Sympathy For The Devil (7 page)

“At the moment, I’m renovating an old house.”

Interesting he didn’t specify
his
old house. Tash played dumb, of course, and feigned interest. “And when you’re
not
renovating an old house?”

“I’ve worked in the city for the past few years, in a restaurant.”

“Waiter?” She already knew, of course.

“Cook.”

Even knowing that, she definitely
wasn’t
faking intrigue, because it was difficult reconciling a rugged outdoorsy type to that. “Really?”

“Head of the kitchen staff. Created the menu, the recipes.”

Wow, she had
not
been expecting that based on what little she knew. “Color me impressed. I’m lucky I can dial for takeout; if I had a phone phobia, I’d never eat.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Tash rolled her eyes. “I burn Kraft Dinner.”

Archer chuckled. “Okay, that’s pretty bad.”

“See? Hopeless.”

“I’ll have to cook you a proper meal sometime.”

Oh, boy
. She gulped down several mouthfuls of her drink, the chocolate stout suffusing her cheeks with heat and extra color.

“You know you’re pretty when you blush.” It was technically a question but he spoke it as a statement, and downed more of his drink.

“Actually, I don’t know—I don’t blush often enough to know the difference.”

“Maybe we should do something about that.”

Flirting. Jesus Christ.
Adam’s going to kill me. I will be banned from the house and poor, very pregnant Dani will have to sneak out a window to visit me.

The rock blaring over the speakers fading, changing from unfamiliar noise to a tune she knew. The dulcet tones of plucked guitar strings opened, Mick Jagger crooning the beginnings of “Angie.”

Tash decided to slow down on the alcohol and set her glass down. Instead she drummed her fingers on the tabletop to the beat of the song, casually glancing away from his steady eye contact.

“Dance?”

She sharply looked back at him, cocking a brow. “You’re seriously looking for trouble in here tonight, aren’t you?”

Archer gave her a half-shrug, eyes glittering with mischief. “Well, darlin’, maybe I want to see you blush some more.” He extended his hand across the table to her.

While she didn’t sense anyone in the bar looking at them right then, she knew they would the moment they stood to dance. Trouble was spelled all over Devin Archer’s face, but even then she had to remind herself she was only here to observe him because everyone thought he was a killer. Her stomach flipped at the thought, at remembering crime scene details and everything she’d read that day. He didn’t
look
like a killer, but then she supposed killers never did.

It likely wouldn’t be long until he figured out who she was, that she was friends with Adam. She might as well keep up the charade in the meantime.

Tash accepted his hand, her fingers lacing with his. Electricity seemed to rush through the skin-to-skin contact, a giddy thrill alighting her veins. On its heels was shame, knowing that no matter how she tried to keep a clear head, prior to learning who he was she’d felt a strong attraction to him.

They both rose and his grip on her hand remained firm, almost demanding. There wasn’t a formal place to dance in Eight’s; the few times she’d been in there, she’d never actually seen anyone take to the floor. It could’ve been that men outnumbered women in there, and it wasn’t the sort of place where a pair of guys got cuddly. With nowhere in particular to go, Archer merely took a few steps from the table and tugged her to him, simultaneously demanding and playful.

Her breath caught as his arm came around her and free hand settled low on her hip. Her other hand he raised, fingers still twined together, and rested it against his chest. She reached up, tentatively putting her other hand on his shoulder, and leaned close as they began to move.

His scent enveloped her, the spice of an aftershave mixed with a hint of tobacco. The weight of his hand on her hip kept her nearly pinned to him, trapped. And if she hadn’t heard his name yet, she would’ve welcomed it, yielded to him. But as it was, all eyes in the bar were on them again and there was no getting away from precisely who this man was.

Archer’s dark blue eyes were steady on hers, intense and difficult to look away from. Heat rushed through her cheeks again and his lips lifted slightly—he certainly did enjoy her blush, as promised. She struggled to find something to say, to break the silence between them and relieve the heated tension wrapping around their bodies, but came up with nothing.

