Sinfully Sweet

And she was wearing a stretchy pink Lycra panty girdle.

Oh, hell.

“I have my ways,” Devlin said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Criminal ways.”

His face hovered over hers in the dark. Close enough for her to see that despite his condition, his grin was as impudent as ever. “You’ve followed my career.”

“Hardly. But I got an earful at the reunion.”

“Was that tonight?” He angled his head, looking down at her cleavage, which the underwire bra had pushed into the unbuttoned vee of her blouse and halfway toward her chin. The pearl necklace was tossed to one side, following the curve of her breast. “Is that why you’re all dressed up?”

Exasperating. She rolled her eyes upward and stared at the ceiling through wet, clumpy lashes. “Are you ever going to let me up?”

The timbre of his voice dropped an octave. A helluva sexy octave. “I’m considering it.”

“Decide fast,” she said through her teeth. “Before I start screaming again.” Now that her terror was gone—most of it, anyway—the sheer bulk of him was starting to affect her. He was heavy, hard and thoroughly muscled. She still couldn’t draw an even breath. Every time she tried, her breasts swelled, the tips rubbing against the open zipper of his leather jacket. If he didn’t let go soon, any screaming she did was going to be in ecstasy.

Thunder rumbled. “You’ve done enough of that,” he said, and she hoped he wasn’t able to read her thoughts. “I’ll be lucky if you didn’t alert the entire block.”

“What did you expect? Have you never heard of walking up to a person and saying hello?”

His eyes glowed an otherworldly green in the sudden flash of lightning. “I told you—there wasn’t time.”

She turned her head aside, unable to reason under his blatant scrutiny. “I don’t understand.”

“Mackenzie…” He sounded regretful. “I wouldn’t be here if I’d had any other choice.” He lifted his head, listening. Soft, surreptitious sounds came from outside.

He released her arms and stealthily levered himself off her, pausing to stroke two fingertips over her mouth. “Shh.”

There was a metallic clatter. Sounded like a garbage can lid to Mackenzie. Cats, she thought. Or rats.

Devlin was holding himself very still above her. She compressed her tingling lips, waiting. Rain pelted the windowpane. A truck drove by on the street out front, its engine grinding. Her heartbeat hammered. Distant honking and gleeful shouts from the neighborhood’s night people brought the outside world into their tense little cocoon.

She rose to her elbows. “Don’t move,” Devlin whispered. He stood and crossed to the window, as silent and skulking as a cat. The shade was up, the drapes open. He slithered to one side and peered outside, then slowly drew the curtains shut.

“See anything?” she asked when he remained by the window, watching from the side. Finally he reached past the curtains and closed the blind with a snap.

“No.” But his face was drawn into a worried frown.

She sat up on the edge of the bed and rearranged her rumpled clothing. One of her shoes had come off in the chase. Two buttons had popped off her silk blouse and the sleeves of the short fitted jacket that matched her skirt had been torn at the seams. Her blouse hung loose, concealing her bulging waist, so she pulled off the jacket and folded it meticulously before she set it aside.

She looked up and saw Devlin watching her, his head cocked. “I’m nervous,” she said, feeling defensive. Anxiety tended to turn her into a fuss-budget. After the divorce, her teenage bedrooms had always been surgically neat.

He shrugged. “Listen, I know this seems crazy, but you have to trust me—”

A loud bzzzz silenced him. The intercom buzzer at her front door had gone off.

Devlin cursed a single epithet.

She winced at the harsh word. Not that she didn’t hear it every day out on the street a thousand times over—just never in her bedroom. And how telling was that? she wondered. Her sex life was drab and unexciting, exactly like her last relationship. But now was not the time to worry over it!

“Don’t answer that,” Devlin said when the buzzer rang again in a loud, annoying blat.

After a couple of seconds, she heard the faint buzz at her neighbor’s door. Her bedroom shared a wall with Blair Boback’s living room. “They’re trying all the apartments.”

“Damn.” Devlin grabbed Mackenzie’s arm and towed her to the front door, heedless that she’d lost a shoe and was staggering crookedly. He stepped over her upended purse and listened at the door, then looked through the peephole. Abruptly, he drew back. Though he didn’t change expression or tense up, she sensed the freeze in him.

The lobby door clanged open and shut. “One of the other tenants buzzed them through,” she guessed. A large part of her was frightened more by Devlin than the interlopers who’d just gained access to the building. They could be harmless. Devlin was…not.

He squinted at her, his left eye practically swollen shut. A blue shadow ringed it. “Them?”

“Them. Him. Her.” She tried to act defiant. “It could be the entire roster of the New York Jets, for all I know.”

Her doorbell ding-donged. She jumped. He tightened his fingers, digging them into the fleshy part of her arm as he put his mouth to her ear. “Don’t answer.”

“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 meant Devlin had done it. Before he’d come after her. Whether or not he was armed and dangerous, he was certainly cool and calculating.

