Devlin's Dare (3 page)

“Yeah,” she said, propping her fists on her hips. “You, Devlin Fox, are a big dick.”

And then she left. Whirled on her heel and left him standing there, half-naked, leaning against the grimy brick wall behind a grungy bar.

And she took his jeans.

He would, until the end of time, feel grateful to Charmaine, Darby’s perky little waitress.

She came upon him as he hunkered behind the dumpster, desperately trying to decide what to do. He could sprint back to the house hoping to hell no one would see him, or dig through the trash in hopes of finding something to cover himself.

He’d never been terribly shy about his body, but there was something about being totally exposed behind a bar—with an epic hard on, after having been mercilessly teased by a gorgeous vixen—that left a man feeling mauled and vulnerable.

One thought
bubbled in his brain.

He was going to have to pay her back
for this.

Charmaine stopped short when she saw him skulking there, hunched over, pulling his t-shirt down to cover his junk. He could only imagine what she thought
, though her expression was fairly telling.

“I’m not a perv,” he said
, the first words to trip from his tongue.

She tipped her head to the side and her lips quirked. “Really?”

Heat flooded his face and prickled his nape. “She stole my jeans.”

“She?” He could tell the waitress was struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Please… Could you help me?”

Maybe
his tone was sufficiently penitent, or maybe she’d simply seen it all and wanted to get this naked guy out of her trash bin, but she relented. “I’ll find you something.”

He hated watching her walk away, suddenly noticing a cool breeze coming in off the dark ocean. Goosebumps rose on his skin. A shiver racked him. But she returned in due course with a pair of folded sweats. They were a couple sizes too large, but he pulled them on and tugged the drawstring, feeling like a warrior girding his loins for battle. “Thank you,” he muttered.

She snorted a laugh. “Sure. Anytime.” Still chuckling, she went back inside.

Devlin made a note to give her a phenomenal tip the next time he visited the bar. Which, he suspected, might not be for a while. He didn’t relish the thought of seeing
her
again.

At least, not until he had plotted his revenge.

Thank God none of the guys had been around when he arrived home wearing some other dude’s sweatpants. He could only imagine the razzing he’d take over that.

He didn’t hide out for the rest of the weekend. At least that’s what he told himself. But he
certainly didn’t go back to the bar. And though he swore not to think about her, he couldn’t help himself.

There was something about her he just couldn’t get out of his mind. Sure, she was gorgeous. Of all her friends, she was the one who caught and held his
attention. Her features, so delicate and piquant, her long ponytail, her curves.

He’d always loved pranks, and pranksters. But no one had ever gotten the better of him…until her.

When he and his friends boarded the ferry on Sunday afternoon, she was there with her coterie. Their eyes met across the breadth of the main cabin and she grinned at him. But it wasn’t a friendly grin.

It was an evil grin.

Determination formed a ball in his gut.

Determination for revenge.

He wanted that woman. Beneath him. Around him. Encompassing him.

It was a damn shame he didn’t know her name.

Tara shivered as she leaned against the rail of the ferry, staring out at the dull gray choppy water.  Flecks of white tipped the tiny waves and wind-kissed ripples swirled. It was a
gloomy day for summer on the Sound. Gunmetal clouds skirted the sun and an impenetrable fog wreathed the passing islands. But it matched her mood.

He
was inside.

What were the odds they’d both catch the same ferry home?

Pretty good, apparently.

It wasn’t bad enough that she hadn’t been able to get him out of
her mind all weekend. That he’d haunted her every thought. Wasn’t bad enough that she had freaking
dreamed
about him…about his trusting, hopeful smile, his scent, the weight of his cock in her hand.

There was no reason for her for feel guilt over what she did. Certainly no reason for regret.

He was a bastard of epic proportions. A heartless, soulless husk of a man with no conscience and no moral compass whatsoever. He blatantly ruined worlds with the slash of a pen. Or the tap of a key. Whatever.

Point was, he’d deserved it.

This churning acid in her gut, the slow burn of remorse, was utterly unwarranted.