His hand on her hip tightened, thumb tracing circles just above the waistband of her jeans, beneath her tank top. Warmth spread through her at the contact and she clamped her mouth closed to prevent a gasp from escaping. It was just built up hormones and sexual tension, that was all. She didn’t date anymore and wasn’t into one night stands; it was very, very rare anyone got this close to her. Especially looking at her the way Archer was, his eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with want. And all the rational thoughts she’d been pushing to the forefront of her mind faded completely.

A shadow cut across her peripheral vision. Tash looked up and to the right, as did Archer, at the burly man in a plaid shirt standing beside them. He had to be at least six-four and had arms like tree trunks.

Tash tensed, her grip tightening on Archer involuntarily.

Archer, however, was entirely relaxed, as if he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the violence humming in the air around the intruder. “Can I help you?”

“You can get the hell out of here,” the guy growled.

Like the killer he supposedly was, Archer looked unfazed by the threat implicit in the other man’s voice. But he slowed their dancing and his jaw twitched, anger clearly building.

If a bar fight broke out, she’d get hauled in as a witness. This would go badly.

“You’re not
wanted here
, murderer.”

Her gaze darted back and forth between them as Archer abruptly stiffened and stilled his feet. His height didn’t quite match the man who had interrupted them, but he was every bit as intimidating with the hard gleam to his eye.

When Archer released her, Tash took a step toward the table, grasping her purse. Now was not the time to announce she was armed, but she took some security in knowing backup waited close.

Archer glared a moment longer, then pushed past the other bar patron, thrust open the door, and stomped outside.

All eyes fell to her. A blush rolled up her neck to her cheeks, her face feeling hotter than it had trekking through the sun all day. She fumbled to pull some bills from her pocket and dropped them on the table.

“Hey.” The man grasped her forearm, drawing her to halt before she could get far. “Do you have any idea who the hell he is?”

Tash leveled him with a look. “He’s a paying customer this bar just lost.”

“Good riddance,” someone said with a snort behind her.

She jerked her arm from the man’s grip, pushed past him, and slipped out the front door after Archer.

Chapter Seven

Devin popped a cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter. Orange burned brightly and lit the end of the cancer stick. He sucked in a breath of smoke, nicotine flooding his system.

After that first drag, he was able to speed his steps and think clearly again, but instead of heading for his car, he turned and leaned against the front of the bar, the corner of the brick building biting into his back. Why he didn’t just leave, he couldn’t say—maybe because he was angry enough that he knew he shouldn’t be behind the wheel of his car right then.

Maybe he was...waiting.

Which was stupid, he knew—he felt like goddamn idiot for it. After that display, well...

And are you surprised? What the hell were you thinking?

And that was just it, he wasn’t thinking for once. He was feeling. Feeling...something—a spark, like a charge running through his body and dragging him to consciousness after he’d been asleep. Just the touch of her hand had his heart thumping, and the darkening of her cheeks in a blush made him hard just thinking of all the things he’d like to do to her. It was foolish but—

The door opened.

Devin glanced right and saw Natasha step outside, her arms crossed at her chest and purse clutched tight. She looked around until her eyes hit his.

He braced for her to turn and run, for that look of revulsion to pass over her pretty eyes. But instead she walked toward him, black curls bouncing. He felt that stirring again, the nearer she drew, even as he tried to deny it.

“You’re doing a terrible job of quitting,” she said as she sidled up to him.

He snorted out a breath of smoke. “That’s what my wife always said.”

“You’re married?” Natasha stopped next to him, leaning on the brick wall at his side. She stood a head shorter than him, her build somewhere between athletic and curvy. Somehow both strong and fragile.

Devin looked away, gazing at the empty street. He swallowed dryly, whatever spark he’d felt moments ago withering away. “Was.”

“Divorced?”

She definitely must be new in town. “Widowed.”

“I’m sorry.”

He still couldn’t look at her, so he smoked in silence.

She said nothing else but made no move to leave either. At least the quiet was comfortable, no awkwardness about it. He’d almost forgotten what that was like, to be in the presence of a woman in this town who didn’t act like he was about to strangle her. It wouldn’t last long—it couldn’t. Stirling Falls was too small.

