Out of the Shadows (Tangled Ivy #3) (8 page)

With a wicked smile, I pushed him down again and settled between his thighs. His cock was standing at proud attention and I kept my gaze on his the same way he’d done to me as I took him in my mouth. His hands sifted through my hair and a groan left his throat as I slid further down on him, my tongue pressing lightly against the sensitive underside of his cock.

“Christ, Ivy, that feels amazing,” he said, his voice a roughened whisper.

I smiled, my hand closing around the base of him. Nothing like a little praise to let a girl know she was doing it right.

I didn’t want to end it like this, so when he began groaning and fisting my hair, his hips lifting up from the mattress to push himself deeper inside my mouth, I pulled back.

It wasn’t necessary to say what I wanted because in a flash, he had me flat on my back and thrust into me. I let out a small cry as sensation overwhelmed me. He wasn’t going slow or gentle, but that was fine with me. It was impossible to keep up with him, and I could feel myself hovering on the brink of another orgasm. Wordless gasps and moans fell from my lips, and my nails dug into his sweat-slickened shoulders.

He lifted my legs to his shoulders and shifted positions, sliding deeper inside me. I cried out, my body spasming around his. I could hear him gasp my name, his body slamming into mine, then jerking as he emptied himself inside me.

We were both sweating and gulping down air as he collapsed beside me and pulled me into his arms.

“Christ,” he said. A hint of something in his voice made me smile. “Drape yourself on me, darling.”

I obliged, nestling against him and sliding one bare leg over his. After a few minutes, I got my breath back. His hand was lazily trailing up my back to my shoulder, then down again to my hip. He’d drawn the sheet over us, but sat against the headboard with one leg exposed, his knee bent. Devon’s thighs were just as muscled as the rest of him and I rested my hand on him, drawing my palm down to his hip and up his chest, then returning on the same path. His skin was still damp, but I didn’t mind.

“You and me,” he said quietly. “We’re a good fit.”

I turned my head to look up at him. “A good fit?”

He nodded. “Some couples can be the best of friends, agree on ideas, politics, religion, all that stuff. Raise a family, pay the bills, go to Disneyworld, have a fucking minivan. But they’re not a good
fit
.” He pulled me tighter against him to emphasize his point. “And if that one thing doesn’t work, it doesn’t matter a shite about the rest.”

I thought for a moment. “Were you and Kira a good fit?”

Maybe mentioning his deceased wife might not be the best idea, but I also didn’t want the topic to be off-limits. He stilled, his palm resting on my bare shoulder.

“Kira was a sweet girl, and I was attracted more to being her savior than to her. She was an orphan, like me. Only she was alone, whereas I had Vega and the Shadow. I cared for her, loved her even, but no, we weren’t a good fit. Not really. If
Vega hadn’t interfered,
I’m sure at some point it would have fallen apart on its own.”

I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heart beating.

“Tell me a story,” I said.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “What kind of story?”

“Something good,” I said. “Something that makes you smile.”

Devon was quiet for a minute or two, thinking, I supposed. Then he spoke.

“Shall I tell you of when I lost my virginity? Disastrous, embarrassing catastrophe.”

I laughed. “Yes, that I’d like to hear.”

“I was sixteen, she was twenty-one—”

“Isn’t that illegal?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Only if you tell,” he replied. “Now don’t interrupt.”

I grinned and settled back against him. “I apologize. Do go on.”

“As I was saying, I was sixteen and she twenty-one. A pretty girl, long legs, enormous breasts. The perfect schoolboy fantasy.”

“I hate her already,” I interrupted again.

“Shh. I knew she fancied me, but I hadn’t got up the nerve to ask her out. Well, I decided a little liquid courage would help. So I nicked a bottle of whiskey from a shop.”

“You stole something?”

He looked down at me. “Are you really surprised?”

I shrugged. “Kinda. But go on.”

“So anyway, I had this whiskey, which I’d never drunk, and I took three shots of it before I went round to where she worked.”

