The Masked Lovebird (2 page)

How on earth could she get out of here? That man had her mask. She unlatched the door and stepped out to the sink. If she arranged her hair just so, maybe she could hurry past and nobody would notice.

Fiona eased open the ladies room door and shuffled into the hallway. Didn’t seem like anyone was around. The party was in full swing to the right. To the left, a sign at the end of the hallway shouted EXIT in big red letters. With her luck she’d end up near the dumpsters out back, but it was a chance she was willing to take. She shifted the chain to the tiny purse higher on her arm and moved toward the door. Fiona wondered briefly if an alarm would go off when she pushed it open, but heck, she’d be gone quick enough, nobody would know she was the culprit.

She put a hand on the bar that opened the door and sucked in a breath of courage. Somebody entered the other end of the hallway. Any moment they would ask where the hell she thought she was going, so Fiona shoved open the door and hurried outside.

And bumped into something solid, earthy scented and…male. THE male.

Fiona spun around, intending to race back inside, but the door had an automatic lock. It was shut tight. Didn’t really matter, he had hold of her arm and was turning her around.

Okay, it was dark here, and her hair had fallen over her forehead. Fiona threw caution to the wind, jerked her arm free, clasped his cheeks with both hands and pulled him down for a kiss. Lips met. Touched. Melded into each other. His arms came up. Any moment he’d send her sprawling on the filthy alley ground so she planned to make this a good one.

His hands gripped her upper arms. Fiona prepared herself to be thrust backwards.

Her tongue poked between her lips.

His hands squeezed and his fingers made little dents.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth. Shivers darted down her spine.

His hands let go, then reached around her and palmed her back.

She leaned into him and felt the breeze blow the cape around her like a cocoon. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her nipples grew like seedlings in the spring sunshine. Pulsations of desire belted her in the abdomen. Moisture dampened her panties.

Okay, this was wrong on so many levels.

Then why didn’t she pull back? Run away…

Chapter Three

Devon was baffled. This woman was a contrast of emotions. Cold and then hot. No, scratch that, she was frigid and then boiling. Arctic and Death Valley. He should dump and run. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth—sent tremors to his groin.
Should
dump and run. Operative word
should
because the next thing she’d probably be biting his tongue off. Hadn’t a boxer done that recently? No, dumb ass, he bit off an ear.

Cinderella ended the kiss. At least she’d backed away. So, why could he still feel her lips on his? She smiled. Goosebumps shot from where her hands touched his cheeks to every pore and cell in his body.

“I am Cinderella.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I live here in LA.”

“Good start.”

“I am single. I have two sisters and two parents.”

“Keep going.”

She didn’t flinch. “I enjoy painting landscapes, hiking and er…bowling.”

“Apartment or house.”

“Apartment.”

Me too.
“Car?”

“None. I take a taxi most everywhere.”

Same here.
“Pets?”

“Two pairs of lovebirds.”

Devon’s interest skyrocketed. “What kind?”

“Fischer’s.”

Awesome.
“I have six masked lovebirds. I had a clutch of four born yesterday.”

“Mine are still young, but I plan to breed them.”

Devon crashed headlong…into love. “Real name?”

“Your turn.”

“Well, Ms. Turn, why don’t we find ourselves a place to sit.”

They strolled around the building to where a dozen or so people still frolicked in the pool. He followed her to a shadowy table. She sat. He didn’t. “I’ll get us drinks. What do you like?”

“Something sweet, please.” She giggled. “With an umbrella, if they have any.”

“Your wish is my command, dear lady.” With a flourish of his cape, Devon headed inside. He placed the drink orders, then went to get something to eat. Unsure what she liked, he piled a plate with sweet goodies.

She giggled again when he set the plate on the table. Usually he hated women who giggled, but hers was pleasant, natural.

They ate, drank and talked—about their birds, their jobs and where they went during vacations. The next time he surfaced to reality, the pool area was vacant. The band entertaining had stopped. He and Fiona were alone with the full moon, the stars and the cicadas. As Devon pushed up his sleeve to check the time, a clock somewhere inside chimed. Fiona counted the dongs out loud. When she got to eleven, he said, “Cinderella. Please don’t tell me you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“Not that I know of.”

