<center><h1>The DILF (18+ Only): Disclaimer</h1></center>

<hr>
© NICKEL BRADY 2013 THE DILF

Former movie star and recluse, Devin Shaw, has no idea what to do with a daughter
that has been dumped on his doorstep by a long-forgotten ex. Six-year-old Ophelia
needs someone competent to take care of her.

Rory Harding is desperately in need of a job and being a governess to a six-year-

old is easy money, right? But there's a reason Devin's a hermit and it's not very
pretty...

Disclaimer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without express permission from the
author. However, the author explicitly does not own the rights to the image on the
book cover.

SNEAK PEEK

Devin's eyes - they were a sort of hazel-gold colour - drank Rory's naked body in
like a dehydrated nomad. Long-lashed and intense, they saw into her very soul and
in that moment, Rory wished she weren't so clumsy and that everything didn't hurt.
"You should be careful," Devin said calmly, bending over to scoop her into his
arms. "This bathtub can get incredibly slippery."

"So I noticed," Rory said dryly. Mortified, she noticed how erect her nipples were.
They stabbed the air like tiny knives of arousal and she was positive that Devin
had noticed. "I think I can walk now," she said quickly.

To her relief, he set her on the ground and reached for her towel. "This is the
second time I'm rescuing you," he said, in that quiet way Rory was beginning to
recognise as his annoyed tone. "Let's not make it a habit."

Rory tightened the towel around herself, wincing from the motion. "I slipped in the
tub. Hardly a rescue."

A dirty look crossed his face. "I haven't had sex in two years, Rory. Consider
yourself rescued..." He turned to leave "...from me."

She was speechless. For starters, this had been the longest conversation she'd ever
had with Devin Shaw and, secondly, she was positive that he wasn't as crazy as he
let everyone believe he was...
<center><h1>PROLOGUE: In Which She Puts the A in PA</h1></center>
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PROLOGUE: In Which She Puts the A in PA

********************************************

"Are you in a relationship?"

"No."

"Do you have any family?"

"No."

"But you like children?"

"I've already told you - I adore them."

"Do you find Mr. Shaw attractive?"

What the hell? "No."

Josie Bates stared across the table at me, her blue, bespectacled eyes unblinking
as she sussed me out. With her iron-grey hair pinned up in a tight, smart bun,
pursed, peach-coloured lips and low gravelly voice, she reminded me of my bitch of
a boarding school headmistress, Ms. Farley. The only difference was that Ms. Farley
had never asked me such personal questions - like whether I wanted to sleep with
Devin Shaw, former movie star and current recluse.

"No?" Bates repeated after me.

"I don't make it a habit to think of my bosses in that way," I told her seriously,
praying that she wouldn't ask about Richard Pritchett, Jnr. "Besides, no one's seen
a recent photo of him. For all I know, he could've transformed into the Hobbit."
The tabloids called him a cross between Mel Gibson and Naomi Campbell. You didn't
get crazier than that.

"What about your former boss? Mr. Pritchett, Jnr.?"

Well, nice to know that You listen to me, God.

I cleared my throat and placed my hands flat on the varnished mahogany table. "He
fabricated everything."

"And why would the CEO of a multimillionaire company make up stories about his
lowly PA?"

Ouch, I thought, deciding there and then that Josie Bates could kiss my tail end
and go to hell. Still, it was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. She was a
lowly, ancient PA and I'd be damned if I allowed her to insult me.

"Because he wanted to fúck me," I said with a straight face, "and I preferred
death."

"Pardon me?"

"Like I said, I don't make it a habit to think of my bosses in that way." I knew
that there was no way I was going to get the job at this rate - absolutely no way -
and I made up my mind that I didn't care. If honesty was what Bates wanted, honesty
was what she'd get.
"I see," she said quietly, shutting her official-looking leather-bound notebook and
placing it on the table. "Ms. Harding, you do realise that Ophelia is six-years-old
and such language is inappropriate in her presence?"

"I would never use profanity in front of a child," I said in indignation.

"Good. Well, I'll return in a few minutes." Bates rose to her feet and, before I
could say a word, left the drawing room.

For the hundredth time that morning, I felt like getting up and leaving. Nothing
was worse than being treated like rubbish by an eighty-something-year-old snob. I'd
already counted more than four thousand tiny ink-blot patterns on the drawn
curtains in that dining room before Josie Bates had graced me with her presence.
Since I'd counted roughly forty blots a minute, it meant that I'd been sitting in
that dim room twiddling my thumbs for approximately a hell of a long time.

Scratch that, I thought morosely, tapping my fingertips on the table. Being

unemployed is the absolute worst.

I'd put on considerable weight eating out of pity for myself during the two months
of my unemployment. I'd bought countless newspapers for the Classifieds and ended
up with a massive phone bill ringing up every 'Receptionist/PA/Secretary Wanted'
number - all for curt and borderline rude 'You're not what we're looking for'. I'd
forwarded my CV to every e-mail address in the newspapers and got no response
whatsoever. But I wasn't stupid; I knew how amazingly good I was.

It was Richard.

Richard Pritchett, Jnr. was responsible for global warming and cellulite, as far as
I was concerned, but more importantly, he was responsible for the ridicule I'd
endured in my desperate attempt to get a job. My last resort was babysitting a
weirdo's child. I'd spent my entire savings buying a plane ticket to Tacoma Bay -
an obscure isle just off the coast of the Hawaiian islands and left out of most
maps - in response to an even obscurer ad online.

Rory, you need to take a chill pill. Maybe Old Bates will give me a chance.

The pay was ridiculously high. With that kind of quid, I could pay my rent for at
least a year and a half - and only after working two months, at most. Easy money. I
couldn't believe that I was the only person to show interest in looking after a
six-year-old.

Perhaps there was a good reason for that. Maybe Ophelia Shaw was a demon seed. Or
maybe the tabloids were right and Devin Shaw had turned into a mad, lonely hermit
and would probably axe me in my sleep.
Get out of Dodge!

Before I could debate with myself into oblivion, the door swung open. I
automatically sat up straighter; Bates just had that effect on me.

Except that it wasn't Bates.

No, this was most definitely little Ophelia Shaw.

"Hi there!" I forced some form of cheer into my voice. It sounded forced to my own
ears.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft and barely a whisper.

She was gorgeous. Naturally, that was what you got when you had a Ukrainian
swimsuit model as a mother and an Egyptian-American as a father. With her waterfall
of jet-black hair and wide, coffee-brown eyes, Ophelia Shaw was the prettiest six-
year-old I'd ever laid eyes on. Not that I'd been around many children. Not that I
wanted to.

"If Mrs. Bates finds me in here, she'll bleed me dry and feed my corpse to the
crows," Ophelia remarked, pulling back the seat Old Bates had just occupied. She
hopped onto it.

I let my jaw drop. "Is that what she told you?"

"No. I saw that in a movie. It sounded scarier when the guy said it. He didn't have
any teeth."

I might not have much experience with children but I do know that the word 'corpse'
should never come out their mouths, I thought to myself, clearing my throat.

"Do you watch a lot of that? Horror, I mean."

"I watch a lot of TV. Devin doesn't mind. As long as I listen to my tutor." She
said it matter-of-factly, as if the fact that her father didn't care about what she
did in her spare time didn't bother her.

Don't get involved, Rory. As soon as Bates returns to tell you that the job isn't
yours, you'll never have to worry about this girl watching R18 movies.
"I hate horrors," I said gently. "Cartoons are my favourite. Especially the ones
with...princesses in them."

"They're stupid. Sponges don't talk. And people don't get run over and just get
up," Ophelia said disparagingly. "There has to be some guts. And blood. And
brains."

"You're a smart girl. How many - um - nannies has Bates interviewed? I mean, seen."

"Only you. No one wants to look after me because Devin's crazy. My mommy got tired
of me and said it's Devin's turn." She pursed her lips: "Your daddy's just a has-
been, Fee because he's as crazy as a Lindsay Lohan biography. But it's his turn. I
have Playboy, Fee. You understand, right?" She exhaled sharply. "I can't do
Mommy's voice very good - I mean, well - because she talks funny. Like you. Lloyd -
that's my tutor - says they're accents. But I remember everything she's said
because Lloyd says my memory's great."

"That's enough, Ophelia." Bates' disapproving voice came from the doorway. "I told
you to remain in your room."

"I was just talking to..." Ophelia's voice trailed off uncertainly and she glanced
at me. "What's your name?"

"Rory," I told her.

She wrinkled her brow. "But that's a boy's name!"

"Ophelia, that's enough. Room - now, please."

She scampered away, slamming the door behind her. Bates sighed in exasperation.

"Sorry about that. She's waiting for her tutor."

"That's okay," I said, getting to my feet. There was no point in prolonging the
inevitable; never mind that I didn't have a return ticket to get home. "I suppose
you'll be looking for someone else, then. Thanks for your time."

"Ms. Harding, what are you talking about?" Bates gave me a perplexed look. "You got
the job."

"I...I did? Despite those stupid rumours and no background in childcare and...and
my saying fúck?"
"Yes, yes and I'd appreciate it if you don't use that word again."

"Oh! Yeah, of course."

She smiled. "It's quite simple, actually. Ophelia doesn't take kindly to strangers.
The fact that she was in here having a monologue is proof enough that she likes you
and that's all that's important."

"You were listening at the door?"

"Of course." She clapped her hands together. "Now, where are you staying? I'll have
a driver fetch your bags and bring them here, but in the meantime, how about I give
you the grand tour of the house?"

It took exactly fourteen minutes for her to show me to my room. Yes, the house was
beautiful - old and historic - but I didn't need to know what every brick was made
out of.

"Devin's room is at the end of the wing. He doesn't like to be disturbed." Bates
opened the bedroom windows and let fresh air in. "Ophelia's room is beside yours.
She has her lessons in the second study downstairs."

I peered out a window. "I can smell the surf."

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Mm-hmm," I said vaguely.

"Kathleen?"

Bates and I both whirled around. I didn't want to admit that despite myself, I was
keen to see what had happened to the elusive Devin Shaw...

"Is everything all right, Mr. Shaw?" I was shocked to watch as Kathleen - who
didn't even exist - suddenly morphed into a high-pitched schoolgirl.

Could I blame her? No.

Devin Shaw hadn't appeared on a TV screen in a decade but I still would've

recognised that face. Standing at least six-foot-five, he almost had to bend to
enter the bedroom. His hair was cropped short, black bristles clinging to his
skull. There was no denying that it brought out his high cheekbones and drew
attention to his liquid-gold eyes and full, pink lips.
Take a picture, why don't you, Rory?

"No," Devin replied, rolling up the cuffs of his black-and-white plaid shirt.
"Where's the Saw box-set? The one I'm supposed to give to Fee? I need to get her
off my back."

"Oh, didn't you leave the package in -" Bates began.

"Sorry, what?" I interjected.

Devin blinked at me as if finally noticing my presence. "Who are you?"

"Rory. I'm Ophelia's nanny."

"No - you're fired."

Bates jumped in. "Mr. Shaw, forgive her. She's simply -"

"That girl will end up a psychopath if I leave," I said fiercely. "What is wrong
with you? She should be reading and...and playing house - not telling me about
crows pecking corpses!"

What happened to not getting involved?

Devin glared at me. "Perhaps you think you're Nanny McPhee - oh yes, Ophelia and I
have watched the film. She thought it was flat-out nonsense. Whatever you feel,
she's my daughter. Not yours."

"Mr. Shaw, could I say something?" Bates squeaked.

"As Ms. Bates so nicely informed me, you couldn't look after a toenail, let alone a
six-year-old girl," I said, suddenly feeling so protective over a girl I'd barely
talked to for two seconds.

"I did not say that!" Bates croaked out. "I simply told her that you don't have
time to take care of Ophelia, Mr. Shaw."

Devin's brow furrowed. "I'll find the goddamn thing myself." He paused at the
doorway. "You're still fired, Roz."
"It's Rory!" I spat, jumping when he slammed the door behind him.

Bates turned to glower at me. "Don't ever talk back to him! He's your employer.
You're lucky I was here. He might have hit you."

"So have I been sacked?" I asked curiously, giving the king-sized bed a wistful
glance.

Bates shook her head emphatically. "Gosh, no! Do you know how many times he fires
the rest of us? At least twenty times a day!"
<center><h1>1: In Which She Sees Too Much</h1></center>
<hr>

1: In Which She Sees Too Much

***************************************

"And then what happened?" Ophelia asked eagerly, all but rocking her entire bed -
as well as me - as she bounced up and down in anticipation of the end of her
bedtime story.

"And then the prince kissed her and she woke up," I told her, trying in vain to get
her to settle down.

Finally, Fee obliged me and crumpled in a heap before slipping beneath her covers.
"But if she'd been sleeping for a hundred years, wasn't she too old for the
prince?"

I sighed, pulling the covers up to her chin. I had to grudgingly admit that Ophelia
was far too smart for fairytale stories. Sure, she liked them well enough, but she
questioned every little thing - Why didn't Giuseppe just adopt a little boy like in
Annie? How did the prince in Snow White know what he was supposed to do? Gross -
did she really kiss that frog?
"The castle was magic," I replied gently. "She didn't get old." I paused. "Staying
young was actually a gift, don't you think?"

"No, 'cause when you're young, you can't wear boobs and I think they're nice."

Winded, I was torn between bursting into a fit of laughter and scolding the girl. I
eventually chose to tell her off.

"Fee, who told you that?"

A guarded look was suddenly painted on her face. "No one."

I sighed. "You can't say the word boob, Ophelia. It's naughty. Understand?"

You would make an awful parent. 'Naughty'? Really?

Ophelia nodded. "OK." She paused. "Aurora," she added, using my birth name.

"Under no circumstances are you to call me that. I bet Princess Aurora preferred
Rory, too."

Ophelia shook her head emphatically. "Aurora's prettier. Rory's a boy's name."

"Let's agree to disagree, okay?" I laughed, getting to my feet. "Now, goodnight,

Fee. You have lessons tomorrow."

"Rory, can I ask you something?"

Uh-oh, I thought guardedly, freezing in the doorway. The last time she'd wanted to
"ask me something", she'd ended up asking a most difficult and unanswerable
question: Why doesn't Devin love me?

I still burned with anger when I thought of this little girl thinking that her
father was irritated by her very existence. Of course, it must have been a huge
shock for Devin to discover that he'd fathered a child with one of his many
girlfriends but Ophelia was such an extraordinarily smart, beautiful, sweet child,
he must have realised how lucky he was.

But no.

Over the four months I'd been there, Devin had spent, at most, ten minutes with his
daughter and two of those minutes were idled away by popping a DVD into the DVD
player and leaving her to it. He ate his meals whenever he felt like it, which was
why mealtimes - as fun as they could be - were just Fee and me. I hated to think
what she'd done before I'd come into the picture; how she must have sat at the
enormous dining table alone every day, picking at her gourmet food in silence.

No wonder the poor thing thinks he doesn't love her.

I'd been orphaned at eighteen but Ophelia had no parents at six and that was a
million times worse. Dumped by her mother and ignored by her father, she was
probably hurting inside, although one would never think it to look at her.

"Anything, sweetheart," I said slowly, turning around.

"Do you like chocolate-chip cookies?"

"Er, yes. Why?"

"Me and Lydia are baking tomorrow," she said brightly, referring to the ancient yet
proficient cook I'd come to love and appreciate. She'd taught me that Mickey D's
and Chinese did not make a balanced diet.

"Lydia and I are baking."

"You are?"

I laughed gently. "I'm correcting you, Fee. Me and Lydia is improper grammar."

"Oh, but it's nine o'clock. It's too late to be proper."

I laughed again. "I would be honoured to taste your cookies. Now goodnight, angel."

"'Night, Rory."

I gently closed the door before she could ask another question. Fee loved asking
questions.

Out in the corridor, I was struck by how silently hollow the house seemed. It was
like that every night after Fee went to bed. After all, Devin, Fee and I were the
only people that stayed in the main house. Most nights, I caught myself wishing
that Lydia didn't stay in the cottage behind the house, just so I'd have someone
grown-up to spend my evenings with.

I shot daggers at the door at the far end. It was hard to believe that Devin Shaw
was behind that very door - and not because I was unbelievably star-struck. If
Bates hadn't made me sign an incredibly idiotic confidentiality agreement, I
would've been bitching about him to my friends via e-mail. As it was, I had to
physically keep myself from looking at my laptop.

What sort of prick doesn't give his only child the time of day? I thought as I
marched to my room next door, enraged once again.

I closed the door behind me and breathed out a sigh of exasperation. If Devin
didn't watch his back, I was going to sneak into his room and throttle some sense
into him. I'd never felt such strong maternal instincts towards a child like the
ones I felt for Ophelia. With the money Bates had faithfully deposited into my
account month after month, I could've easily quit and returned to London like I'd
planned to, but the idea of ditching Fee so abruptly in the same way her mother had
was too ugly to even contemplate.

"You've got it bad, Harding," I said ruefully, pulling my T-shirt off and flinging
it to the floor. The rest of my clothing followed and I pulled on my bathrobe,
yawning. Caring for such a bouncy little girl was exhausting. What I desperately
needed was a shower but that could wait. It always could.

At night, the sea breeze was my own personal air conditioning; all I had to do was
stand out on the terrace.

I did that right then. If there was one thing I loved about the strange and remote
Tacoma Bay, it was the sea. Even at night, it was enchanting. I could wax lyrical
about the ocean but that was only because I had nothing better to do with my
evenings. Gripping the granite balustrade, I inhaled the heavy scent of saltwater
and watched the waves crash against the pier, as I did on most nights.

And that was how I saw the figure out on the beach.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was Devin. I rarely saw him
- in fact, I wasn't even sure he lived in the same house - yet I was positive that
he was the shape walking about outside at night like a wandering ghost.

"Weirdo," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. Clearing my throat, I said at the

top of my voice, "Devin!"

He ignored me, like I knew he would.

"I'm talking to you!"

Prick.

I turned on my heel and left my room. There was no point in thinking hateful things
about him when I could just say them to his face. I owed that to Ophelia and if I
didn't catch him now, I had the feeling it would be weeks until I saw him again and
confronted him.

Why doesn't Devin love me?

Those five words were so heartbreaking, so ridiculously gut-wrenching that I was

sure that my emotions could turn me into a murderous psycho. I didn't care how
crazy and damaged and famous Devin fúcking Shaw was - he was a dickhead of a parent
and Ophelia deserved to at least be told that she was loved.

I didn't realise that I was outside until I felt the cool night air on my cheeks.
The distance from the main house to the pier wasn't especially remote but in
hindsight, going out barefoot wasn't the smartest thing I could do. Tiny, sharp
pebbles and little twigs pricked at my feet as I stomped down to the beach in
search of a confrontation. If I were being honest, I was itching for one.

