Devin?”

He trails kisses along my neck and up to my earlobe, stopping briefly to give it a gentle tug with his teeth.

“Dev—”

“Shh,” he murmurs. I whimper when his tongue flicks across the shell of my ear. “I’m taking care of you.”

I told him to figure it out.

He figured it out.

Devin’s hand slips lower as his mouth latches onto my neck once again. Reaching behind me, I grab his hip and wiggle my bottom against him. He groans my name while his fingers slide and explore. It doesn’t take long before we’re both trembling, breathless, and totally shattered.

“Talk about a quickie,” Devin whispers against my skin.

“And whose fault is that?”

He chuckles. “Mine. All mine.”

I turn around in his arms and grin lazily.

“All yours.”

Devin brushes his nose with mine.

“Good morning.”

“I’ll say.”

He grins.

After quick trips to the bathroom, we climb back under the covers and snuggle into each other’s arms. We both must fall back to sleep because, an hour later, a loud banging on the door sends us both jumping out of bed.

“What the hell?” Devin asks, glancing at his watch. “It’s not even seven.”

I try to wipe the sleep from my eyes and look down at my bare legs. “I’ll go. I’m . . . partially dressed.”

“Put on some jeans!” Devin groans when the bedside alarm goes off. He slaps at it and throws the blanket back over his head.

I find my robe and tie it around me as I race to the living room. I don’t even bother looking through the peephole before opening the door.

“Who the—?”

“Good morning, Miss Franklin. Sorry to wake you.”

It’s the pimply-faced flower delivery guy from yesterday, holding a monster bouquet of pale pink lilies.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“It’s seven o’clock in the freaking morning! Why the hell are you beating on my door and waking up my neighbors?”

“Just following orders, Miss Franklin.”

“Well, you can tell your boss I don’t want them. Do not deliver any more flowers to me. Do you understand?”

The kid shuffles his feet. “You’ll have to discuss that with Mr. Barkley, ma’am.”

“Take them back!” I look over my shoulder to find Devin rubbing his face as he makes his way into the living room. Lowering my voice, I glare at the kid. “I’m serious. Take them back to your shop.”

“Miss Franklin, I can’t take them back. I’ll get fired.”

Devin appears at my side and frowns when he sees the flowers in the kid’s hands.

“I don’t want them,” I whisper.

My heart begins to beat erratically as Devin reaches for the bouquet. The relieved delivery boy hands him the vase and runs for the elevator.

I kick the door shut and count to one hundred.

When I turn around, Devin’s sitting on the couch. The flowers are on the end table, and the card is in his hand. I take a deep breath and join him. Reaching for the card, I gently pry it from his fingers.

Hope you enjoyed the flowers I sent yesterday. I look forward to dinner on Friday. ~Dominic

I rip the card to shreds and toss it onto the floor. “Devin . . .”

His eyes blaze. “I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“I’m most definitely the jealous type.”

I’
ve been consumed by jealousy and rage a few times in my life. When I was nine, a stray dog wandered up to our house and preferred Owen far more than me. I was a little pissed when Simon scored two points higher than me on the LSATs. And I’m always livid on the rare occasion I lose a court case.

None of those situations compares to the fury I feel right now. It’s unnerving—this powerful, Neanderthal-like urge to find Dominic Barkley and punch him in the face for even thinking he might have a chance with my girl.

That’s right.
My
girl.

Mine.

“Devin,” she whispers gently, like she’s talking to a wild animal . . . which is exactly how I feel. “Devin, look at me.”

When I don’t respond, she climbs into my lap and takes my hands in hers, placing them on each side of her beautiful face. Callie frames my face with her own hands, forcing me to look into her bright blue eyes. Under the intensity of her stare, I feel my blind rage start to ebb.

“Better?”

I nod.

“So, you
are
the jealous type. I was afraid that might be the case. Which is why I didn’t tell you about it last night.”

Suddenly, it all became clear. The hypothetical questions last night weren’t hypothetical at all.

“Tell me now.”

With a sigh, Callie gently caresses my face. “During the interview yesterday, Dominic was . . . weird. He just kept staring at me. Oliver even noticed and refused to leave me alone with the man. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t say anything inappropriate. It was just obvious the man is a sleaze. I did my job and got out of there as soon as I could. About an hour later, flowers were delivered to me at the office. Tulips. From Dominic. Inviting me to dinner on Friday night. I gave the flowers to our sixty-year-old receptionist. She just lost her husband. I thought they might brighten her day. That’s it.”

“Where’s the card?”

“In my desk at the office.”

“Why did you keep it?”

“I’m a reporter, Devin. I keep everything.” She glances down at the torn card on the floor. “Well, almost everything. I’m a big believer in hoarding, especially when it comes to politicians. You never know when you might need evidence.”

“How very Lewinsky of you.”

I feel her stiffen.

“If you mean
smart
, then yes. And how dare you even compare the two situations. It’s nothing like that. The man sent some flowers and asked me out to dinner. That’s
all
. I thought ignoring the first card would be sufficient, but I guess not. I’ll handle it.”