Girls' Guide to Flirting with Danger (10 page)

“Thank you, Megan.”

This was the most comfortable she'd felt around Devin in ages. The barriers between them seemed to have disappeared with their clothes….

Good Lord, she'd never let a client get away with this line of reasoning and kind of rationalizing to excuse their behavior. “You are terrible, Devin Kenney.”
And I'm even worse.
“What am I going to do with you?”

A wolfish grin spread across his face, and her heartbeat kicked up in response. Every nerve ending jumped to life at the promise in that grin. “I guess that depends. When do you leave?”

Huh?
“I'm sorry? What?”

“On vacation?”

She racked her brain and came up empty-handed. “What
makes you think I'm going somewhere?”
Like I could afford a vacation.

“The other night you said you needed to pack. For Canada.”

“Oh, that.” She giggled. “Changing my name and moving to Canada was my backup plan for solving this whole mess.”

Dev smirked at her.

“Hey, I was catastrophizing, so it—”

“That's not even a word.”

“Yes, it is.”

There was that smirk again. “Now who's overcompensating with a big vocabulary?”

She gave in to the urge to smack him. Grabbing the pillow from under her, she swung it at his head. Dev blocked the blow easily, pulling the pillow out of her hand and tossing it to the floor as he wrestled her onto her back and pinned her hands over her head.

Her body reacted instantly, heat pooling in her belly and nipples hardening as Dev settled comfortably between her thighs.

“And now we're back to the earlier topic. What to do…?” Dev's lips found her earlobe and the tiny nibbles sent chills shivering down her body. “Hmm…” The sound vibrated against her throat. “Since you're not going anywhere, I'm thinking I shouldn't either.”

Was he planning on staying the night?

“My weekend is free….”

Weekend?
Oh, she knew
that
wasn't a good idea. Giving in to a little ex-sex for old times' sake wasn't uncommon, but a weekend would be—

Her inner hedonist quickly stopped that line of thought, stomping it into oblivion and answering before her brain could regroup. “I don't have any plans.”

Dev's smile warmed her heart. But his next words warmed her blood.

“Now you do.”

 

Devin heard his phone beep again, but he wasn't interested in anything other than the woman curled around him.

He ran his hands through the blond strands that snaked across his chest and listened to Megan's even breaths of very deep sleep. The dark circles around her eyes testified to her exhaustion, but considering what had caused that exhaustion…

He smiled as Megan mumbled something in her sleep and shifted.

Sleep, though, escaped him. He should be equally exhausted, but while he was enjoying the bone-deep satisfaction and the languid feeling it brought to his body, he wasn't all that tired. Only the knowledge that Megan
was
kept his hands in her hair and off the rest of her.

Hunger had driven them from bed to order a pizza shortly before ten, and even during their impromptu naked picnic Megan had refrained from discussing any of the reservations he could see written on her face during unguarded moments. He hadn't brought them up either.

It was selfish.

He didn't care.

If there were going to be repercussions or regrets or anything else in the morning, he'd deal with them then.
No,
he amended,
I'll deal with them Monday.
They had the weekend, and he fully intended to keep the world at bay until then. He wasn't going to question whichever of the fates had thrown Megan back into his arms.

He rubbed his fingers over Megan's butterfly again. How such a small tattoo affected him…unreal. From the strange erotic kick it landed on his libido, to the jealousy
that flared at the thought of how many men might have been in a position to see it, to the unsettling knowledge that their divorce had, in the end, been such a positive change in Megan's life that she had decided to commemorate it with a permanent mark, that tattoo was seared on his mind.

The tattoo was a very colorful reminder of exactly what this was all about. Any nostalgia awakened in him, any strange ideas that this would—or could—be more were quickly dismissed. This was what it was—nothing more.

Megan stirred, and her arm bumped his. She jumped and sat straight up, pushing her hair out of her face as she turned. The shocked gasp became an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry. I'm not used to sleeping with someone and when we bumped…” She rubbed a hand across her face to chase the sleep away. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Megan sleeps alone.
That message was the only one that registered. And for some reason he didn't want to explore—with or without a therapist—he was oddly pleased to hear it. “I wasn't asleep.”