She sucked in a deep breath and tipped her
gaze up to the sky, watching the gulls wheel in their wake. Tiny sprinkles, too small to be called raindrops cooled her cheeks.

Why did he have to be on
this
ferry?

“It’s raining.”

Tara blinked and turned to smile at Kristi as she sidled up next to her. It wasn’t a terribly sincere smile. But it was the effort that counted. “Not so much. Besides, I like it.”

“Hmm.” Kristi leaned against the rail and turned her attention to the frothing
foam churned up by the rear propellers. There was something soothing about standing on the stern of the boat, surveying where you’d been. It wasn’t as exhilarating as standing on the bow, facing the adventure with the wind whipping your face until tears formed, but sometimes one needed soothing. “Tara?”

“Yeah?”
Another ferry appeared in the distance, a mere dot on the horizon. A flash of sliver caught her eye—A surfacing salmon? A fluke?—but it was gone before she turned her head.

“Is everything okay?”

Tara’s heart stuttered.
Shit.
The last thing she wanted was to talk about
everything
with Kristi. “Sure.”

“You’ve been… I dunno, kinda quiet this weekend.
Is everything okay with Chet?”

“Yeah. Well.” Tara blew out a breath. “Chet and I kind of broke up.”

“Oh, no.” She didn’t expect a hug. Didn’t deserve one. “Did he dump you?”

It was all Tara could do not to send her friend a sarcastic look. Nobody ever dumped Tara Romano. She was the one who did the dumping.

Not because she was a serial dumper. She wasn’t. It was just that, when she was in a relationship with a guy, he would invariably become too possessive. Boxing her in. Making her feel trapped.

“I ended it.” The resulting silence prompted her to glance at her friend
, whose expression was inscrutable. “What?”

“Chet was a nice guy.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So why did you dump him?
”

Why? Why indeed? Other than the fact that she’d woken up one night and stared at him and thought, deep in her panicked soul,
No. No. This is not right.
  “He brought his toothbrush over.”

Kristi blinked. “Do, ah, you have a toothbrush phobia I don’t know about?”

The ferry lunged and Tara grabbed onto the rail to steady herself. “His
toothbrush
, Kristi.”

“It’s just a toothbrush.”

“It’s not just a toothbrush.” It was a statement. A declaration. It was Chet staking his claim.

“
Hmm.”

Tara glared at her friend. She knew that
Hmm
. “What?”

“Nothing.
But… Do you ever wonder…?” It was irritating the way Kristi trailed off. She did that sometimes when she wanted to make a point. Which, when you thought about it, was counterproductive.

“Wonder what?”

“If you might have commitment issues?”

Tara gaped at her. Commitment issues? Hell no.

She didn’t
wonder
about that at all.

“It’s not an issue.” Not for her at least.
This wasn’t about commitment. It was about survival.

Kristi snorted. “It’s your life, Tara. But I never pegged you for someone who wanted to be alone forever.”

Why her heart stuttered, why her breath snagged at those words was a mystery. She wasn’t afraid of being alone. Hell, she loved being alone. It was her favorite thing in the ever-lovin, frickin world.

“I date.”

“I’m not talking about dating. Or casual relationships. I’m talking about something more lasting.”

“Like you and Cam?”

Kristi blushed. “Hopefully.” Their relationship was new. Brand spanking new. It probably still had all the tags.

That acid reflux thing—the thing that tasted a little like envy—rose again and Tara swallowed it. “I am happy for you, Kristi. I hope this thing with Cam works out—”

“Thank you.”

“But I don’t think LTRs are for me.”

“Because you dump them as soon as they mention toothbrushes.” Kristi shot her a crooked grin. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to think about why you shy away from long-term relationships—”

Tara frowned. She didn’t need to think about it. She knew damn well why.

“—and ask yourself what you really want out of life. If you really want to be single, then I am right here pulling for you. But if, in your heart of hearts, you’re craving a deeper connection… you’re doing it wrong.”

God bless Kristi. She didn’t pull any punches.