Screw men, I thought with prejudice. If they're not manipulating you into their
beds, they're ruining their families. Just like Dad. And look where that got him
and Mum...

I was about to yell out to Devin when, in the glow of the moonlight, I watched as
he removed his clothing with the unhurried coolness of a frequent late-night
skinny-dipper. I froze in my footsteps and felt heat creep up my neck.

Naked.

Devin Shaw was stark naked a few metres away from me and he didn't know I was
there.

Well, this is awkward, I thought, although I didn't avert my eyes. His body - at
least what I could see of it - was a work of art although as he waded out into
deeper water, his back to me, I couldn't really see a thing.

Aurora Harding, you're a regular peeping Tom. Just turn around and get to bed. This
isn't worth it. You'll bump into him sometime. The house isn't that big.

Who knew what Devin would do to someone who invaded his privacy in such a
disgusting, perverse manner?

If he wanted privacy, he could've used the hot tub.

After further mental debate, I decided that I wasn't ready to sink low enough to
become a pervert and, despite the abrupt acceleration of my heartbeat, whirled
around in the direction of the house. It was inevitable that I would step on
something and cut myself. Things like that always seemed to happen to me, like a
black cloud over my head. I already had about five different wounds healing from
various scrapes outside.

"Fúck!" I exclaimed in pain, hopping in a circle before crumpling into a heap and
cradling my injured foot in my arms.

Hot, thick blood slowly seeped out of a deep cut just below the balls of my foot
and onto my bathrobe. Wincing, I slowly pulled out what vaguely looked like a shard
of mottled glass. How it had gotten onto the beach, I would never know.

"How deep is it?" a voice said from above me.

Startled, I instinctively looked up and regretted my decision. Devin's

unquestionably large manhood was practically shoved in my face and, trapped between
a rock and a hard place, I got onto my knees and attempted to crawl away.

"What are you doing?" he growled. "In fact, what are you doing out here at all?
Were you spying on me?"

Say something, you imbecile!

I stopped trying to edge away like a coward and cleared my throat. This was
obviously a ploy to make me uncomfortable - or, quite possibly, he just didn't see
any problem with nudity.

Devin glanced at my foot. "Only idiots walk around in the dark and don't watch
their step. I'll take you inside, unless you'd like to take a picture first, Rose?"

Horrified, I realised that I'd been blatantly eyeing up his manhood - and, even
more dismaying, I could feel myself becoming aroused, which was ridiculous because
the sight of this particular naked man was supposed to do the opposite.

Four years and two months ago, I thought systematically, thinking of the last time
I'd seen a naked man so close up; the last time I'd had sex.
No, no, no! I thought furiously. Remember Father Logan? Remember that little
promise? You can't throw four years of hard work down the drain for this cúnt!

And it was hard work.

I wasn't the best Catholic out there. For starters, I only went to Mass on special
occasions - like Easter and Christmas - but after attending a service entitled "How
Weak is the Flesh", I decided then and there that I would make my body a temple
again, after past boyfriends had practically made it a club. Being celibate was
like being on a diet - except that the only bad food you couldn't eat was sausage.

I didn't realise how much I enjoyed sex until I stopped having it. It was like
giving up smoking but a million times worse because cigarettes didn't have hazel
eyes, or absolutely kissable lips, or a luscious olive-skinned complexion, or an
enormous, long -

Rory! What the hell are you thinking?

Devin was already picking me up and my dirty mind was racing with ideas as I felt
his wet skin through the thin silk of my robe. I held my breath, suddenly realising
how my diet-obsessed friend, Stacy, had felt like when I'd put a Big Mac in front
of her to make her see sense.

Devin is my Big Mac, I thought dejectedly, resisting the urge to cry out in
frustration.

Only when we were back inside the house did I finally find my voice.

"Thanks," I managed to croak out, and he gingerly set me on the ground at the foot
of the staircase.

The floorboards creaked beneath me as I stood on one foot and reached out for the
banister. I prayed that he wouldn't flick the light switch on because seeing him in
colour would be the death of me.

How weak your flesh is, Rory. Tsk-tsk. You're such a disgrace to your sex.
Without another word, he strode past me and headed up the stairs, leaving me
bleeding and annoyed with myself. Grateful that I didn't have to prolong my
torture, I counted up to ten before limping up as well.

At least he didn't sack me, I thought wryly, even if he is a complete nutcase.

Hey, a sexy nutcase, another voice said.

"Go to hell," I said aloud, approaching my bedroom and pushing the door open.

I had a feeling I wouldn't get any sleep that night.

<center><h1>2: In Which She Breaks Her Promise (Sort Of)</h1></center>

<hr>

2: In Which She Breaks Her Promise (Sort Of)

***************************************

"What exactly is my job description?"

Bates looked up from the gloomy destruction of what had been good furniture in the
living room, a pained look on her haggard face. "Excuse me?" She'd had that same
expression painted on her face for the past week. She just looked like she'd been
sucking lemons.

"I'm taking care of Ophelia, right? Babysitting, child-minding, caring - whatever

you call it," I said in a rush, ignoring the bored look that crossed her face.
"It's just that...well, I think she needs therapy."

"Therapy?" Bates snorted, placing a hand on a barely-there hip. "Miss Harding, do

you suddenly possess a PhD?"

"No," I said, matching her sarcastic tone, "but I do have eyes. It's as if everyone
else in this house doesn't - you, included. She's just a child but I can't begin to
understand what's forced her to become such a little adult."

"Miss Harding, I've got bigger things to worry about than a mature little girl,"
said Bates, stepping aside to allow the cleaning crew - wheelbarrows and all - into
the room. "Like how fast I can replace an entire room before Devin realises. Oh,
and how long I can continue to dodge his money-grabbing agent. And did I forget to
add that I have to replace this whole room today?" She turned to watch all six men
get to work picking up shards of glass, splinters of wood and ripped settees.

I scowled at her. "I would have thought the wellbeing of Devin Shaw's only child
would be at the top of your list of priorities but I clearly must have been
delusional."

Bates waved a dismissive hand.

"Ma'am, is there anything in particular that you'd like us to do with all this
debris?" a portly bald-headed man asked, holding up the leg of a chair.

"Eat it, for all I care," Bates muttered, and the man gave her a puzzled look
before shrugging and tossing the leg into a wheelbarrow.

"What happened here, anyway?" I asked no one in particular, properly surveying what
used to be the gorgeous living room. Even the plasma screen on the wall hadn't
escape the damage - a big hole was proudly displayed in its centre.

"Devin happened," Bates replied, sighing heavily. "Devin happened."

"Checkmate," Ophelia announced proudly.

"What?" I fixed my gaze on my king and sure enough, the poor guy was cornered by
Ophelia's queen and bishop. "Oh. Nice one."

Ophelia looked across the new coffee table at me, pouting. "This is the third time,
Rory. Maybe you should stick to fairytales."

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the cushion beneath my bottom. "Of course."

Truthfully, I wasn't even concentrating. Chess was one of my favourite pastimes and
sure, Ophelia was a surprisingly calculating adversary but I had never been beaten
so severely before.

Maybe that had something to do with Devin sitting a few feet away from me.

It wasn't that he was looking at me. Hell, he probably thought Ophelia was playing
with Casper the Friendly Ghost for all the attention I got. Instead, he was reading
the newspaper. According to Ophelia's whispered utterances, that paper was two
years old.

Despite that little piece of strangeness, the thing that was completely unsettling
was that I had seen him utterly and completely butt-naked.

Of course, he wasn't the first man I'd seen nude - not by a long shot - but he was
the first I'd seen in...well, ages. The fact that he was walking around like
nothing had happened - while I was forced to skulk in the shadows trying to avoid
him - was infuriating. I'd at least expected an apology. It was equally annoying
when I realised that since what I'd christened the Nudist Beach incident, Devin
Sightings were more frequent. Now if that wasn't torture, I didn't know what was.
Let's examine the facts, shall we? I thought, watching Ophelia set up the chess
board for the fourth time. Fact Number One: Devin is every bit as sexy as he was on
TV. Suddenly uncomfortable, I felt myself grow hot at the vivid memory of his naked
body. It had only been a week ago, after all, and he was sitting right here. Fact
Number Two: He deserves a Razzy for World's Shittiest Dad. I caught Ophelia's eye
again and she gave me a wide smile. One of her front teeth was missing. Fact Number
Three: He pays well. Or, rather, Bates pays well. Fact Number Four: I could
possibly be living with the male version of Mr. Rochester's mad wife because he's
apparently off his rocker.

Bates had managed to ship in an entire lounge set within twenty-four hours and,
despite her abrupt dismissals whenever I brought the subject up, she was keeping
mum about what exactly she meant by "Devin happened".

Maybe I don't want to know, I thought, risking a sideways glance at the object of
my sudden nightly sexy dreams. Dammit. Why am I a sucker for V-necks?

Men in V-necked shirts could accomplish world domination, as far as I was

concerned. I could get carried away discussing the merits of a man's exposed neck,
wispy black curls of chest hair alluringly peeking out of -

"Your move, Rory," Ophelia said impatiently. I got the feeling that she'd been
repeating herself.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to play another round, sweetheart," I said
apologetically. I leaned in. "Why don't you ask Daddy to play with you? I need to
take a shower."

"He won't want to," she whispered back. "He never does."

Anger burned inside me. "Ask him."

She shook her head. "It's OK. I'm gonna help Lydia in the kitchen." Without waiting
for my protests, she got off the rug and scurried out of the room.

"She's too scared to ask you to play with her. You know that, don't you?" It felt
safer not to look at him; to pretend to focus on packing the chess pieces into
their box.
The flicker of a page told me that Devin had turned a page.

"Real men aren't afraid to be fathers," I went on before I could stop myself.

"Is that so?" Devin surprised me by asking coolly. "What makes you think I'm
afraid?"

I rose to my feet. "I think Ophelia knows the answer to that question."

It felt stupid not to make eye contact but that's exactly what I did as I left the
room. I couldn't face looking into his eyes and feeling like an incredibly hormonal
teenager. Hell, I made horny teens look mildly animated.

A cold shower. That's what I need.

Within five minutes, I'd gotten myself into the well-stocked bathroom in my bedroom
and decided that a bubble bath would be more revitalising. Leaning back with
bubbles frothing at my neck, I could've passed out in bliss. I had to sternly
remind myself that masturbating was against The Vow.

Come on, you twat. You've held out for so long! Don't ruin it now!

I scrunched my eyes shut. Don't do it... Don't do it... Don't do it... Don't - oh,
what the hell.

Four years of no sex, no pleasure - and I was throwing that away because of Devin
fúcking Shaw, of all people.

"Your body is a temple," Father Logan's gruff voice echoed in my head. "In
marriage, your body becomes your husband's..."
I couldn't help it. I was going to break fast this way and I felt guilty as sin.
Slipping my hand between my thighs, I told myself that this was a far lesser crime
than actually going out and having sex with someone - anyone - to satisfy myself.
My pússy had been expecting me. Opening itself up to my sensuous touch, it throbbed
and ached painfully. Practically rusty and falling apart, my clít was swollen
beneath the pads of my fingers. It felt like I could come at the slightest touch -
but I didn't.

Pace yourself, I thought. What if I can't make myself come? The idea that I
wouldn't even remember what I liked was scary.

After three minutes of fiddling with myself like a child playing with the dials of
a car radio, I nearly smacked myself with frustration.

"Well, this is embarrassing," I mumbled, opening my eyes. Thankfully, there were no

witnesses to my pitiful attempt to pleasure myself. Was that even possible? Or was
I the first ever case of Failure to Masturbate? "Father Logan, I swear, this is
just a one-time offence. I promise," I said to the air. "Please don't judge me."

I closed my eyes again.

The first thing I saw was what I imagined to be Devin naked.

Even before I touched myself again, I was wet. It was that simple; that easy.

And then the door opened.

It was stupid but, horrified, I shot into the air and frightened Ophelia, who saw
nothing wrong with barging in on naked adults. Jumping probably wasn't the smartest
thing to do because that was how I slipped and fell backwards. Pain exploded across
my back and lukewarm water rocketed up my nostrils and splashed out of the tub and
onto the marble floor.

"Are you okay?" Ophelia asked hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Rory. I did knock."

"Fee?"
"Yes?"

"I can't move."

She came up beside the tub. "Is it broken?" she asked, awed.

"Is what broken?"

"Your back."

"No, but it's probably bruised," I replied, surprised that I wasn't concerned about
the fact that the bubbles had dissipated and my naked body was on display for this
inquisitive six-year-old. I was positive that she was too young for this horror
show. "Sweetheart," I said gently, "could you call Lydia?"

"Lydia?" Fee repeated, wrinkling her nose as she looked down at me. To her credit,
she wasn't staring at my chest. "Lydia will break her back picking you up. I'll
call Devin."

"What?" I spluttered in incredulity, trying to get up. Pain so acute it was

incomprehensible spurted through my entire body. "Fee, no. I said Lydia. Lydia."

She skipped out the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. I tried to sit up and
failed dismally. My eyes travelled skyward.

"This is my punishment, isn't it?" I lay back. "Fair enough. I deserve it. I
haven't been faithful enough. When was the last time I went to church? When was the
last time I got onto my knees and prayed?" I sighed heavily. "Well, if You're
listening right now, I pray that Devin's gone off somewhere and Lydia -"

"You know," came Devin's sonorous voice, "if you wanted to return the favour, you
could've just stripped."

I felt heat enflame my cheeks and instantly covered my breasts with one arm and my
crotch with the other. It felt incredibly silly but there was nothing else I could
do in that moment.
"What favour?" I managed to spit out, disturbed by the solemn expression on his
face.

"Oh, we both know what I'm talking about," he said quietly, rolling up the sleeves
of his shirt.

"You don't have to do this," I protested, instinctively shrinking away.

"You'll catch a cold."

"I'll take my chances."

"And sue me? People have done so for far less."

Oh shít. Just great. Just bloody great.

Devin's eyes - long-lashed and hazel-gold - seemed to drink my naked body in like a
dehydrated nomad. Long-lashed and intense, they saw into my very soul and in that
moment, I wished I weren't so clumsy and that everything didn't hurt.

"You should be careful," Devin said calmly, bending over to scoop me into his arms.
"This bathtub can get incredibly slippery."

He smelled of something spicy, something that wafted into my nostrils and refused
to budge; something that turned me on.

I shook the idea away. "So I noticed," I said dryly. Mortified, I noticed how erect
my nipples were. They stabbed the air like tiny knives of arousal and I was
positive that Devin had noticed. "I think I can walk now," I said quickly.

To my relief, he set me on the ground and reached for my towel. "This is the second
time I'm rescuing you," he said, in that quiet way I was beginning to recognise as
his annoyed tone. "Let's not make it a habit."
I tightened the towel around herself, wincing from the motion. "I slipped in the
tub. Hardly a rescue."

A dirty look suddenly crossed his face and disappeared as soon as it came. "I
haven't had sex in two years, Rory. Consider yourself rescued..." He turned to
leave "...from me."

Once again, I felt heat stain my face. Shivering and trying to ignore the throbbing
in my back, I cleared my throat.

"I could call that sexual harassment," I said boldly, and he stopped in his tracks
before slowly turning around.

"That? Sexual harassment?" he asked, his tone irritated. "You don't know the
meaning of the term." He pulled me to him, his arm snaking around my waist. "This
would be harassment." His free hand pulled my towel away and I squeaked out a
protest when it palmed one heavy breast and tweaked my painful nipple. "So would
this," he continued, his hand slapping the curve of my rear, "and definitely this."

Devin's mouth came down upon mine, hard and furious. He pulled away instantly and
released me. "I should fire you."

Fire me? I thought in disbelief, breathing heavily. What did I do?

I was speechless. For starters, this had been the longest conversation I'd ever had
with Devin Shaw and, secondly, I was positive that he wasn't as crazy as he let
everyone believe he was - just incredibly, agonisingly sexually frustrated.

He tore his gaze from me and whirled around.

"Wait," I called out, finding my voice.

"What is it?" he snapped, not even bothering to turn around again.

"Why did you...trash the living room last week? It's been bothering me."

"Trash it?" he repeated, looking over his shoulder. "Rory, I was looking for my
phone."

<center><h1>3: In Which She is the Pharaoh's Concubine</h1></center>

<hr>

3: In Which She is the Pharaoh's Concubine

**********************************

Born in Cairo, Egypt on December 24, 1978, Devin Lateef Shaw was brought up by his
American father in Brooklyn, New York. Shaw's first job as a teen was as a mechanic
but since he showed a keen interest in the arts from a young age, his father
decided to...

"What am I doing?" I asked myself, exiting the Wikipedia page and slamming my
laptop shut. I leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up under my chin. "This
is stalking."

Besides that, I was no doubt being scrutinised by the secret geek Bates had
probably hired to monitor my online traffic. Googling Topless Devin Shaw was sure
to draw some concern.

Seriously, Rory - you have bigger things to think about, I thought, pushing my
chair back and getting to my feet. Like how to get Devin to notice spoor Fee.

Actually talking to Devin about it was the real problem. For starters, I couldn't
go two footsteps near him without acting like a tongue-tied, star-struck groupie.
It was humiliating to say the least.

Just remember what a prick he is. And a nutcase. And an utter hottie...
I slapped my forehead as if I could slap all thoughts of throwing the man down and
having my wicked way with him out of my head. It didn't help - at all. I sighed
heavily and went to the balcony. Outside on the beach, Ophelia was chasing Lydia's
loyal German shepherd, Bullet, under the woman's watchful eye. Sunday was my day
off and, whenever I could, I went out to town and comforted myself with mindless
shopping. I never thought I'd find shopping so tedious but it turned out that the
more money I had, the more it became more of a chore. I missed my fiver budgets.

Ophelia looked up and waved frantically. I waved back before returning to my

bedroom. Cracking my knuckles, I went back to my perch in front of my laptop. If
Devin didn't want to listen to me, I knew exactly who he'd probably listen to: Dr.
Phil.

Everyone listened to that bald-headed know-it-all.

"What the hell is this?"

I quickly looked up from Fifty Shades, startled by Devin's unsubtle intrusion.

Half-dressed, he stood in the doorway, his face a picture of irritation. Reading
about Christian Grey and actually seeing a topless Devin was not a good
combination, especially for my raging hormones. Cursing under my breath, I
bookmarked my page and placed it on the nightstand before sliding out of the
covers, careful not to wake Ophelia.

"What's the matter?" I asked Devin, although from the sheaf of papers in his hand,
I already knew.
"What's she doing in your room?" Devin's attention was momentarily grabbed by his
slumbering daughter, who was spread-eagled in the middle of my bed. If I'd thought
that that bed was even remotely huge, sleeping with Ophelia had made me rethink my
entire perception of size.