“I can’t think of anywhere else around here to go for a drink,” she said.

He could, but it was well out of town and not a place he’d readily bring a girl he’d just met...even if he hardened at the mere thought of seeing her there.

“Any other suggestions?” She peered up at him, her brow raised.

None that don’t end with you bound to my bed, sweetheart
. He burned to the end of his cigarette, dropped it and stomped out the glow. “Walk you to your car?” Devin chanced a glance at her.

“Sure.” Her full lips pulled into a genuine smile and his gaze lingered there for a moment. “I’m parked around back.”

He stood straight, tipped his head to the side to indicate for her to go first, and she did. Didn’t finch with him at her back, just walked calmly around the building. The lot out back was mostly empty, a dark blue two-door waiting in the shadows.

“So I don’t know if the Bar & Grill would be much more friendly,” she said, fumbling through her purse. “Just about anyone’s allowed in Eight’s.”

Odd that she hadn’t asked him yet about the “murderer” comment. He followed her into the parking lot. “So you’re from Stirling Falls?”

“Yes and no. I traveled a bit several years ago but I was born and raised here-ish, out in the country.” She stopped in front of her car, leaning on the door and bringing her purse up to peer inside as she rifled through it. “Hmm.”

“No keys?” There had been no telltale sound of them jangling as she looked, just the usual sounds of items in an overstuffed purse. Chelsea had—

He stopped those thoughts before they even got started.

“I don’t know, I don’t usually get out of the car without them.” Natasha closed the purse for a moment and turned to peer through the window.

Devin looked past her into the car himself, scanning for—

A pile of folders and papers sat on the passenger seat. He took a step closer, eyes narrowing—little could be read, but there were notes and newspaper clippings, half a headline showing.

He knew that headline. He knew all of them—read every single goddamn one of them. And while he expected his blood to suddenly run hot with fury, especially after the run in at the bar, he just felt...numb. A sudden, deflating sense of disappointment and nothing else, even as he tried to dredge up some righteous fury.

Security, she’d said. Right. The guy said she’d been sitting in at tree taking photos—probably a reporter. Harry Ingram knew Devin wouldn’t let the local paper anywhere near him. Why not send a pretty girl his way instead?

“I think I meant to drop them in my purse and missed when I got out.” Oblivious to his thoughts, she turned, leaned against the car, and pulled out her purse again. “I think Beverly over at Turn of the Key is probably in bed, but—”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Natasha looked up at the offer, her eyes wide and startled. So whatever else had been an act, the lost car keys was the truth. This wasn’t a ploy to get in his car or for him to take her back to his house where she could nose around.

“I don’t want to trouble you.” Was that a wobble in her voice? Fear making her unsteady? The thought of her afraid of him cut deep, the feel of it bringing to mind every single person who had given him that look over the past few years. Sure, he’d moved away from Stirling Falls, but it still seemed to follow him. Couldn’t date, couldn’t hook up in the communities he was used to as word got around. For a few minutes tonight, he thought maybe things could be different, but he was stupid to imagine it.

No woman in her right mind wanted a man convicted in the court of public opinion of killing his wife.

“It’s no trouble.” He forced a smile but his voice was flat and emotionless.

She hesitated and he waited for her to say no, but at last she nodded. “I’d appreciate it. It’s on the other side of town, and while we don’t have a whole lot of town, you never know who might be out here at night.”

Indeed
. While Devin knew he should lead her, he held there a beat longer just watching her. The pretty blush on her cheeks was long gone, obvious even in the shadowy back lot. She might be calm and polite, but they were no longer in a public place and there was no disguising her nervousness.

He should’ve just left her there. Stormed off. Driven home and gotten blackout drunk on his own couch, forgetting all about this. But a hot, angry swirl of emotion started churning his gut, guilt and shame all wrapped into one. He’d never considered himself a masochist but continuing to subject himself to her presence, knowing everything he thought she’d been feeling wasn’t real, clearly qualified as just that.