She was way off base with this one, but Tara knew her annoying lecture came from the heart.

She forced a smile. “Thank you Kristi.”

“I love you Tara,” she said with another hug, “I want you to be happy.”

Happy.
Schmappy.

Her life was fine, wonderful, perfect just the way it was.

They turned back to go inside—because it was truly raining now—and Tara’s attention snagged on Devlin Fox, sitting in the cafeteria, with his evil minions, playing cards. She yanked her gaze away.

He was too damn attractive for comfort.

She didn’t like the feelings that rose up when she looked at him. Or accidentally caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. Or thought of him.

So she wouldn’t.

And Kristi’s advice, bless her meddling little heart, she wouldn’t think about that either.

Devlin was still obsessing over Ponytail Girl when he arrived home, jogging up the ramp, pushing through the door and tossing his keys into the dish by the door. What she’d done stuck in his craw. That he hadn’t been able to seduce her as he planned stuck in his craw as well.

His craw was pretty crowded.

But as much as she aggravated him, she intrigued him more.

Charlie’s bag was in the foyer.
“Honey, I’m home,” he called, stepping over it. He never knew when Charlie would show up, but the bag, dropped wherever it landed, was usually a good clue his on-again off-again housemate had returned.

Charlie was a restless soul, but with good reason.

“In here,” a deep voice called.

Devlin made his way into the kitchen and leaned against the jamb, crossing his arms over his chest. Charlie sat at the table surrounded by the remnants of an epic breakfast. The kitchen
appeared as though a tornado had blown through. Pancake batter dribbled on the stove, greasy paper towels were balled up by the microwave, milk dripped from the counter onto the floor. Devlin bit his tongue.

He wasn’t a clean freak by any stretch of the imagination, but this mess was making his
recessive OCD gene itch. He pulled out a chair and plopped down across from his brother and snagged a pancake, focusing on it so he wouldn’t have to look at features that were so much like his—but not…anymore. It hurt to look at Charlie now. As though it opened a door, allowing his twin’s pain to seep into his soul.

“How was your trip?”

Charlie took a slurp of coffee. “Awesome.”

Devlin grunted. Though he made a hell of a mess, Charlie made a hell of a pancake. “Where did you go again?”

“San Fran. Haight Ashbury.” Charlie waggled his brows. The movement drew Devlin’s attention to the scars on the right side of his face. He quickly glanced away.

“You were…gone a long time.” Devlin tried very hard to keep the reproof from his tone. Charlie hated it when he went “all parental.” But it was impossible not to worry. His brother would up and disappear, be gone for months and then pop up, grinning like a pup that
had found an unattended pan of pot roast.

It would probably be different if Charlie weren’t a cripple. He probably wouldn’t worry so much then if his brother disappeared for months at a time. Hell, they were
both grownups, but he couldn’t help worrying. Charlie was his brother. He loved him so much it hurt. And after what he’d been through, he needed someone to take care of him. Worry about him. Protect him.

Charlie had always been the one looking out for Devlin. Now it was his turn to return the favor.

If only he would cooperate.

When his brother had come home, a wounded warrior who had lost the use of his legs in
Afghanistan, it had been natural for Devlin to take him in. He’d done a bunch of work making his house wheelchair friendly and made accommodations to the mother-in-law suite on the first floor. He’d been so relieved his brother had survived, he hadn’t had much room for any other emotion.

It had been a tough adjustment, bunking with someone just learning to live again. Everything—from how to use the bathroom to how to get into a car—became more complicated when you were in a wheelchair. But they’d done it. Together. 

But that challenge was nothing compared to the one Devlin faced now. Charlie’s drive for independence. It was as though Charlie was trying to be normal. But he would never be normal again.

The real kicker
came when his brother went out and bought a car with hand controls. He came and went as he pleased. At all hours. It was driving Devlin crazy.

Charlie grin
ned. It was a shit-eating grin. “I met a woman.”

“You met a woman? In Haight Ashbury?” Christ. How safe was that? “You used protection, right?”