I smiled, picturing a younger, less confident Devon inside my head. His accent was stronger now, when he was relaxed and reminiscing, and I loved hearing him talk.

“She was just getting off and I asked if she’d like to take a walk with me,” he continued. “Brandishing my bottle of confiscated booze, and of course she readily agreed. It was warm out and we walked a ways and sat underneath the stars, which I thought unbearably romantic. We proceeded to finish off that bottle of whiskey—”

“Wow,” I interrupted again. “You drank an entire bottle?”

“See you know immediately what a mistake that was. However, I, in my naïve and untested youth, did not.”

I laughed again. I could so see where this was going.

“Well, things got a bit hot and heavy and there it was . . . The Moment. When I was to become a man. I can still see her, naked on the grass, reaching for me. And just at the precise second things were coming to a head—so to speak—I vomited all over her.”

Even though I’d suspected that’s what he’d been going to say, I still gasped. “Oh no!” I tried not to laugh, but it really couldn’t be helped. “What did she do?”

“It was awful. My being sick prompted a reciprocal nausea from
her until we were both dry heaving. I managed to get her home as gallantly as I could, stopping several times along the way to heave into
the bushes, but needless to say, we never went out again.” He frowned.
“Actually, I don’t believe we ever even made eye contact again.”

I was still giggling, which prompted a soft smile from him. His hand cupped my cheek and he looked in my eyes before kissing my forehead again.

“Well that’s certainly a story,” I said, letting him tuck me in closer against his side.

“Possibly the worst first-time story ever,” he said.

Both of us thought it at the same time—
no, mine was worse
—but neither mentioned it. Instead, his arms tightened around me in an unspoken acknowledgment. It struck me then that my pain, the pain from my past, was now a shared one with Devon, just because he loved me. What happened to me, happened to him, and vice versa.

Yes, we were a good fit, in all the ways that counted most.

A drop fell to Devon’s chest and I realized it was blood. My nose was bleeding again. Embarrassed, I swiped at it, then hurried to get up.

“Bathroom,” I said, keeping my face averted from Devon’s as I scurried into the restroom and shut the door.

I looked in the mirror. “Damn,” I muttered, grabbing some tissues from the box on the counter. It was a darker blood, thicker than before, and I tipped my head back to stop the flow.

What did this mean? What was happening to me? I was terrified, but more afraid of Devon finding out. What would he do if I were sick? He was putting everything on the line for me, giving up his entire world to be with me. Would it devastate him if I were ill? I didn’t want to leave him alone if something should happen to me.

“Darling, are you all right?” Devon spoke through the door.

I checked the tissue, then the mirror. It looked like the nosebleed had stopped, but I still needed to clean the blood from my face.

“I’m fine. I’ll be right out,” I said, wetting a washcloth and dabbing at my skin.

I brushed my teeth and hair before opening the door. Devon had put on his jeans and was looking at a map. Taking a deep breath, I smiled and headed toward him.

“So where are we?” I asked, pulling my T-shirt back over my head.

“Just outside Nashville,” he replied.

“The Country Music Capital of the World,” I quipped, deliberately pushing thoughts of my two nosebleeds to the back of my mind. Worrying about it would get me nowhere. Not to mention that Devon was so in tune to my moods, he would notice and ask questions.

Devon’s face scrunched in distaste.

“Hey, don’t be knocking country music,” I said, elbowing him in the ribs, which probably hurt me more than it did him. “I love my Garth and Keith Urban.”

“You do know that Keith Urban is Australian,” he said dryly. “He’s no more country than I am.”

“I didn’t say I liked him for his
music
,” I teased. “He’s pretty easy on the eyes. And I love that Australian accent.”

He swatted my bare backside and I yelped, but before I could get away he’d wrapped an arm around my waist and jerked me to him. I giggled as he nuzzled my ear.

“Though not as much as you love mine, correct?”

“Mmmhmm.” His breath in my ear and lips on my neck made it difficult to concentrate. “So how much further?” I asked. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I had a gut feeling that I didn’t have much time.

