Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,47
a half, but you could be a little awed by my status in life.”
She had to laugh, and he grinned and said, “Yep. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re a surprising woman.”
Owen buckled himself in across from them and said, “Not going exactly like you thought so far, is it, bro? Maybe you’re actually not all that.”
“So tell me,” Jennifer asked. “After all this buildup, I’m hoping for something really exciting, but the possibilities are limited. If you don’t actually sell farm equipment—what is it? You’re a drug dealer, or just a very good pharmaceutical sales rep? Probably not. You’re flashy, but drug dealers probably don’t cross-country ski, especially not in places that don’t even have a hot tub. The sales rep idea is still possible, though, if you’re a majorly reckless spender who may be fudging his expense accounts. You’re a tech titan, or you and Owen are both tech titans? I just can’t see it. You’re too physical, and you never look at your phone. You’re a movie star, and Owen’s your bodyguard? That would work, considering how good-looking you are, except that nobody’s recognized you so far, and neither do I, so if you’re an actor, I’m guessing private-jet money would fall into the category of ‘extravagant spending.’ Or—final guess here—you’re the heir to a farm-equipment fortune. That’s most likely, because people generally sprinkle some truth in their stories. Less exciting, but also less chance I’ll be arrested at the end of this trip.”
“Shot down again,” Owen said. “I’m enjoying this.”
“Nobody recognizes me,” Owen said. “I’m not the one with the pretty face. And let’s face it, people are mostly looking at my butt. It’s not that special.”
Jennifer looked between the two of them. The prickles of awareness were starting to grow. If she hadn’t been wearing long sleeves, she’d have seen goosebumps. She said, “You’re joking.”
“Not so far,” Kris said. “But what?”
“You’re NFL players,” she said, and started to laugh. “I cannot believe my life. I cannot … I can’t believe my life.”
Harlan said, “What?” Dyma came back from the cockpit, slid into the seat across from Owen, and said, “What?” Owen was the only one who wasn’t saying anything. He just sat there looking amused, exactly like he had when his bull had put Harlan on his ass.
Harlan told him, “You could be enjoying this less,” and Owen said, “Yeah, I don’t think I could.” And Dyma said, “What?” again.
Harlan was starting to feel a little annoyed. He realized now that he’d waited to tell Jennifer who he was for a couple of reasons. First, that he’d been afraid she’d look at him differently, and second, that he’d … wanted her to look at him differently?
Could he be that much of an asshole?
Well, yeah. Probably.
Jennifer told Dyma, “They’re NFL players,” and the jet’s engines started up like the dramatic punctuation. If this had been a movie, there’d have been music.
“You’re kidding,” Dyma said.
“See,” Harlan informed Jennifer, “that’s the response we were going for.”
She flapped a hand at him, still apparently possessed of the giggles. “Sorry.”
Her golden eyes were gleaming with some laughter-induced tears, her wide mouth was turned up in absolute merriment, and even her freckles seemed to stand out more against her pale skin. She looked like the best time there ever was, and he leaned across the table, took her head in his hand, kissed her mouth, got the same sweet shock as he had when he’d done it last night, and said, “You know what? I’ll take that reaction.” Grinning like a fool.
She said, “See? I told you that you were a good person.” And smiled with the kind of heart-melting sweetness that just … well, melted his heart. Which was probably a bad sign. Or a good one.
He was so confused.
“OK,” Dyma said. “Explain.”
“My name’s not Kris,” Harlan said. “It’s Harlan Kristiansen. I’m a wide receiver for the Portland Devils.”
“And you’re still not the bodyguard,” Dyma told Owen.
“Well, I could be,” Owen said, “since I seem to be spending most of my time lately hauling Harlan’s butt out of trouble. But I’m also a center for the Devils.”
“An All-Pro center,” Harlan put in. He couldn’t tell what Jennifer was thinking. She wasn’t reacting much at all, was what it was. Call that “unusual.” What did it mean, though?
Dyma said, “So. Mom. Looks like we can tell them what you do for a living. All this secret-keeping looks pretty silly now, huh? I told you