Triple Time (15 page)

The rest of the party passed in a blur. It was almost two hours before he got Devin alone, in a quiet corner at the back of the room. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, much like his father had done to his mother earlier. “Ready to go?”

“This whole night is like a fairy tale.” She spun in a circle, arms extended, making the bottom of her gown flare out around her ankles. “I don't want it to end.”

Her twirling morphed into a wobble, and he reached out to steady her. “The clock's about to strike twelve. And I think this Cinderella's had a little too much to drink.”

“Maybe a teensy-weensy bit.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, so close they were almost touching.

“Come on, princess.” He took her hand, kissed it and tucked it into his arm. “Let's get you home.”

“Home?” She pouted up at him. “I don't wanna go home.”

He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “My home.”

“Oh.” She brightened. “Well, that's different. I like it there. Your bed's a lot bigger than mine. And softer.”

“It certainly is.” He pressed his lips together, fighting hard not to laugh. She was damned cute when she was tipsy, if a woman with a spider web peeking out from behind one ear and a skull on her back could be considered cute. And damned horny, too, he thought as she rubbed up against him like a cat in heat.

“You know what else I like?” She rested her head on his shoulder, and he breathed in her almond shampoo, mixed with a hint of the Chanel No. 5 she favored. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Wrong
L
word, but he'd take what he could get. “Now how about we get out of here before our cab turns into a pumpkin and you lose one of those sexy shoes?”

 

15

U
NDER
THE
THICK
fleece blanket, Devin stretched on the comfortable mattress. Rolling over to her stomach, she settled her face into the fluffy pillow.

Hold the freaking phone
. Comfortable mattress? Fluffy pillow? Thick fleece blanket? Where was her fold-out couch with the spring that jabbed her in the side every time she moved? Or the flat-as-a-pancake pillow she'd meant to replace months ago? Or the SpongeBob comforter Holly had given her as a gag gift last Christmas?

She rolled to one side and inched an eye open, adjusting to the darkness of a bedroom that was considerably larger than hers. After a minute, she could make out an armchair in the corner, a glittering red gown over its back. The beading caught the light that streamed through a break in the curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. A pair of matching shoes sat nearby, and a lacy black bra and panties dangled above them from the arm of the chair.

Fucking hell.

The events of the previous night came rushing back. She groaned and buried her face into the pillow again.

Two drinks. That's all she'd had. Not even serious drinks. Silly, fruity things, with cherries and umbrellas. She figured she'd play it safe with the girly stuff. Man, was she wrong. That bartender must have had a heavy pour. He wouldn't last one shift at Naboombu.

She turned her head and her heart jumpstarted at the sight of Gabe, spread-eagled on his back next to her, gloriously naked, his share of the blanket in a heap at his feet. His eyes were closed, his sinfully long lashes dark against his cheeks. An uncharacteristic hint of stubble shadowed his jaw and she longed to reach out and feel it rasp against her palm.

You know what I like? I like you.

Had she actually said that to him?

Jesus Christ.

Oh, well. Water under the Brooklyn Bridge. She couldn't take it back, even if she wanted to. Alcohol might have loosened her lips, but what had come out of them wasn't exactly a lie. She did like Gabe. Maybe more than like him.

And, hell, it could have been worse. He could have laughed in her face. Or—her skin crawled at the thought—she could have slipped and used the other
L
word. Drunk or sober, she'd never said
that
to any man.

Devin groaned again and let her face sink into the pillow.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

She peeked at Gabe with one eye. He rolled to his side to face her, propping his head up on one arm. The start of his morning erection lay dangerously close to her hip.

“What happened to Cinderella?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

Devin pulled the blanket over her head. “She got drunk and made an idiot out of herself.”

“Not drunk. Tipsy.” He inched the blanket down to her shoulders. “And certainly not an idiot.”

“All those people...” Her voice trailed off and she threw an arm over her eyes.

“Loved you,” he finished for her, drawing her arm down bringing his face so close to hers she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You were magnificent.”

“I doubt that.” Her eyes darted to her clothes. “Did we...?”

“No.” His face grew serious, his gray eyes earnest. “I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of unsuspecting women.”

No, he wouldn't be. Doing it with a tipsy girl wasn't in the Gabe Nelson code of conduct. He'd taken care, not advantage, of her. Put her needs before his.