As number twelve chimed, he leaned in and kissed her, softly at first. He was assaulted by the same tingles as earlier. Her hand found its way to his thigh. Fingers squeezed.

He laid his right hand on her left arm. Slid it down, inch by inch. Let it drop to her lap.

Her hand edged higher.

He raised his hand. Feathered his fingertips across her breast.

Pressure on his thigh increased.

Pressure in his pants soared, throbbed, ached. He wrapped his fingers around her breast—small, but round and taut, with a tight little nipple poking against the silky fabric of the gown.

Devon leaned back to gaze at her. So pretty; such brilliant green eyes. Her dark hair had fallen across her face. A strand went up his nose when he inhaled, so he smoothed it away from her face.

Fiona gave a sharp intake of breath and leaped out of the chair. It clattered against the wall, tumbled backwards, rolled once and splashed into the pool. Devon chuckled and went to retrieve it. When he returned, Fiona had disappeared.

Chapter Four

Four blocks from the hotel, Fiona was finally able to hail a cab. She flung herself into the backseat and huffed out her address. The taxi zipped into traffic, heading back toward the hotel.

Oh shit. Casanova, AKA Devon Ainslee, stood out front, cape swirling around his awesomeness as he turned first left, then right. Clearly he was looking for her. Fiona brushed away tears and sank back into the seat. She’d known it would turn out this way. What she hadn’t known was that she’d fall for him.

No! Not possible. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. Did not.

Weeks passed. Fiona couldn’t get her mind off Devon
Casanova
Ainslee. But she had no idea how to contact him. He’d said he lived in LA, so she checked the phone and internet listings. Nothing on anyone named Devon Ainslee, except some football player, which couldn’t be him. He’d said he worked at a vet clinic as a janitor. But what was she supposed to do, phone every clinic in LA—the internet said there were two million listings. So, Fiona settled for buying a mated pair of masked lovebirds. At least the pleasant little creatures kept her thinking of him. And since they were already an established pair, they were eager to begin nesting. She rushed home from work every day to see if they’d laid their first egg. But this day, the female lay huddled in the corner of the cage.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, don’t let her die. Fiona took a moment to catch her breath and peer at the little one. Eyes bright. She looked like she was in pain. Okay, good. Chances were she was egg bound. Fiona knew this needed to be alleviated but could not recall what to do. She phoned the vet and soon was in a cab zipping her way to the nearest clinic, her heart pounding faster than the night she made out with Devon in the shadows near the swimming pool. Okay, she had to stop thinking about that. It was a page in the past, and definitely
not
a way to calm herself.

She poked a finger through the bars on the travel cage and patted the top of the bird’s head. The cabbie let her out in front of the door. “Want me to wait, lady?”

“No, you’d better not. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She rushed into the building, gave her name at the desk and was ushered quickly into an examination room. It wasn’t long before the situation was remedied. The egg was dislodged and the bird, though still stressed and lying on the cage floor, was obviously feeling better. Even so, Fiona’s stress level was through the roof. She supposed, after a hot bath and double-size martini, her heartbeat would return to normal. Hopefully.

Fiona had the receptionist phone for a cab and sat in the waiting area, alternating between watching for the taxi and enjoying the other animals in carriers or on leashes. She was the only one with a bird. Wait! Hadn’t Devon said he worked at a clinic? Yes, but he was a janitor. Janitors didn’t usually show themselves in the front of the place—at least none she’d ever seen. So, she watched and every time a door to the back opened, she squinted trying to see if he was there.

Squinting through doorways was no way to be proactive. If Devon was here—if they had ever heard of him—she wouldn’t find out by peering into places she didn’t belong. Fiona rose and went to the desk.

“Hi. I wonder if…do you have someone working here by the name of Devon Ainslee?”

The blonde receptionist wearing a pink smock with puppies imprinted on it frowned.

“He’s a janitor,” Fiona added.