"She had a bad dream. That usually happens when little children watch slasher-movie
reruns."

The scowl on Devin's face returned and he flung the compilation of Parenting-for-
Single-Parents printouts - the ones I'd slipped under his bedroom door earlier that
day - in my direction. The sheets of A4 paper fluttered about the room but none of
them came even slightly close to hitting me.

"Go to hell," he said through gritted teeth.

"Me?" I asked incredulously, careful not to raise my voice in my anger. "You think
I should go to hell? Did you even read the stuff I gave you? If anyone should go to
hell, it's you, Satan's stepdad!"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Devin snapped.

"Oh, shut it, will you?"

I would've laughed at his look of surprised fury if I wasn't irritated myself.

Ophelia made some sort of mumbling noise and we both angled to look at her. She
turned onto her side, sighing contentedly.

"Look, it's late. You'll wake Fee," I said softly, when what I really wanted to say
was a big "Fúck you".

I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it on, more than aware that the football T-shirt
I had on wouldn't suffice otherwise. I took a deep breath and deliberately pushed
past Devin on my way out the door.
He closed it gently behind me.

"I want you out tomorrow," he said out in the hallway.

"Out where?" I asked innocently, choosing to fake ignorance.

Devin's glower could've melted the skin clean off my face. "Who do you think you're
talking to?" he snarled. "If I ever want...parenting advice from you, I'll damn
well ask! You have no right to -"

I was just going to tell him to keep it down; to tell him that even if he was used
to bellowing at eleven at night, Ophelia wasn't. My mouth, on the other hand,
decided that a more hands-on approach would be appropriate - and that was how,
after countless sleepless nights fantasising about it, I got on my tippy toes and
kissed him.

Devin's lips were soft; certainly a million times softer than he was. He tasted of
cigarettes. And something sweet, like fruit juice. He tasted of exactly what I
wanted right then - he tasted of sex. And not just rolling-in-the-hay-missionary
sex. No; he tasted of the kind of sex that broke bones.

I pulled away, mortified. "I'm sorry. So damn, damn sorry," I garbled. "You have to
sack me now. Please."

Without waiting for his response, I turned to leave. I didn't care where I went -
the beach, Lydia's cottage, the moon - as long as it was as far away from Devin
Shaw as humanly possible.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked in a low voice, and his hand shot out
to grab my wrist.

I whimpered. "That hurts." I was lying.

"Does it now?" His other arm snaked around my waist, drawing me to him. It felt
like I'd been scalded. "And this?" Quick as a flash, his head dipped low and his
lips captured mine.
My response was automatic, like breathing in. For someone who hadn't had sex in
over four years and hadn't been kissed in six months, I was behaving
extraordinarily reserved - if wantonly shoving myself at Devin could count as
"reserved". His hands came up at the back of my head, his fingers threading the
tendrils of my unruly raven-black hair. Lips parting, I allowed him to deepen the
kiss, my hands eagerly roaming across the planes of his unyielding chest.

So this is what it feels like, I thought, wondering if this were some incredibly
realistic dream. If it was, I never wanted to wake up.

Devin became tired of bending and, without pulling away from me, hoisted me up and
pressed my back against the wall. My legs cinched themselves around his waist and
my hands ran along his jaw, the prickle of his stubble almost as good as the feel
of the happy trail that led to the snake in his low-slung jeans...

Your body is a temple, Father Logan's pious voice resounded in my head.

Just like that, I came crashing down to reality.

"Dev," I breathed into his mouth, "Devin, stop." His mouth moved to the side of my
neck; the side where even the slightest touch felt like sadistic foreplay.

Oh, but I don't want you to stop.

Four years, Rory, and you're going to chuck it down the drain for an arsehole like
Devin Shaw?

His head came up. "Stop?" The word sounded foreign on his tongue.

"I can't... You're my boss," I said lamely.

"I fired you."

I rolled my eyes at that. "Put me down."

He dropped me; he literally dropped me. Fortunately, a cat always lands on its
feet.

"You're a dick," I grumbled, smoothing down the front of my gown.

"And you're a cock-tease."

I could have slapped him.

"I'm going to bed," I said through clenched teeth. But I'm going to say a million
Hail Marys first, I mentally added.

"You don't look exhausted," he countered, and he grabbed my wrists.

For one crazy second - crazy being the operative word - I thought he was going to
attack me. Instead, he pinned my arms above my head with one hand against the cold,
cold wall. The dinky belt securing my nightgown unravelled and I felt icy air hit
my legs. But that definitely wasn't why I was shivering.

Devin's gaze was predatory but the most dangerous thing about him was his sheer
masculinity. Damn it, I craved that like an addict yearned for his poison.

His free hand pushed the folds of my robe aside. I didn't know which was worse: The
fact that I wanted him so badly, or the fact that I didn't know what he would do
next.

Probably maul me, I thought, and despite my mental battle, I shivered in delicious
anticipation. I'd never been mauled, after all.

My eyes closed when I felt his hand trail a path of destruction down my belly. I
could feel electricity zing from his fingers to my skin through my T-shirt and,
when those fingers traced the lace of my underwear, I thought I'd been
electrocuted.

"Don't," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper.

As usual, he did the opposite of what I asked of him. Those dangerous fingers of
his slipped into my underwear and, unable to free myself from his grip on my arms,
I bit my bottom lip and said a mental prayer.

Devin knew exactly how the female anatomy worked. He could've simply run a finger
across my clít and I would've been putty in his deft hands. I held my breath when I
felt the pad of a finger slowly begin to rub that little nub of sensitised nerves.
He parted the lips of my pússy with two fingers and slipped one in.

I moaned. The sensation was like heaven in my knickers and when he added another
fingerr, I could've creamed them.

"Is that what you like?" he surprised me by asking gently, almost benevolently.

"Mm-hmm." Finger-fúcking isn't that sinful, right?

"Better than what I would feel like inside you?"

"No," I gasped, grinding my hips against his sensational hand.

"You want me to fúck you?"

"Ooh, yes," I panted, and I could feel how close I was to coming right then and
there.

"I thought so."

His fingers disappeared and my eyes flew open.

"What...what are you doing?" I demanded, watching him raise his fingers to his
mouth.
He sucked on them. I nearly died.

"You can go to bed now," was his blunt response. He turned to leave. "Sweet dreams,
Rory."

"Sweet dreams?" I hissed at his retreating back. "Sweet dreams? Are you kidding
me?"

No, Rory, what are you doing? This is your way out!

Devin ignored me. What was new?

If I was going to keep my vow, I had to let him go downstairs and do whatever the
hell he did at night. I had to push open my bedroom door and go inside and get on
my knees and apologise to God for being so bloody weak. I had to fall asleep and
pretend that I didn't want Devin Father-of-the-Year-Just-Kidding Shaw in my bed
instead of his gorgeous daughter.

That was what I had to do.

Too bad I was finding it so difficult to listen to my goody-two-shoes of a

conscience.

Before I knew it, I'd shrugged my gown off and practically ripped off my own shirt
and flung it to the ground. Cold air instantly assailed me but I ignored it. Devin
was already halfway down the stairs and, feeling like such a brazen hussy, I took
them two at a time before I met him at the bottom.

He turned around and I all but launched myself at him.

You are definitely getting fired for this.

"You are such a dickhead," I whispered, and his arms snaked around my waist before
he kissed me.
"I've been called worse," he murmured into my mouth as he picked me up and walked
me to the living room.

He blindly flicked the lights on and, groaning into my mouth, fell back on a sofa,
making me straddle him. Beneath me, his jeans came off. I felt his erection prod me
and, when he drew my nipple into his mouth, I knew that I wasn't going to keep my
second-hand virginity - not for all the money in the world.

My head rolled back and I gripped the back of Devin's head as he switched his
attention to my other breast. He rolled the aching bud with his tongue, his hands
clenching my waist. I rocked against him, the minimal friction between my panties
and his boxers unbearable. I was so wet, so unbelievably ready for him that the
feel of his hot mouth on my nipples was becoming torturous.

"Dev," I pleaded, "I need you to get inside me."

I didn't recognise the desperate, throaty voice as mine. Hell, I didn't recognise
the woman who'd just thrown herself at her boss after vowing to never look at a man
until marriage called.

Marriage certainly wasn't calling. It didn't even have my telephone number.

He raised his head. "Patience, Rory," he said soothingly, taking my hand and
placing it on the tent of his boxers. "If I don't get off first, I'll hurt you. You
wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Screw that!" I hissed, grabbing his stiffness in my hand. I could barely get
around him. "Since when do you care about hurting me?"

"You don't understand," he said in a warning tone. "Rory, I haven't been with
anyone in almost three years. It's a miracle I'm even able to converse with you."

I wasn't about to tell him that I hadn't had sex in nearly five years. That little
nugget of information wasn't about to be aired like dirty linen.

"Then I expect you to give it to me good," I said coyly, rubbing the silk against
the length of his member.

He released a guttural groan before gripping me to him as he got to his feet. I

gasped in surprise at the change in altitude, hanging onto Devin for dear life. He
kicked the coffee table aside as if it weighed nothing and sank to his knees. I
mentally thanked Bates for choosing Persian rugs instead of something coarser. I
definitely didn't need friction burns.

Devin's lips landed on mine and my eyes automatically closed. He wasn't holding
back and I didn't want him to. It felt like I'd been starving in some desert
somewhere and I'd suddenly stumbled upon an oasis.

He tore my underwear off; the final barrier that was keeping me virtuous.

I wantonly spread my legs and, without further preamble, Devin entered - no, broke
into - me. My eyes flew open. It felt like I was eighteen again and my boyfriend,
Callum, was telling me that it wouldn't hurt; that all I'd feel was pleasure when I
eventually came.

Oh, ogre shít, he's too fúcking huge. What if I never walk again? What if I never
sit again?

I sucked it up. Devin's weight on me was incredibly stifling but his scent - God,
his scent was intoxicating - and the fact that his c0ck filled me up so completely
and perfectly was consolation enough for the excruciating pain that came with each
thrust.

I heard myself making foreign noises, things I didn't think sounded even remotely
human. When I could finally enjoy the pleasure that came with the pain, I met Devin
thrust for thrust, arching my back with each one. The carpet shifted beneath me.
Devin was furious with each plunge and the faster he got, the closer I got to the
edge. I was positive that I would be drenched for days, if not, months.

"Oh yes, Dev," I breathed, when I could feel everything start to make sense again.
The end result - that was the main goal: The big O. "I'm almost there. I'm almost
there."

His breathing became ragged, as did mine, and then, with one final, brutal thrust,
he emptied his juices inside me, a low groan escaping his lips. His orgasm was
violent it made me come. I felt him climax again, his body joined with mine, and
then I felt his lips on mine. His tongue ran across my swollen bottom lip and my
lips parted, allowing it entrance.

I came countless times after that; too many times to count. Minutes turned to hours
and Devin Shaw would not stop. I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to suck me,
lick me, drink me, fúck me until I didn't know the difference between up and down.

Eventually, sated, he withdrew himself from me and got onto his knees before
gracefully pulling himself to his feet.

I couldn't move. Maybe I never will.

Somewhere outside, a cockerel crowed.

I took that as my cue to pull myself together. I painfully sat up, wincing
slightly. Devin was already in his jeans and I didn't know how I felt about that.
Of course, I hadn't expected to cuddle, or to take this party to his bedroom, but I
felt like I'd been used and it wasn't a great feeling. But what did I expect? This
was a man who'd bedded his fair share of starlets and stick-thin models and
groupies. This was a man who'd refused to use a stunt double in all his stupid
movies. This was a man who'd made me come more times in one night than I'd ever
come in my entire life.

"You going to sit there watching me all day?" he said gruffly, his back to me.

"I don't think I can get up," I replied calmly, glancing down at my already-
purpling body. Even my fingers were bruised. I couldn't remember how that had
happened.

He turned around. "Rory, I'm not going to help you up."

"I didn't ask -"

"Because if I do, I'm going to want you again and if I want you again, I'm going to
want you to suck my c0ck, because let's face it, I haven't had any c0ck-sucking
going on under this roof. But that's beside the point."
"Then what's your point?" I whispered, finally pulling myself to my feet.

"My point," he said quietly, "is that you might have a big mouth metaphorically,
but truthfully, it's too damn small."

You can't be serious, I thought in disbelief.

"Do you want to test that theory?" I asked, licking my lips.

His eyes had already darkened. "I do."

<center><h1>4: In Which She Gets a Response</h1></center>

<hr>
4: In Which She Gets a Response

**********************************

"What are you wearing?" was the first thing out Bates' mouth when she stalked into
the kitchen on what had seconds before been a glorious Saturday morning.

Lydia, who was busy whipping something up for lunch at the stove, glanced over her
shoulder. "Don't sound so incredulous, Josie," she told Bates severely. "In fact,
Rory's generation can take a page out of her book."

"You look like a Mormon," Bates informed me, "or like something out of Little House
on the Prairie."

Pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me, I nearly said aloud.

"What's wrong with looking like a Mormon?" I asked instead, calmly sipping my third
black coffee of that morning. "In fact, what exactly do Mormons look like? Your
stereotypical mind disappoints me, Ms. Bates."

Bates shook her head. "I'm not going to answer that. I have bigger things to worry
about. Like how I'm going to coerce Ophelia into getting her hair cut. She looks
like a weeping willow!"

And, of course, her father was never going to notice that, was he? Was he ever
going to look at his daughter and propose anything in regards to her wellbeing?

"I'll convince her. She'll go if I take her," I offered, wondering if it would be

possible to ditch the annoyingly snooty silver-haired man Bates had chosen to be my
driver. Out of all the inconspicuous staff members, I was the youngest by far. It
only convinced me that Bates was singlehandedly responsible for their employment.

"Will you?"

"Of course. She's my responsibility, anyway."

Bates' eyes narrowed with suspicion. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your
wanting to go to the pharmacy again, would it?" she asked, her voice like gravel.
"Leland says you've been going there practically every day. Is there a medical
condition I should know about?"

I felt heat creep up my neck. If I had my way, the geriatric Leland would drive
himself off a very short pier. One thing I'd learned very quickly was that every
single worker - except for the more independent Lydia - on Shaw's property
unequivocally and dutifully reported to Josie Bates. The woman probably thought she
worked for the CIA by the way she was so suspicious and secretive.

"That man exaggerates. I get migraines - that's it. Let me get Ophelia ready. Which
beauty parlour does she usually frequent? Oh, and just a trim, right?"

Bates raised a wary brow. "Kelly's. And yes, just a trim."

I hotfooted it out of there before she could interrogate me any further. Bates
reminded me of my secondary school headmistress. That old hellcat could've broken
Hitler - but she sure as hell wasn't going to break me.

Ophelia was still fast asleep in my bed. After her first nightmare, she'd sort of
moved in. Various Barbie dolls - Vintage Barbie, Harley Davidson Barbie, Silkstone
Barbie - were scattered in every corner of my bedroom. The plastic-doll morgue was
creepier than any Wes Craven slasher.

I decided to let her sleep for a bit and went to the bathroom, closing the door
behind me. Sighing, I looked into the mirror for the fortieth time that morning and
conceded that I did look like I was playing dress-up with a great-great-
grandmother's antiques. Perhaps it was peculiar to feel safer when every inch of my
skin was covered up but that was exactly how I felt - and it didn't take a rocket
scientist to figure out from whom.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

That was my daily chastisement. I was the epitome of the word and I was deluding
myself if I thought I could blame what had happened the previous week on hormones.
I'd given my boss - a complete prick - a blowjob. I'd let him ruin a covenant I'd
made with God and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why him. It wasn't as
if he was the first man to get me hot under the collar and it wasn't as if I'd ever
unhealthily mooned over him like a devoted Devin-Shaw aficionado. He wasn't even my
type; I liked my men emotionally alive and at least ninety-eight-percent normal.

If I were being really honest - ridiculously candid - he didn't ruin anything. I

did. It was so much easier to shift the blame; to pretend that I was seduced when I
very well knew who'd practically done the chasing. It brought a blush to my face
when I remembered how I'd behaved like such a desperate, unthinking slag that
night.

"You're incredibly stupid," I told my reflection once more, unbuttoning the topmost
buttons of my suddenly stifling blouse. The buttons were exactly under my chin. "As
if dressing like a nun will make you one, you senseless wh0re."

"I don't think you look like a wh0re," a sleepy voice said from the doorway. "I
think you look pretty."

Jumping, I spun around. In her pink-and-black knee-length nightie, Ophelia rubbed

her eyes as she marched over to the toilet.

"You know far too many words," I said disapprovingly, folding my arms across my
chest. "I don't want you using that word again."

"What word? Pretty?" was her mischievous query.

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to have a bath, eat breakfast and then I'm going to
take you out for a haircut."

"A haircut?" She wrinkled her nose as she sat on the toilet seat. "I don't want
one."

"It's just a trim, sweetheart."

"I don't care."

"Please?"
"No."

"What about for a double-chocolate fudge ice-cream?" I asked, knowing that she
couldn't resist.

Her chocolate eyes sparkled. "Deal." She jumped to her feet. "Okay, you can go
now."

For someone raised in the lap of luxury and at such a young age, Ophelia Shaw was
extraordinarily independent and refused to have her bath run for her, or even to
have her clothes set out for her. I had no idea if this was normal behaviour, or if
children of the twenty-first century were taught to be so self-sufficient, but with
Ophelia, I got the distinct feeling that that was her way of controlling the little
things in her life, since she couldn't control the big ones. It was tragic.

After being unceremoniously thrown out of my bathroom, I got to work tidying the
bedroom. Who knew doing something so simple would be almost impossible in a floor-
length skirt? I wrenched it off in frustration and pulled on a pair of black jeans.
It was while fighting to get the blouse - which, in hindsight, was several sizes
smaller than me - off that my door was pushed open.

"Where's Caroline?"

Of course, it just had to be Devin.

I haven't seen the man since our roll-about in the living room and he just has to
walk in when I've got my head stuck in a shirt. Go figure.

"Ever heard of knocking?" I gasped out, the décolletage of the blouse stuck
somewhere under my chin. "Oh, fúck," I said under my breath. Why did the thing only
have two damn buttons?

I was only glad that I couldn't see him. What grown person still gets their head
stuck in things?

"There's no Caroline in this house," I choked out, giving up and now trying to pull
my top back down, the opposite direction. "You know very well that it's Josie
Bates. You must get some kind of kick out of giving her a different name every
day."

"Here. Let me."

"No, thanks," I sputtered, backing away from the general direction of his voice.

But I felt his hands on my chest and before I could further protest, he'd ripped my
blouse open with his bare hands.