She licked her lips. “Are you in the habit of letting them take advantage of you?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

He gave her a wolfish smile. “On what you had in mind.”

“How about this?”

She threw off the covers and slid down his body, licking a trail from his chest, over the ridges and valleys of his rock-hard abs, to the line of hair that ran from his navel to groin.

“I like the direction you're going.” His voice rumbled over her like thunder.

She wrapped her fingers around him and traced the head of his cock with her tongue. “You'll like it even better in about two seconds.”

“I like it a whole hell of a lot already.”

She pumped him twice with her hand and took him into her mouth. He tasted equal parts sweat and salt and soap.

Delicious.

“You're right.” Gabe arched his back, thrusting into her warm, waiting mouth. “I do like it better.”

She relaxed her jaw and took him deeper, swallowing when she felt him bump against the back of her throat.

“Fuck, yeah.” He flexed his hips and brought one hand to the back of her head, not aggressively but gently, holding her where he wanted her as he continued to move inside her.

Devin hummed around him and sucked harder, even more turned on by the knowledge that she had the power to make him lose control. She'd never bought into the idea that giving head was an act of submission. How could it be, when she had Gabe exactly where she wanted him? Desperate, panting, vulnerable.

At her mercy.

She flicked her tongue along the underside of his cock and cupped his balls, teasing them with her fingernails as she worked her mouth over him.

“God, Devin,” Gabe moaned. “Don't stop. Just like that.”

Her free hand snaked down to her pussy so she could stroke herself in time with his thrusts.

“Shit. I'm going to come.”

He tried to withdraw but she swallowed him deeper and plunged a finger inside herself, only a heartbeat away from exploding.

“I can't hold back,” he pleaded. “If you don't stop...”

She released him long enough to answer, echoing words he'd said to her only days before.

“Please.” She raised her eyes to his and was met with a pure, raw hunger she was sure was reflected in her own. “Let me do this for you.”

She didn't wait for his response, wrapping her fingers around the base of his cock and sliding her lips over his crown. Her fingers moved furiously over her clit, and she came just as he did, swallowing her cries with his come.

“No fair,” he growled as she crawled up his body, exploring with her hands and mouth as she went.

“Seriously?” She settled her head under his chin and curved one leg over his hip, hesitating for a second to wonder when the hell she'd become a cuddler. “You're going to complain after that?”

She felt him smile against her hair. “Only because I didn't get to return the favor.”

“I'm sure we can fix that.” She drew slow circles around his nipple with her index finger. “Leo's not expecting me at the shop until noon.”

“Noon, huh?” He flipped her onto her back and loomed over her, looking like a dark, foreboding angel. “Not nearly enough time for what I'm thinking.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple then moved lower, lower, planting kisses like breadcrumbs until he reached the triangle of hair she left unshaven above her sex. “But I guess I'll have to make do.”

* * *

“A
RE
YOU
GOING
to tell me where you're taking me, or not?” Devin eyed Gabe, in the driver's seat next to her, with a raised brow.

“Not.” Gabe's eyes never strayed from the traffic crowding FDR Drive.

She rested her head against the car window and crossed her arms. It had been two weeks since he'd sprung the whole dress thing on her. Had the man learned nothing?

“You know,” she said, “this could be considered kidnapping.”

“As head of the Special Victim's Bureau, I feel safe in saying it's not.”

She frowned. “I told you before, I hate surprises.”

“Trust me.” He merged onto the ramp for the Midtown Tunnel. “You'll like this one. Just like you liked the museum. And the dress, even if it did take some of my best smooth talking to get you to wear it.”

He had a point. Gabe's surprises were usually of the welcome variety. Hell, the dress had wound up netting more than it was worth for Turn the Page.

But she still couldn't help feeling anxious. In her pre-Gabe experience, surprises pretty much always sucked. As in surprise, your dad's gone. Or surprise, throw your stuff in a grocery bag, you're moving. Again.

“It must be something big if you got Leo to cut me loose on a Saturday. And hauled your car out of the garage.”

“Leo was very accommodating.” Gabe slowed for the toll. “And it's too far to take a taxi.”

“Kidnapping,” she muttered, pulling out her iPod and putting in her earbuds. His classical stuff was okay, but the mood she was in now required something with more of a beat. Something she could do a little headbanging to.

