Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,91

I’ve never, ah …” She tried to go on, and got stuck. “I’m not sure how to finish this sentence.”

“Aw,” he said, “don’t leave me hanging. Give me the postgame review.”

“I’ve never … done anything like that. Or had anybody …” Oh, boy. She couldn’t.

“Tickle your feet?” he suggested. “Put you in a sex swing? What?”

Now, she was laughing, and so was he. “Oh, man,” she said, “a sex swing. I barely even know they exist.”

“Nah,” he said. “Nothing but props for guys who can’t hold a woman up by themselves.” And she was laughing some more.

“All right,” she said. “I’ve never had a man spend that much attention on me, then. I’ve never had anybody talk that way to me. I’ve never done a lot of positions.”

“We didn’t exactly burn it down,” he said. “One position.”

“Hey,” she said, “don’t rain on my parade.”

He grinned and kissed her and teased her some more. It was so silly, she couldn’t stop smiling. It was so sweet, it hurt. And at some point, possibly in the middle of a sentence, she fell asleep in his arms.

He was in trouble.

It was what he’d told her, maybe. Too long a day. Too much emotion, and he didn’t do emotion. He did casual, and he did fun. He was a real good time, and that was all. He stayed where he was safe, but when she’d been trying not to cry and he’d been holding her, that hadn’t felt safe. And when he’d realized the condom had broken, it really hadn’t felt safe. Holding her while she slept against him, all soft and warm and trusting, didn’t feel all that safe, either.

Maybe none of it should have happened, but he couldn’t be sorry. He’d be taking her home tomorrow. They’d helped each other through a rocky few days, and that was good. That was fine. She was fine, and so was he.

They were both fine.

29

With a Whimper

It was raining in Portland. You could say that was because it was April, but it wasn’t really true. It rained a lot in Portland.

Harlan was running anyway. In the Forest Park, which meant in the mud, which had the dual advantage of being good for your fitness and reducing the crowds. There were still people out here despite the downpour, because it was Portland, and it was Saturday, and he veered around a jogger with a yellow Labrador, whose tail wagged the whole time like rain was Big Fun. After that, he picked up his speed for the homestretch. The last piece of the mud-slog, and a half-mile along the winding street to his house.

He’d grab a swim to stretch out, get a shower, and tackle some investment research he needed to finish before his trip to L.A. on Monday to shoot a few cologne ads and a deodorant commercial. He was the new face of Feral’s line of male toiletries, which meant he was going to be spending time climbing in and out of sports cars, coming out of the water carrying a surfboard (and pretending he knew how to surf), wearing his pants too tight, and staring broodingly at women.

It also meant he had hair extensions, since they hadn’t liked the short look, even two months post-shearing. It was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard of, but there you were. It was a good contract.

Late April, and Annabelle’s spring break was over. She hadn’t stayed with him for any of it, either. Their dad had kept on saying no, which was part of the reason Harlan had tickets to Belize after the shoot. He was going to get his Advanced Open Water dive certification, because why not, and because Owen had been right. College had been ten years ago, and there was no reason he couldn’t learn new things. Besides, he needed a change of focus.

He’d spent the past couple months restless and itchy despite his usual offseason gigs: volunteering with a group that helped military amputees with their rehab and with the local Special Olympics, spending a serious hour and a half every day in a high-intensity yoga or Pilates or barre class in which he was almost always the only man, and finishing up with a long, boring session of foam rolling. Plus a whole lot of swimming, and, always, running. Preferably on trails, the steeper the better, working on his speed and his agility. He’d started to learn Spanish, too, with some help from some of the vets he worked with, who found