“No?” Megan's jaw dropped. “You're not tired? Not after…?”

It was hard to tell in this light, but Megan might have been blushing. “It's barely past midnight, and I'm not that tired.”

A wicked grin tugged at Megan's mouth. “That sounds like a challenge.” Her hand began to trace over his ribs and stomach, causing him to catch his breath.

“Might be.”

“I love a challenge,” she said as she lowered her head and swirled her tongue around his navel.

The past few years definitely had wrought changes in Megan.

And he was rapidly coming to appreciate that.

L
AST
C
HRISTMAS
,
Megan's parents had given her a ladies' tool kit—hammer, screwdriver, pliers, all sized a bit smaller and clad in hot-pink-and-purple polka dots. It had come in handy in this apartment, allowing her to do minor repairs without involving her landlord.

Devin had protested using such girlie tools, and she had to admit that watching him try to put the bathroom door back into its frame with a pink-and-purple screwdriver was quite funny to watch. She perched on the edge of the bathtub, providing unsolicited and unhelpful advice.

“You need real tools,” Dev grumbled as he forced a screw back into the frame. The flex and pull of his biceps and shoulders had her full attention, and she was glad he'd not seen the need to put on a shirt while he worked. The small screwdriver slipped, and he cursed. “And a real door in a real apartment. Hand me the hammer.”

She stood and her quads lodged a protest at the movement. Her thighs simply weren't used to the level of activity they'd seen last night. And this morning. And this afternoon. “There's nothing wrong with this apartment.” Handing him the hammer, she added, “You have no one to blame but yourself for the damage.”

That got her a smile that melted her knees. “Really? Who jumped who in the shower?”

She shrugged, trying to seem unaffected by the memory that heated her skin. “But it was your, um,
exuberance
that destroyed my door.” The ancient hinges hadn't been able to withstand the force of Dev's thrusts as she was pinned against it…. She cleared her throat. “You break it, you buy it.”

“Deal.” Dev handed her the tools.

The door still hung at a drunken angle. “Um, hello? Door still not fixed.”

“I choose to buy. I'll send a carpenter out here first thing Monday morning.” He slipped out behind her, leaving her staring at her broken door.

“Devin…”

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her against his chest. Hard evidence of what Dev would rather be doing pressed against her lower back. “Anyway, there's a good chance we'll break something else before we're done here. Might as well start a running list of repairs—coffee table, bathroom door…” His fingers toyed with the hem of the baggy T-shirt she'd put on shortly after they'd crashed through the bathroom door, snaking under to smooth across her hips and stomach. Her head fell back against his chest as one hand moved up to cup her breast, teasing the nipple to a hard point. Dev's other hand slid lower, those long fingers wringing a moan from her with just a touch.

It was easy, and getting easier, to forget everything that wasn't Devin. The real world seemed like an abstract notion existing only in her mind. Only right now—and only this man—seemed real. Concrete. She was in dangerous territory and going deeper as she angled her neck to give Devin better access to the sweet spot under her ear.

She knew all that. But it was very hard to remember at a moment like this.

Dev was dangerous to her sanity and mental health. His words—
before we're done here
—should have been a reminder that this little interlude from reality wouldn't last. In a way they were a wake-up call, causing a pang in her chest she didn't want to explore.

Because if she did, she'd have to give this up: the magic of Dev's hands on her body, the odd comfort and security she felt just having him here. She didn't want to probe those feelings either.

She just wanted to feel.

As her legs began to tremble and lose the strength to hold her upright, Dev's arm tightened around her, supporting her.

It felt good on so many levels and in so many ways it scared her. Not badly enough to ask Dev to leave, but enough to worry her.

More than her apartment was in danger of getting damaged.

 

All interludes from reality must come to an end, and something in Dev's sigh and the way he dropped a kiss on the top of her head as he passed told Megan it was time.