“I am new here. I don’t know the staff who work out back. Lemme find somebody who can help.” She turned away. It took several minutes to locate someone who wasn’t busy. Fiona spent the time racing to the front door to make sure the cab hadn’t arrived. Finally, a man dressed in blue and looking quite harried, came to the desk. Fiona repeated the question about Devon. He gave the same frown as the receptionist and began to shake his head. That’s when all hell, as they say, broke loose.

A woman burst through the front door carrying a small dog and trailing blood on the otherwise immaculate floor. Every employee rushed to her aid. Fiona was left standing by herself, except for a few startled clients, in the foyer.

A double beep sounded from out front. Her cab had arrived. Oh well. He probably didn’t work here anyway. Besides, neither employee appeared to recognize Devon’s name. She walked dejectedly to the cab, a bit confused at her emotions because things with the bird had turned out favorably. Sure, she’d lost the egg, but there would be more.

Chapter Five

Devon gathered together the edges of the wastebasket liner and pulled. Suction kept it from releasing easily but Devon wasn’t in a hurry. He spent the ensuing seconds watching a couple of robins hop on the freshly mown lawn behind the clinic. Finally the bag slid from the wastebasket. He tied a knot and hefted in over the edge of the dumpster. It made a hollow thump atop the others he’d brought earlier. Seemed like there was a never-ending supply of trash. He grabbed the wastebasket with one hand and his cane with the other and started for the back door. A cab stood out front. The driver was holding the door for a woman holding a small bird cage. The lady wasn’t familiar, at least not in the way most people identify someone. He didn’t know the hair or the clothes. But he knew the way she moved.

Could it be?

Devon dropped the wastebasket and hobbled as fast as a person with a bum leg can, over two hundred feet of grass tufts and dog turds, both hard and soft.

The cabbie shut the door. Devon called out.

The cabbie glanced his way—probably saw a disheveled madman chasing after him. He raced around and got in the car.

Devon called again, stopped and waved the cane. Hobbled closer without it. Twenty feet. That was all that separated him from knowing.

He wiggled the cane in the air. Devon flung himself ahead six more steps without the cane. Less than ten feet. Hurry. “Stop!”

The cabbie peered sideways. Devon took another step. And fell flat on his face.

The cabbie flashed him the bird and gunned the engine. The taxi roared out of sight.

Devon flew to his feet. He’d later wonder how he managed to move so fast. But he was up and running. Tonya was just exiting the building. He snatched the keys from her hand and glanced frantically for her car.

He only fell once on the way to the Chevy Blazer. It started on command and roared, though at a much smaller decibel than the cab, out of the driveway. The taxi had turned left, but that was all Devon knew. It had disappeared from sight. He alternated between cursing, pounding the steering wheel and weaving around traffic. That led to more cursing, mostly from the other drivers, and a lot of horn blasts. The taxi had gone this way, he was sure. Trouble was, by now it had blended into the sea of identical cabs. So now, along with avoiding crashes he had to peer into the backseats of vehicles.

After twenty minutes, he gave up. Trying to return to football after the injury had been a mistake. Chasing the Fiona pipedream was a mistake also.

Chapter Six

Devon made his way back to the clinic where, unbelievably, Tonya still stood on the edge of the driveway. He got out and, wordless, handed the keys to his boss, located his cane and the wastebasket and shuffled back inside.

He finished out the shift. By now the clinic was closed; everyone had gone home. Devon jingled the keys as he made sure each door was locked and the alarm was set. The cab, prearranged to arrive at the end of each shift, sat out front. He’d just pulled open the door when it struck him. Damn! How stupid could he be?

Devon asked the cabbie to wait and made his way back inside. He fumbled with the register, flipping pages to find her name. First name Fiona. Last name unknown because he hadn’t expected her to run out on him that night.

Probably she didn’t want to see him and that’s why she ran off. He could face that—would face it
if
he heard the words direct from her mouth. But no Fiona with any last name was in the book. It only said
emergency bird.
He sighed—it had been too good to be true anyway—and left.