About forty minutes and almost all of the Foo Fighters'
Wasting Light
later, Gabe shook her shoulder. “We there yet?” she asked, taking out one earbud.

“Almost.” He maneuvered the car off the exit.

She looked out the window. Trees. Grass. Suburban sprawl. They definitely weren't in Kansas anymore. “Where are we?”

“Long Island.” He turned onto a treelined side street. “Huntington.”

“What's way out here?”

“You'll see. Be patient.”

“Not one of my strong suits.”

“So I've noticed.” He took his eyes off the road just long enough to shoot her a smartass grin. “But this will be worth the wait. I promise.”

She stowed her iPod in her purse and stared at the neighborhoods whizzing past the window. Freaking McMansions, with perfectly manicured lawns, sculptured gardens and elaborate playscapes.

Exactly the kind of home she'd dreamed of having as a kid.

“Picture perfect,” she muttered. He turned down another street and the houses gradually got smaller, quaint Capes with tidy lawns, unremarkable landscaping and swing sets you could find at Target.

What she would have given for any one of them...

“I've never actually been to Long Island.” It was safer revealing that tidbit than reopening her childhood wounds. “If you want to get technical, aside from our little jaunt to Connecticut to see Holly, I've never been outside the five boroughs.”

“Really?”

“Really. If the subway doesn't go there, I don't go.”

“We'll have to do something about that. Start small. Maybe a weekend in Vermont next month. My old navy commander has a cabin there we're welcome to use.”

A weekend? In Vermont?
Going away together meant they were getting serious, didn't it? And she didn't do serious. Admitting she had feelings for him was one thing. But taking things to the next level? Throwing around words like
commitment
and
forever
?

No fucking way. No fucking how.

Devin wrapped her arms around herself, her stomach rolling with fresh nerves. If Gabe was thinking about shit like weekend getaways and lifetime commitment, who knew what was waiting for her at the end of this car ride?

“We're here.” He pulled to the curb in front of a split-level ranch, shut off the engine and turned to her. “You're off the hook. For now. But don't think we won't revisit this after...”

He paused and swallowed, making his Adam's apple dance in his throat.

“After what?” She reached for the door handle, stopping short at the sight of a psychedelic orange and green minivan in the driveway. “Who lives here? The Partridge Family? Scooby-Doo and the gang?”

“Follow me and find out.”

He led her up the flagstone walkway and paused at the front door, his finger hovering over the doorbell.

“What are you waiting for?” She balled her hands into fists on her hips. “You're freaking me out.”

“Sorry.” He pressed the button and a musical chime sounded from inside. With his other hand, he gave her shoulder a squeeze that was probably meant to be reassuring but did little to calm her jangling nerves. “That's the last thing I want to do.”

“Then tell me...”

Before she could finish, a woman about Devin's age in navy blue sweats with a logo over her left breast that read Haven House opened the door. “Gabe, it's good to see you again. And you must be Devin. We've been expecting you.”

“Again?” Devin shot a glance at Gabe. He responded with a shrug. “And who's we?”

“The boys have been a handful this morning. We don't see many new faces around here.” The woman stood back and held the door open so they could enter.

Boys? What was this place, some sort of glorified frat house?

“Yeah,” a man who looked to be in his early twenties, dressed in identical blue sweats, piped up from behind the woman. “Especially ones as pretty as yours.”

And what was with the matching outfits?

Gabe put a protective—or was it possessive?—arm around Devin's waist.

“Down, Pete.” The woman gave him a teasing poke in the ribs. “Can you take Devin and her friend to the screen porch?”

She turned back to Devin. “Victor is waiting for you there.”

“Sure.” The man waved his arm for them to follow him and started up the stairs to the main floor. “Come on.”

But Devin stood rooted to the faux marble tile in the entryway, unable to move. Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked up at Gabe.

“You found him?”

Gabe nodded.

“You're sure?” She held on to the strap of her purse like it was the safety bar on a roller coaster, capable of keeping her from tumbling through space and winding up in a crumpled heap on the ground. “It's really him?”

She'd run down so many false leads. Had so many close calls, only to end up disappointed. What if this was just one more?

“It's him. Murphy—my inspector—tracked down Victor's last set of foster parents. They remembered that the couple who adopted him was from Oyster Bay. It wasn't hard to trace him from there.”

“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Why don't you both come upstairs to the living room? You can talk privately there. Pete will take you to Victor when you're ready.”