Devlin's Dare (10 page)

He’d said no.

Tara stumbled over a root as she followed Bella and Holt up the path back home, her mind awhirl. She was thankful for the shadows. She didn
’t think she could explain away the tears on her cheeks.

He’d said no.

Even though it had been his idea in the first place. Or had it? She thought back to their conversation but couldn’t remember it clearly. All she could see in her mind’s eye was his face as, all of a sudden his smile had faded, his brow had knit and he’d said,
“No. I don’t think so.”

And why the hell
did it bother her so much? It was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? To fuck him and walk away?

Surely there wasn’t a teeny tiny part of her that had expected him to bristle and say,
“No. Damn it woman. I want you and you alone.”
And then maybe pull her back into his arms and ravage the shit out of her.

But he hadn’t.

Quietly, gently, devastatingly, he’d said, “No. I don’t think so. I can’t be your fuck buddy.” And then he’d tenderly laced up her corset, kissed her on the forehead and left.

She should be happy. She should be delighted. She should be delirious with glee. She’d gotten her itch scratched by the hottest man on the planet and walked away unscathed, unfettered. Absolutely free of him.

Her mood sank deeper at the thought.

Holt tossed a
glance at her over his shoulder. “So what’s the deal with you and Devlin?” he asked.

Tara glared at him, though he could hardly see it through the darkness. “Nothing.”

Bella blew out a laugh, winding her arm around Holt’s. “It hardly looked like nothing when he was giving you that lap dance.”

“It was nothing.”

“And where did you and Devlin go off to?”

“Off too?” Why didn’t they both just shut up?

“Yeah.” Holt slowed and waited for her to catch up as the path widened enough for them to walk three abreast. She was hardly appreciative. “We finished the Dom Pong and you were gone.”

D
amn him. She used to think his protective streak was cute. Not anymore. “I’m a grown up, Holt.”

“But I thought you didn’t like him,” Bella murmured. “You said he was a douche.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Didn’t he give your bakery a bad review or something?”

“There’s nothing between us.”
The words came out sharper than she intended.

Bella fell silent and then, after a moment, murmured. “It didn’t look like nothing. When he was giving you that lap dance.”

“Will you please stop talking about the lap dance? It was only a game.”

Bella didn’t respond. But Tara didn’t miss the
frowns she and Holt exchanged.

No one spoke again until they reached the deck of their place. Holt nodded to Bella to go on in, but he snagged Tara’s arm as she tried to pass.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing much, Tara,” he murmured. “Just
, if that douche hurt you, I will rip him apart.”

“
He didn’t hurt me, Holt,” she said, wrenching free and slipping past him through the slider.

In order for Devlin to hurt her, she had to have feelings for him. And she didn’t.

Not at all.

Not hardly at all.

And the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about him had nothing to do with the fact he’d said no.

Nothing at all.

Really.

On Monday it was back to the grind. Tara went to bed early on Sunday so she could face three am, but she found herself tossing and turning and—most annoyingly—thinking about Devlin. Replaying their trysts in her mind. Over and over.

It aggravated her that she was mooning over him. She’d never mooned over a man in her life. She resolved to put him from her
thoughts.

But that turned out to be more difficult than she’d anticipated.

As she stood next to Jose at the butcher’s block, rolling out pastry dough, she found herself reflecting on Devlin’s chin, and that rough burn of scruff that had felt so exquisite scraping over her nipples. And later, as she whipped up royal icing, she imagined what his cock would look like, slathered in the stuff. How delicious it would be to lap it off.

L
ater still, when the shop was open, and she was serving her usual morning customers, she’d caught a glimpse of a sandy brown head of spiky hair from the corner of her eye and her heart had skipped a beat…and then plummeted when she realized it wasn’t him.

Damn it all anyway.

He was only a guy. Like every other guy she’d fucked. Why he had such a hold on her was a mystery.

She was miserable for most of the week and it pissed her off. Rather than
enjoying every moment at her bakery, she found herself wishing she could be on the island. With him.
Entangled.
She wanted to pack up her things and head over there right now, but she couldn’t.

