On Thin Ice (15 page)

“French toast.”

Might as well come clean, she thought. “I can’t make French toast. Or omelets either. Scrambled eggs is pretty much my limit. I don’t cook much.”

He grinned at her. “I sort of suspected that. That’s all right, I’ll cook.”

His proficiency didn’t surprise her as much as his obvious enjoyment of the process. Gabrielle considered cooking a form of torture. Almost anything else, in her viewpoint, beat cooking. “This is great,” she told him, sopping up syrup with another melt-in-your-mouth bite of French toast. “How did you learn to cook? Did your mother teach you?”

He gave a caustic laugh. “My mother wouldn’t be caught dead in a kitchen. Except to tell the cook what to prepare.”

Touched a nerve there, she thought. “Your family had a cook?”

He hunched a shoulder and took a bite of food. “Several. In succession. My mother liked to fire the help on a regular basis.”

That he came from a well-to-do family didn’t surprise her, but the bitterness in his voice did. “So who taught you? The cook?” He shook his head. “A girlfriend?” Imagining that, jealousy hit her like a slap in the face. There was no point at all in thinking about the women in Devlin’s past. She’d drive herself insane if she did.

He shook his head again and smiled. “I taught myself. When I got out of law school I didn’t have much money. It was learn to cook cheaply or starve.”

“But your family—” She broke off, seeing the sardonic expression on his face. Old, unhealed wounds, judging by his reaction. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, that’s okay.” He covered her hand and squeezed it. “I’m not used to talking to anyone about my family. I don’t think about them much if I can help it.”

“Then forget I said anything,” she said, realizing she’d better steer the conversation away from family. What if he asked about hers? She couldn’t tell him the truth, had never been able to tell anyone, which was why every relationship she’d had since she left home hadn’t worked. Would this time be different? Could she ever tell Devlin the truth?

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “My parents disowned me when I went to work with the public defender’s office.”

“Why?” she blurted out, stunned.

His mouth curved in a thin smile. “My mother thought it was tacky. Sinclairs didn’t
do
that sort of thing. Especially not Lydia and Preston Sinclair’s only offspring. She had grandiose plans for me to practice corporate law.”

Gabrielle knew she ought to shut up, but she couldn’t help wanting to know more about yet another side to Devlin she hadn’t suspected. “What about your father?”

Devlin shrugged. “My father never stood up for himself. Why would he have stood up for me?”

She wanted to hold him, soothe the hurt away, but she wasn’t sure he’d accept it. And she sensed she was getting into dangerous territory. “Are you still estranged from them?”

Tapping his fork against his water glass, he nodded. “My father’s dead. When Lydia heard I’d joined CG and S, she decided maybe I was worthy of being her son after all. She still makes periodic attempts to drag me back into the fold, even though she realizes by now that it’s useless.”

He stood and pulled Gabrielle to her feet. “So,” he said, drawing her close, “what about your deep, dark secrets?”

Even though she’d expected the question, it wasn’t easy to answer him nonchalantly. “Unless you want to know that I had a crush on my high school science teacher in the ninth grade, I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

“A woman without secrets.” He kissed her neck and murmured, “I’ve never met one before.”

Her heart constricted. Here was the perfect opportunity to rectify her omission. To follow her conscience, do the right thing, even though it was a little late. “Devlin, about today . . .” Her voice trailed off. It was hard to concentrate when he was nuzzling along her collarbone. “I might have missed something in those police reports.”

“Okay,” he said. Clearly uninterested in the topic, he traced his tongue across her skin.

“No, listen.” She pushed at him, and he drew back, giving her a long-suffering expression.

“Do we have to talk about work right now?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it, and I might have missed something. I wasn’t feeling very well, you know.”

His eyes darkened as he looked at her. “Yeah, I remember. Your panic attack. Are you ready to tell me what brought it on?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.” She willed herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly.

He didn’t look convinced, and his words bore it out. “Would you?”

“Of course I would.” It sounded weak, even to her, but she plowed on. “By the time I reached the last couple of reports, I’d started feeling bad. So I think we should go over them again.”

“All right. Monday we’ll do it. Tomorrow I’ve got other plans.”

Disappointment stabbed through her. “You don’t need to go. I’ll handle it myself,” she said, trying not to sound hurt.

His smile was slow and sexy. “That would be a shame. I had an idea—” he parted her robe, sliding it off her shoulders and down her arms “—involving you and me—” he cupped her breasts as the robe pooled around her feet “—and a lot of time. It goes something like this.” His head bent, and he traced his tongue around her nipple, through the lacy fabric of her gown. She was wearing the black negligee Devlin had said he’d found the night before and dreamed about taking off her. Naturally, after a confession like that she couldn’t resist putting it on.

“Well . . .” She groaned as his mouth taunted one breast and his hand the other. “When you put it that way . . .”

He backed her up against the door and gathered the nightgown in his hands, slowly pushing it up her legs as he knelt in front of her.

Realizing they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom, she started to say, “Don’t we need—?”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ve got it covered.”

Her laugh turned to a sigh of pleasure as he placed his mouth at the apex of her thighs. And then she didn’t think at all for a very long time.

