“I like the casual comfort,” she commented, stroking the saddle-brown leather couch, “but I would never have picked you as a flower man.” She gestured toward the orange poppies on the sideboard, ignoring the expensive cast-bronze sculpture beside it. “Those are a homey touch.”
His mother did the flowers. Devin relaxed. Nothing had changed.
“Right,” Rachel said briskly, dumping the helmet. “Let’s take off this gear, fix my shoe and get Cinderella to the ball.”
He peeled off his leathers, but when he turned around she was still in her jumpsuit, staring at him. “I should have told you to dress up,” she said in dismay.
Devin looked down at his black jeans and bloodred, V-neck silk T-shirt. The pin-striped jacket had been personally tailored for him by top American designer Tom Ford. A dragon motif, the exact match of his tattoo, was embroidered in red silk down the length of one sleeve and across his shoulder. The whole ensemble, including the red snake-skin boots, cost more than her pip-squeak car. Manfully, he resisted the impulse to tell her that.
She misread his inner struggle as hurt.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I should have mentioned that men wear tuxedos to the gala opening night.”
He grinned. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“You’ll get stared at.”
The woman was a delight. “Okay,” he challenged, “show me what normal people wear.”
Self-consciously, Rachel wriggled out of the overalls and smoothed the skirt of her satin-and-lace dress. Devin shook his head. “As I thought, still channeling the fifties. Although—” he assessed the outfit again “—lose the bow, drop the lace to get some cleavage and Dita Von Teese would probably wear it to the Grammy’s.”
For some reason Rachel started to laugh. “You’ve got helmet hair,” he said. “Let me fix that.” Removing the pins, he ran his hand through the silky, shoulder-length mass to loosen it. She used a peach blossom shampoo and for a moment Devin was back in his mother’s orchard, in that fleeting new state he’d come to recognize as peace.
Without conscious thought he lowered his head. His lips brushed Rachel’s. They were as soft as petals, and parted in surprise, but he didn’t deepen the kiss.
Something in the moment stopped him … a freshness, an innocence. A promise? Shocked, he lifted his head.
Rachel cleared her throat. “We’re not doing that, remember?”
“Why?” He needed to know.
She had to think about it, which was good, because he didn’t want to be the only one shaken by this. “I don’t know you well enough.”
“What do your instincts tell you?”
For a moment she stared at him, then shrugged helplessly, unable—or unwilling—to answer. Devin didn’t push it, simply touched his lips lightly to hers and stepped back. He could seduce her; he’d had the power too long to doubt himself. But suddenly this … thing wasn’t about what he wanted.
In silence, he levered the heel off her remaining boot with a screwdriver. In silence they walked to the elevator.
RACHEL FOUND her legs were trembling, and it had nothing to do with her reconstituted boots. Something odd had just happened and she felt light-headed and breathless. While they waited for the elevator she stole a look at Devin.
He was watching her in a way that made her want to kiss him. It wasn’t desire, it was awareness. He attracted her. He just did.
Before she could rationalize her action, she lifted a hand to the nape of his neck, slowly drawing him down until their lips were inches apart. And stopped. They were both deadly serious. Then he closed the gap and the heat of his tongue set off a rush of sensation. They kissed, broke apart, then kissed again. Her hands roamed restlessly under his jacket and over the silky fabric delineating every taut muscle in his back.
The ping of the elevator sent them springing apart.
The lift doors opened. They looked at each other. Long seconds passed and neither moved. The doors closed. Rachel moved into his arms like a woman used to indulging in spontaneous passion with unsuitable men.
She didn’t think, didn’t question. She didn’t do anything Rachel Robinson normally did. It didn’t seem to be that important. She couldn’t stop. Not even when his mouth settled on hers with a possessiveness Devin wasn’t entitled to, and his hands slipped under the flounces of her dress and pulled her closer to the erection under his jeans.
Tugging out his shirt, she slid her hands beneath it and across his broad chest to the tight male nipples. His body was extraordinary, every ridge and indentation a moving, living landscape for her exploring fingers. Someone was panting, and Rachel became conscious that it was her and tried to shut up. But he kept doing things that made her gasp as he steered them toward the bedroom.
When they came up for air, she saw a white bed on a black granite floor in a starkly beautiful room that overlooked a thousand twinkling city lights. Devin kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his shirt. The dragon on his right arm glared at her. Under his right pectoral, another tattoo began—an abstract of curves and spirals in the Maori style, tracing over his ribs and disappearing into his jeans.
“You okay?” Devin asked, and Rachel realized she’d stalled.
“Yes.” Trying not to feel self-conscious, she unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, remembering too late she was wearing those awful knee-high stockings.
Devin’s gaze roamed hungrily over her lingerie and stopped below her knees. “What the hell are those?”
“Sex toys … you never know when you’ll need ties.”
“Great, let’s use ‘em.”
“Have you no inhibitions at all?”
“None.” He took her into his arms once more. When he bent to kiss her again she couldn’t remember which way to turn her head, and they bumped noses.
“Sorry.” Her arms were suddenly wooden around his waist. “Devin, I don’t—”
“My fault,” he said. “I’m overthinking this. To tell the truth, I never had sex completely sober. And I haven’t had sex at all for over a year.”
Rachel lost her self-consciousness. Of their own volition, her arms lifted to wrap around his neck. “I’ll try and be gentle,” she whispered, and Devin chuckled. This time when they kissed there was no mistiming, no awkwardness. They’d recaptured the lazy, electric ease that narrowed their world down to this room.
His fingertips were light on her face as he traced her features, watching her through half-closed lashes, a smile tugging at his mouth. By touch, she learned the slight bump in the strong bridge of his nose, the scar under his right eyebrow. Above the raspy jaw, his cheeks were baby-soft.
Her nipples tightened as his thumb dipped between her breasts in the black strapless bra and began a gentle circling under the lace. She pulled his head down for a kiss, warm, liquid, and they fell on the bed, where they bounced on the springs and broke apart, laughing.
Lifting his knuckle, Rachel kissed the dragon’s head, then followed its sinuous length up Devin’s arm. Under her lips, his skin broke out in goose bumps.
His fingers tangled in her hair. “Before we go too far, let me get some condoms from the bathroom.”
Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He rolled over her to go get them and somehow her bra ended up at her waist and his mouth at her breast, his hands teasing circles on her inner thighs. She pushed him off. “Go!”
Sitting up, Devin cupped her face and smiled. Somehow it was a gesture more intimate than anything