They'd been sipping coffee over the remnants of a late Sunday brunch, and between the lengthening periods of silence she couldn't call completely comfortable and the choppy conversation, she'd known it was coming. Hell, she'd known it was coming as she cooked his favorite breakfast frittata for old times' sake this morning. Like so many times before, the frittata had burned due to Devin's ability to distract her. And like so many times before, they'd scraped off the burned bits and eaten it anyway.

It might have seemed like old times, but it wasn't. She knew that. And she was prepared for the words.

“I have to leave soon.”

Ouch. Not as prepared as I thought.
“I figured.”

“I'm doing a morning show in Cincinnati tomorrow and my flight leaves…”

“It's fine, Dev. You have a life. So do I,” she lied. “And we should probably get back to them.” Proud of how nonchalant she sounded about the situation, she stood and grabbed some dishes off the table. “I'm so far behind on those articles….”

Devin followed her into the kitchen. “This week's schedule is a nightmare for me. I'm triple booked practically every day.”

Let the excuses begin. Was there a phrase book guys got in high school just for the gotta-go-I'll-call-you-sometime moment?
“I understand. Just don't forget to send the carpenter, okay?”

A furrow appeared on Devin's forehead. “What's wrong, Megan?”

“You're busy. I get that. You don't need to give me the particulars. I'm just trying to tell you I don't expect anything from you beyond a carpenter to fix my door.”

“So that's it?”

“This weekend has been great, but we both know it doesn't mean anything.”

Devin actually looked offended at her comment. “I must've missed that memo. I was trying to explain that if you wanted to do dinner—or anything else this week—it would have to be late. After the show.”

“Oh.” She felt about a foot tall.

Devin's hands closed around her upper arms, and he massaged them lightly. “You know, I'm always advising people to stay away from their exes.”

Oh, the irony.
“Yeah. Me, too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “So neither of us is good at taking our own advice.” Then his
voice dropped a notch and turned serious. “But I'm not sorry this weekend happened. Are you?”

“Nope. No regrets.”
Yet.

“Then dinner tomorrow night?”

“Okay.” A little happy campfire warmed her heart.

Then Dev's kiss fanned the flames, leaving her breathless when he finally broke the kiss with a heartfelt groan. “I wish I didn't have to go.”

“Me, too,” she admitted as she grabbed the countertop for support.

“I'll call you later.” He winked. “Seriously.”

Then he was gone, and her apartment felt empty. The tiny rooms seemed bigger now that Dev wasn't filling them, and Megan almost expected them to echo.

As she walked to her bedroom she took stock of the damage they'd done to the apartment: one broken table, one broken door, one lamp that had been kicked off her bedside table. The lamp had survived, but the shade needed to be bent back into shape.

Later,
she thought as she crawled back under the covers. Dev's scent still clung to the pillows, and she breathed it deep into her lungs. It was hard to focus on current damage or potential future disasters when caught in residual afterglow.

It had been one crazy week. Not even a full week, she realized after a quick mental count. After years of avoiding everything Devin-related, she'd gone from reading him the riot act on Monday to cuddling his pillow on Sunday. Somehow it seemed like much longer than six days.

Devin just had a knack for turning her life upside down. He always had. Since the day he'd tripped over her step stool in the library stacks and caused her to literally fall into his arms… She smiled at the memory.

And while life with Devin hadn't always been easy, it
had never been dull. It was disconcerting to think how colorless her life had been over the past years. She'd been so focused on one thing that she'd gotten unbelievably boring. Only, she hadn't realized that until Dev had livened up this week considerably.

She should really get up and do something. Work on those articles. Tidy the kitchen. Fix the lampshade. Something other than lie there and obsess over her ex-husband.

But she was warm and comfy and enjoying the obsessing. Which only proved she really was certifiable.

Fate was strange sometimes. Just when she'd thought she had everything all worked out, it had thrown Devin back into the mix. It wasn't an ideal situation—and if she'd ever harbored any wild fantasy about Devin walking back into her life it wouldn't have been like this—but she felt hopeful about the possibilities.