"That was vintage Donna Karan!" I snapped at him, fingering the shreds that were
left of it.

He almost shrugged. "I never liked her."

"And I bet the feeling was mutual."

"Oh, it was." He surprised me by smiling - or whatever it was that wolves did

before they had breakfast. "Perhaps you should change?"

I finally remembered that I was topless. "Yes. Right. It would be great if you
left." The sight of him looking so - for lack of a better word - refreshed when I
felt all hot and bothered by being in his presence made me all the more resilient
in being stronger than I'd been before.

"I've seen more of you than this," he told my back.

"Devin, Ophelia's taking a bath in there. I don't think your being in here would be
good for her." I quickly pulled a T-shirt on and turned around, kicking my closet
door shut. "Speaking of which, why don't you go out with us? I'm taking her out for
ice-cream."

His face immediately closed up. "I'm busy."

"Doing what? Throwing tantrums? Patrolling the beach like a guard dog? Getting a
tan on a tan?"

He threw me an evil glare; I was used to that facial expression. "What I do with my
time is none of your concern."

"No, you're right - it's not. In fact, I couldn't give two shíts," I hissed,
knowing that cursing at one's boss was another sure-fire way to get sacked. "But
what you do is your daughter's business. She doesn't even call you Dad. Don't you
find that the least bit unfortunate?"

"Ophelia and I discussed this - not that it's any of your business," he said
through gritted teeth. "I prefer her to call me by my first name. It's the twenty-
first century, in case you missed that at whatever out-of-date wh0rehouse Irene dug
you up from."
"Whorehouse?" I repeated slowly. It felt like he'd slapped me. "Where would you get
that idea from?"

His face was suddenly in mine. "I don't mind you looking after Ophelia. If my PA
likes you, there must be something moderately acceptable about you. But don't for a
second think that I'm interested in you, or anything that comes out of your mouth."

My eyes narrowed. "You really are crazy! How did we jump from ice-cream to you
letting me down easy?" I nearly laughed. "News flash, you has-been: You have
nothing I want. What happened between the two of us that night was a massive
mistake on my part and can only be blamed on my being a virgin for five years.
You're so soulless, shagging you was like making love to a puppet!"

He stared at me. My hand instantly flew to my big mouth.

Oh, hell, I thought in shock. How could I have said all that?

"You hadn't had sex in five years? Why?" Devin wanted to know.

I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry for being so rude. It won't happen again."

"It should," he said, sounding like a chastised little boy. "I was out of line."

I didn't argue with that.

"I don't know what to say to her," he said after a long moment of silence had
passed.

"I don't understand."

"To Ophelia," he elaborated, taking a seat on the end of my rumpled bed. "I don't
know what to say to Ophelia."

He looked up at me, those long-lashed eyes of his suddenly so vulnerable and honest
I was torn between reaching out to hug him, or respecting boundaries as employer
and employee.

"All she wants to know is that you love her," I said gently. "That's all."

"I do." He picked Harley Davidson Barbie up and turned her over in his big hands.
"I never wanted kids - hell, I never liked them - and suddenly, this beautiful
little...creature shows up on my doorstep and I'm thrown." He paused. "It's not a
great feeling, to not know what the hell you're doing." He pressed a finger against
Barbie's chest. "They really put breasts on these things? Is that legal?"

I tentatively sat down beside him. "I don't think anyone really knows what they're
doing the first time, Dev. Well, I wouldn't know, either. It's not like I've ever
had any children."

"I've done incredibly stupid..." Devin's baritone trailed off and he scowled at me.
"Why am I telling you this?"

"Rory?" Ophelia was standing outside the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her
little body.

The doll was dropped to the ground as Devin jumped to his feet and averted his
intense hazel eyes. "I'll just... leave you to it."

He almost sprinted out the door and Ophelia watched him go, a forlorn look on her
face.

"Hey, sweetheart," I said brightly, getting to my feet. "What do you want to wear
today?"

As Ophelia shrugged off any help, I thought about how much Devin Shaw was missing
out on this intelligent girl. He couldn't even say the word 'daughter'. Something
had happened to him and I knew, just like every other celebrity with a competent PR
and legal team, it was swept under the carpet. Still, it was awful enough to leave
an indelible mark on him and I was going to get to the bottom of this mystery.
<center><h1>5: In Which She Plans a Party</h1></center>
<hr>

5: In Which She Plans a Party

*************************************

As the days rolled by and became weeks, I realised that it was completely stupid of
me to continue buying morning-after pills when that morning after had been weeks
ago. Sandy - the girl who sat behind the counter at the pharmacist's flipping
through magazines - was probably moderately sad to lose the business I gave her
father.

It hardly mattered that I had all kinds of contraception stuffed into my suitcase.
What mattered was that it was there; a reminder that I had done a terrible thing
and that the possibility of bringing another child into this world with Devin Shaw
as its father was very real and very frightening to even contemplate.

Not that I'm thinking about it, I thought emphatically, watching Ophelia chase
Bullet, Lydia's dog, out to the shore. Fee was an extremely competent swimmer but I
wasn't going to take any chances.

"Does she look like me?"

I was becoming used to Devin popping up out of nowhere with nothing but his unique
scent and overbearing presence as a warning. He was as unpredictable as the stock
market.

"What kind of an idiotic question is that?" I asked him, willing myself not to turn
and look at him. Even a sideways glance would be like staring Medusa in the face.

"Idiotic? No. Rational? Yes. I'll be the first to admit that Natalya was a whore,"
Devin said candidly, his hands deep in the pockets of his noir Levi's.

Natalya Kovalenko was now a full-fledged Playboy model with the world - or, rather,
Hugh Hefner - as her oyster. It irked me to think that she'd chosen frontal nudity
over a chance to raise her incredible daughter.

"And I bet that's what drew you to her in the first place," I reminded Devin.

"That's none of your business," he snapped, and I could feel the heat radiating
from him.

"Hey, you brought the subject up." Suddenly, something clicked. I turned to glare
at him. "Is that why you won't allow yourself to get close to Ophelia?" I hissed,
ignoring how utterly divine he looked. "Because you're not sure if she's yours?"
"I had a paternity test done."

"Well done, you prick." How could anyone not want Ophelia?

His brow furrowed. "Are you deliberately trying to get yourself fired?"

"That depends. Are you deliberately trying to be a complete dickhead at the

detriment to your daughter?" I countered.

His mouth - full, peach lips as kissable as they were the day I met him - became a
thin line of quiet anger.

"I need a smoke."

As soon as he said that, I remembered what it was like to taste the faint flavour
of cigarettes on his breath and I couldn't look anywhere but his mouth. If the sun
hadn't decided to suddenly glare into my eyes, I probably wouldn't have torn my
eyes away from him until it was too late.

"You do that," I told him, my voice hoarse. "Run away when you're so near to your
daughter. You're good at running." My gaze briefly flitted back to Ophelia, who was
bent over picking at something in the sand. With her cloud of inky-black hair
swishing behind her like a flag, it wasn't that hard to miss her.

"I'm not running," Devin snarled, his eyes darkening in barely controlled rage. His
temper amazed me. One minute he was calm, cool and collected and the next - well,
the next, he was Devin Shaw, bipolar-giant-extraordinaire.

Suddenly, Bullet careened towards Devin and - contrary to what I'd expected - Devin
instantly hunkered down and accepted the German shepherd's overzealous slobbering.
It boggled the mind to think that he showed more affection to an animal than to his
own flesh and blood. Just looking at Ophelia's baffled expression, it was obvious
that she was thinking the same thing.

"I didn't know you like dogs, Devin," she said cautiously, gingerly getting down
onto all fours.
Bullet, thrilled with the attention, patiently sat between the two of them, his
golden tail wagging excitedly.

"I don't," Devin remarked curtly, getting to his feet. "This creature is probably
rabid."

"Rabid?" Ophelia tested the word out on her tongue.

"Don't mind your father, Fee," I said quickly, wishing I could slap the man. "He
loves animals. He's just surprised they like him back."

Devin gave me a withering look.

"Bullet has always liked you, Devin," Ophelia ventured, and I could practically see
the olive branch as she looked up at him expectantly. "Everyone likes you."

Yeah, right.

"I just remembered," I said quickly, "Lydia needed my help." I was already taking a
step away. "Devin, you don't mind watching Ophelia, do you?" After all, I mentally
added, she is your daughter.

"What?" he said in a strangled voice.

"You need to man up and grow some balls," I hissed at him, careful to ensure that
Ophelia didn't overhear. "She's a child; not a troll!"

"I don't appreciate your tone," Devin said through clenched teeth.

"I don't care," I informed him, and skipped away before he could fire me.
When I dared to turn around, he was sitting on the sand, his knees pulled up as he
watched his daughter chase Lydia's beloved dog into the surf.

***

"Why not?"

"Because that's the way things are, Ms. Harding."

"Bull. You just never had a childhood."

Bates pursed her thin lips and finally looked at me. "I'll choose to ignore that
remark and blame it on your... migraines."

I folded my arms across my chest, feeling like a child again. I hadn't thrown a
tantrum since diapers and I wasn't about to start now. Instead, I took a deep
breath and counted to ten. We were in Devin's foreboding study and Bates was in the
middle of ransacking his drawers so it was increasingly difficult to get her avid
attention. Of course, I'd barged in unannounced once I'd sniffed her talcum-powder-
and-mothballs scent out.

"It's just a play-date," I reminded her, admiring my composure. "I don't understand
what's so awful about it."

Bates' face wrinkled in disgust, as if the idea of three other children running
rampant in her boss' precious house was as nightmarish as a terrorist attack. I was
positive that Josie Bates secretly wanted to marry Devin, a man certainly young
enough to be her son. She so obviously held a candle to the man.

"What's awful about little girls having fun?" I wanted to know. "Ophelia's only
company is a dog and adults that are too busy to entertain her. I might not be a
child expert, but I know enough to understand how important interacting with other
children is for her."

"You're that girl's company."

"It's not enough, Josie, and you know it."

"You don't understand how much investigating I'll have to do," she muttered. "I'll
have to look into the girls' backgrounds, check out their parents; make sure
they're not spying. Tabloids are incredibly generous when it comes to leaking."

I nearly laughed. "Investigating? Background checks? Do you listen to yourself? No

one gives a damn about Devin Shaw and certainly not a group of bloody six-year-
olds!"

"The answer is an unequivocal no, Ms. Harding." Bates punctuated her sentence with
a sigh of triumph as she pulled out a sheaf of spiral-bound papers. "And he thought
I wouldn't find it."

"Find what?" I asked, momentarily distracted.

"The script," Bates replied vaguely. She turned to look at me and I couldn't help
but notice the indelible lines on her craggy face. Just how old was she? "Now,
follow me out and don't ever let Devin know you were ever in here," she commanded,
her voice even.

"Too late." Devin's voice came from the doorway. "Jackie, get out. I need to speak
to her."

"For God's sake, it's Josie and you know it," I said aloud, watching in disbelief
as Bates scurried out the room like a hunted dormouse. She closed the door behind
her, sealing me in the room with my worst nightmare - or best wet dream, depending
on which way I looked at it. "I don't like her much but surely you can exercise
even a modicum of good manners?"
"Sit down," Devin demanded, gesturing at the large, stiff-backed office chair at
his desk. In a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows and white beach
shorts, he practically looked edible.

"And if I refuse?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he inclined his head toward an image beside an

overflowing bookshelf. "Do you know who that is?"

I hadn't really paid much attention to the room. In fact, once Devin had stepped
inside, he was pretty much the only scenery worth looking at. However, once I'd
dragged my eyes away from him, I could see that his study was all him - a mesh of
dark decor and intricate detailing and exotic objets d'art. The painting he was
gesturing at was the unmistakable likeness of Laurence Fishburne in The Matrix,
sunglasses and all.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said aloud.

"Because nothing is as it seems," Devin said quietly, approaching me. I

instinctively took a step backwards and my rear collided with the desk. "You took a
vow of chastity, Aurora Harding of Chelsea, London," he continued. "Was that before
or after you slept with Pritchett?"

The mere mention of Richard fucking Pritchett, Jnr. was enough to make my blood
boil. It concocted flashbacks of the lying bastard throwing my reputation down the
drain with one simple, sordid lie.

"My personal life is none of your business!" I exploded, itching to slap the self-
righteous look off Devin's face. "I'm glad to see that you're using your never-
ending free time productively by hounding Bates for dirt on me."

A slow smile spread across his face. "It bothers me," he went on as if I hadn't
said anything, "that I was unwittingly responsible for such a betrayal of your vows
to a Higher Power."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I could feel my face reddening. When that
happened, I was instantly transported back to primary school and playground
bullies.
"And because I consider myself a very spiritual person..." He stopped, his eyes
travelling skyward. "Fine - moderately spiritual." His golden eyes swivelled back
to me. "I want to make it up to you."

"Excuse me?" I spluttered, in case my hearing had suddenly become impaired.

"I will attempt to make myself less irresistible," he said, his voice grave.

"Excuse me?" I sounded like a broken record. I couldn't believe it. Shaw wasn't
crazy - merely an arrogant, delusional jerk with too much free time, beauty
products and stupid movie-award nominations under his belt.

"That was my weak attempt at a joke."

"Do yourself a favour and don't try."

"I hear you want to arrange a play-date for Ophelia," he said out of the blue, and
he reached past me and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of a drawer. "When?"

I mentally thanked God for the change of subject. "This Saturday afternoon. Josie
seems to think that that would be a breach of security." I watched him whip out a
lighter.

"I don't want a mob of kids scampering about," he said, putting flame to cigarette
end. "Was that your idea? To piss me off?"

"Not everything's about the great Devin Shaw," I said sarcastically, folding my
arms across my chest. "Hard to believe, right?"

"Very," he replied dryly, putting the cigarette to his lips.

Don't think about it, Rory... Don't think about...

Don't think about him taking you right here in one of those office clichés, except
that this is a study and the goddess Nefertiti is watching from across the room
next to Ra and Isis and dammit, that ciggie is one lucky bastard, getting into his
mouth like -

"...if that will make her happy. You can't call me an unfair man."

I snapped out of it. "I'm sorry. What?"

Devin's brow creased, his trademark look of annoyance. "I just gave you my
permission."

Permission to what? Strip?

No, you idiot! Ophelia.

"Really?" I said quickly, blushing. "Great."

"Although, I must say, I didn't know she had any friends."

"You don't know much about her," I said fiercely, not bothering to mention that
she'd only met Phoebe, Marnie and Savita at the hairdresser's the other day. It was
saddening to notice how much older Ophelia seemed in comparison.

"Is that a jibe?" Devin's tone of voice told me he couldn't care less. He took one
last drag before reaching past me once more and stubbing the cigarette in the empty
ashtray.

"It's the truth."

"Really?"
"Yes. What's your daughter's favourite colour?"

"White."

Lucky guess, I thought to myself.

"Favourite animal?"

"A Stegosaurus," Devin replied casually. He had turned his back on me and was now
analysing the spines of the books on the cluttered shelf.

"Favourite food?"

"Pepperoni pizza."

Okay, this isn't going the way I thought it would.

"Favourite...bedtime story?" I faltered.

"Sleeping Beauty." He banged a fist against the bookshelf, making me jump. "Fúck
this," he rumbled, whirling around and advancing towards me. "I know her, OK? And I
know you."

I was motionless as he drew me to him and only when his lips mashed against mine
did my muscles and bones finally decide to work. I wanted to push him away; to
remind him of who he was and who I was - but once my hands were against his chest,
they wanted to feel more than his torso.

Once again, I could taste the nicotine and the pure masculinity of his presence.
His hands had seared my back and were now scorching the globes of my rear through
my jeans as he pulled me even closer...

Rory, Rory, Rory... You never could resist the tall, dark and handsome...
Suddenly, Devin's hands were ripping my dress shirt off, buttons popping and
bouncing onto the plush carpeting. His mouth never left mine as his hands worked
and, much to my surprise, my hands were doing the exact same thing to his top. They
simultaneously came off and Devin scooped me up, setting me on his desk. My legs
came around his waist and he unhooked my bra before I could even visualise it.

"Like I said," he growled, "I know what you like."

I could only breathlessly watch as he brought his mouth down and drew one of my
nipples into the wet warmth of his mouth. His hair had grown out just a bit, long
enough for me to lace my fingers with, and I threw my head back when his teeth bit
down on one tender nub.

I'm going to hell. I've got a one-way ticket there and Satan's got me in first
class.

"Stop," I breathed, experiencing a whoosh of déjà vu. "Stop that...and just...fúck

me," I begged, releasing a moan when one of his hands unzipped my jeans and slipped
into the front of my thong.

Devin didn't have to work too hard to get me wet, as he switched his attention to
my other breast. His fingers, vaguely constricted by the denim, felt more agonising
than anything I'd ever endured. I was praying that he wouldn't eat me - now that
would be a punishment, I thought, my mind going fuzzy when he found my core.

I automatically moved with his hand and when it disappeared, I was momentarily
disappointed - until he flawlessly removed my jeans and I knew that ultimate
pleasure was moments away.

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.

Devin stood before me, an intimidating specimen with his height and build and
downright enigmatic complexity. Now, completely naked, I realised that part of
Devin's barely-there charm was that he was exactly as he'd called it: He was
irresistible; completely and utterly irresistible. Perhaps that was how Natalya had
gotten herself knocked up. Once Devin got you naked, there was just no time for
something as trivial as a condom.
Fortunately, I thought as he spread my legs, this particular girl isn't as stupid
as she was the first time.

Devin was a skilful lover, I had to give him that, but not skilful enough to risk
pregnancy for. Granted, he had incalculable experience at the art of the big O, but
I got the feeling that even if he had remained a mechanic, women would still be
throwing themselves at his feet, begging for a mere glance at his manhood.

When his lips brushed my inner thigh, I thought I'd come then and there. Propping
myself up on my elbows, I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my lip, nearly
drawing blood. His lips grazed the slit of my cúnt and his tongue darted out,
licking its way inside. Being spread wide open for him to enjoy me with his mouth
was absolute torture and I had to will myself to calm down; to wait until that
precise moment when he was inside me, fúcking me, ruining any semblance of
wholesomeness I once possessed.

He kissed his way up my belly, his tongue flickering into the dent of my navel.
Tightly clenched, my abdomen was incredibly sensitised and I stifled a groan of
painful pleasure. Devin's lips were amazingly soft against my skin and, with one
last touch, he swiftly entered me, excruciating pain engulfing my entire being like
a raging fire. I bit back a cry, the memory of the unlocked door coming to the fore
of my mind.

It was difficult to think about things like that with this man buried inside me.

He brought me up, tilting my chin upwards with two fingers, and wrapped my legs
around his waist once more.