She had a business to run.

Besides, there was no guarantee he would be there.

And she wasn’t thinking about him.

She wasn’t.

When she had a free moment and logged onto his website to read his most recent review, it wasn’t because she wanted to know where he’d eaten, or how he was doing or whether or not he was thinking of her. It was stupid of her to be disappointed when there was nothing there but his usual fare,
clever and acerbic comments about
Le Bon Popuet
, a pretentious French Restaurant that had opened in the SoDo District.

She hadn’t expected him to revise his review of her bakery and give her more burps.

Really.

She hadn’t.

So there was no reason for her to slam her laptop shut the way she did.

“T?” Jose’s low voice
wrenched her from her misery. She took a moment and forced a blasé smile.

“Yes?”

“You still need Louisa to cover next Wednesday?”

Tara stared at her assistant, trying to make her brain work.

“Your sister’s still coming, right?”

Oh. Yeah.
Tina was flying into SeaTac at nine in the morning—the bakery’s busiest time. “Yes, please, if she could.” Louisa, Jose’s wife, had been a godsend, picking up hours here and there when Tara needed to leave the shop. She’d been thinking about bringing her on full time so Tara could concentrate more on marketing, but then business had dropped off. It was just starting to pick up again. She liked to think that had little to do with the revamped menu…which included a wide range of gluten-free offerings.

Jose
tossed a towel over his shoulder and chuckled. “She loves to come in. Anytime.”

“She’s great with the customers.” No one could up-sell a pastry like Louisa. And she wasn’t bad in the baking department either. “In fact…” She checked her calendar. “Can she cover
Sunday as well? I made reservations to take Tina out to dinner on Saturday.” Dinner out usually meant a late night. Ten at the very least. Getting up at three would be a bear. Tara didn’t eat out often, but this was a special occasion. The first birthday she and her sister had been able to share in five years.

“Sure thing.” Jose winked. “I
’ll let her know.

“Awesome.”

The bell on the door jingled and Jose leaned back to glance into the shop. He grimaced. “It’s for you,” he muttered. The way he slunk back into the kitchen was indicative of who their customer was. 

Tara
checked at the clock and winced. Five after three. She should have been paying attention.  She should have been there at three on the dot to flip the sign and lock the door. She should have known.

She blew out a breath, and girding her loins, went to face her nightmare.

Chet stood in the shop, hands on his hips, pretending to survey the pastry case. Tara knew better. Sure enough, as soon as she entered the room, his head snapped up. He grinned.

He was handsome when he grinned. Well, he was always handsome, but more so when he grinned. He was tall and muscular and had a lush head of thick curls. And eyes that crinkled at the corners.

By rights, she should be swooning, but when she looked at him, she felt nothing. Oh, sure, he was great in bed. A real tiger. But that passion had burned out long ago—for her, at least. It was hard to say exactly when the relationship had ended. Probably the day she’d woken up to find him on her computer reading her emails. Or maybe the time he’d yelled at her for smiling at a male customer.
She’d been too friendly
, he’d said. Or the time he’d told her—
told her
—she couldn’t go with her girlfriends to the island on a girls-only vegan weekend because he wanted to
be
with her. And then he’d spent the whole weekend on her couch playing
Call of Duty
and eating her pastries.

Or maybe it was the day he’d brought his toothbrush into her apartment.

“Chet.”

“Hey baby.” He came around the counter and pulled her into his arms. When he bent to kiss her
, she turned her cheek.

“I thought I told you not to come here anymore.”

“No one’s here.”

“Chet—”

“Since you get off at three, I thought maybe we could go grab a late lunch.”

Get off at three?
The shop closed at three. There was still a lot of work to do. “I can’t.”

His brow puckered. “Tara, baby. I told you I was sorry. When are you going to get over this snit thing?”

“This snit thing?”

“You know.
You’re pouting.” He pulled her closer and nestled his crotch against hers. “I’ve missed you baby.”

