First Taste (The Lust List: Devon Stone #1) (7 page)

I can hear Celia talking to decorators when I arrive the next morning. My aching feet follow her voice, and I curse myself for wearing heels yesterday. And for what reason? To impress a guy? That worked out well.

I find Celia in the ballroom where people are installing extravagant light fixtures and hanging elegant tapestries from the walls to block off extra doors and entryways. The couches I saw yesterday are set up in a casual cluster in the center of the ballroom providing a comfortable lounge amongst the formal tables, and the big glass doors leading to the back patio are wide open, inviting in a refreshing ocean breeze that dances amongst all the fabric. The same linens I dropped off to be dry-cleaned yesterday are being unwrapped from their protective plastic and draped over the tables. It’s good to know I didn’t mess up that task, and now I can see the room coming together—white and cream and full of class. I’m impressed.

“Keenly hasn’t been by yet,” Celia says as if we were in mid-conversation. “But feel free to stick around. I’m assuming he’ll have some sort of to-do list when he gets here, and we can split it and probably end our work day quicker.” She smiles and turns to adjust the positioning of a smaller side table.

I feel awkward standing around while productivity happens around me, so I hobble out the doors into the fresh air. This way, I should see Keenly coming and can jump right back into the action. I’ve never felt more inadequate.

Sunlight glistens off the surface of the pool, mimicking the same sparkling of the ocean itself. Forget the chairs. I sit down in a spot near the pool where it looks like the water flows right into the Pacific. Stretching out my aching legs, I close my eyes and take in the invigorating breeze. This place is heaven.

“Is this you working again?”

I snap my head up and see Devon leaning against the railing of the nearest balcony. His car wasn’t out front. Where’d he come from?

“I’m waiting,” I call back. Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone, needing something to make me appear busy. I’m not going to play the role of the idle dummy again today. I disregard Devon, since he’ll disappear in a second anyway, and instead, turn on my phone to find a missed text from Maddie:

Is he there? Tell me he is!

I smile and send her back a little thumbs-up icon.

From the corner of my eye, I see Devon walk down a set of steps, coming toward me. What does he want now?

He stops next to me and sits down just as casually as I had minutes ago. “You trying to ignore me today?”

He’s wearing raggedy jeans again—maybe the same ones from yesterday—a black v-neck undershirt and flip-flops. This jerk can even make flip-flops look sexy. I have to remind myself not to stare at him.

“Not ignoring you. Just here to work.” My phone buzzes, and I look down to see Maddie’s sent me a response:

Get me more info on his hot brother.

She’s included a photo of Devon and Kaidan standing together on the red carpet. I angle my phone so he can’t see the screen.

“So…Olivia.” Hearing him say my name catches my attention.
He does remember
. “How’d you end up in party planning?”

He looks down at me and shifts in his spot. His leg is almost grazing mine, and I find myself staring at the torn knee of his jeans. Something as stupidly ordinary as a few inches of tan skin leaves me entranced, and the heat from his closeness rises up like a growing wildfire, spreading up my legs, settling in the core of my body. I focus on keeping my breath steady, and my phone goes off again:

Seriously girl. Ask what’s in those genes.

Another buzz:

Better yet, ask what’s in those jeans ;-)

I feel my cheeks flush as I slam my finger against the button to shut off my phone and jam it back into my purse. “Sorry. I…um…went to school. For hospitality. I haven’t found a career yet. As you can probably tell. But… yeah. So I’m just here for now.”

I adjust myself to add a couple inches between us. He’s acting vaguely interested in my stammering, so I need to get it together—and fast. I move my feet to position them on one side of me and wince from the brief pain that leaves me wondering how runway models can handle stilettos but I can’t last a day in three-inch pumps.

“You okay?” Devon asks.

Not really. You’re being too friendly, and I can’t figure out your motives.

“Yeah, it’s just my feet. They’re sore from yesterday.” I laugh at myself. “But I don’t know why I’m telling you that. So you tell me. What do you do when you aren’t busy being rich and famous?”

He gives me one of his irresistible grins and answers while reaching over and grabbing ahold of my feet. Before I can stop him, he swivels my legs back around, placing them on his lap. I might have a heart attack.

“My time is spent helping pretty women get jobs and dodging any further questions about my personal life.”

He unstraps my sandals, removing each one slowly. He called me pretty. He’s touching me. My legs are the luckiest legs in all of L.A., and I can’t stop thinking about how we’re one thin layer of denim and a quiet room away from being two longtime lovers recovering after an intense horizontal workout.

The cold water from the pool lurches me back to reality as Devon drops my feet into it with a splash. I shriek with surprise but immediately realize the throbbing in my feet is subsiding, and my shock turns into giggles. “You did not just do that!”

He smiles back. “I figured that would help. Here, so you don’t feel as ridiculous.”

Devon places his flip-flops next to my sandals and hitches up the legs of his jeans. Ladies and gentlemen, we have calves—muscular, tanned calves.

He plunges his own feet in, and now his wet, left leg is right up against my right. I’m trying to keep from running my toes along his ankle, but it’s tempting.

Devon leans back with his arms outstretched to hold his weight. A cruel move as his muscles tense, stretching out the sleeve of his shirt.

“So…” I need a distraction. “I—uh—got my friend Maddie a job working the party too. She’s my roommate and really great. Pretty. Smart.”

“I’m just going to stop you there.”

I clamp my mouth shut. What did I do?

“I was asking about you,” he says with this casual tone. His directness sends a shiver up my arms and through my chest. “Come here.”

Where? I’m already here. He sits up straighter, puts his arm around me, and pulls me in closer. This is the best invitation I’ve ever received. Even better than that one time in fourth grade when Cara Summers—the coolest girl in my class—asked me to come to her Spring Break sleepover. Granted, as much as I felt out of place back then—with all the fancy, preteen magazines and my lack of coordination with a hair curler—it was nothing compared to the out-of-body experience I am currently having.