The possibilities that come from change.

The problem, though, was that there was so much change and so many possibilities, it made her head hurt to think about it. That was a lie; it actually made her
heart
hurt to think about it. Because there were so many things that could go horribly wrong.

But there were so many things that could go amazingly right, as well.

She wondered if her apartment would survive the ride….

 

He'd left Megan's for this? To spend the night alone in a Cincinnati hotel just to get up before dawn to answer the same seven questions he'd answered a hundred times across the country? He had to be insane.

He'd been chafing against the publicity machine for a while now, but tonight drove the point home. This crossed
a line into ridiculous. He and Manny and the publicist were going to have a chat about his schedule. It was time to get his life back.

He debated calling Megan just to talk, but he knew she was trying to work on some research she wanted to publish in one of those academic journals. It wouldn't be fair to interrupt her work because he was bored and lonely in Cincinnati.

Especially since he'd kept her from working at all over the weekend. He should feel bad about that, but he didn't. Not in the least.

He could use this time to get some work done, as well. Instead, he pulled the file Simon had passed to him Friday morning.

He'd hired Simon to work part-time last year as a favor to a friend to give the young man some real-world experience before he started law school. Privately, Devin found Simon's zeal a refreshing break from the day-to-day realism of his job, so he always made time when Simon came to him with an interesting case or sticky law to discuss. It kept his brain from atrophying.

But this was different. Simon was moving past theory and discussion of the past and into more current and complicated issues: a local college student's case involving right to privacy, which seemed to be struggling in the system. Simon had copious notes scrawled in the margin of the printout: questions, statute references and a very insightful invoking of the Ninth Amendment to back up his argument.

The kid was sharp. Granted, his reading of the 1969 Supreme Court decision wouldn't hold up long under pressure, but the 1990 decision
would….

An hour later Devin realized the student in question had one hell of a case but a lawyer who wasn't quite on
the ball enough to get it done. And where was the media? Where was the outrage at the blatant disregard of this student's constitutional rights? Why was this flying under the radar?

He booted up his laptop and started sending emails. One to an old classmate who worked for the American Civil Liberties Union now, one to his assistant and one to another radio personality who'd love to break a story like this. That would get everyone started, and by the time he got home tomorrow…

Then he remembered what his schedule for the week was like and grumbled under his breath. He probably didn't have the time to get his hands into something this complicated.

And he knew now that he
wanted
to be in this fight.

Well, he had been planning to make some changes, and this was just more reason to do so. There was no real need for him to continue this junket anyway.

The need to call Megan was really strong now. She'd always been the one to catch the brunt of his enthusiasm. How appropriate he and Megan were back together at the same time he'd found this case. He grinned. Definitely fate trying to tell him something.

But it was late; Megan was probably asleep and he had to be up in a few hours anyway. He'd tell her all about it tomorrow at dinner.

 

The call had come earlier than expected, but when Megan had seen the clinic's number on her phone she'd known it was over. It hadn't stopped her from hoping, though, that it might work out differently.

At least Julie had called her last night to give her the heads-up so she hadn't been blindsided by it. In the time it had taken to do one search on Google, the rosy afterglow
of her weekend and her hopeful outlook had been scrubbed away by internet notoriety and its viral nature.

Dr. Weiss had been calm and measured, never raising her voice as she lectured Megan on professional behavior, privacy issues, the clinic's reputation and bad decision-making. She'd even allowed Megan a chance to explain, raising Megan's hopes before shooting them down in flames.

Then, in that same calm voice, Dr. Weiss had fired her. Megan could come clean out her desk and return her keys after the clinic closed this evening.

Shell-shocked, she'd sat cross-legged on her bed and stared at the phone for a long while, unable to completely process that her career was, for all intents and purposes, over.

But now Megan's pity party was in full swing. Everything she'd worked for was in the toilet, and it wasn't her fault. So she'd acted a little recklessly and made a bad decision, but
this…
This was beyond belief.