"You have the most expressive eyes," he murmured before his lips briefly captured
mine.

My eyes? I thought in disbelief, my fingernails buried in his shoulder blades. They

were the most boring pair of murky brown and he thought they were expressive?

Slowly, Devin pulled out before thrusting into me again, the force sending me into
a downward spiral of pure ecstasy. His nose was in my hair and it almost felt as
though he were forcing himself to live up to his middle name and be gentle.
This time, I didn't feel like a prostitute.

***

"Guess what," Ophelia exclaimed, bounding into my bedroom at high-speed.

"What, sweetheart?" I asked, in the middle of Googling an exorbitant - but highly

recommended - multi-talented clown. A clown might have been a little too much for a
simple play-date but I was determined to show Ophelia what a real childhood was if
it killed me - and maybe a small part of me also selfishly wanted to see what that
was like.

"My mommy's visiting!" Ophelia said excitedly, dashing over to my bed and hopping
on top of it to engage in one of her favourite pastimes: Bed-jumping.

"Visiting?" I asked, turning in my chair to look at her. "Er, why? Is Mommy all
right?"

"She wants to see me! Really! She called Mrs. Bates and I talked to her!"

She sounded like a child who'd been told that Santa had asked for her personally.
It was heartbreaking.
"That's lovely," I told her, forcing some warmth into my voice. "Maybe Mommy will
be in time to meet your friends."

"You think so?" She stopped bouncing and fell to her knees. "It'd be great if she
met them. She's famous and pretty and they'll love her. Thanks, Rory!"

"Mm-hmm." I went back to my laptop.

"And maybe my mommy'll kiss Devin and they'll have a wedding again and I'll get to
call him my daddy."

I stopped typing. What if that was the real reason Natalya was coming on an
impromptu visit? What if things with Playboy weren't working out? As nonchalantly
as I possibly could, I typed her name into the search engine and a whole array of
articles about "the great demise of the great Natalya's career" popped up.

I looked up into the mirror hanging over my desk.

Green wasn't a good colour on me.

<center><h1>6: In Which She Retracts Her Claws</h1></center>

<hr>
6: In Which She Retracts Her Claws

******************************

By the time I was done with the drawing room, even I wanted to become a princess.
It didn't matter that I was twenty-eight, therefore far too ancient to picture
myself prancing about at a children's tea party wearing pink organza and glass
slippers.

Lydia, who had been puttering around in the kitchen for hours on end, came up
beside me, her trademark scent of cinnamon wafting into my nostrils as she surveyed
my two-hour artwork.

"Seems like you've done this before," she commented, her voice animated. "Ever
consider being a kiddies' party-planner?"

I never even liked kids, I thought wryly, reaching up and pulling my unruly mane of
hair into a scruffy ponytail. "That's kind of you to say but really, don't you
think it's sad that Ophelia's never had any friends over before? I mean, I just
want her to have a ball."

Lydia awkwardly bent and picked up a stray pink streamer, twirling it in her hands.
"I get paid to cook, not think." She let out a dry laugh. "That was a classic
Josie-Bates quote," she elaborated. "I have four grandkids of my own and even with
our hardships, I pity little Ophelia. It's not right, a child like that being
treated like Rapunzel in a tower."

"I feel the exact same way," I said, glancing out the window and onto the beach. It
was a windy Saturday. "Lydia, have you ever met Natalya?"

"No - why?"

I hated the fact that my pale skin meant that I blushed easily. It just wasn't
fair.

"I'm just curious. Don't you think her visit's a bit...arbitrary?" I chose my words
carefully. "Does Devin - I mean, Mr. Shaw - know she's coming?" I had done nothing
but think of the model's impending visit.

Lydia gave me a strange look, her lined face creasing a little more. "I have no
idea. In fact, I'm pretty much in the dark about everything that goes on under this
roof." She chuckled. "The only thing I do know is what to cook each night and
that's perfectly all right with me. Excuse me, Rory. The cupcakes must be done by
now." She turned to leave.

Once she'd gone, I began to pace the room, my hands firmly planted at my sides. I
had no idea what had come over me but I knew that I didn't like it. I didn't like
the edgy feeling I got when Natalya's name inevitably came up - and it had come up
quite a bit in the past few days - or the wistful pang I got when I caught even the
slightest glimpse of a scowling Devin stomping angrily through the house and out
onto the beach doing whatever it was that he did all the time.

As if my mind had conjured him up all on its own, Devin stepped into the airy room
and squinted at the overkill of pink and cuteness. In a black V-necked T-shirt and
even darker jeans, he was a humongous contrast to the light of the room. His hair
seemed to have grown within the week, unruly and midnight-black and oh-so-thick.
Although he was clean-shaven, there was that dangerous edge there; the one that
told me that even if he looked as neat as a pin, he was capable of doing the
dirtiest things imaginable.

Dammit, I inwardly sighed, patiently waiting for whatever criticism or complaint

would inevitably escape his lips. Speaking of lips...

Why did my mind automatically take me there?

"A Jill-of-all-trades, I see," he remarked, his tone even. "Quaint."

"Thanks," I said, hesitantly accepting the compliment.

"And just where is the princess?"

"Upstairs. She's excited. Apparently she's never had any friends over before."

"For her own safety," Devin automatically inserted.

I snorted. "Right - because tiny six-year-olds are so dodgy." Sarcasm was my best
defence against him.

He almost shrugged. "Your opinion is of no consequence to me."

"I know that," I told him, jerking forward and nervously toying with a Barbie-
themed paper plate just to have something to do, no matter how arbitrary. Barbie
was Ophelia's true concession to childhood; the girl was obsessed with that
infinitely pristine doll.

"You're a perfectionist," Devin observed from behind me, and then I felt his arms
around me, strong and all-encompassing. Not for the first time, I wondered what was
really wrong with him; what made him tick. "I never liked perfectionists," he said
softly, burying his nose in my hair.

I froze, wincing slightly when his hands played with the hem of my dress. It had
been a bad idea to wear one so short. Or maybe I'd chosen it precisely because of
that. Maybe I was secretly looking for sexual gratification without admitting it to
myself; maybe I wanted him to notice me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, exhaling heavily when his fingers skimmed my thighs.
"Anyone could walk in."
"So?" was his enlightening response.

For a second, I wondered what it would be like to have spontaneous, heated animal
sex on a table crammed with itty-bitty teacups and saucers and cupcakes with pink
icing. Something would get broken, that much was obvious. It would probably be the
table, or - more likely - me.

He spun me around, until I was caught between a rock and - quite literally - a hard
place. Between the table behind me and Devin pressed against my front, I couldn't
decide which was more...solid. I didn't have any time to ponder that because, eyes
darkened, Devin angled his head and pressed his lips against mine. My resistance
shattered and I kissed him back with equal fervour. He'd been smoking again and
vaguely, at the back of my mind, I wondered how many packets he got through in a
day and if he was worried about his lungs and -

"Dev, no," I hissed, trying to pull back when I felt his hands tugging up the hem
of my dress. "What the hell's wrong with you? You can't -"

"What, you want a bed?" he scoffed, his brow knitting in annoyance.

Every bit of spirited desire I had for him evaporated from my pores at his callous
words. "Excuse me," I said coldly. "Ophelia's friends will be arriving any minute
now." I waited for him to step aside. He remained stock-still. "You're a dickhead,
do you know that?" I muttered, and pushed past him.

Cheap.

That was the word that instantly sprang to mind when I thought about him trying to
cop a quick shag before brunch. I was the cheap one; the girl who did nothing to
hide how desirable she found the man who only had to blink twice to get into her
pants. But that was what I deserved, wasn't it? All I'd had to do was keep my legs
firmly closed like I'd done for the past four years and everything would have been
perfectly all right. But no - Aurora Harding couldn't resist a taste of Egyptian
arrogance.

What did you expect, Rory? I thought furiously, stomping up the stairs with as much
anger. That sex wasn't all he wanted? That perhaps you'd end up taming the great,
loopy Devin Shaw?

No. I didn't want a relationship. Of course not - but Devin could've at least
pretended that he wasn't just interested in what was between my legs. He had never
once asked me about myself - except to jeer at me for attempting to resist him with
a pathetic effort to be chaste - but I couldn't quite get why that bothered me the
way it did.
"Fee, sweetheart, are you finished yet?" I asked once I stepped onto the landing. I
knocked on her closed bedroom door.

"Are they here yet?" came her composed voice from the other side.

"Not yet."

The door was pulled open and I took a step back.

"Should I bow, Princess?"

Ophelia giggled. "OK."

I did a mock-curtsey. Truthfully, Ophelia looked incredible. After much

deliberation, she'd picked out a peach silk dress with big, poufy sleeves and had
me arrange her hair into a long braid betwixt with red ribbons. Faux, plastic clip-
on earrings dangled from her little ears and they matched the fake pink pearls
around her neck.

"Do I look OK?" she asked hesitantly, in a voice that was unusual for her. "I don't
want them to laugh at me. They're not really my friends, are they? You just asked
them to be."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fee," I replied, getting onto my haunches and holding her
sides. "You're the most beautiful princess out there and they're playing with you
because they like you. Got that?"

She nodded, then bit her lip in deep thought. "But I'm not beautifuller than my
mommy, am I?"

"You've got a little bit of Mommy in you, and a little bit of Daddy - so what does
that make you, Fee? It makes you special."

I wasn't going to be petty and tell the child that her mother was probably faker
than a Dolce and Banana handbag.

No, I was going to be exactly what I was - Ophelia's reliable minder - and take
care of her needs.
"Princesses don't wear glasses," Phoebe proclaimed, giving Marnie a cynical look.
"You can be the maid."

So this is when the seed of bitchiness is sown, I thought in shock, ready to give a
speech about how princesses came in different shapes, sizes, colours and all. I
could already see blonde, blue-eyed angelic Phoebe growing up to be blonde, blue-
eyed bitchy Phoebe.

"I am a princess," Marnie insisted, her hands smoothing down the front of her ill-
fitting paisley princess gown for good measure.

My speech took exactly two minutes to give and by then, Phoebe's dig had been
forgotten and the girls were holding hands again. Savita and Ophelia eyed each
other warily before, sensing that Ophelia was a little shy, Savita offered her a go
at carrying her "baby"; a goggle-eyed Bratz doll she called Miley.

The awkwardness had dissipated and I could now busy myself with more important
things - like ensuring that there was enough candy to go around. Lydia had outdone
herself with her heart-shaped cupcakes drizzled with lemon-flavoured pink icing and
I'd filled medium-sized apothecary jars with various types of sweets. To say the
girls stuffed their faces was an understatement. I was pretty certain I'd bear the
brunt of their respective mothers' disapproval when their children wound up with
tummy aches.

"A word, Aurora?"

Phoebe, Marnie and Savita froze mid-face-stuffing.

Devin looked haunted by their blatant stares.

"Aurora, please," he said, emphasising his request.

"You're tall," Phoebe, ever the blunt one, remarked. She looked at Ophelia. "Is
that your daddy?"

Ophelia shrugged, licking icing from her fingertips.

I gave Devin my best indifferent look. "What is it?" My tone, on the other hand,
was irritated.

"In private," he said in a low voice, unceremoniously grabbing my right arm and
cutting off any chance of blood circulating to that area.

I allowed him to drag me out of the room and out into the hallway. I wrenched my
arm away from him, aware that my annoyance was borderline childish and pathetic.

"Well? Spit it out? I'm in the middle of something."

"Oh, I'm quite aware how much effort it takes to stand around watching a mob of
kids make themselves sick," he said dryly.

"You're afraid of children," I observed, trying to suppress the smile that was
threatening to appear. "No, you're terrified of them. Petrified, even. Why?"

His brow knitted in annoyance. "You don't deserve my apology."

"For what?"

"For earlier." He paused, his eyes rolling skyward. "I was crass."

My face softened. "I don't -"

He fixed his eyes on me. "I don't pretend to be a gentleman. You and I both know
that that's not what I am. But I can appreciate your pious act."

"Act?"

"Do you know my middle name?" A wry smile tugged at his face. "Of course you do.
You've Wikipedia-ed me."

A furious blush stained my cheeks. As I'd suspected, website traffic was monitored
under his roof.

"I was...just seeing what I'm up against," I finished lamely, wishing the tell-tale
blush would disappear.

He cocked his head. "Right. Anyway, it's Lateef. It means gentle. Ironic, because I
am far from being anything close to that," he said, more to himself than to me.

Excited squeals from inside the drawing room momentarily caught my attention.
Momentarily.

"If you knew what I..." Devin's voice trailed off and he seemed to mentally
chastise himself. "You should go."

Are you kidding me? I thought in frustration. You were about to tell me something!
Spit it out!

"I suppose so," I said instead, but made no attempt to move.

Devin took that as an invitation and, before I could say anything, he pushed me
against the wall, his body all but crushing me. Slowly, almost teasingly, he
crushed his lips against mine and sucked on my bottom lip, the tenderness sending
shockwaves into my groin.

He pulled away, breathing heavily, before I could allow him to deepen the kiss. And
I was going to allow him.

"Go," he growled, his beautiful hazel eyes clouding with controlled wrath - at
himself or at me, I couldn't be too sure. "Get away from me."

With pleasure, I nearly added, knowing that he had saved me from making a further
fool and wh0re of myself.

I was about to return to my charges when movement down the hallway at the front
door caught my eye. Old Leland - who must have been at least twice Bates' age - was
struggling to lug in enormous-sized Louis Vuitton suitcases into the house. Gasping
for air, he looked about ready to collapse.

"What is it?" Devin arched a brow and followed my gaze. The glower on his face was
as instantaneous as my reaction to him.

"Aren't you a little old to even be walking?" came a slightly-accented disembodied

voice from behind the ageing driver.

Leland dutifully stepped aside and none other than Natalya sashayed through the
door, complete with her absolutely ridiculously cliché Chihuahua parked in
obscenely florid handbag. Her inky-black hair was pulled away from her face into a
high ponytail, only highlighting how defined her high cheekbones were. Glinting in
the sunlight, the stud in her turned-up nose caught my attention. I was fleetingly
struck by her face, and then I noticed the rest of her. Of course, Natalya was more
gorgeous in person, although much skinnier. Her skin-tight royal purple dress clung
to her small frame and just skimmed her knees.

"Are geriatrics the only people that will work for you, Lateef?" Natalya asked
sweetly as she approached us.

I didn't miss the tic that appeared in Devin's face.

"What are you doing here?" His voice had a menacing undertone.

Natalya's cat-like jade eyes glittered with - with what? "I'm here to see our
daughter," she sang, reaching up and flicking his chin. She was almost as tall as
he was in her strappy heels. "You should shave. Don't tell me you've started -"

"That's enough!" Devin snapped, his hand shooting out and grabbing one of her bony
arms.

Natalya's eyes danced. "Are you going to hit me, perhaps?" She sounded gleeful. "Go
ahead, Devin. You know you want to."

He released her, his face a picture of revulsion.

Natalya threw her head back and laughed. "You have mellowed."

Laughs from the drawing room tinkered out into the hallway and Natalya tilted her
head and stalked inside.

"Ophelia! Happy birthday, koxàna!"

I felt a prickle of annoyance. Not only had that bitch completely ignored me, but
she had no idea when her supposed daughter's was. That was going to hurt Fee.

Sure enough, when I deigned to enter the room, Ophelia wore an expression of
contained disappointment as she explained to her mother that her birthday had been
earlier in the year. She allowed her cheek to be kissed, allowed her mother to
awkwardly bend and pull her into an apologetic hug. She caught my eye and smiled.

"What kind of a party is this?" Natalya asked, surveying the table. "Where's the
music? Where are the boys?" She gave the puzzled girls a conspiratorial wink.

"They're six," I said in disgust, and finally, Natalya saw me.

"Are you the maid?"

"She's my nanny," Fee said helpfully.

Natalya snorted. "I do hope Lateef has not stooped to Jude Law's level and banged
the help." She paused. "Desperate men do desperate things."

"Why would Devin shoot anyone?" Fee gave her mother a puzzled look.

"Are we talking about guns? My daddy has a gun," Phoebe proudly announced, reaching
for yet another candy bracelet to put into her mouth.

I glared at Natalya. Oh, how I'd love to wring your scrawny neck. I'd hated her
even before I'd met her and now, I despised her very existence and wished she'd
simply choke on her Gucci perfume and expire.

"I'd rather you didn't say such crude things in front of children," I said through
clenched teeth, flushing because it was true - Devin had pulled a Jude.

"Crude?" she spat, placing one hand on a bony hip. "Who are you?"

"Natalya, come." Devin's low voice came from the doorway.

"Are you going to make me?" she said lasciviously, and I couldn't believe the
double entendre. How could Devin have made a baby with her? Did men really only
think with their manhood?

"Mommy, please," Ophelia hissed, her face reddening in embarrassment. She nervously
glanced at her three friends. Of course, they were completely enraptured by what
was ensuing before their very eyes - Ophelia's odd parents getting into a shouting
match? It was going to be fodder for gossip for who-knows-how-long.

"Girls, why don't we go out onto the beach?" I tried to force as much cheer into my
voice as was humanly possible and ended up sounding like one of those smarmy TV
presenters on kids' shows.

"The beach?" Phoebe wrinkled her nose. "I'll get my dress dirty."

"I...I don't like the waves," Marnie said softly.

"Miley can't swim," Savita piped up.

"I said, beach. Now."

The three musketeers obediently trooped past me and out of the room, Ophelia behind
them. She flashed me a grateful smile. I gave her one back because, let's face it,
I needed to get out of there just as much as she did.
*

My bed felt so empty without Ophelia. At one in the morning, when the shadows
danced across the walls in the moonlight, I finally gave up on sleep and slid out
of bed. I had the distinct feeling that sleep was going to be pointless the longer
Natalya Kovalenko stayed under the same roof as me.

It was day two of her stay and I was ready to snap her chopstick body into two and
bury her in the ocean.

She was snotty, haughty and hornier than Quagmire. That very morning, she'd shocked
me by parading through the house topless and in a tooth-floss thong.

"This isn't the Playboy mansion," I couldn't resist saying. Her tits, huger than a
pair of beach balls and obviously fake, had incredibly huge brown nipples. They
looked like a cow's teats.

Natalya's eyes had narrowed. "Lateef will fire you if he hears you speaking to me
like that."

I'd snorted at that. "Lateef" had threatened to throw her out the previous day and,
pathetically, she'd given him a sob story about having nowhere else to go. She was
in debt and a social pariah and - something Google had failed to inform me - facing
a legal battle regarding consensual sex with an underage Puerto Rican male model.

And all this information was gleaned from listening in at the door of Devin's
study.

It was low of me, but I'd had to do it.