I swear I’m melting under his touch, but I refuse to move. Number Three has pulled me into his grasp. He can keep me forever. This close to him, even his scent has me drunk with lust. I’m almost paralyzed.

He gives me a little shake. “Oh, Olivia. If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to open up…”

Open what?

“But it’s all right. You working here, and us seeing each other, you’ll loosen right up to my charming ways.”

I’m sure I will…

But—“Why are you being nice to me now?” I ask. He has to be up to something.

“Oh right. I’ve been kind of a dick, haven’t I?”

“Kind of.” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”

He lets out a laugh, a real live laugh. “She speaks the truth. I can appreciate that. And I’m sorry. My mind’s been elsewhere. I’ve been trying to…” He trails off, distracting me by sliding his foot under mine, leaving my leg to rest right on top of his.

What had he been saying? Oh right. “Trying to what? You’ve been acting strange.”

He almost cuts me off again. “Don’t worry about it. Tell me where you grew up.”

I’ve never experienced so many mixed signals before. His leg touching mine. His sudden interest in us being friends. His refusal to talk about himself. And his blunt rudeness when I ask him anything. I’m being yanked around like a tug-o-war rope.

“I… I grew up here.” I say, wanting to keep the conversation going but unsure what to make of Devon’s behavior.

“Right in my backyard? See, you are full of surprises.”

I laugh out loud, grateful for the ease that washes over me. So what if he doesn’t want to tell me his life story? Why would he? And the longer it takes for him to open up to me, the more time I get to spend with him. I can’t complain about that.

“I was born and raised here—in California.” I giggle again.
Keep yourself under control.
“We moved a bit. But I came here after for college and didn’t leave.”

“UCLA?”

“Cal State.”

He nods quietly. It’s my turn to ask him something, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “So what’s it like being a twin?” Ugh. How lame.

“I don’t want to talk about my brother. What about you? Family? Siblings?”

“I don’t want to talk about my brother either.”

He smiles. “Glad to see we have something in common.”

I doubt that. But I’m not about to explain why he’s wrong. I can feel myself closing up again. Fortunately, an angry stomping approaches from behind.

“Miss. Margot.” Keenly spits out each word with revulsion. “What in the name of professionalism is going on here?”

I yank my feet out of the water and hurry to get upright. I stick a slippery foot into each sandal, and lean down to strap them, ignoring the spongy feel of the wet soles. Snatching my purse still lying on the ground, I’m certain I look like an ass to my boss right now.

“Sorry. Mr. Keenly. I was just waiting on you. Celia said—”

“Celia said to take a dip in the pool?”

“Of course not. That was my choice.” Well, Devon’s choice. He’s standing behind me now, and I’m fully aware he’s close. So close that if I leaned back, even slightly, I’d be resting against his chest. My heart flutters, and I blush. But I am here to work… “Is there anything I can do for you today, Mr. Keenly?”

He flares his nostrils as if just now noticing an awful smell. “You know? You can. Go to Exotic Blooms on Santa Monica. See their floral arrangements. Send me photos. And I’ll tell you which will be used for the party.”

Couldn’t he have the florist send the photos themselves? “No problem.” Anything to get away from him. “Is there something you want specifically?”

“Yes. For you to not make a single decision. No matter what, you are to call me. I can imagine the sort of things you’d approve. And if you’d like to keep your job, I suggest you not bother my friend Devon here.”

“Friend, my ass.” Devon steps forward. “And the only one bothering me right now is you.”

“Then forgive me, but Miss Margot has work to do. Even if she wasn’t bothering you, she should have been inside—”

“I was helping her. And you shouldn’t be so presumptuous.”

“Helping her do what, Mr. Stone?” Keenly glances at me and back at Devon. I’m just going to stand here and play along with whatever Devon wants to say.

“Go to the florist, clearly.” He turns to me. “You ready?”

Just smile and nod. “Yep.”

We stride past Keenly, and I feel like we’re two teenagers making our getaway from a disapproving teacher. I stop by my car and turn back toward him. “Thank you. I don’t know why he hates me.”

“He hates most people. But then again, most people hate him back. It’s the paying clients that adore him. He puts on a hell of a facade for them.”

I smile, and pull out my phone to look up the address for Exotic Blooms.

“I meant it when I said I’d help.”

I eye him suspiciously. It’s one thing to make small talk in the backyard, but if he really wants to go with me to run an errand… something’s going on. “No thanks. You don’t have to.” I find the address and open my car door.

“Oh, so you’ve got this now? I should just run along?”

I turn around to see him waiting there, a condescending look on his face.

“What? You
want
to go with me? Am I supposed to believe that?”

At what point should I call him out on his bullshit? I’d give anything to be able to read his mind and know what he’s up to right now.

“Isn’t it funny how Exotic Blooms sounds more like a gentlemen’s club than a flower shop?”

“Sure. Funny.” I check the time and consider getting into the car and leaving, letting Devon hang in mid-thought.

“It’s because it is.”

“Is what?”

“A strip club.” He snatches my phone and messes with my maps application.

“I just got the address for it. It’s a flower shop. Don’t mess up my directions.”

“There’s a florist of the same name on the same street. And see…” He hands the phone back to me. He’d gone into the address’ details and scrolled down to Exotic Blooms’ official website. “Go ahead. Tap the link.”

I do, and I’m immediately greeted with a window asking me to validate I’m over the age of eighteen.

Devon continues, knowing he’s right. “If you’d gone to the address you’d selected, you’d have gotten there during their midday happy hour. That one’s the strip club, not the florist. Funny, I’ve made the opposite mistake before.”