Later, they lay in her bed with his arm curved around her and her head on his chest, while he idly stroked her waist and hip. “Did you plan this tonight?” she asked.

In the light cast from the hallway she saw him smile. “Making love? Not exactly. But I told you I’ve wanted you since I met you.”

“Do you always carry a box of condoms around in your car?” The question had been nagging at her since they’d used the two in his wallet and he’d gone to his car for more. She wanted to be the only woman in his bed. Was she?

He looked down at her. “In case I get lucky, you mean?” he asked, a slow grin stealing over his face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Jealous?”

“Insanely,” she said, not sure what had made her answer him truthfully.

His grin faded, replaced by a tender smile. “You’re really something,” he said, and kissed her lips. “That box is a memento of an affair that never happened. Do you want to know why it never happened?”

She nodded, mesmerized by his eyes and the seductive sound of his voice.

“Because I met you. And I haven’t thought about another woman since I first laid eyes on you. That should have been my first clue that you were different and I was in deep trouble.”

“You’re very good,” she whispered.

His gaze, dark gray and intense, held hers captive. “This isn’t a line, Gabrielle. I think I fell for you the first time I saw you.”

Her heart lurched. She broke eye contact and tried to cover her emotions with a light laugh. “Right. The klutz who landed at your feet in a lingerie shop. You don’t seem the type to believe in love at first sight.”

“I’m not. In fact, I didn’t believe in love, period. Not since—” He broke off and looked at her.

A woman, Gabrielle thought, and wondered how badly he’d been hurt. She desperately wanted to know, to know everything that had shaped him, had made him who he was. But she had no right to ask, so she remained silent.

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, laid his fingers lightly on her lips. “There are a lot of things I haven’t believed in for a long time. But you’ve changed that.”

She gazed into his eyes, filled with passion and promise, and believed him. As crazy, as improbable as it seemed, she believed he loved her. Guilt crushed her heart like a vise. God, she wanted so much to tell him about her past. But she was a coward. She was afraid to see that loving look in his eyes turn to disgust. Disgust for who she was. For the lie she’d lived for fourteen years. The lie she would continue to live.

Instead she put her arms around his neck and whispered, “Kiss me, Devlin.”

His mouth against hers was as tender and loving as a dream, and the night bled into dawn.

“Damn,” Devlin muttered,
as he nicked himself while shaving the next morning. What in the hell was wrong with the dog? Rocky’s frantic barking and growling were ear-splitting, even in the bathroom with the door closed. He scraped the last of his beard off, rinsed Gabrielle’s razor, and reached for a towel, slinging it around his neck.

“Get out!” he heard Gabrielle shout as he walked into the living room. She had her hands wrapped around Rocky’s collar and was straining to hold her back. “I told you not—”

“Call off the dog,” Franco Sabatino said. “Call the damned thing off or I’ll gut it.”

Devlin halted at the hall doorway and stared. Sabatino? What the hell was he doing there? Gabrielle continued to struggle with Rocky, who lunged at the intruder, slavering, teeth bared and out for blood, as vicious as any junkyard mongrel. He couldn’t believe this was the same dog who’d welcomed him with tail-wagging adoration the night before, when he’d broken into Gabrielle’s house.

The rest of their words were drowned out in the furious cacophony the dog set up, but he saw Sabatino reach inside his jacket. Devlin was already moving toward him when the sun bounced a ray off hard steel. Six inches long and gleaming wickedly, the knife was raised high, poised to strike. He launched himself at Sabatino’s knife hand, dimly hearing Gabrielle’s shout. The next thing he knew, he hit the floor rolling, tangled up in a mess of dog and woman.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Devlin asked her, shoving himself out from under them. “The bastard pulled a knife on you!”

Her attention was divided between wrestling the thrashing dog and the man who was now putting away his knife as though nothing had ever happened. “He pulled a knife on Rocky,” she said, panting from effort. “And you’d have gotten killed if you’d reached him.”

“Purely by accident,” Sabatino added, his dark eyes glimmering, looking pleased at the thought. “I was merely protecting myself. Gabriela, put the animal out now.”

Gabrielle and Devlin rose together, her hand still wrapped in the dog’s collar. “Do it,” Devlin said to her, not taking his eyes off Sabatino. “While Sabatino and I have a discussion about the proper time and place to see your lawyer.”

She started to argue, but Rocky began barking and growling again. Devlin looked at Gabrielle and saw her flash a warning glare at Sabatino before she dragged the dog away.

“The knife,” Devlin said. “Take it out real slow and drop it.”

The bastard laughed. “Why? Are you going to make me, pretty boy?”

His hand twitched with the need to slam his fist into that sneering face but he controlled it, knowing the man’s game. “It’s a simple matter to call the cops and tell them you held your lawyer at knifepoint, Sabatino.”

The other man shrugged. “Very well. If you insist.” With exaggerated care, he reached in and slowly withdrew the knife, then flung it down with a practiced twist of his wrist. The tip of the blade stuck in the wood floor, quivering an inch in front of Devlin’s bare foot.