Songbird (5 page)

Luckily, the elevator doors open right in front of his suite.

Devin pushes me against the door and presses his forehead to mine as he fumbles for his room key. I stumble back when it finally opens, but his strong arms catch me and lift me off the ground. With a surprising sweetness, he lets me slide slowly down his body before he touches his lips to mine.

Tonight’s different.
He’s
different.

Gone are the frantic kisses and wild groping from last night. Tonight, Devin’s kissing me and touching me with a gentleness that confuses me and thrills me at the same time.

He leads me to his room and sits me on the edge of the bed. Without breaking my gaze, he drops to his knees in front of me and lets his hand creep down my leg before unstrapping one heel, and then the other.

Leaning forward, I loosen his tie and let it fall onto the floor before reaching for the buttons of his vest and shirt. He finds the straps of my halter, giving them a tug and letting the fabric fall.

“You really are beautiful, Callie.”

I lay back. Within seconds, I hear his zipper, and then he’s hovering above me. I run my hands along his chest, making him shudder beneath my touch. Devin lowers his head, letting his lips slide gently across my collarbone. His kisses drift lower, and I moan softly when he sucks forcefully on my heated skin.

“There, baby,” he whispers. “My mark . . . where only you can see it.”

The tenderness in his voice breaks me.

“Don’t do that.”

Devin raises his head. I can see the confusion etched on his handsome face.

“Don’t do what?”

Don’t make love to me.

Getting attached to this man is the last thing I need to do. I can deal with the scorching kisses from the night before. What I can’t handle is tonight’s slow caresses and soft kisses when I know I’ll never see him again.

“Don’t be sweet, Devin.”

Something flashes in his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Callie,” he says, covering his body with mine. “But for tonight, you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper softly, because it’s true.

For tonight. I’m his.

When I wake up the next morning, I feel well-rested and wonderful. A quick glance at the alarm clock explains why.

It’s noon?

“Devin, wake up. We’ve probably already missed checkout.”

I reach behind me, only to find cold sheets.

My eyes snap open.

“Devin?”

I turn over, but all I find is his pillow and a long white rose.

And a card.

I sit up in bed and bring the flower to my nose, inhaling deeply.

I guess it’s too much to hope that he’s in the shower.

With a resigned sigh, I wrap the blanket around me, letting his smell completely surround me as I open the note with fumbling fingers.

Goodbye, Songbird
is all it says.

I
t’s Monday, and as usual, the newsroom is buzzing with excitement. An overnight fire at a restaurant in Brentwood had our news crews out early. This afternoon, there’s an impromptu visit from the governor at the zoo, and an upcoming charity benefit has just been announced for the Children’s Hospital. I watch in jealous dismay while my colleagues scurry around the room—synchronizing itineraries and negotiating for the best cameramen.

With a weary sigh, I drop back down into my chair in my cubicle. I reach for my coffee and stare at my computer screen, begging the words on the screen to sound as if I really enjoyed the community theater production of
The Sound of Music
I’d been forced to watch last week.

The play was good.

No wonder I’m stuck in a cubicle.

I angrily press the delete key while glancing around my tiny workspace. Hanging on the wall is my journalism degree—taunting me in its frame.

I’m not naïve. I know I have to pay my dues in the news world. But I’ve been working for the paper for over a year, and not once have I been given something substantial to cover.

Frustrated, I close the document and open my email instead. Our mail is heavily monitored, so I’m surprised to find a message from my honeymooning best friend. I open the message and regret it immediately.

Hey Callie!

I’m currently lying on Lanikai Beach watching as my husband (my husband!) windsurfs. I’ve decided there’s nothing sexier than my handsome husband (I love saying that) riding a wave. I’m taking lots of pictures. I’ll text you a few.

Speaking of pictures, I’m attaching a few shots from the wedding that the photographer sent to us. I think one photo will be of particular interest to you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you deserted me during the reception! I expect a heartfelt apology and all the juicy details when I get home!

Love,

Mrs. Megan Anderson

I take a deep breath and click on the attachments.

There I am, dancing in the arms of Devin McAllister.

Since checking out of the hotel yesterday, I’ve tried to block the entire weekend out of my mind. I’m not used to feeling ashamed and stupid. Not that I’m innocent. I’ve had boyfriends since moving to Nashville, but few that I’d consider serious and none that I could imagine spending the rest of my life with. Work, as frustrating as it can be, is my first priority, and I want nothing, and no one, to get in the way of my becoming a serious journalist. Because of that determination, I’m typically far more levelheaded when it comes to men, which is why my attraction to Devin McAllister is so unnerving.

And
stupid
 . . . if the tabloids are to be believed.

Last night, in a moment of weakness, I checked him out on the Internet. Devin’s really quite accomplished, with his Harvard law degree and his private practice. I’d searched through the news articles and learned that, along with his devotion to charities, he also has quite the reputation as a womanizer. This didn’t surprise me, considering he’d managed to charm me.

Twice.

Our second night together is proving the hardest to forget, and I know it’s because he had the decency to keep his promises. The new hickey was visible only to me, and he said goodbye this time.

On a note.

I have to admit the rose was a nice touch.

The mark on my skin and the pretty rose would naturally fade with time, and the note can be ripped to shreds. Those mementos will disappear, so I’m thankful I won’t be subjected to any lasting reminders of my wild weekend.

“Please say you did.”

Leo’s voice makes me jump in my seat. I quickly close the email and pretend to work on my article.

“Did what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I saw you drooling over that picture of Devin McAllister.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I can’t face him. I know my face is beet red. “Megan just sent me some pictures from the wedding.”

“Right.”

“And how do you know his name?”

Leo laughs. “Are you kidding? Everybody knows Devin McAllister.”

“I didn’t. Not until this weekend. And I’m not giving you any details.”

“Just a few?
Please
let me live vicariously through you.”

“You’d have to, because I promise you’re not his type.”

Leo’s eyes light up. “Callie Franklin, I am
so
proud of you.”

“Really? Because I am
so
ashamed of myself.”

“Oh, stop that,” he says, sitting down on the edge of my desk. “You had fun, right?”

“Fun. Yes, it was fun.”

My head screams at me, obviously offended that I’d chosen such a lackluster adjective to describe it.

Leo sighs wistfully. “Ah, to be single again. I miss it sometimes. And you were careful, of course.”

“Of . . . course. Yeah.”

He narrows his eyes. “Callie?”

“Hmm?”

“You
were
careful, right?”

I suddenly become very interested in my shoes.

“Are you insane? That man has slept with half of Nashville.”

“Says who?”

“Says
who
? Do you even read our newspaper?”

“Umm . . .”

“Good lord. Get on our website and search for his name. Immediately.”

The muffin I inhaled at breakfast starts to churn in my stomach.

“Devin McAllister is pictured with a different woman at every event he attends,” he says, reaching for my mouse and clicking through the photos. Sure enough, there’s Devin. And on his arm in every single picture is a new woman. Redheads. Blondes. Brunettes
.

Good to know he’s an equal opportunity womanizer.

“That doesn’t mean he sleeps with all of them, Leo.”

“But what if he does?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“A baby would be the least of your worries!”

I sigh tiredly. “Look. I haven’t slept. I’m emotional. I’m ashamed. I know I was stupid. I’ll get tested as soon as I can get to a doctor.”

Leo’s face softens. “Promise me.”

He really is such a good friend.

“I promise.”