Was it wrong to notice how much less of a man he was than Devlin?

Probably not.

He was. Less of a man. In so many respects.

The realization irritated her.

She pushed back. “There is no snit. This thing is over.”

“This thing?”

Oh shit. She knew that look. The one
right before he started yelling.

“You need to leave.”

Chet bristled. Inched closer. Tara glanced around for a weapon—should she need one. The day-olds were hard, but probably not hard enough to make a dent. What a pity she didn’t have a spatula.

Jose saved the day, poking his head through the doorway, warbling in a sing-song voice, “You want I should call 9-1-1?”

Tara stepped back, away from this looming threat and crossed her arms. “Well, Chet? Should he call?” She wasn’t afraid of Chet, but he did have a temper. And frankly, she didn’t want to deal with the drama.

He glared from her to Jose and back again and then, muttering, “Fucking bitch,” slammed out of the shop.

Tara followed him to the door and bellowed “And don’t come back.” Then, with what felt like a wave of finality and relief, locked it behind him.

She turned to find Jose leaning against the doorway to the kitchen shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “Baby, you sure got bad taste in men.”

Tara blew out a breath. What an understatement.

Never once had she landed a nice
, normal guy.

It pissed her off that she thought of Devlin just then. He
’d seemed like a nice guy. A normal guy.

But honestly…what nice, normal guy gave a woman three burps and then tried to insist it was a good thing?

It was a relief that he’d said no to her offer. It was awesome that the thing between them—whatever it had been—was over. She’d never see him again. Not ever.

And she was glad.

Truly she was.

Saturday was particularly busy. From the moment they opened there was a steady stream of customers, so Tara hardly had time to think about Devlin at all. But when she did, she realized why she was so obsessed with him, even now, a full week after their tryst.

It wasn’t that he was the hottest guy she’d ever met, or the fact that his voice resonated with a spine-tingling rumble. It was
n’t the cut chin, or the sculpted abs. It wasn’t his smell or his taste or his presence.

It was the fact that he’d said
no
.

He’d refused her offer.

No one had ever told her no when she’d offered sex before.

No one.

That’s what she couldn’t wrap her brain around.

She realized how stupid it was to mope. Women got shot down
on occasion, didn’t they? Her friends complained to her about it all the time. But it had never happened to her.

She needed to get over it and move on.

There were lots of fish in the sea.

But
…none of them were quite that cute.

Bending down to refill
the marzipan pig tray, she glanced up when the bell dinged over the door. As though she had conjured him with her mind, Devlin strode into her shop. She gaped at him through the glass, marveling at how gorgeous he looked in a Mariner’s jacket and jeans.

It should be illegal for a man to look that hot in a baseball jacket.

He didn’t see her at first, glancing around at the cases and running his fingers through his spiky hair. When he lifted his hand, his jacket opened, revealing a black t-shirt molded to his chest. She nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Ahem.” She shifted the tray and stood, pinning an enormous—fake—smile on her face. “Hi there! Can I help you?”

His attention snapped to her. His eyes widened. He grinned. “Hi there.”

Oh
, lord.
Rumbly. Low. Seductive. 

She steeled her spine.
“Can I help you?” she repeated.

As he stepped closer his grin widened, but then he must have noticed her smile, and how fake it was, and his mood deflated a little. He studied the cases and stroked his chin.

She tried not to notice. The chin. The stroking. The peep of his tongue as it dabbed out to wet his lips.

“Yeah. I would like one of these.” He pointed to a cream puff.

“Uh huh.” She picked up a pastry box and folded it.

“And one of these.” A chocolate chunk cookie. “
And one of these.” A caramel pecan puff pastry.

Tara nodded and picked up the tongs, snagging a cream cheese cinnamon muffin, a rice flour raisin cookie and a mini loaf of almond flour swirl, all of which she nested in wax paper. “Anything else?”

Devlin viewed the contents of the box askance. “Um… Those aren’t the things I asked for.”