“Another couple of days should get us in to Key West,” he said, loosening his hold enough for me to step away. I searched for my panties and pulled them on. “Barring any further difficulties with the natives.” His dry sarcasm made me smile.

“Not all the natives are that nasty,” I said. “Most of us are decent people. I think so, anyway.” I shrugged.

Devon glanced at me, his expression a bit sad. “I’m glad you’re still able to see the world that way,” he said, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it. “It says more about you than it does them.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that even after all you’ve been through, from the time you were small until just last night, you have every reason to hate the world and believe the worst of everyone. Yet you don’t. Because inside here,” he pressed a finger between my breasts, “you’re pure and good. So you can’t believe others aren’t the same.”

I didn’t feel pure and good. I was keeping something from Devon and it made me feel guilty inside. So I gave him a weak smile.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said, reaching up on my toes so I could press a kiss to his mouth. He kissed me back and for a moment, I clung to him, then we parted.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “Driving at night and sleeping during the day will be better anyway. If anyone sees you, they’re far less likely to be as switched on as during the daylight hours.”

Oh yes, that one small detail of the FBI broadcasting my picture all over the place. Couldn’t forget that . . . I sighed.

Physically, I was feeling better after sleeping all day and then eating enough food for three people. I’d showered and was in clean clothes, all set for a long night of riding in the car.

We settled in and Devon got us on the road, still sticking to the back roads rather than the highways, and after a while, I noticed that neither of us had really said anything for nearly an hour. Surely we weren’t already out of conversation this early in our relationship? What if Devon grew bored with me? It wasn’t like I was an international spy, like him. The most exciting thing I could contribute to a conversation was talking about the time a twister passed so close to our house, it took the roof off the shed.

“So . . .” I began with no idea what I was going to say. “It’s chilly tonight, right?” I winced. Dear lord, was I really going to chat with Devon about
the weather
?

He glanced at me, a smile playing about his lips. “A bit. I didn’t particularly notice. Are you cold?” He reached for the heat controls.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

Silence again. I wracked my brain for something to say. Why was it that now that I had Devon all to myself, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say? And trying to think of something only seemed to make it worse, my mind going blank.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

I faked a smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.”
Except I’m a dull, boring person who can’t think of anything to say and that you’ll probably tire of almost immediately
, I thought.

He reached over and took my hand, his palm warm against mine. “Tell me.”

How to say what I was thinking? I didn’t know. So I just blurted, “I’m afraid I’ll bore you.”

Devon frowned, glancing at me before looking back at the road. “You’re afraid you’ll bore me,” he repeated. “Why on earth would you bore me?”

“Because you’ve led this exciting life and met all kinds of interesting people and been to exotic places.” I waved my hand around. “Once this is over—the people chasing us, Vega after you—won’t you find us, our relationship, to be a bit . . . boring? Too
normal
for what you’re used to?” The life of a spy was vastly different from that of a teller from Middle-Of-Nowhere, Kansas.

He sighed. “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond movies. What I do—what I
did
—for a living was exciting, I suppose, if you call knowing that each morning when you woke up it might be your last ‘exciting.’

“And the people I met were by and large the worst human beings on the planet,” he continued. “Many of the places were shitholes I can still smell in my nightmares. The prospect of being with you, building a real life—a normal life—with you, is the most exciting thing I can possibly imagine.”

His words, so sincere and earnest, curled around me like a warm blanket. I blinked back tears and squeezed his hand.

“I hope we get that,” I said. “I really do.”

Devon just smiled. “Of course we will, my darling. I’ve no doubt.”

I relaxed a little and he began telling me of some of the places he’d been. Some of them did sound exotic, but he didn’t speak of them with any fondness. (“Iraq is a beautiful country, but the whole place smells like shite.”) I asked him questions and before I knew it, we’d crossed into Georgia.

Devon and I arrived at another motel around five in the morning. I’d been dozing, but I woke when we stopped. It wasn’t a dive, thank goodness, and I recognized the name of the hotel chain.