Devil's Deception (26 page)

“Come into the kitchen,” she said, and led him to the back of the house.

“You know everything?” Devlin asked her as soon as she looked at him.

“Yes. Angela told me first, and then of course all the news about Frank was a carnival in the media.”

“You know what I did?” he persisted, searching her face.

Josie felt a flash of sympathy for him but kept her face impassive. He was afraid she was mad at him, too.

“I know what Angela told me. You’re really a narcotics agent who impersonated a bodyguard in order to build a case against her uncle.”

“He’s guilty, Mrs. Clinton, I swear it. He’s guilty as hell.”

“Angela doesn’t think so.”

“She hates me now,” he said miserably.

“She’s trying to convince herself she hates you, which is an entirely different thing.”

“I love her, Mrs. Clinton,” he said fiercely, his expression as vehement as his voice.

“I know you do and I think it’s about time you started calling me Josie.”

His face went blank with surprise for a moment, and then he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s nice to be believed for a change.”

“I’m not the one you have to convince of your feelings,” she replied. “You hurt Angela badly, Brett, and she’s a terrible one for holding a grudge.”

“I had no choice. What could I do?” he said, agonized.

“I can see that, but then I’m not in love with you.”

“You don’t think she’s changed toward me?” he asked, daring to hope.

“I think she’s as much in love with you as ever, but I also think she might ruin both your lives by refusing to forgive you.” Her tone softened at the desolate expression on his face. “That’s the way she is, Brett. You cross her and she never forgets.”

He thought about that for a while, and then glanced back at her.

“Why are you still here, Josie? Who’s paying your salary?”

“Nobody is. Angela wanted to, but I think she’d better hang on to what she’s got. The future’s looking pretty rocky these days.”

“You’ve stayed for her, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve always stayed for her,” Josie replied. “I never had much fondness for Frank, and I can’t say I’m that surprised he was up to no good, though it was none of my business either way. But he was good to Angela, I have to give him that.”

“And that’s the reason I’m in so much trouble with her right now,” Devlin responded softly. “He was good to Angela.”

Josie nodded in agreement.
 

“Is she upstairs?” Devlin asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to go up and see her.”

“She’ll throw you out.”

“I’ll try anyway.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt any more, son,” Josie said warningly.

“Nothing could be worse than what I’ve been through the past few weeks without her. I have to try.”

“All right. Go on up. She’ll be mad at me for letting you through but she’ll get over it.”

“Thanks, Josie.” Devlin squeezed her arm and left the room.

Josie closed her eyes for a second, and then sat at the table to wait.

* * * *
 

Devlin walked quietly up the stairs, as he had many times in the past, but on this occasion he wasn’t planning to break into the study or check to see if Angela was asleep. This time something different was at stake: his chance to win Angela back.

He paused outside her closed door, wondering what he was going to say. He couldn’t think of a single thing. Well, that had never stopped him before; Angela had always left him tongue tied. He took a breath, then pushed the door open.

Angela was sprawled on the bed, dressed in a short cotton robe, the ends of her hair damp from a recent shower. Her running clothes were tossed on a chair. She appeared to be asleep, face down, one arm thrown out across the pillow.

Devlin shut the door behind him and locked it. He took off his coat and dropped it, then unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall on top of the coat. If there was one thing he knew it was how to seduce Angela.

He walked silently to the edge of the bed and sat on it, touching Angela’s shoulder. She stirred slightly, rolling over, and smiled when she saw Devlin’s face.

Then she came more fully awake and half sat, her eyes widening.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I don’t want...”

He silenced her with his mouth. She struggled fiercely for a few seconds, but he kept kissing her until she began to respond, moaning against his lips. Only when he knew that she wanted him to continue did he draw back, turning his head. Angela followed after him eagerly, trying to recapture his mouth with hers.

“Did you miss me?” he whispered, holding her off.

“Yes, yes,” she said, yearning toward him.

“Hungry, baby?” he asked, running his lips lightly over hers.

The clenching of her fingers on his shoulders was her answer. She waited, her eyes shut tight, as he feathered kisses all over her face, light touches that increased her desire for the satisfaction of his mouth on hers. Her lips parted in anticipation and when he finally gave her what she wanted, she gasped with the unbearable, delicious sensation.

How could she have forgotten what it was like to kiss him? That hard, unyielding mouth, so slow to smile and slower yet to laugh, became a soft, inviting cushion for her own. She tasted his tongue along with the smooth hardness of his teeth. Her lips opened of their own accord and she sank her fingers into the wealth of hair at the back of his neck. Had she missed him? He couldn’t know how much.

Devlin shifted position to pull her closer and slipped his hand inside her robe. She turned readily to give him access, but he restricted his exploration of her body to her rib cage and the soft flesh of her midriff. She twisted anxiously, still kissing him, seeking a more intimate caress. He continued to stroke slowly, moving upward to the soft underside of her breasts, drawing circles with his fingertips on her skin. Angela squirmed in frustration, thrusting herself toward him. His hard thumb rasped a swollen nipple. She sighed in response, pressing into his hand, and when he withdrew it, she clung to him, murmuring under her breath.

“What?” he coaxed her.

“Touch me,” she whispered. “It seems like forever since you touched me.”

He cupped her breast again, more firmly this time, pulling loose the tie of her robe and pushing her back on the bed. She raised her arms to encircle his neck. He eased himself down, crushing her breasts against his bare chest, running his hands over her slim, satiny back. Angela shrugged and the robe fell from her body.