Tara
affected a vivacious smile. “I know.”

He glanced back at the cream puff case. “But I really wanted one of those.”

“Aw.” Tara sighed heavily as she closed the box and taped it with a Stud Muffin sticker. “Too bad.” She set the box on the countertop and rang up the items.

“No.
Really… I wanted a cream puff.” How could a grown man appear so woebegone? “And a cookie.”

She waggled a finger at him and leaned closer, whispering, “Sorry. Those all have gluten in them.”
She patted the box. “These are all gluten-free.”

He stared at her
and then, as he realized what she was up to, a tiny smile tweaked his lips. “You, ah, aren’t going to give me what I ordered?”

She pointed to the sign by the register that stated
,
We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone.
She’d never had to use it before, but was damn glad it was there.  There was no way Devlin Fox was getting anything from her that wasn’t strictly gluten-free.

No. Freaking. Way.

“Okay.” He tucked the box under his arm. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nine dollars and seventy five cents.”

He whistled as he peeled a ten from his wallet. “Pretty stiff for pastries.”

“They are specialty items.”

He dropped a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.”

She rang up the till and pulled out a quarter and dropped it
purposefully into the tip jar. It hit with a clang. “Thank you sir. And…” Another saccharine smile, “Come again.”

His response was so wicked it made her knees knock, and not
only because of the
double entendre
, but because of the tone with which he infused them. “Oh, I will.” A wink. “I’m counting on it.”

With that he whirled to leave the shop. But Tara couldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him leave without the last word.

It was too bad she couldn’t think of anything clever.

Devlin made it a point to visit his baker
the next day and the next. Each day she had a new sign up by the register. First it was,
We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Devlin Fox.
And then,
We Reserve the Right to Serve only Gluten-free to Devlin Fox.
And each day, she gave him the damn gluten-free pastries.

Oh, they were good. They were damn good. But that was hardly the point.
What he really wanted was that cream puff.

Strike that.

What he really wanted was
her
.

She
had become something of a challenge to him. He would wear her down.

He would.

He wasn’t sure how, but he would.

On Tuesday, when Devlin came to the shop, he brought reinforcements. Reinforcements in the form of a small boy. He was an adorable boy, with a gap-toothed smile. He was dressed just like Devlin in jeans and a Mariner’s jacket. Even their spiky hair matched.

The sight tugged at Tara’s heartstrings. Because they looked so much alike, it was clear they were father and son.

It had never occurred to her that he might have a child. Never occurred to her that he probably had a woman in his life. If not many.

He was far too attractive to be unencumbered.

Damn. She hadn’t thought to ask if he was married. Or divorced. Or
involved
.

No wonder he’d said no.

The thought made acid boil in her belly. She didn’t know why. She had no claim to him. She wanted no claim.

But still, it rankled.

“Can I help you?” She didn’t even bother with the fake smile.

The boy stepped up to the counter and gazed at her with wide eyes, a puppy dog expression. “I would like a cream puff, please miss.”

“A cream puff?”

“Yes, please, miss. That one.” He pointed to the refrigerated case.

She glared at Devlin, who didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

“How about one of these?” She said through her teeth, pointing at the
gluten-free pastries.

The boy shook his head. “No, miss. That one. Please?” He folded his hands and raised them to her as though in prayer.

Good lord, the boy was a drama queen.

“He
can’t stand gluten-free.” Devlin nudged the boy. “Tell her.”

A sad, rumpled pout. “I
can’t stand gluten-free. Please miss. Please may I have a pastry?”

Tara sighed. “And why do you hate
gluten-free, little boy?”

“Because my mom can’t eat wheat…so there’s never anything fun in the house.
I never get anything good.”

One would think he was dying, the way he wailed.
Tara’s gaze flicked from the boy to Devlin and back again.  “Okay. I will give you a cream puff, but only if you promise not to give him,” she thrust a thumb in Devlin’s direction, “so much as a bite. Do you promise?”