I hadn't heard Devin's reason for letting his ex stay but the fact that she was
still there was testament to Natalya's mad negotiating skills. I seethed
internally. If her reason had really been to see her only child, I wouldn't have
minded so much but all she was, was a desperate money-grabbing paedophilic wh0re.

Once I'd pulled on my gown and slipped out into the corridor, the noises from the
guest bedroom were instantly audible. I froze, heart pounding a tattoo against my
chest.

Devin and Natalya, my inner voice proclaimed, proud of her powers of deduction. Who
else?

How could he be so weak? What was so enticing about that bitchy bag of bones?

She's beautiful, Rory, said my inner voice. Beautiful people are attracted to
beautiful people.

I wasn't sad as much as I was infuriated. I'd chucked four years of celibacy out
the window for a man who shagged the first thing that strutted through his front
door.

"I'm not a gentleman," he'd told me candidly - and this was enough proof of that.

I didn't realise that I was standing right outside Natalya's door like a loon until
the door was pulled open and light flooded the hallway. I jumped backwards, my back
connecting with the wall.

"Leland?" I shrieked in disbelief.

His white shirt was undone all the way, ghostly white hairs peppering his chest and
bulging stomach. Reddening, he quickly zipped his pants up and fled down the hall
and onto the landing. "Crazy Ukrainian bítch," he hissed in the dark.

Natalya rose from the bed, completely naked. "Snow?" she called out, nodding at the
dressing table. She bent down and rolled a bank note. I looked away as she snorted
a line. "That old coot," she said, wrinkling her nose, "had the stamina of a
turtle."

I was going to be sick.

<center><h1>7: In Which She Befuddles and Cuddles</h1></center>
<hr>
[Still trying to sort out the rating of this story. Thanks. - Kim]

7: In Which She Befuddles and Cuddles

**************************

Leland was outside, lovingly polishing the hood of the black Mercedes C-class he
was obligated to drive. Startled out of his trance, he jumped when he heard the
sound of my flip-flops beating into the concrete of the driveway as I approached
him.

"Miss Harding?" His voice was high-pitched and he reddened like a throbbing zit.
"Are you going somewhere?"

"If you ever stick your nose into my business, I will make sure that Devin knows
exactly which ignition his driver stuck his key into two nights ago."

Better to get to the point, I thought, watching the blood drain from Leland's
leathery face. I felt a fleeting - extremely fleeting - stab of remorse.

After all, he had an ailing wife, I'd gleaned from Lydia, and he depended on this
job for the outrageous pay to support her. "Sticking his key" in Natalya's
vigorously used "ignition" was a sure-fire way to get himself sacked. Still, how
could he cheat on a sick wife and look anyone in the eye?

"Your business?" His voice was barely a squeak.

"Yes, my business. Remember the pharmacy?" I automatically flushed at the memory of

Bates' interrogation. What did purchasing mounds and mounds of birth control
signify? Didn't it mean that I was anticipating a good lay with Devin? Didn't that
make me overeager? Make me look like I was preparing for the inevitable? "Anyway,"
I snapped irritably, "if you ever feel the urge to report to your mistress, Bates,
do me a favour and remember how mad Devin will be when he finds out about your
filthy one-night stand with his ex."

Leland hung his silvery head.

"I'd like to go to town now," I said brightly, clapping my hands together. "If
that's okay with you?"

He threw the dirty rag onto the ground and pulled open the backseat door. "Where do
you want to go?"

That night, after Lydia's spectacular
disappointed Ophelia climbing into my
daughter, choosing to assail the mall
night. Ophelia was visibly hurt. This
Devin himself had been as scarce as a
chicken curry, I had to contend with a
bed. Natalya had steadfastly ignored her
during the day and retreat to her bedroom at
time, I didn't know what exactly to tell her.
four-leaf clover.

Murmuring in her sleep, Fee rolled onto her stomach, her inky-black hair fanning
out onto the pillow beneath her head. I pushed her hair out of her face,
remembering that I should have braided it before she passed out.

I carefully slid out of bed and got to my feet. Nothing was adding up in this
house. The mystery was going to kill me if I didn't at least attempt to solve it.
Google could only tell me so much. I just needed to clear my head - erase thoughts
of smiting Natalya Kovalenko; thoughts of committing a crime far worse than
fornication. I definitely had to get rid of any desire for Devin Shaw. That was
proving to be nearly impossible to do.

So, careful not to make a noise, I pulled my gown on and slipped my feet into my
bedroom slippers. Glancing at Fee to make sure she was still out, I pulled open my
bedroom door and slipped into the hallway. The house was eerily silent and, as I
padded past Natalya's door, I couldn't help but remember the disgusting show she'd
put on. Cocaine and a married geriatric? Didn't she have any shame?

"I could kill this bitch," I murmured to myself as I went down the stairs. But then
that would scar Ophelia for life and I'd surely go to prison where I would
definitely get beaten to a pulp for speaking the way I did. I'd watched The
Shawshank Redemption; I knew the score.

The front door was ajar. That could only mean that a certain six-foot-something cat
was out on the prowl oustide. It hit me that he was probably an insomniac and
creeping around the beach was the only way he could pass the time. A wave of pity
engulfed me as I walked out and closed the door behind me; I quickly shook it away.
My father hadn't caught a wink of sleep either, yet he had been the kindest,
gentlest man I'd ever known. Lack of sleep didn't give a person a passport to be a
dickhead.

For some reason, that made me laugh. Uncontrollably.

The wind was whipping my hair about in the dead of the night outside and I was
cackling like a hyena. Either I was going prematurely senile, or Lydia had put a
little something in her curry. I decided that the old woman had probably spiked the
dish.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I blinked them open again and saw a familiar figure hunched
over on the shore, moonlight painting his silhouette and water gently lapping at
his feet. All too soon, I felt the equally familiar tug in my belly that said I
don't want to want you but I do.

"What are we looking at?" I sat myself down beside him, wet sand instantly soaking
my bottom. Seawater ran across my slippers and I winced. "Devin?" I said
hesitantly, when he didn't reply for what seemed like aeons. I followed his gaze to
the unopened bottle of Jack soldered to the sand in front of him. Water resolvedly
bashed the bottle but it didn't budge an inch. And Devin was staring at it as if
mesmerised.

I gently tapped his arm. Finally, he tore his eyes away and looked down at me, as
if seeing me for the first time.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice strange.

"Not long," I said quickly, in case he thought I was stalking him. "I just -"

"No - here. Looking after Ophelia."

"Oh," I said, puzzled. "Four, five months? I'm not too sure." I contained a wry
smile. "Thinking about kicking me out?"

The moonlight made his eyes almost seem a golden yellow. "I think about a lot of
things where it concerns you," he said ominously. "Kicking you out is not one of
them."

I ignored the heat that rushed through my body. "Then would you at least throw
that...that wh0re of an ex of yours out?" I said through clenched teeth. "She's
poisonous, Dev, even to her own daughter! Especially to her daughter."

He visibly stiffened, looking away. "I can't."

"You can't?" I choked out, wanting to slap him. "You can't possibly still be in
love with her?"
His head jerked in my direction. "Love?" He let out a laugh, an actual you're-
killing-me-Kevin-Hart laugh. He laughed so hard that he was momentarily winded,
falling onto his back and gasping for air as he looked up at the stars.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Me? In love with Natalya? Natalya Kovalenko?" he choked out, pulling himself up
and propping his knees up again. "You've got to be shitting me, Rory. Either that
or you must think I'm as crazy as they say."

"I think you were pretty mental to sleep with her in the first place." I hadn't
meant to say that particular thought aloud. It had slipped out of its own accord
and I couldn't take it back.

Devin didn't explode at me. Instead, he fixed his gaze at the bottle of whiskey.
"I've been sitting out here for hours, I think," he intoned, grabbing a handful of
sand and drizzling it over the bottle. "It feels like years."

"Is there any particular reason you're worshipping this particular bottle?"

He cracked a smile. "It's the only one I have," he replied ambiguously. "Has anyone
ever told you that you ask too many fucking questions?"

"No," I told him, "because I usually know all the answers." But not when it comes
to you.

"No one likes a smart ass."

"Are you teasing me, Devin Shaw?" I asked in disbelief, wanting to milk this moment
for all its worth. "Does the great Mr. Shaw actually know how to kid around?"

"There are a lot of things I don't know," he said, his voice as distant as his
train of thought. He shifted slightly and dug into his back pocket, pulling out a
sheaf of paper that had been rolled up and flattened. "Take a look at this," he
commanded, handing it to me.

I unfurled the pages and held them up in the moonlight. "I can't really see much."

"It's a script," he explained. "My agent faxed it to me today. I've been out of the
game for a decade and the role he thinks I'd be interested in is that of a father?"
He said the last word as if it were a curse; a dirty word. "The whole thing is sand
in my eyes."

"But you are a father."

"Don't, Rory," he warned in a low growl, shooting me a glare. "Don't...attempt to

make me feel better. We both know I couldn't play a father because, let's face it,
I'm a pretty shitty one in real life."

I swallowed, placing a hand on his bare arm. "That's what acting is, isn't it?
Pretending to be someone or something you're not?"

"You wound me," he muttered, glancing down at my hand. "Remove that. Now."

I retracted my hand as if burned. "I was only trying to -"

"To help," he snapped. "I know. It's what you do. You interfere. You poke your nose
in people's business. You extract information. You annoy the living crap out of me,
Rory Harding."

"I annoy the crap out of you?" I spat. "You're right. I do all those things.
Because guess what, Mr. I'm-Too-Scared-to-Step-Up-and-be-a-Parent? Your daughter
can't do them. She can't ask you why you don't love her - something she's asked me
a great deal, I can assure you - and she can't ask you why no one asks her how her
day is, or what she learned today." I paused, sucking in air. "So if I annoy you,
Devin, it's for a bloody good reason!"

"I thought we already had this conversation," he said, his voice chillingly calm.

"Yeah, well, I guess everything I said went out your pretty little head," I
snapped. "For God's sake, if you won't drink this, I will!" I reached out to grab
the Jack and Devin's hand shot out to grab my wrist.

He must have shoved me because in one crazy moment, I realised that I was flat on
my back, dazed and confused. Moving swiftly, he sat astride me, careful to keep the
bulk of his weight off me as he pinned both my hands above my head with one hand.

"Do you know what it's like for a recovering alcoholic to have alcohol in his
room?" he asked me, breathing heavily. "It's like a paedophile in a playground. I
can't think about anything but this...this shit," he snarled, smashing the bottle
in the ground somewhere afar. I squealed at the sound of breaking glass. "One swig,
one sniff - that's all it would take," he whispered, leaning down and nuzzling his
nose against the hollow of my neck. "So next time, don't fúcking grab the bottle."

I squeezed my eyes shut before steeling myself to open them. "Don't touch me."

He kissed the side of my neck.

"I said don't touch me!" I screamed, my voice carrying in the wind.

Devin sat up, his eyes wild. Slowly, he released me. I felt hot tears prickle my
eyes and a voice in my head asked me why the hell I was bawling when he had just
confessed an intense secret to me. Blurry-eyed, I mentally replied: I thought he
was going to hit me. And therein was the problem: In that crazy moment, wild-eyed
and enraged, he was dangerous and unpredictable and I had been scared shitless.

"I'm sorry." Devin sounded mechanical. He got off me and rolled onto his back
beside me. "I'm sorry." He gently pulled me to him and brought my head onto the
solid pillow of his chest. "I am so sorry," he repeated, and I had the distinct
feeling that he wasn't just apologising to me.

***

I had been staring at the nightstand for five minutes flat because I was afraid to
get out of bed.

Unlike the nightstand in my bedroom, this one was made out of solid oak. It was
almost black and looked smooth to the touch. I had practically committed every line
to memory.

"You can stop pretending to be asleep now."

Devin's sonorous baritone came from right beside me. I flushed a deep red, grateful
that he couldn't see my face. Yet.

I sat up slowly, scanning the room as I did so. I had never been inside Devin's
bedroom and I was surprised at the...unpretentious exquisiteness. It was all stark
whites and sleek blacks and varnished wood. However, I didn't have time to admire
his taste in décor.

"Why didn't you just wake me up last night?" was the first thing out my mouth.

"You don't think I tried that?" he asked, on the defensive. "Playing Prince
Charming to your Sleeping Beauty wasn't my idea of a great night."

"Charming?" I scoffed. "There is nothing charming about you."

"I didn't want to wake Ophelia up and I didn't want to dump your body downstairs,"
he went on as if I hadn't just insulted him, "so here you are. Naked and in my
bed."

"Naked?" As if on cue, my entire body sang with the sudden pleasure of being skin-
to-expensive-fabric with Devin's sheets.

"This is Egyptian cotton," he explained, barely masking his smirk, "with a thread
count I can't even remember. Of course I didn't want your filthy clothing ruining
it."

"So you stripped me?"

"Ask yourself why you didn't fight me."

I did. And drew a blank. How could I have been so...so out of it that I didn't come
round when someone was pulling my clothes off?

"I need to...to go. Ophelia will be -"

"Natalya has deigned to take her out for breakfast," Devin interjected dryly, "or
so Harriet tells me."

"Josie," I corrected automatically, clutching the sheets to my chest. I was happy

for Fee, even if her mother was a complete witch. "Did you go downstairs... like
that?" I asked weakly, nodding at his bare chest. That would have made Bates' day.

He arched a brow. "Of course not. She phoned me."

I didn't want to remind him that nudity hadn't mattered a damn when he'd approached
me on the beach all those nights ago.

"All that stuff you said yesterday," I said carefully, "was it true?"

His eyes darkened. "Would I make up something like that?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, it's just that...well, wouldn't something like that
be all over the internet? Isn't that the kind of thing journalists feed on?"

"You'd be surprised what can be buried if you have a coven of expensive lawyers at
your beck and call," he said bitterly. "Conversation over, Rory."

"But I -"

"Conversation over," he snapped, and I bit my bottom lip.

"For now." There was something else there; something he wasn't telling me.

"Fúcking Nancy Drew," Devin grumbled, and I surprised myself by letting out a
laugh. "That wasn't a joke," he told me.

"Ask yourself why you don't joke much," I said, throwing his wording back at him.

"I know the answer to that." He paused, giving me a look. "And no, I'm not going to
tell you. Rory, just because you seem to have the uncanny ability to make me sing
like a canary, doesn't mean you're going to turn into the diary I never had."

"Yes, well, you can start with 'Dear Diary, yesterday I violated an unconscious
woman's basic right to clothing and privacy'," I muttered, turning a different
shade of red when I saw the look in Devin's eyes.

"That is a very bad word," he said quietly.

"Violate?" I asked meekly, edging away from him.

"No. Clothing." He reached out and gently eased the edge of the sheets out of my
hands. "I've mastered self-control," he said huskily, "just not where you're
concerned, Nancy Drew."

I ran my tongue across my bottom lip. "You told me to get away from you...and
you're right. I can't do this. I feel -"

His mouth was against mine, assailing every nerve-ending with sweet torture.
Horrified, I drew back.

"I've just woken up!"

Hang on, I thought, pausing. Is that what's worrying me?

"So?" Devin's beautiful hazel-eyes had turned several shades darker.

"So I haven't brushed my teeth and I -"

"Rory, you never cease to amaze me," he said softly, turning to his side and
pulling open a drawer. I watched him carefully shake out a white Tic Tac into his
palm. "Better?" He held it up to me.

Mentally rolling my eyes, I reached out for it - and he tossed it into his mouth.

"Take it out," he demanded.

I nearly laughed. "You're the one that never stops with the thrills," I whispered,
and pulled him into a deep, searching kiss. His thick black hair was silk between
my fingers but I couldn't describe how...sensuous it felt when he transferred that
little mint into my mouth. I felt the pull in my belly that drew me to him; made me
crave him on a primal level.

Devin pushed me onto my back and his kisses trailed down my neck and down my
collarbone, until he found his way to the valley between my heaving breasts. The
friction between the stubble on his jaw and the velvetiness of my skin was the
greatest turn-on.

I tried to stifle the moan that threatened to escape when he suckled first on my
left nipple and then on my right one, but it came out anyway, loud and guttural and
unapologetic. He teased the sore nubs with his tongue and drew them out towards
him, pleasure beyond anything shooting through my entire nervous system.

"Oh, Dev," I gasped, allowing him to place himself between my legs for better
access. "Dev... Now." How was it possible that I was always ready for him?

I didn't have time to wonder because his kisses were taking a more forbidden route,
down the rippling skin of my belly. I instantly tried to block his access and he
raised his head questioningly.

"No," I breathed out, trying to explain myself. "No head. Just you. All of you."

Something close to an arrogant smile crossed his face.

"All of me?"

"All of you, even the crazy."

His hands flitted down my hips and thighs. "You have no idea how much I want you,"
he said in a soft voice. He placed one last kiss on my navel before sitting up and
pulling the drawer open again. "You on the Pill?" he queried, as if the thought had
just occurred to him.

I blushed under his intense scrutiny. "Yeah."

As I'd feared, he raised a questioning brow. "Why? I thought you were a - what's
the term? - a second-hand virgin?"

If it was possible, I probably resembled an overripe tomato. "I...I -"

"You were waiting for this," he cut in, voicing the truth. He bit open the foil
packet of the condom he'd found in his drawer. "Dammit, I want to fúck you, Rory,
skin to skin."

"OK," I panted, nervously watching him discard the condom.

"But I'm going to be Lateef this time - not Devin," he said, his voice suddenly
tender.

I understood. And I felt a small stab of - of what? Affection?

"You're both," I whispered, and he dipped his head and captured my mouth with his.

"Stop kissing the boss's ass," he murmured and, without warning, immersed himself
in me in one jolting, perfect thrust.

I let out a gasp, briefly struck by an immense pain, and then Devin began to move
inside me, his head above mine, our eyes locked. Slowly, he rotated his hips, his
manhood probing my entire inside, stretching me; filling me like no one before him.

I moaned, digging my nails into the small of his back and finding his rhythm.
Devin's eyes were hooded and predatory and it was all I could do not to tell him to
close them because of their uncomfortable burning intensity.

Before I could voice my silly request, he lowered his head and kissed me, harder
than before. The taste of mint was in our mouths but underneath that, I could taste
his hunger and I was sure he could taste mine as well. I drew his bottom lip into
my mouth and sucked gently, relishing in the way he groaned into my mouth, shifting
inside me slightly. He pulled out and plunged inside to the hilt again, drawing out
a cry from my mouth.

"Rory," he hissed like a plea, and his thrusts became more furious, more frantic.

I wrapped my legs around him, allowing myself to finally let go and get lost in the
moment. Devin was taking me to a place I had craved to return to since that day in
his study. I yearned to climax with him and finally, when his entire body tensed, I
did. We came in unison. Arching my back, I offered myself up to him and he buried
his face in my breasts, emptying himself inside me.

