Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,70

“You don’t even have to say it.”

“And yet,” he said, “it feels so much like I do.”

The bedroom door opened and Jennifer came out, smoothing her coppery curls around her face. And, yes, she was still in her robe, her feet bare. Her legs were bare, too. She looked so pretty, her complicated, curvy mouth soft and a glass of red wine in her hand, and he wanted to be alone with her so bad, he could taste it.

“Well, hi,” he said, once he could manage it.

“Hi,” she said, and smiled. A slow, glorious thing of eyes and mouth and square face and freckles, and there was also nothing but pale skin and a few more freckles showing in the deep vee front of that robe. She told him, “I can’t seem to get out of my bathrobe.”

Owen told Dyma, “Know what I want to do? Eat in the restaurant. Can’t take Thor, because somebody always figures out it’s him, and then he makes us run away before I’m even done. They’ve got steak, though, because I checked, and I want it, but I don’t want to try to cut it on this coffee table, all hunched over. Want to check the place out with me? We could go swimming first. That saltwater pool’s heated up nice, they said. There are these waterfalls, too. What do you think? Do some floating? Watch some stars?”

“I totally want to do that,” she said, “but I don’t have a suit with me.”

“Neither do I,” he said, “but I’m guessing we’re about ten minutes from downtown. We’ll find a store open. It’s a tourist town. Come on. Bring your robe. Steal it for a night, anyway. Robbery Lite. Shopping, a swim, and dinner sounds like a pretty good plan to me. This place is going to have vegetarian options. You can count on it.”

“In the restaurant,” Harlan said. He thought Owen got it, but when a girl looked at you like that, a guy could forget his better impulses. And although he wanted Owen to take Dyma out of here pretty desperately, and appreciated Owen’s outlining his timetable like crazy …

“Yes, Dad,” Owen said. “In the restaurant. And then I bring her straight home. After all of that.”

The door closed behind Dyma and Owen, and Jennifer sighed, sat down on the multicolored couch in front of the flickering fire, and shoved her hair back. “I should worry, I know,” she said. “But I really am too relaxed.”

He sat down beside her, and she was as aware of his presence as if he were touching her, as if the very air molecules between them were quivering. “Nope,” he said. “You shouldn’t worry. They’ll be OK. I’ve got this.”

“Mm.” She leaned back against the couch, put her bare toes up against the coffee table, and closed her eyes. “You say that a lot, you know. That you’ve got this. Is that your mission in life? Also, do you want some wine? It’s really good. Somebody sent it to me.” She gave him a sidelong look. He was sitting forward, elbows on knees and big hands interlinked, his head turned toward her, a smile on his too-beautiful face.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll get myself a glass.” He didn’t, though. He just sat there. “So tell me about how you got so relaxed.”

“I told myself,” she said, “that I’d talk to you about your parents and your sister tonight, if we had a chance to be alone. Help you talk it out, think it through. That was my plan.” She sighed and took another sip of wine. Silky-smooth, fathoms deep, rich and dark as sin, it drifted through her veins like smoke.

She’d thought she’d had wine before. This, though, was a completely different beverage. She didn’t know wine words, but it tasted almost as good as Harlan smelled. His hair was damp, and he must have taken a shower, because she recognized the faint cedar-y, sage-y scent. It had been one of the options in the very long shower she’d taken after her treatment. She’d checked them all out, but she hadn’t used that one. She’d gone for buttercream and French vanilla instead, and had slathered the accompanying lotion on afterwards as well. She smelled so good, she wanted to lick herself.

Or, possibly, to have somebody else do it. She’d bet Harlan could lick. She’d bet he would lick. Slowly.

She wasn’t going to do it. Nobody said she couldn’t think it, though.

Harlan said, “You don’t need a