My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,23

so much.

Their messages lift my spirits, but especially Lamar’s. He’d been a late convert to Team Devlin, and the sincerity in his voice is like a warm hug.

As soon as I’ve brewed two cups, I head back to the bedroom area. I’d slipped out of the shower before Devlin, and now I leave both our mugs on the dresser while I shimmy out of my robe. I’m bent over, pulling a pair of folded jeans from the bottom drawer when I hear Devlin behind me.

“I like the view,” he says. “Maybe we should stay in for breakfast.”

“We can’t. You wore me out. I don’t even have the energy to cook.” I’m naked, and now I turn around, offering him the rest of the view, and enjoying mine of him in only a towel around his hips. “Besides,” I add, “I think you got enough last night.”

His brows rise. “Oh, really? Did you?”

“Get my fill of you? Never.” I ease closer. “But if we don’t stop for breaks, there’s never any anticipation for when we start up again.”

He laughs. “I should never have told you that was a turn-on.”

“Nonsense,” I say, brushing a kiss over his lips. “You’re supposed to tell me everything. Speaking of which, Brandy and Lamar called. They both think you got screwed. Tracy chimed in, too,” I add, relaying the details of their messages to him.

“She’s going to be an asset wherever she ends up after college,” he says about Tracy, and I wholeheartedly agree.

“Tamra texted,” he adds, referring to Tamra Danvers, the foundation’s Publicity Director. She was friends with his mother and has been like a guardian angel, watching him for years.

“What’s her take on the leak?”

He grimaces, and I hear the heat in his voice when he says. “She’s working to spin the story. What else can she do? Whoever leaked that dropped a bomb. Now we’re dealing with the shrapnel.”

“Devlin…” I say, letting my voice trail off.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s personal, but it’s business, too. I’m fine.”

I nod. It’s the truth. He is fine. Pissed, yes. But he’s a man who learned to compartmentalize things at a very young age. Who’s lived a dual life for about half his life. Maybe “fine” isn’t the most accurate word, but it fits. And right now, that’s good enough.

I take his hand, adding a flirtatious smile when I say, “You’re more than fine in my book. Now get dressed. I’m buying you breakfast.”

“Oh, good. For a minute there I thought you were going to cook.”

I give him a playful slap, then scurry away before he can return the favor on my rear. I make a show of getting dressed, adding more wriggle than necessary as I tug up the jeans.

As soon as we’re both clothed, he tugs me toward him, then kisses me hard. “Thank you,” he says.

I tilt my head. “For what?”

“For yesterday. For turning around a very shitty night.”

My smile is a little sad as I brush my lips over his. “Mr. Saint, it was my sincere pleasure.” I pull back and make a show of looking him up and down. He’s in jeans and a gray tee and he looks more or less like a mythical god. “Baseball cap,” I say. “You’re too good-looking and too recognizable. And I don’t think either one of us wants any more press.”

“I didn’t bring a cap,” he says. In response, I rummage in my closet, find a souvenir cap I’d bought when Roger had taken me to a Yankees game, and toss it his way. “Now feed me,” I say. “Or I won’t have any energy left to continue improving your mood.”

“That’s all the encouragement I need.”

My go-to diner is just around the corner, but it’s a gorgeous fall Saturday, and we opt to take our bagels and coffee to-go, then head into the park.

“Surely no one will notice us,” I say. “It’s not as if all of those publicity hounds at the theater last night are expecting you to go strolling through Morningside Park.”

“We’ll be safe,” he agrees. “We have eyes on us, remember.”

I frown. “Do we?” Devlin had told me that Ronan assigned security. “I don’t see anyone.”

Devlin chuckles. “That’s because my people are good at their job.”

I smirk. “Fair point.”

“And even if we didn’t have security, and the publicity hounds are pulling out their cameras…”

“What?” I ask, when he trails off.

He lifts a shoulder as he grins. “Fuck them.”

My hands are full, so I resist the urge to high-five him. Instead,