In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1) (13 page)

Now my trepidation had grown into full-fledged fear. What had I gotten myself into? But before I could think of how to extricate myself from this night, Devon was pulling me back into the hallway and leading me down the corridor.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

T
ake this,” Devon said, handing me a plastic key card.

I went to put it into my clutch, but he stopped me.

“Put it somewhere you won’t lose it.”

Okay, well in this dress, that left few options. I hadn’t worn a bra because I hadn’t wanted the outline of the straps through the fabric to spoil the effect of the dress, so that was out. That left . . . I slipped the card underneath the band of my skirt. The shorts were tight enough to hold the card without letting it slip.

“I’ve never wanted to be an inanimate object quite so much,” Devon quipped, slanting a glance at me.

“If that’s your oblique British way of saying you want to get in my pants, then you should know it’s going to take more than an expensive dress.” Though this particular dress went a helluva long way. I kept that part to myself.

Devon’s lips tipped up at my sass. “What was the room number?” he asked.

“What?”

“The room. Do you remember the number?”

I thought for a second. “Nineteen seventeen?”

Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Very good.” The way he said it made me feel as though I’d passed some kind of test. “Remember it.” Reaching down, he grasped my hand, drawing it through to rest on his bent arm.

We took the elevator to a lower level that had hardwood floors rather than the usual carpet that muffled the hallways where guests stayed. My heels clacked as we walked to the far end where two wooden double doors stretched high.

I could feel the stiffness of Devon’s arm underneath my fingers, but he appeared outwardly calm and coolly serene. His face was a blank mask of indifference and I tried to emulate him as we walked inside.

There were more people than I expected, all of them dressed to the hilt. The hum of conversation drifted through the ballroom, complete with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling high above our heads. Music played through unseen speakers and I could hear the clink of dinnerware and glasses among the chatter.

A man approached us, obviously the host or maître d’. “Good evening,” he said. “And you are?” He held what I assumed was a guest list and began scanning it before Devon even gave his name.

“Devon Clay.”

I was surprised Devon gave his real name. Weren’t spies supposed to have an alias or something? Or maybe he was still lying to me about his name. I didn’t really want to think about that option.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the maître d’ said, “but your name is not on the list.”

Well, this was awkward.

But Devon just gave him a thin smile and said, “I’m an old school chum of the groom’s. We went to university together.”

Hold up! What had he just said? I snapped my head around to look at Devon. He ignored me, so I started scanning the room. Sure enough, I spotted a woman in a billowing white gown at a table near the front.

Oh. My. God. Devon had brought me to a
wedding
reception. And while the gown I wore was gorgeous, it was so not appropriate wedding-guest attire. I cringed and shrank back a bit behind Devon.

“Of course, sir,” the maître d’ said, obviously unwilling to make a scene. And really, who’d crash a wedding reception in a tuxedo? “Right this way.”

“Where’s the sexy strut from earlier?” Devon asked quietly as we followed the maître d’.

“This dress isn’t appropriate for this,” I whispered back.

“You look like a luxury package of sex and decadence,” Devon hissed. “Own it.”

Sex and decadence.

The words turned over inside my head. Was that really how he saw me? How I appeared? I liked that. I liked that a lot.

I’d watched many a fashion show on television and the Internet, the models beautiful women with haughty expressions who walked down a runway as if they owned it.

I could do that.

I straightened my spine and pulled my shoulders back. Lifting my chin a notch, I added a sway in my hips as I walked, knowing that the crystals on my skirt would catch the light. Devon was a gorgeous man, the tuxedo adding elegance to his tall frame, and together we made a striking couple. Heads turned as we walked by.

“Here we are,” the maître d’ said, stopping at a table only three away from where the wedded couple sat. Reaching down, he plucked two name cards from the table and gestured for us to take the empty chairs. Guess there’d been a no-show.

Devon held the chair for me, scooting it forward as I sat, then took the seat on my left. There were three other couples at the table, all eyeing us with open curiosity, but Devon didn’t introduce us, merely acknowledging them with a curt nod of his head. I noticed two of the women looking at me with distaste, their gazes taking in my dress and bare stomach, but I was used to other women disliking me because of my looks, so it didn’t bother me. I turned my attention to Devon, dismissing them without uttering a word.

“You said dinner and a party,” I said softly so only Devon could hear me.

“We’re at the party, and here comes dinner now,” Devon said just as a waiter stepped up and placed two small plates in front of us. It looked like a first-course
amuse-bouche
type of thing, with just one bite of food.

“You didn’t say I would be your plus one at a wedding reception,” I pressed.

“I thought women adored weddings,” he replied lightly.

I rolled my eyes. It was obvious he was unrepentant about bringing me to a wedding, and now that we were here, I worried even more about the warning he’d given me and the gun he carried. I’d assumed he had the gun in case there was trouble. I really hoped
he
wouldn’t be the trouble.

Another waiter came by and poured the wine that was paired with the course. That, I took a drink of immediately. I might need it to get through the evening.

Four more courses followed and, after a while, I started to relax. The food was excellent and I savored it. Devon even played the doting date, feeding me bites here and there and whispering in my ear. His arm rested along the back of my chair, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my neck in an unconsciously seductive sort of way. I didn’t know what or who the performance was for, and I was enjoying it too much to care.

After dessert, the bride and groom took to the dance floor. I watched them, trying not to feel envious of the obvious affection between them. The bride was beautiful, with dark hair that was fashioned in an elaborate updo. Her dress was strapless, the white a nice contrast to her olive skin.

The groom seemed completely enamored of her, his smile blinding as they danced. He was older than I expected given the youth of the bride, perhaps early forties. But the look of adoration on his face was sweet to see, though it made my chest hurt. That was the kind of love marriage should be about, not what my mom had endured. Watching the couple, it seemed love—true love—did exist for some people. I wondered if I’d ever be one of them.

