“But…”
Bam, bam, bam. They were pounding at her door, so forcefully the hinges rattled.
She shoved her damp bangs off her face with the back of one wrist. “Let me look,” she whispered.
Devlin shook his head.
“Is someone after you?”
“Shh. I’m listening.”
The uninvited visitors had moved to the next apartment. Mackenzie pressed her ear to the door. Low rumbles interspersed with a higher-pitched, and increasingly excited, response. “My neighbor,” she said, so worried she had to resist smoothing wrinkles from Devlin’s creased leather jacket. Her fingers itched to smooth his hair. “Blair Boback.”
Devlin’s face was grim. “I hope she’s smart enough not to let them into her apartment.”
Mackenzie smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, yeah. Blair’s street savvy.”
They heard Blair’s door close. Devlin watched through the peephole. “Going upstairs,” he said. “How many apartments in this building?”
“Only eight.”
He released a breath and leaned against the wall—big, dark, wet and punk-tough against her peach-and-cream-striped damask. “When they don’t find me upstairs, they’re going to come back to your door.” Again, Devlin swore. “They must have seen which building I went into.”
“They?”
He didn’t answer.
“They might be canvassing the entire street.”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Here’s what I want you to do. Open the door, chain on, when they come back. They ask about me, you say you know nothing and shut the door. Be convincing.” He gave her the hard look again, his fingers squeezing her arm like barbecue tongs. “Very convincing.”
She spoke tentatively. “What if I don’t want to—”
He was fast. Before she could blink, he was standing directly in front of her, both hands on her now, dragging her close against his chest. He glared, their faces inches apart. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared. It wouldn’t be a shock if he snorted and pawed the ground like a bull. The move was supposed to be intimidating—and it was—but the greater threat was the way he made her feel.
Alive. Scared, but so incredibly alive. Her heart was pounding, her blood racing. She was sharply aware of every pleasure point on her body. The distant yearning she was so familiar with had become a strange and potent hunger….
“You’ll do it,” Devlin said grittily.
“Or what?” He’s a criminal, she reminded herself. Not the cool high-school bad boy you remember. The potential for trouble that she’d once found so fascinating had been fulfilled. And there was nothing alluring about knowing that he’d committed actual crimes.
Devlin’s lips came down on hers, knocking out every objection with one striking blow. He didn’t kiss—he attacked. His mouth was hot and his tongue was wicked, thrusting against hers with no pretense at pretty seduction. His teeth ground against her lower lip as he bit and sucked and drove his tongue deeper. The shock was staggering. She hadn’t known that a kiss could be so un-apologetically savage and still turn her molten with desire.
This couldn’t be happening! Oh God, oh please, oh please don’t—
Devlin wrenched his mouth away. His slitted eyes glittered with what seemed like a mocking, devilish intent.
Mackenzie was paralyzed, swaying on her frozen feet. When she licked her lips, she tasted a drop of blood.
“Or what?” was all she could think to say in a hoarse, thready voice.
“Or I’ll never kiss you like that again.”
Her eyes widened.
“Dammit, Mackenzie.” Devlin was obviously frustrated with her. He gave her shoulders a small, hard shake. “Do what I say. If you don’t, there’ll be violence. Your nice clean walls will get all messed up. I hear blood is hell to get out of silk.”
He didn’t have to shake her; she was already trembling. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she blurted, but she didn’t sound so positive, even to herself. Especially to herself. Her lips were so raw it hurt to speak.
“It won’t be you,” he said. “It’ll be me.”
She blinked. Did he mean that he’d be the one who got hurt? Or that he’d be spilling a third party’s blood? “I don’t understand—”
Devlin released her with a rough shove. Her teeth came together with a click as she stumbled, then regained her balance. He’d turned his back to her and was looking through the peephole again. “You’ll get me killed,” he said.
Too much to absorb. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms, then lifted her foot and pulled off the remaining shoe. Part of her wanted to run, even though there was nowhere to go. She held the designer pump in her hand, weighing it as a weapon. The spiked heel could be lethal.
Devlin whirled around. “They’re coming back. Get ready.”
Panic hit her. She dropped the shoe and rubbed at her face as if she could erase his kiss. Her hair was a mess, and her blouse—She looked down. Half undone. Her peach lace La Perla bra showed in the gap between buttons.
The bell rang. She didn’t move except to clutch at the front of her blouse. Devlin had to push her resisting body toward the door. “Tell them you were sleeping. And whatever you do, don’t look at me.”
With a trembling hand, she reached for the doorknob. “Who is it?” she warbled.
“Police.”
She flinched in surprise. Police? Devlin wanted her to lie to the police?
She glanced at him, standing close beside her. His expression was black, ungiving. His hand had closed on the back of her neck and she had the feeling that he could easily pick her up and give her a shake. It was pretty clear, even in her frazzled state—he was the alpha wolf and she was a whimpering puppy, showing her belly in surrender.
Be brave. She cleared her throat to strengthen her voice as she put her eye to the door. “Let me see your badges.”
Something that might have been a badge flashed past the peephole. In the fisheye lens, she saw two men standing at her doorstep. One was older and squatter than the other, but they were both wet and disgruntled, dressed in limp, wrinkled suits and ties. They could be cops. But then they also could be rent collectors, insurance salesmen or…hit men.
“Open up,” the older one barked. He had a gun, she saw, holstered beneath his unbuttoned jacket. He reached across his chest and put his hand on it. Not an insurance salesman, then.
Mackenzie looked at Devlin. He returned the stare, his face drawn tight and pale. Once she opened the door, it would be just as easy for her to turn him in, and he must know it. Maybe there’d be a tussle, but if he surrendered with his hands up, no bloodshed would be involved.
Probably not. Chances were slim. But was she willing to gamble that Devlin would surrender without a fight?
The cops hammered at her door. “What do you want?” she asked.
“We’re looking for a man. He’s armed and dangerous.”
Devlin’s fingers clamped on her nape. Not hurtfully, but another shock ran through her. Her instincts were confused, fizzing and snapping in every direction like Pop Rocks. She didn’t know what to do.
“All right,” she said, turning the locks. Obviously she hadn’t locked them when she’d “arrived” home—at the time, she’d been frightened for her life. That