Panting heavily, we lay frozen like that for what seemed like hours, until Devin
lightly kissed my right breast and pulled out. He moved to lie beside me, silent.

I didn't know what the protocol was in this sort of situation, which was why I
decided to just get the hell out and take a shower and spend the rest of the day
trying to piece together what little Devin had told me.

"Where the hell are you going?" Devin growled, and I paused in the middle of
slipping out the covers.

"To my room."

"Like hell you are."

My eyes narrowed at him. "Oh? Only if you want to talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Hmmm... Oh, I don't know," I said sarcastically, becoming annoyed. "How about what
your super wh0rish ex-girlfriend is really doing here? Or, let's see, the alcoholic
past that's clearly impacted you negatively? Or maybe why you're shít- scared of -"

"We'll talk if you give me a Rory-Harding blowjob."

My jaw dropped. Literally. "Excuse me?"

He leaned back against the huge continental pillows, an arrogant olive-skinned

dickhead with the attention span of a gnat. "Talking is a big step for me, Rory. I
think you should make it worth my while. That's all I'm saying."

"You're behaving like a...like a child!"

"You told me to joke around more, Rory," he said after a while, a smile tugging at
the corner of his kiss-swollen lips. "That was a joke."

"Oh."

"Unless you want to, of course."

"That wasn't funny."

"If I recall, you swallowed the last time," Devin said in a nostalgic voice, "but
I'm sure that was a fluke."

"Fluke? I'll show you a fluke."

I didn't bother to question my sanity as I dove under the covers and found him hard
and pulsing. He tasted of me and he tasted of Devin Shaw. Taking him in my mouth
was almost as enjoyable as having him inside me.
Three minutes later, I crawled back out, licking away the last of his juices.

"So, about that talk?"

His eyes were shut, his long lashes kissing just under them.

They flew open.

"I need to take a shower," he said. He turned to look at me. "I'm confused, Nancy
Drew. Let yourself out." He gracefully slid out of bed in all his naked glory and
strode to the bathroom without a backwards glance, locking the door behind him.

I wasn't going to "let myself out". No. Devin Shaw was a mystery I was a few
questions away from solving and that meant I had to be as tenacious as a dog with a
bone. Instead, I reached over to his side of the bed and grabbed the stained,
creased copy of the script he'd wanted me to look at last night.

It was about a father with a drinking problem.

<center><h1>8: In Which She Hears it From the Boss' Mouth</h1></center>
<hr>

8: In Which She Hears it From the Boss' Mouth

********************************

Over the next few weeks, ignoring Natalya became an art I'd quickly perfected.
Still, avoiding an attention-seeker of such massive proportions was like avoiding a
cold - nearly impossible.

Every once in a while on a whim, she'd indulge Ophelia and take her out. Shopping
was her favourite pastime and I didn't doubt for a second that she was using
Devin's MasterCard. I didn't bother to wonder why he kept her around anymore; I was
over it.

Maybe that had something to do with the fact that after catching a glimpse of
Devin's alcoholic past, I had finally decided that there was nothing wrong with
lusting after him. We were consenting adults and it wasn't exactly conflicting with
my job. He was still a mystery, granted, but he was as imperfectly human as I was -
and that was enough to make me think that he could be saved.

"Is everything okay?" I asked him, in the middle of sorting out my dirty laundry. I
wasn't comfortable with Maxine - the forty-something-year-old woman that came in
every two days - doing it for me. Devin catching me in the middle of that warranted
cause for wariness.

He purposefully marched into my bedroom, slamming the door behind him as an

afterthought, and for a second, I wondered if there was something wrong with
Ophelia. I hadn't made much headway in bringing father and daughter closer but just
last week, he'd tentatively accepted an offer of a game of chess with her.

But all notions of the girl flew out the window when Devin pulled me to him and
pressed his lips against mine. I felt myself instantly get lost in that kiss; get
lost in the wave of emotion that overwhelmed me by the assault of his lips.

Wordlessly, he scooped me into his arms and lay me on the bed.

"Where's this coming from?" I exhaled, writhing to help him unbutton my shirt. From
the look in his eyes, he appreciated my decision to go braless today. So did my
nipples.

"Don't speak," he said, his voice so soft I barely heard it.

My jeans came off next and my knickers followed shortly after. Naked, I felt like a
feast on the table and, as Devin spread my legs apart, I realised that this was
going to be rough and that I was going to like it.

He unzipped the fly of his jeans and got onto his knees between my legs. And just
like that, he was inside me. I let out a cry of surprise, all the while wondering
if I was ready for this. It was so abrupt, so vicious; so animal. I wanted to loop
my arms around him but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them over my head.
Powerless, all I could do was lie there as he moved on top of me, filling me up
completely.

My skin burned where he touched me - but there was a smouldering flame between my
thighs as well from where he was inside me. Pain or pleasure - whatever it was - I
wanted it to consume me from the inside out. It didn't matter that I was ablaze
with fiery arousal; all that mattered was that it was Devin Shaw inflicting such
sweet torture to me.
He punctuated each thrust with a soft grunt in his throat that made me come apart
at the seams and every thrust was so, so deep and forceful and urgent. He possessed
every inch of me as his grip around my wrists tightened, threatening to leave
marks. I arched my back, taking all of him; needing more and more of him as the
minutes rolled by and he took me in the most savage way.

"Don't...stop," I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as I felt it - my orgasm -

beckoning to me from the edge of a cliff. Did I mean "Don't"? Did I mean "Stop"? I
didn't pause to consider that, especially once he rained sweet kisses down on the
erogenous spots on my neck and finally succeeded in pushing me over that cliff.

Bucking beneath him with no leeway whatsoever, I made the most incoherent of sounds
as I came, trembling against him and exploding all over again. His face - only a
whisper away from mine - contorted into the beautiful picture of climax as he
spilled himself into me, again and again.

The only sound that filled the air afterwards was the sound of our heavy breathing.
I could feel his heart thumping against me through his flannel shirt and it was
racing as fast as mine. I didn't think anyone could ever match my roadrunner of a
heart.

Devin released me and pulled out, settling on the edge of the bed. In a few
seconds, he'd straightened up and was out the door before I could think of what to
say.

You've got to be kidding me.

Perhaps it was blinding rage that
was bewilderment that drove me to
mindless sex at his every whim...
piece of meat to be used whenever
something warm.
resulted in getting dressed under a minute but it
look for Devin. If he thought I was up for
Well, he had another think coming. I wasn't a
he felt the overwhelming urge to ejaculate into

I wrinkled my nose at my own crassness. It wasn't as if I'd been an unwilling

party. Hell, it wasn't as if I'd even really minded. I secretly enjoyed rough sex;
it wasn't that much of a revelation to me. Ignoring the pain reverberating through
my body, I stumbled into the kitchen.

"Lydia, have you seen Devin?"

Lydia was in the middle of washing a particularly huge head of cabbage. She gave me
a wry smile.

"Does anyone ever know where he is?"

Something about her knowing smile made me uneasy. What was she thinking?

"OK. Fair point. Thanks."

I bowed out of the kitchen and bounded outside, nearly colliding with a very
inebriated, very skimpily-clad Natalya. Her breasts were oozing out of her autumn-
red V-necked vest like silicone jelly and the denim miniskirt she was wearing
barely covered her crotch. The stench of alcohol hit me like a tidal wave. All in
all, it was standard Natalya Kovalenko behaviour for a Saturday afternoon.

"Watch where you're going," she murmured, slurring her R's.

"I thought you were with Ophelia," I said, secretly hoping she'd die from alcohol
poisoning.

"She's with that hag. Haircut. I'm too busy for that."

I felt a momentary pang of guilt. It wasn't a secret that Ophelia didn't

particularly enjoy Bates' company or going to the beauty parlour, so enduring both
in one go was probably the equivalent of death row to the little girl. I should
have gone with her.

"Right. Busy drinking," I said aloud.

Natalya's eyes narrowed. "You think I don't know? You think I don't know what a
gold digger you are?"

I snorted with laughter. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!
"He's practically...bankrupt," Natalya slurred, stumbling over the last word. "If
he doesn't man up and get back into showbiz soon, he'll be in the bread line before
you can say...has-been." She staggered past me, ridiculously tall in her heels.
Gripping the doorframe for support, she turned to look back at me. "He's good in
the sack though, isn't he?"

Heat engulfed my cheeks. "Go to hell."

Natalya tittered with laughter. "Next time you're fúcking him, ask him about Ivan.
Guaranteed aphrodisiac!" And she stumbled away.

She was drunk. There was no merit to anything to what she said. Still, I retained
the last thing she'd said and decided that chasing after Devin was a pointless
exercise. Besides, what exactly was I going to say to him? "I'm annoyed with you
because you didn't make some post-coital s with me"? How petty and unreasonable was
I?

A dull throbbing caught my attention. I rolled the sleeves of my shirt up. My skin
was already purpling from where Devin had held me.

"Rory, do you think wishes ever come true?" Ophelia asked me from across the table,
toying with her dinner of tiny snakes of spaghetti on her plate. She'd barely taken
two bites.

I hadn't eaten much either. Every time I looked at my hands, the bruises on my
wrists shouted at me. They were proving to be a distraction, just like the slight
aching all over my body that had barely dulled throughout the day.
"I thought you didn't believe in wishes," I teased half-heartedly. Ophelia had once
explained to me in great detail how, since there weren't enough shooting stars for
everyone in the world, it was "mean" for good fortune to be determined on rare,
falling balls of fire.

"I don't," Fee said quickly, "but Savi told me that she made a wish and she got a
baby brother." Ophelia and Savita had become good friends since the tea party,
something I was ecstatic about.

"Do you...want a sibling?"

She shook her head. "No. I used to but not anymore."

"OK. Well, what would you wish for?"

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Fee protested.

I smiled, twirling strands of spaghetti with my fork and bringing it to my mouth.

Ophelia watched me, waiting for me to swallow.

"What?"

"OK, I'll tell you," she said in one breath. "I want my mommy and Devin to be
happy. Like you."

My heart instantly went out to her. "Fee, they are happy." A little lying wouldn't
hurt her.

"No. Devin's sad. And angry." Ophelia's voice was hurt, as if she thought that she
was personally responsible for her father's turmoil. "And Mommy cries sometimes. So
she drinks."

It was a depressing observation from a six-year-old who wasn't supposed to have a

care in the world. I wanted to slaughter both parents right then. It was a pity
murder was illegal.
"Sweetheart, they're adults. They don't mean to make you worry about them but
they're the only ones that can sort things out for themselves." I paused. "Even if
they're sad, you make them happy."

"I wasn't supposed to be born," Ophelia told me, her voice calm. "I heard Mommy
call me a mistake. What's a C-sector?"

I bit my bottom lip. "You're not a mistake. You're a blessing." I pushed my plate
away, my appetite long gone. I strode around the table and made myself eye-level to
her. "You're a very special girl and I care about you a lot. So do your parents.
Don't worry about a thing."

She threw her arms around my neck and I wrapped mine around her tiny frame.

"I love you, Rory," she whispered into my ear.

"I love you too." And I did. In that moment, I realised that I would do anything
for this little girl. My love for her was so fierce that I was willing to rip apart
her idiotic mother - who complained about C-section scars - and her completely
oblivious father.

Once Ophelia and I broke apart, she returned to her food with renewed fervour,
finishing it up in record time. We watched an episode of Ben 10 before bedtime and,
much to my surprise, she chose to sleep in her own bed. It was just as well. Her
father and I had been on those very sheets that afternoon.

It was on my way out of her bedroom that I caught sight of Devin's retreating back
in the hallway. I didn't think twice about barging into his bedroom.

He turned, obviously startled at first, and his face transformed into a picture of
anger. "Who the hell gave you the right to storm into my bedroom?"

"I don't think anyone asks for permission to burst into someone's room. Hence the
surprise."

"I don't have time for your witticisms," he snapped, rubbing his forehead with two
fingers.

"Good, because that's the last one you'll hear." I closed the door. "We need to
talk."

"No, Rory, we don't," he said through clenched teeth. "Get out."

"Throw me out."

"Don't tempt me."

For some reason, those three words sent shivers - the you're-turning-me-on kind -
up my spine.

"Ophelia told me that...Natalya called her a mistake! What are you going to do
about this?"

He gave me a blank stare. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Throw her out! Is she blackmailing you or something?"

He glared at me. "I'm not in the mood for this." Turning away from me, he strode
into the bathroom.

I went after him.

"What the hell, Rory?" he yelled. "You want to watch me take a piss? Would that get
you off?"

I scowled at him. "While that would be a dream come true - no. I want you to have
an adult conversation with me."

"What am I supposed to do? Take Natalya's words back? She's an A-grade bitch.
There's nothing I can do about it." He paused. "I'll talk to her."

"She's beyond talking to! Why can't you see that?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you." He stood before the sink.

I took a deep breath. "What happened between us this afternoon? I mean, don't get
me wrong - it was great - but...unexpected. Impulsive."

"Don't start, Rory," he said slowly, gripping the sides of the sink with his hands.

"Start what? You were rough and I...enjoyed it. And then you just left. I would've
thought I'd dreamed the whole thing if it weren't for the bruises I -"

"Bruises?" he interjected, whirling around to face me. "Where?"

"They're nothing," I quickly replied, cursing my big mouth.

He warily approached me. "Where?"

I reluctantly hiked up the hem of my shirt. Truthfully, the pink splotches on my

belly could've been from a number of things. Devin swallowed. He took my hands in
his and his eyes zoned in on the faint discolouration on my wrists.

"I guess you don't know your own strength," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I was trying to get you out of my system," he said quietly, laying a gentle kiss
on each wrist. His lips were soft and tender.

I was silent.

"It was a failed attempt," he continued, and his face clouded over. "Rory, go." He
released my hands but not before pulling me into a smouldering kiss that left me
breathless. He'd been smoking and the smell of it on his clothing was masked by the
cologne he wore. One arm had snaked around my waist and one hand was firmly behind
my neck. My lips parted for that fiery tongue of his and I could feel his touch
causing a pool of desire in my abdomen.

I want this man... I need this man...

He pulled back, leaving me needy again.

"I need you to go," he breathed, eyes blazing. "Now."

There were so many things I wanted to say to him in that moment; so many things I
wanted to do - but Natalya's irritating voice suddenly filled the air, breaking us
apart.

"I knew I'd find you here," she simpered through the doorway of the bathroom,
directing her sneer at me. She'd gone on another drinking spree before dinner and
had probably just returned. "Did you ask him?" She was still looking at me.

"Ask him what?" I snapped, annoyed by her interruption.

"Natalya," Devin growled. "Don't test my patience with you."

"About his finances," Natalya elaborated in a singsong voice. She was surprisingly
sober for someone who'd been drinking for the whole continent.

"She thinks you're going bankrupt," I told Devin, wincing when I saw how visibly
close he was to losing his control and doing something he'd regret later. Without
thinking, I took his hand in mine. He squeezed.

"Let her think that," he said in a low voice. "Maybe it'll stop her spending my
money."

"Oh, how cute," Natalya commented, pointedly staring at our hand-holding. "Lateef
has a new toy. Doesn't that just remind you of Ivan?"
Devin's response to her question was like lightning. "Fúck off!" he snapped,
raising his hand as if he were going to hit her.

"Devin, don't," I said gently, ever the voice of reason. "Let me do it."

Natalya laughed bitterly. "Someone's mad. I bet you haven't told your little
plaything about Ivan. Such ugly secrets will destroy any relationship."

"OK. I'll bite. Who's this Ivan?" I just wanted her to get out.

"He's Lateef's best friend. Or should I say was?" sneered Natalya, relishing in the
thunderous look Devin was currently giving her.

A myriad of assumptions raced through my head: Was Ivan Devin's special friend? Was
he secretly gay? Was that the real reason he didn't -

"I wouldn't spend one second in bed with a murderer - but that's just me," Natalya
continued, giving Devin a wide grin. It quickly morphed into a glower. "What's the
matter, Devin? Thought I'd simply forgotten?"

"Rory, don't listen to her." Devin's voice was eerily cold.

"I'm not someone you can pay off, Devin Shaw!" The tall woman was becoming
hysterical. "You can't just throw money at people and expect them to forget about
what you did! That's not how it works, you murderer!"

"Devin, what's she talking about?" My mind went back to something he'd said;
something about how money can bury things. I felt something cold run down my spine.

"He killed the only man I've ever loved."

I was surprised by the raw emotion that had suddenly appeared in Natalya's voice.
It was real; realer than anything else about her. I took a step away from the both
of them, bumping into the bathroom sink.
"I know you were wondering why he's skulking about in the shadows," Natalya said
softly, tears misting her eyes. "Well, money can buy almost everything - even
silence. Especially silence."

"What are you talking about?" I asked her, but my eyes were on Devin. He looked
away, resigned.

"Ask him," said Natalya. "Ask him again."

"Devin," I whispered, "you...killed someone?"

It didn't make sense. Killers went to jail. Killers didn't have incredibly golden
long-lashed eyes and amazingly talented fingers. Killers didn't have the ability to
do the things Devin did. They didn't walk around like they hadn't taken another
person's life.

He met my eyes. "I was drunk."

"What?" I squeaked. Why isn't he denying it?

"I was drunk and he picked a fight with me and I won." His voice cracked at the
end.

"Go on," Natalya whispered, tears spilling down her face. "Go on, Lateef!"

"I'd known he was sleeping with Natalya behind my back," he said quietly, obliging
her. "I didn't love her but it was...humiliating. Still, I did nothing. He was my
best friend. But he attacked me." He squeezed his eyes shut. "And I was drunk."

Suddenly, it all made sense: The secrecy, the hiding, the fanatic no-drinking
policy, his aloofness - his anger. It was at himself. He was angry with himself.

Natalya sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. It was strange to know
that Natalya Kovalenko was capable of loving someone more than she loved herself;
of loving as hard as she'd so obviously loved Ivan. It was strange to see her in
such a weak position.

"Devin," I started, wondering what exactly I was going to say. That he was a
monster? That he wasn't?

"Rory, don't." There was a note of pleading in his voice as he looked at me. "Every
day, I wake up and despise myself. I don't need your words of comfort. I need to
remind myself what I am."

I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him that it was going to be OK - but
was it?

"How can I hold my daughter with the same hands that have taken a life?"

He'd called Ophelia his daughter.

"Is that...why you live here? Why you're...hiding?" I asked tentatively.

"He's a coward," Natalya spat. "A weakling!"

I turned to her. "But you stayed with him, right? After...what happened? You must
have, if you had Ophelia four years...after."