And hot and primal.

She took a deep breath and opened the door a couple of inches. The two men pressed closer, their faces leering. The older one reached for his gun. She let out a squeak and slammed the door shut.

They pounded on it, shouting at her. “Lady—open up!”

“Put the gun away first,” she demanded. “I don’t believe in guns.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin crack a small smile.

The cops made complaining noises, but they conceded, stepping back from her door with their hands hanging at their sides. She stared through the peephole for several seconds, then reopened the door. “What’s this about?”

The older one spoke. He had a deep voice, a craggy face and a big gold watch on his wrist. “A violent criminal is on the loose in the neighborhood. Have you been home all evening, ma’am? Have you seen or heard anything suspicious?”

“I—” She pressed her tender lips together, wincing at the pain. Devlin crowded her, guarding the door, but keeping just out of sight. “I was sleeping.”

The cop ran his eyes over the narrow slice of her that was visible through the gap in the door. “In your clothes?”

She gave a shamefaced shrug. “It was a long day, Officer…?” She squinted. “Can I see those badges again?”

“So you haven’t seen a man? About six foot, brown hair, leather jacket and, uh, black jeans? He’s got a scar, here—” The gray-haired cop drew a finger above his upper lip and something in his eyes made her wary of him. The gesture seemed gloating, even depraved. She struggled not to glance at Devlin for reassurance.

Reassurance? Well. That settled it. She hesitated for only a second before answering. “No. Absolutely not. I haven’t seen him.”

“Can we come in and look?” the second guy said. He smiled. He was handsome, but the smile was oiled, as if he practiced it so frequently it slid across his face with no effort or sincerity. “A woman like you, alone in a ground-floor apartment…” He tried to peer past her into the hallway. The smile flickered, then went out. “Could be dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Completely alone. But thank you for the concern.”

“All right, ma’am,” said the other one. “You be sure to keep a lookout.”

“I’ll call the local precinct if I see him,” she said. “This, uh, criminal you’re after.”

A worried expression passed over the face of the taller cop.

The other simply nodded. “We’ll be in the neighborhood for a while, if you need us.” He swung around to leave, then turned back, drawing a filmy square from his pants pocket. “By the way, is this yours?”

She looked at her scarf. “Why, yes. Where did you find it?”

“Here in the lobby. By the door.”

“I must have dropped it on my way home from work,” she said.

“It’s damp.”

She reached a hand through the crack in the door. “Yes. The rain, you know. I’m surprised one of my neighbors didn’t pick it up.”

He gave her the scarf. His face was closed, but suspicious, she believed. “Be careful, ma’am. You’re a nice lady, I can see.” He glowered. “You don’t want any trouble.”

Her pulse stuttered. Was it a warning? A threat?

Devlin pressed against her so close she swore she could feel his heartbeat. She narrowed the door another inch.

“I will be careful, thank you, Officer. I hope you catch the, um—” She stopped, swallowing nervously. “What’s he done, anyway?”

“Just about everything,” the older cop said, looking at her with lidded eyes that were as flat and expressionless as a lizard’s. “Murder, theft, assault…you name it. The guy we’re after is no lightweight criminal. He’s an ex-con. Rotten to the core. You don’t want anything to do with him.”

2

DEVLIN EXPECTED Mackenzie to scream, fight, run. Instead she calmly said goodbye to the “officer,” then closed and secured the door, turning locks and sliding bolts with a certain steady resolution. Snick, chunk, chunk.

She turned to face him. Her eyes were huge and glistening. Her lips were puffy, deepened in color to the bright pink of arousal. She kept touching the raw red spot at the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

Guilt over hurting her threaded through him, but he ignored it. She was a big girl. She could take it.

Her expression had become mulish. She was finally getting ticked by his high-handedness. “All right, now, Devlin. No more lies. I want to know why you kissed me.”

What? He almost laughed. That was what she asked? “Not who I killed?”

“Did you? Kill someone?”

“No.”

“And the other charges?”

He dropped his chin a notch, ran a hand through his wet hair. His entire body ached, but he was trying to seem unworried, as if he had no concerns over trusting her with his life when he was beginning to realize that Mackenzie Bliss had changed. She wasn’t as reliable as she used to be. Nor as meek.

“Guilty,” he said.

She sucked in a gasp. “You’ve been in prison.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re in trouble again.”

“Yes.”

“And you—” her tongue flicked over her lip “—you came to me.”

“Only because I knew you lived in this area.” And I was running for my life.

“So I’m a convenience.”

“One night,” he said. “That’s all I need.”

“What happens in the morning?”

“Not your concern.”

“Argh.” Making an irritated sound at his stonewalling, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the door. He wanted to stay there and keep looking at her—keep an eye on her, that was—but Sloss and Bonaventure might still be lurking outside. If he was lucky, they hadn’t seen which building he’d entered and were going door-to-door up and down the entire block, as Mackenzie had suggested.