“For God’s sake, Dev, back the fuck off.” A thread of exasperation wove through Charlie’s tone. “I’m not a baby.”

Devlin folded his fingers together and stared at them, unsure how to respond. No, Charlie wasn’t a baby, but he didn’t seem to realize the gravity of his situation. He would never walk again. He needed to be careful. He shouldn’t go gallivanting around the country
, picking up stray women in a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. He should stay at home. Where Devlin knew he was safe.

“You left your bag in the foyer again,” he muttered.

Charlie crunched into a piece of toast. Crumbs flaked over his t-shirt. “I’ll get it later.”

Annoyance bubbled as Devlin skated another glance around the room. His gaze stalled on a pile of eggshells by the fridge; little pools of egg whites
slimed the countertop. The little hairs on his neck stood up as the prospect of salmonella rose its ugly head.

“Um… You’re going to clean this up, right?” The words came out before he could stop them.

His brother smirked and wheeled over to pour himself another cup of coffee. Devlin grimaced as he missed the cup and a big brown splotch landed on the tile. “You know I’m disabled.” He put out a lip in a mocking pout. “I think I’d better leave the cleanup to you.”

The dig did not miss its mark. Charlie made no secret of the fact that he resented
his brother’s overprotective tendencies. A snort made its way out of Devlin’s nose.

Wheels squeaked into the uncomfortable silence as Charlie came back to the table. “So…”
he said in a too-cheery voice. “How was
your
weekend?” When Devlin didn’t respond, his brother gored him with a look.  “Didja meet a girl?”

Heat
crept up his cheeks as he searched for an answer. If he told his brother the truth about what had happened with Ponytail, he’d never let him live it down. “I met someone.”

“Didja get laid?”

The heat expanded. Hot prickles bloomed between his shoulder blades. “Not exactly.”

Charlie barked a laugh. “Imagine that. Devlin Fox struck out? Someone call the papers.
”

“I’ve struck out before.” Not much. But at least one other time he could think of. Usually he had
good luck with women. He couldn’t fathom what had gone wrong this time.

“It’
s bound to happen. When you go through women like toilet paper, at some point, you’re gonna hit the cardboard.”

“I do not go through women like toilet paper.” What a crass analogy.

“Okay. Paper towels then. Point is… you’re a hound dog.”

The dig hit Devlin like a lance. He did date a lot of women and his relationships didn’t last very long. But it wasn’t that he was licentious or fickle. He’d just never found
her
. That one woman perfect he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Besides, Charlie had no room to talk.

“That’s the pot calling the kettle horny.”

“Dude. I’m not the one with blue balls this morning. So, what was her name, this paragon of female fortitude?”

Shit.
His brother had a way of homing right in on a wound. “No clue. She told me to call her Sugar.”

“Hmm.” Charlie stroked his beard
, drawing Devlin’s attention to the pocked scars on the right side of his face. He forced his gaze elsewhere. “I’m guessing that’s not her real name.”

“Probably not.” The only thing he knew about her was that she was a friend of Lane Daniels’. Trouble was, he and Lane weren’t on speaking terms at the moment.
Why Lane was pissed at him, he had no clue. He’d only hit on Lucy that one time. On top of that, Lane and Lucy were divorced. Besides, Lucy had shot him down.

“It’s probably her stripper name.”

Devlin’s simmering mortification boiled into fury. Which surprised him. He never lost his temper with Charlie, not since he’d come home in a wheelchair. Despite his brother’s attempts to get a rise out of him. He knew nothing about this chick. For all he knew, she
could
be a stripper. Still… “She’s not a stripper,” he snapped.

“
Whoa. Dial it back, bro,” Charlie held up a hand. “I was joking. Wow. A snarl and everything…” Ironically, he seemed pleased at the feral reaction.

Devlin raked back his hair and sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I…”

“Dude. No problem.” Charlie grinned. “It’s nice when you snap. Reminds me of…old times.” Yeah, he and his brother had had more than one knock-down drag-out. They’d made sibling rivalry a blood sport. But things were different now. Everything was different now. “Remember when you didn’t treat me with kid gloves?”