Others started joining the couple on the dance floor and Devon suddenly took my hand.

“Let’s dance,” he said, pulling me from my chair. Taking the wineglass from me, he set it on the table.

Okay then.

It was a slow, romantic tune and Devon took me in his arms. I’d had just enough wine to make me sloppily sentimental and forget all the things I’d said to him this morning. His hands were warm on the skin of my back and I smiled up at him, looping my arms around his neck.

“It doesn’t take much to make you happy,” Devon wryly observed. “A pretty dress, a nice dinner, dancing.”

“I’m a simple girl,” I said with a shrug.

Devon eyed me, a smile playing about his lips. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

“Would I lie to you?”

He leaned down and put his lips at my ear. “I think you’d try.”

A shiver ran through me and I could tell he felt it because he pulled me closer until our bodies were pressed together.

Our eyes locked and my smile faded, his icy blue gaze held me captive. In a flash of stark insight, I wondered what limits this man was capable of pushing me to, and what I wouldn’t do for him.

Maybe Logan was right after all. Maybe I was all messed up inside, and my attraction to Devon was tainted and wrong.

Devon looked away, glancing over my shoulder. “Do you think you might dance with the groom?”

Taken aback, I said, “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Perfect. Off you go.” He spun me around and out of his arms, then murmured in my ear, “Tell him Devon sends his regards.”

I swallowed, sure I was missing something important in what was going on, but then I spotted the groom. He was dancing with a bridesmaid and I felt weird cutting in, but I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder anyway.

“May I?” I asked.

The groom smiled and his brow creased, as though he was trying to remember who I was, but he nodded a thanks to the bridesmaid and reached for my hand.

“Your bride is lovely,” I said as we turned in time to the music.

“Thank you,” he replied. “She most certainly is.” He had a British accent as well.

I smiled and he studied me, a slight frown on his face.

“Please forgive me,” he said, “but have we met? I’m afraid I can’t quite place you.”

“I’m a plus one,” I explained. “I’m here with Devon, who sends his regards.”

The effect of those words was immediate. He stopped in his tracks and the blood drained from his face.

“How? How did he find me?” he murmured, almost to himself.

I didn’t know the answer to his question and the look on his face alarmed me. I took a step away, but he grabbed my arm in a painfully tight grip and jerked me closer.

“Where is he?” he hissed. “Where’s Devon?”

I flinched in pain. “I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “He’s here. I was just with him.”

He looked around the room, searching and obviously frantic. Dragging me with him, he approached another tuxedo-clad man.

“Have you seen Anna?” he asked.

The man shook his head. “No. I thought she was dancing.” He turned and scanned the dance floor.

The groom didn’t wait, but went to another three people, dragging me along and asking if they’d seen Anna. No one had. Finally, the sixth person he approached said, “I thought I saw her go outside.” Then he was pulling me with him as we went out onto the terrace.

It was cold, but huge heating lamps had been set up along with three outdoor fire pits that burned brightly. The Arch gleamed and the lights of downtown twinkled. Small groups of people clustered around the fires, but there was only a scattering of people out there.

I spotted Anna at the same time the groom did, standing near the clear, waist-high barrier that surrounded the terrace next to a heat lamp. Devon was with her and they were talking.

Barely did I have time to process this before the groom dragged me toward them. I could hardly keep up and I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow from where he gripped my arm.

When we came to a halt, I was out of breath and frightened. Anna glanced over, a smile on her face.

“Clive,” she said, “your friend Devon was just telling me how you and he met! You’ve never mentioned you’d been to Singapore.”

Clive looked stunned and relieved at the same time. His gaze swiveled to Devon, who merely smiled in a way that had me thinking the “friend” appellation probably wasn’t the best to describe his relationship with Clive.

“Hello,” Anna said to me when Clive didn’t speak. “I’m Anna.” She held out her hand.

“Ivy,” I replied, giving her hand a light squeeze. I forced a smile, though I was more attune to the tension radiating between Clive and Devon.

“That’s a lovely dress,” Anna said.

My cheeks grew warm. “Thank you,” I replied. “I wore it without realizing I’d be attending a wedding reception.”

“Oh?” Anna glanced curiously at Devon.

“Anna, sweetheart, would you mind going inside? I’m afraid the coordinator is in need of your guidance regarding how you’d like the cake served.” Clive finally released me and took Anna’s hand. “I’ll speak with Devon for a moment and be right behind you.” His smile was thin but warm, and Anna accepted the dismissal with good grace.

“Of course,” she said. “Nice meeting you, Devon. And you, too, Ivy.”

I watched longingly as Anna walked back inside, wondering if I’d be allowed to follow her. But when I took a tentative step back, Clive grabbed me again.

“What do you want, Devon?” he snarled. “Sending in a decoy so I wouldn’t see you kill my wife?” He gave me a hard shove and I gasped as I stumbled hard against Devon. I would have fallen, but his arm snagged me around the waist, hauling my body against his side.

“Why would I do that? She’s not the one who betrayed me.” Devon’s voice was cold and smooth—and utterly terrifying.

I saw Clive visibly gulp.

“I had no choice,” he said. “You don’t know these people. They would’ve killed me. They would’ve killed Anna.” He paused. “They promised if I did what they said, they’d leave us both alone.”

“Yes, but you didn’t extract any such promise from me.” The menace-laced words hung in the air like a prophecy.

I began to shiver. The cold air and Devon’s threat combined to rob me of any warmth or comfort. Was Devon going to kill Clive? Right here and now? I knew he had the ability, just as I also knew there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him.