Devlin went into the living room and checked out the front window, parting the moss-colored velvet drapes the smallest sliver. Sloss and Bonny were standing on the street, arguing. Sloss would win, but Bonny wouldn’t know it until tomorrow. He was more concerned with dabbing at the watermarks on his hundred-dollar silk tie.

Sloss took out a cell phone and had a brief conversation. Devlin knew what the command from their greedy boss, Boris Cheney aka Fat Man, would be: get the ruby back from Devlin by any means necessary. Sloss was the man for the job. Even the most drastic method wouldn’t cost him a wink of sleep, though he didn’t look happy about the long night ahead as he flipped up his phone. He and Bonny waited for a delivery van to go by, spraying rainwater from its wheels, before stepping off the curb. Sloss stopped to fish something out of the gutter, but Devlin couldn’t see what had interested him. Bonny had already sprinted across the street and was buzzing apartments on the other side, trying to get into another building. That was good. They hadn’t pinpointed his location.

Devlin watched until they disappeared inside. There was always some idiot occupant who’d let a stranger in just to stop the buzzer noise from disturbing their TV program.

He turned. Mackenzie was there, waiting, curled up in a big, plush armchair. She’d wrapped her arms around herself to contain her shivering. Cursing the unexpected tenderness she made him feel even now, he took a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her.

The room was filled with shadows, but his eyes were accustomed to the dark and he was able to examine her furnishings. Matching decor, flower arrangements, family photos in silver frames. It was exactly the kind of place he’d expected Mackenzie to live in—aside from the lack of smiling hubby and two cherubic children.

He squinted at her. “Thanks for not turning on the lights.”

She shrugged.

He sat. No use waiting for an invitation anymore.

Mackenzie was silent. Although she’d calmed down as he’d known she would, she still didn’t look particularly accepting of his story. Smart girl.

She put a hand to her hair, restlessly fingering the short strands. He couldn’t get used to Mackenzie Bliss with short hair. She’d always had a long, luxuriant mane, the color of sable. Sometimes, back in high school, he’d caught himself wondering how her hair would feel, brushing over his bare chest. And how Mackenzie would feel naked, so soft and warm and curvy no pillows would be necessary if they spent the night together.

She opened her mouth. “I still want to know why you kissed me.”

“It was an impulse.”

Her eyes glinted like steel. That was new. “No, it wasn’t. You had a purpose.”

“You’re right.” She was much sharper than the dreamy girl he remembered. “I needed to convince you.”

“And you thought kissing me was the way to do it?” She tried to sound insulted, but the quaver in her voice betrayed her. “Do I look that des—that stupid?”

“Not stupid,” he said. And not desperate, either.

“Then what?” she snapped.

He gave her a cocky, I-know-you-think-I’m-sexy grin. “Susceptible.”

She clamped her lips shut and let a silence well between them, a silence filled with their mutual knowledge that she’d had a crush on him all through high school and that he’d known it and used her devotion to his advantage whenever it suited him. He hadn’t been cruel or thoughtless with her feelings. But he had taken her for granted, letting her do the homework he’d neglected, relying on her cram sessions to get him through exams, allowing her to cover for him when there’d been a school vandalism investigation. Back then, the one constant in his life was that she’d always been there, ready and eager to help, gazing adoringly up at him through her big dark eyes. She’d made him feel valuable, important. The buddies who’d believed they were so tough had mocked her as Little Miss Priss and urged Devlin to get into her pants already, but he’d actually liked and respected Mackenzie. She was a nice girl. He’d kept his hands off her because he knew she “loved” him and there was no way he was getting involved in heavy shit like that.

A good plan, even now. No doubt her crush was long over, but he was betting that she had remained the type of girl who took sex and relationships seriously. He never had and never could, as long as he continued in his present circumstances.

“Susceptible,” she repeated scornfully. “You have got to be kidding. High school was ten years ago. I’m not the innocent, gullible schoolgirl I was then.”

But she had covered for him. He wondered why.

Not because of the kiss. It had been even more fierce than he’d intended. Once he’d felt her mouth under his, sensation had taken over. Yes, his intentions had been manipulative and crude. But the emotion that had resulted was unexpected.

Blame it on auld lang syne. High-school reunion. Lost youth. A handy excuse, said the distant, stubborn, ethical part of him that refused to die.

“So then why don’t you call the cops,” he said, getting an idea.

Her head jerked up. “What?”

“Tell them there are two suspicious men prowling the area. You don’t have to leave your name.”

“But…” She blinked a couple of times, scowling deeply as the various scenarios hit home. He could tell when she figured it out. She inhaled with amazement, her mouth dropping open. “Those men aren’t the police.”

He ticked a finger at her.

“Who are they?”

Sloss and Bonny were in charge of a ring of thieves and petty criminals who fenced their goods at Cheney’s pawnshops. Devlin was supposedly one of their minions. For now Mackenzie would have to believe that.