Devlin took her mouth again, less in control now, his own deprivation of the past weeks taking its toll. Angela tore her lips from his and kissed his strong, muscular neck, the smooth expanse of his shoulders, his broad, hair-roughened chest. Devlin threw his head back and let her love him, thirsty for the feel of her mouth on his body. His big hands lost themselves in the heavy mass of her hair. When she finally pulled away she looked into his eyes. Then she lay down, her arms flung above her head in mute invitation.

Devlin stood and shed the rest of his clothes, never taking his gaze from hers. Then he knelt next to the bed, turning her toward him. He took a pebble-hard nipple into his mouth.

Angela made a sound, half sigh, half sob, and closed her eyes in abject submission to the pleasure he could give. He laved her with his tongue, hard strokes that increased her tension, and then nipped her with his teeth until she was clenching and unclenching her fists, rigid with mounting need. His mouth moved lower, tasting, searching, exploring her, until she couldn’t stand it any longer and cried out for him to join her.

He stretched out beside her and rolled her on top of him, pulling her hips over his. She let him guide her onto him, shuddering with the intense sensation, and then fell forward, pressing her mouth to his. He kissed her wildly, controlling her motion with his hands. Angela put her palms flat against his shoulders and moved instinctively, plunged into a world of sensual delight, beyond reason. They climbed the heights together and together reached the crest. Then she drifted slowly down into his arms, curling up against his chest. There was no sound in the room except their gradually stabilizing breathing.

Long minutes passed before Devlin spoke.

“It was hell being apart from you,” he said softly.

Angela sat up carefully, reaching for her robe and shrugging back into it. She sat on the edge of the bed tying the belt, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. She didn’t answer.

Devlin propped himself up on one elbow. “Hey,” he said gently, touching a blunt fingertip to her cheek.

She turned her head away.

Devlin studied her averted profile, and with a sinking feeling he realized what had happened. Her love for him and her pent-up desire had overwhelmed her during the past hour, making her temporarily forget what had passed between them. Her body had betrayed her, but in her mind Devlin was still the trickster, the con man, the deceiver. He was still the bad guy who had victimized her innocent uncle.

He swung off the bed and dressed quickly in angry, withdrawn silence. He picked up his coat, and when he was ready to go he faced her.

“All right, Angela,” he said in a tightly controlled voice. “I’ve had enough of this. The next time you see me I’m going to have the proof of Frank Patria’s guilt in my hand.”

Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

Angela bowed her head in misery but she couldn’t cry.

* * * *
 

Josie was still in the kitchen dicing vegetables for dinner when Devlin stalked through the house, his back ramrod straight. He went directly to the front door and left, slamming it behind him.

Josie sighed, pausing in her task for a thoughtful moment, and then went back to work.

* * * *
 

Angela tried to see her uncle, as she had on several occasions since he’d been in custody, but he again refused her visit. He sent a message saying that he didn’t want her to become involved in his problems. Angela had no choice but to abide by his wishes.
 

A few days after Devlin’s abrupt departure from her bedroom she received a large, flat, oblong package from a parcel delivery service. Wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, it gave no hint as to what it contained. Curious, she took it into the kitchen and cut through the wrappings with the shears Josie kept in one of the drawers. The paper fell away to the floor as Angela realized what she had uncovered.

It was the poster from the 1968 production of
Romeo and Juliet,
the one she had told Devlin she’d been unable to get. She blinked, her eyes misting uncontrollably as she saw the two figures dressed in medieval garb, their fresh faces symbolic of the eternal renewal of love.

Where had he gotten it? He must have gone to some trouble to find it. It was beautifully framed, covered with thin glass and edged in chrome. There was a small card stuck into the lower left hand corner of the frame.

Angela lifted the flap on the card.

“Je reviens,” it said. I’ll be back.

She had once told Devlin that she thought French was the most expressive and moving language on earth. No matter what you said it always sounded more significant, more important, in French.

He had remembered. And he’d found someone to translate the phrase for him because he didn’t speak French himself.

Angela stared at the gift for some time, thinking, and then bent to pick up the wrapping from the floor. She was about to toss it into the garbage when something fell out of the bundle and struck her foot.

It was a tape cassette. She held it to the light, examining the writing on its side.

Willie Nelson. It was a Willie Nelson album.

Devlin was, as she had often said, a thoughtful man. He was full of thoughts. He knew exactly how to disarm her.

I don’t care, she told herself fiercely, I’m going to throw this stuff out and never look at it again. It doesn’t negate what he did, nothing can. But she found herself carrying both items carefully up to her room, where
Romeo and Juliet
replaced Charlton Heston as
Ben Hur
on her wall. Sorry, Chuck, she thought as she stuck him behind a chair. I’ll find another spot for you.

Then she put the tape into her player and lay down on her bed.

Listening to the album was a big mistake. The words of the first love song hit too close to home. Nelson sang about his deep feelings for a woman, feelings that were always with him even if he wasn’t very good at showing them. That sounded familiar. And during another song which described a boy growing up in the West and the admiration he felt for the freedom and strength of the cowboy lifestyle, Angela buried her face in her pillow, her eyes running with silent tears.

No wonder Devlin liked this artist. He vocalized the loneliness and inarticulate longing that was so much a part of Devlin’s personality. She got up and rewound the cowboy number, listening to it again and seeing Devlin riding Blossom, leaning forward on her neck to whisper in her ear. In another time, another place, he might have been one of the subjects of Willie’s song.