The boy licked his lips as he nodded.
Tara handed over the treasure and nearly laughed out loud at Devlin’s dismay as the boy took the treat and scampered over to the tables by the window.  He didn’t follow, as Tara had expected he would. Instead, he leaned against the pastry case. “So…are you going to the island this weekend?”

“Is that your son?”

It was comical, the way he blanched. “My…no. He’s my nephew. My sister is his mom.”

“Do you…have any children?”

His grin was crooked. “Don’t you think I would have brought my own children in a pathetic ploy to get a cream puff from you, if I had them?”

“Hmm. Probably.”

“So, are you going to the island this weekend?”

She meticulously folded a towel. Then fluffed it open and folded it again. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’d…like to see you.”

Her heart thundered. Through stiff lips, she said the only thing her brain could conjure.
“You said no.” He had. He’d refused her offer for meaningless sex outright.

He winced. “I know.
Still… I’d like to see you. Maybe drinks at Darby’s?”

“A game of pool?” Why her tone was acidic, she had no clue.

“I…” His throat worked. “Sure.”

“Well, I won’t be there. I have…plans.”

“Plans?” There was no need for him to bristle like that, surely. The lilt in his tone made it clear he thought her plans involved another man. Why her heart lifted at that, she had no clue. She’d always hated jealousy in men.

“Yes. Plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

“None of your beeswax kind of plans.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted when the boy rushed back to the counter, his face smeared with Chantilly cream, and lifted enormous eyes at her and gusted, “That was magnificent! Please miss. May I have another?”

She frowned at him, though it was difficult. He was rather adorable.
And far too mischievous to be as polite as he pretended. That Devlin looked terribly put out made her want to grin as well. But she did frown. Because this was an important point. “If I give you another, will you share with this man?”

“
No ma’am.”

“Not one bite?”

“No way.”

“And will you tell him,
over and over and over again, how wonderful it was when you’re done?”

A nod.

“So good, in fact, it clearly deserves five burps?”

“
Um, sure.”

“Well
okay then. You may have another.” She fetched another cream puff and gave it to the boy. “Make sure he realizes what he’s missing,” she whispered, loudly enough for Devlin to hear.

“Oh, he realizes,” he muttered, shooting her a
glower. “He realizes just fine.”

And somehow, they both knew they weren’t talking about
the cream puff.

She met her sister the next day at the airport. They saw each other across the booming baggage claim and ran, squealing into each others’ arms. It had been so long. Too long.

S
tationed overseas for five years, in Germany and Saudi Arabia and finally Kabul, Tina rarely made the trip home. It had been difficult being apart for so long. Growing up—in a military household—they’d done everything together. Moving from pillar to post, Tina had been the only thing in her life that had remained constant.

But now
she’d
changed.

Tara held
her back and studied her from tip to toe. They’d always been nearly identical—except now Tina had a close-cropped haircut and shadows in her eyes. And she wore fatigues. Her cheeks were hollow, her figure gaunt. “You’ve lost weight. Don’t they feed you in the Army?”

Tina forced a laugh and copied her perusal. “You’ve gained weight,” she quipped. “See what owning a bakery will do to you?”

“Yeah. Go ahead and mock me. But wait until you taste my cinnamon rolls.”

Tina laughed and grabbed her bag as it came around on the carousel. Tara took it from her and nearly dropped it.

“What do you have in here?”

“Bricks.”

Their gazes met and they both threw back their heads and laughed.

Damn, it was good having her home.

With Louisa covering the shop, Tara took her sister on a tour of Seattle. Tina hadn’t been to the Pacific Northwest since their dad had been stationed at Ft. Lewis when they were in high school, and she’d never really
seen
the town. It was fun experiencing her city through a newbie’s eyes.  They grazed their way along the bustling corridors of the Pike Place Market, spent a couple hours at the Pacific Science Center, then went down to the wharf to stroll along peering in the shop windows. They ate clam chowder from a bread bowl at a famous restaurant on the pier. It was late when they got home, but still, they stayed up all night, talking.