Devlin set his teeth to keep back a
caustic comment. He knew his brother was baiting him, but he was not inclined to engage. Not like that. Charlie needed to be handled with kid gloves. He deserved it.

So instead he fixed a smile on his face. “Dinner at Beth’s tonight. We’ll leave at six.” Since their parents had died, their sister had taken on hosting the traditional Fox family Sunday night supper.

“Great. I’ll drive.”

Devlin blanched. Charlie always wanted to drive. And riding in a car with Charlie at the wheel gave him hives. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m a good driver.” Charlie scowled. “I am a very good driver.”

“Like
Rainman
?”

The scowl deepened and Devlin winced as he realized the implications of what he’d said.
His brother was physically challenged, not mentally challenged. And clearly, Charlie didn’t appreciate the unintended association. He spun his wheelchair away from the table and headed for his room. “Whatever. I’m beat. I am going to take a nap. See you later.”

The door slammed and Devlin
flinched.

Not because his brother had slammed the door
, but because he’d escaped. And left a hell of a mess for Devlin to clean up.

And because he knew he’d probably cut Charlie deeply with that flippant comment
…when hurting his brother was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Dinner at Beth’s was a trial. Oh, it started out all nice and friendly. These things often did. But Charlie was pissed that Devlin had insisted on driving and missed no opportunity to peck at Devlin’s buttons like a chicken with OCD. On crack. Their sister tried to keep the peace, but she should have known better. When Charlie got in that mood, he was unstoppable.

Cal thought their bickering was amusing, but he was seven and easily entertained by puerile pursuits. Beth and Steve merely rolled their eyes and, eventually, talked amongst themselves as though a Battle Royale were not erupting
in the midst of their dining room.

Devlin tried to keep his cool, but Charlie knew
right where to aim his thrusts and, to his mortification, the meal ended in a blow out. He thought about going home alone and leaving his brother there for Beth to deal with, but of course he would never do that.

To her.

Instead he loaded his brother into his car, and the wheelchair into the trunk and they drove home in a heated silence.

Charlie left the next day.
He didn’t bother to tell Devlin where he was going or when he would be back.

He tried not to let
his frustration, or guilt, overwhelm him. He wanted to help his brother, but he didn’t know how.

And Charlie, apparently, didn’t want his help to begin with.

To take his mind off all that shit, Devlin went to the island the next weekend, but he ended up going alone. He and Ash had planned to go together, but his buddy had backed out because of a family emergency. He’d tossed Devlin the keys and exhorted him not to throw up on anything.

On their last trip
, a drunken Richie had christened every piece of furniture in the living room. Ash and Parker had spent hours cleaning it up. Evidently Ash was still pissed. But Devlin didn’t drink like Richie. He barely drank at all. And he’d never barfed on someone else’s furniture.

Upon reflection he was glad to be going over alone. Especially glad Richie wasn’t coming.

He hadn’t gone to the island expecting to see her—really, he hadn’t—but when he walked into Darby’s Bar and Grill on Friday evening, there she was, leaning over the pool table taking a shot. The vision she made, with her ass all pooched out like that made him drool. The fact that she was alone didn’t hurt.

He casually strolled through the near-empty bar into the pool hall in the back and leaned against her table watching as she sighted her shot. She
peeped up at him as she took it. The cue ball went askew. It was tough holding back his smirk at her horrified expression.

So he didn’t.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he murmured.

She ignored him and came around the table to take another shot. She missed that one too.
Judging from the frown she sent him, she considered it his fault. He should have walked away. Gone to the bar and ordered a keg of beer or something, but he didn’t. He watched her play. Because it annoyed her. And she was damn sexy when she was annoyed. That was enough motivation for any man.

The waitress who had saved his ass the week before made her way over. When she recognized him, she grinned. She
flicked a telling glance down at his jeans. “Can I, um, get you anything?” she asked on a chuckle.