"Stayed?" She shakily got to her feet. "It was a one-night stand. He was -"

"I don't want to hear it," I told her, and I didn't. My head was swimming. "I need
to sleep."

"Me too." Natalya clutched her head. I wondered if she would've stormed in here if
she'd been sober. Probably not. "Murderer," she murmured to herself, tottering out
of the room.

Devin and I were alone. I wanted to run. I wanted to stay. Too much was happening.
He didn't look at me. He didn't say anything. He was waiting. Waiting for me to say
something.

I did the only thing I could.

I walked out.

<center><h1>9: In Which She Meets Ruby</h1></center>

<hr>

A/N: Just a quick one (I swear):- For the last time, I have NOT deleted the
previous chapters of this story. They're private and, for the most part, invisible
to some readers. As explained in the one-page "book" on my profile, Wattpad is not
changing the rating. So if you still can't access the previous chapters, either
delete the story from your library and add it again or just go to the "book" (with
the private chapter links) and click the links in the comments. Or delete the book
from your reading list and add it again. Thank you for your support!

9: In Which She Meets Ruby

**************************************

There were exactly three times in my life when I had been utterly and completely
speechless.

The first was the day my headmistress pulled me out of class to tell me that the
only relatives I had in the entire world - my parents - had been smashed to a pulp
in a head-on collision with a half-asleep truck driver on their way back from a
camping trip. She'd looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something - or
cry - but all I'd done was return her sympathetic gaze. Speechless. My parents had
doted on me - a miracle baby when they were both well in their forties - and just
like that, they'd been ripped away from me while I'd been passing notes in History.
I was turning eighteen in a few days' time; I wouldn't go through the hell that was
foster care and that gave me hope. Still, I wasn't physically able to say anything
to Mrs. Bradley. She'd called it shock.

The second time was right before I'd taken my vow of chastity. It was stupid but
even now, it rankled me.

I had liked sex. Far too much. Looking back, I'd probably been addicted to it,
although I would never have admitted it to myself or anyone else. I wasn't exactly
easy but then again, I wasn't a nun. Callum had been my first boyfriend and my
first shag. He'd sucked at it but I grew up and moved on - to real men. Sex had
probably been my way of getting close to someone because I had no one. No one. It
was twisted but I'd needed that closeness. My parents were dead and I was alone and
I liked the way men made me feel in bed.

His name was Rob and I still forget where I'd met him. All I remember is that he
was an Australian realtor holidaying in London. He had sandy-blonde hair and
incredibly green eyes. He'd also been into bondage and preferred to come on my
face, preferably if I was wearing make-up.

"And to think," he'd panted with transparent glee, gripping his cock in one hand
and expelling his cum onto me, "that you're...someone's...daughter."

Well, I'd immediately burst into tears and scared the hell out of him. In fact, I'd
scared myself. It had felt like a dam had burst and I couldn't stop the deluge no
matter how much I tried; no matter how much a freaked-out Rob tried. I'd gone
through the humiliation of cleaning myself up in his hotel room and retreated to my
flat the whole weekend, replaying his words in my head and not knowing what exactly
I was weeping about.

God, what would my parents think? What would they say? I'd let him do...things to
me; dirty things. I was someone's daughter.

I'd used their deaths as an excuse to practically wh0re myself out to anyone who
made me smile; made me feel like I had someone, even if it was only for a weekend.
My parents had done nothing but shower me with enough love to last a lifetime - and
I'd grown up to throw it back in their faces, working at a job I hated for a man I
hated and spending a couple odd weeks with a different man in my bed - which I
surreptitiously hated.
Monday morning was the last straw: Richard Pritchett, Jnr. asked me to suck his
dick for a raise. I'd told him to stick it in a pencil sharpener instead and go
fuck himself. Then I quit and cleared my desk.

I was with Father Logan by lunchtime, confessing everything. He'd known my parents.
He knew me. Too much...bad had happened to me and, like my parents had done so when
they were alive, I'd sought solace in the church. It was on that day - in Father
Logan's tidy little vestry - that I finally cried for my parents' senseless death.
I finally cried for the baby Callum and I had made in university; the baby that had
been inside me for twenty-three days before I'd miscarried. And I finally cried for
myself, because secretly, I was glad that it had disappeared.

All those things had accumulated inside me - and that was when I'd made a promise
that the next time I'd be with a man, it would be on my wedding night.

The last time I'd totally lost the ability to even think was last night, when I'd
discovered that the reason the guy I'd been fúcking was a recluse, was because he'd
drunkenly murdered his best friend and couldn't bear to be a part of society due to
guilt.

This was the last thing that whizzed through my brain like a rocket as I picked my
way through the dense shrubbery that led to the never-been-used backyard of Casa de
Shaw. Bates had vaguely mentioned that that's where she'd seen him go early this
morning and, being completely desperate for answers, I'd thrown on an old dress and
rushed out to find him.

I hadn't given the back of the house more than a cursory glance in all the months
I'd been working there and now, I instantly regretted it. In a verbal outline of my
do's-and-don'ts, Bates had told me that the backyard was a no-go zone for everyone,
including Ophelia and me - especially Ophelia and me. The little girl didn't seem
to mind the fact that she was missing out on this lush, green paradise - she had
the entire beach, after all - but as someone who'd spent most of her childhood in
the countryside, this was heaven to me.

It was obvious that Devin had hired a serious landscaper. Although the yard was
probably a regular rectangular shape, trees and various plants were artfully placed
to give the impression that it was a tropical rainforest. From my bedroom window,
it simply looked like an overgrown garden but down here, immersed in landscape, it
was paradise. Grabbing a humongous sunflower and sniffing it, I followed the
beautifully done cobbled path that led to the closed door of a rickety stand-alone,
makeshift garage-slash-shed.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked. And waited.

The noises from inside immediately faltered.

I sighed loudly. "Dev, I know you're in there."

Silence.

"Do you honestly think I'm not going to huff and puff and blow this place down?"

The door was yanked open and I took a couple of steps back, blinking up at the man
that had haunted my dreams for weeks now. Despite the fact that I knew that he
hadn't slept in his room last night - I'd returned there in the early hours - he'd
obviously taken a shower and shaved. His T-shirt had been stark-white at some point
before what were clearly grease stains on the front changed that. At a glance, his
dark jeans were equally grubby. He was holding a filthy cloth and, blocking the
entrance, wiped his hands with it before shoving it into his back pocket.

"What do you want, Rory?" he asked resignedly, giving me a look that said I was the
last person he wanted to see just then and that he couldn't care less what I
wanted.

"May I come in?"

"No."

I sucked in a deep breath. "You're being a dickhead again."

"Newsflash, Rory," he growled. "I've always been a dickhead and I always will be a
dickhead, so maybe you should get that through your thick English skull."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you expect me to believe that you're capable of
coldblooded murder, Devin Shaw?" I figured it was wise to ignore his insults,
despite the fact that I was five seconds away from punching him.

His eyes clouded over. "Don't."

"I'm sorry, Dev, but you're going to talk - unless you want me to talk. To the
police. About why you're not in jail for murder." I slipped past him before he
could slam the door, overlooking how my skin tingled from even the briefest of
contact with him.

Once inside, I froze.

A ruby-red Chevy Camaro was taking up most of the space and was obviously
responsible for the smell of oil hanging thick in the air. My father had mooned
over a car much like this one and that was the only reason I knew its name. The
hood was up and even with my wretched knowledge of cars, I could see that there
were some parts missing.

Devin slammed the door behind me. "Fukking Nancy Drew," he mumbled under his
breath.

I spun around, amazed. "You're restoring it?"

"Restoring her," he promptly corrected, striding past me and lovingly running his
hand along the side of the car. He looked up at me. "You know what the castle
exception is, Rory?" he asked after a long moment of silence had elapsed.

"What?" I was drowning in his eyes and probably hadn't even heard what he'd said.

"That was my exact response when my lawyers threw that at me." Devin's eyes went
skyward. "It's essentially a law that says you can do whatever the fück you want to
anyone that attacks you in your home. It's a law that says I had the right to
defend myself, even if it was at the detriment to...him."

I didn't speak. I probably couldn't.

"Moonshine."

I swallowed. "What?"
Devin's eyes met mine. "It's what I was drinking that night. Jamaican. Powerful."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Anything that could make me forget about fame was my
poison. It didn't matter that I was so fukked up I couldn't see straight."

"Devin -" I started.

"I was stupid," he interjected, leaning against the Chevy and staring off into
space. "Immature. Every weekend, I'd top the dumbest thing I did the week before.
Ivan was just there for the ride but he was my best friend and I loved him like a
brother." He paused, grimacing. "Natalya sank her claws into him and called it
love. In reality, she just enjoyed the thrill of making a fool out of me. When he
came at me - drunker than I was - he had a knife. I wasn't thinking. He wasn't
thinking. The dumbasses I had in my living room weren't thinking."

"Devin -"

"Rory, shut the hell up and listen," he cut in, his eyes swivelling to my face.
"You're right. I need to talk. I need to man up and face my demons. I need you to
listen."

I shut the hell up.

Devin went on as if I wasn't there after that. I listened. I listened to him

describe Ivan's blood; how much blood there was from such a small stab wound. I
listened to him describe how the ambulance took its sweet time to get to yet
another Beverly Hills train wreck. I listened to him describe how he'd sobered up
to give his police report; how his lawyers had told him to emphasise how he'd been
the victim.

"A victim," he snorted. "I wasn't the one in the morgue. No, I was the one that
went home and passed out until God knows when. Fuck, I was stupid. Wasting my life
on booze, drugs and -"

"It wasn't your fault," I cut in, moving toward him for the first time.

He visibly recoiled but I didn't allow that to deter me. No, I went up to him and
slipped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his chest. I could hear his
heart beating against me. I sighed inwardly when one of his arms came around my
lower back, pulling me to him. His chin rested on the top of my head.
"You were young," I said softly. "What happened was horrible but you didn't attack
him, Dev. You were defending yourself and you can't live life replaying what
happened and blaming yourself. You have a daughter now; a daughter that shouldn't
suffer for the past."

He was oddly silent. I raised my head and looked up at him. His eyes were squeezed
shut. I reached up and wiped away the lone tear that had escaped its long-lashed
prison.

God, I love this man.

"He had no one, Rory," he said under his breath. "No family. Only Natalya. His
death is on me."

"Natalya is no one," I said with vehemence. "It wasn't your fault, Dev. You have to
know that."

Dev's eyes flew open. "Sit with me," he bit out.

He didn't wait for my answer as he sank to the concrete floor, pulling me down with
me and leaning against the car. I fell in a less than graceful heap between the V
of his long, denim-clad legs and he secured me with his arms.

"I'm giving Ophelia the Chevy when she turns sixteen."

I twisted at the waist to look back at him. "This is...for her?"

"Yeah, although seeing as she's got a decade to go before she's getting behind this
wheel, I'll have to break this baby in." His gaze turned nostalgic. "When I turned
sixteen, my dad gave me his 1969 Mustang. It felt like I'd died and gone to
heaven," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face. "That car was
the one thing I felt linked me to him. I want that with my daughter. It's all I
have right now."

I grinned at him, my heart positively soaring. "You do realise that you might have
to paint it pink, right?"
"That's blasphemous." He wrinkled his nose at me. "Ruby was born red and she'll die
red."

"Ruby?" I stifled my laugh.

"Yeah." He frowned. "My father and I didn't have a great relationship, Rory. Cars -
especially muscle ones - were the only way we could communicate. Shitty
communication's about the only thing I inherited from him."

I bit my bottom lip. "You've never talked about your mother."

"I don't remember her. She died when I was young."

"Do you...know anything about her?"

He gave me a wry smile. "Only that my father fell in love with her outside a
pyramid." His fingers toyed with my hair. "He said winning an all-expenses-paid
trip to Egypt was the best thing that ever happened to him because he met Neema. Do
you believe in love, Rory?"

I swallowed. It hit me right then that being with Devin like this - comfortably
talking about his demons and skeletons and parents - was enough to make me love him
that much more. But I loved bipolar, cruel and detached Devin as well. Did that
make me somewhat masochistic? I didn't want to find out.

"I do," was my candid response to his question. "My parents loved each other. God,
Devin, they were married for donkey's years but they were in love. And they loved
me." I sucked in air. "After they died, I went looking for that love. I looked in
the worst possible place ever - sex. You asked me why I'd taken that vow of
chastity. I needed it, Dev; I needed to start afresh."

There was a loud silence that followed. Devin's face was disturbingly unreadable.

"I wasn't a wh0re or anything," I backpedalled, flushing. "It wasn't as if I was

going around, jumping into -"
Devin's lips were on mine, effectively shutting up whatever nonsense was about to
come out of my mouth. One of his hands cupped my chin as his tongue ran across my
bottom lip, seeking entry. My lips parted and his tongue swept inside, meeting
mine. I moaned into his mouth, nimbly shifting without breaking apart until I was
straddling him, then binding my legs around him while he sat cross-legged.

His hands were running along the length of my thighs and up my hips. I could feel
the wetness in my crotch and, unzipping Devin before sticking my hand into his
boxers, I could feel his beautiful growing erection.

Devin attempted to tug my knickers off, seemed to think better of it - then split
the thing into two. I arched my back when he slipped a finger inside me, testing
the waters. One finger became two and two became three, until I was writhing in his
lap, clenching my sex around his digits.

I threw my head back, groaning. "Stop," I whimpered, digging my fingers into his
shoulder blades.

He did, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to my lips. "Taste yourself," he
murmured, slowly thrusting his index finger into my mouth.

I sucked on it, keeping my eyes trained on Devin. I was turned on beyond belief and
it was becoming increasingly torturous. Devin's middle finger went in and I was
bombarded once more by the tang of my cúnt. He let out a low groan and retracted
his fingers, moving around beneath me to get his jeans off as far as they'd go. I
pulled at the straps of my dress until the top half fell, exposing my aching
breasts. I felt Devin's hardness at my thighs and, raising myself up a little, I
reached down and grabbed it, guiding it into the slick folds of my flesh.

I gasped as I slowly lowered myself onto him, torturing myself in the process. His
arms were wrapped around me, as were mine, and his eyes - beautifully dark with
desire - were fixed on mine. Once he was buried inside me to the root, I leaned
forward and placed a kiss on his nose, surprising the both of us. It was a strange
place for a fück buddy to kiss her fück buddy. It spoke of friendship and genuine
affection - things I wasn't sure were supposed to exist between the two of us.

He shut his eyes, his grip around me tightening. I rocked into him, gasping at the
delicious deepness of his còck inside me. He filled me up so acutely and completely
it was a wonder I didn't come as soon as he was in me. His eyes opened and he let
out a low groan of pleasure, leaning forward and pressing his face into my breasts
as I languidly rode him to orgasm. One of my hands went to his hair, unkempt and
softer than silk, and pulled his head back, jerking his neck and bringing his mouth
up to mine. He kissed me back with an aggressive passion that stirred up all sorts
of sensations in my very being. Not for the first time, I was struck by how soft
his lips were.
Time passed but it didn't have any meaning in that garage. Devin placed kisses on
my mouth, my neck, my breasts. He groaned, he grunted, he murmured my name. He made
me come. I made him come. And all the while I tried to squash the L-word out of my
vocabulary and tell myself that it didn't exist when it came to Devin Lateef Shaw.

I failed dismally.

When it was over and I'd managed to straighten my cotton dress, I could feel it
there, whirling about in my stomach. When Devin reached out to wipe a grease stain
on my cheek, I could feel it churning inside me like surf. And when he bent to kiss
my forehead, well, I wanted to scream in frustration. Love sucked.

"Thank you," he said gently, zipping himself up.

"For what? The sex?" I hadn't meant to sound so churlish but that was how it came
out. I suddenly felt tired of being around him.

He frowned. "For talking. You're the first person, Rory. The first."

He didn't have to explain what he meant: The first person he'd talked to.

I could feel my face soften. "Anytime, Dev."

"Natalya's out. Today." He paused. "She's not going to guilt me into keeping her
around."

I gave him a small smile. "Ophelia's got a love-hurt relationship with her."

"I'll talk to her," he said resolutely. "It's overdue."

"I feel like Nanny McPhee now."

Devin flashed me a rare megawatt grin. "Don't be ridiculous. That old bag has
nothing on you."

"Sure about that?" I asked, suppressing a laugh.

"I bet she creaks when she comes."

"Disgusting, Dev!"

He let out a loud laugh that started in his belly. He pulled me to him and kissed
me again, long and hard, before pulling back. "Go. Before I throw you down on my
daughter's car and have my wicked way with you. Again."

I exhaled sharply and turned on my heel, dazed. Pausing at the doorway, I turned to
look back at his tall figure. He was already gripping a wrench and getting back to
work.

"Dev?"

"Hmm?" He didn't look at me as he strode to the back of the car.

I took a deep breath. "Do you believe in love?"

This time, he met my gaze. "Not one fücking bit, Ror."

<center><h1>10: In Which He's A-OK With Being Z-List [FILLER POV]</h1></center>

<hr>
10: In Which He's A-OK With Being Z-List [FILLER POV]

***********************************************
I should've checked Caller ID.

"Dev, man? Dev? You there?" Marty was saying into my ear. I got the feeling he'd
repeated himself about fifty times already.

I groaned, rolling over onto my side to glance at the digital clock on my

nightstand. Four o'clock in the goddamn morning and Martin Spitz was calling me. I
didn't care which time zone he was working with but he was messing with my sleep;
sleep I hadn't been getting until recently.

I told him this.

"The script. I need an answer, Dev," was his pitiful excuse for an apology.

"What part of no way in hell don't you understand?" I told him, sitting up and
groggily rubbing my eyes. "You want me to send you an e-mail? Maybe a BBM?"

"No need to sound so...spoilt."

"Spoilt?" I barked, suddenly wide awake. If I could, I would've reached into my

phone and wrung Martin Spitz's scrawny neck like a wet dishcloth. "I'm not ready
for your bullshit, Mart. Not now, and probably not ever."

He changed tack. "And your daughter? How d'you think you're gonna support her, Dev,
when you're not doing jack shít?"

"I'm not going to star in some shit production by some shit director on some shit
high horse," I said through clenched teeth. "That world, Mart? That world is toxic
and I was lucky enough to get out. I don't want to go back for this. For anything."

"Shít production? Did you read the goddamn thing? This is gold!" When Marty started
a spiel, there was no stopping him. "Jensen Markham? That's the director. Really
sentimental fella. Get him behind a camera, you've got bleeding hearts and an
Oscar. You hear me, Dev? Got - not nominated."

Mart seemed to take it personally that Adrien Brody had gotten my alleged Oscar all
those years ago. I hadn't even been nominated that year, the year after Ivan's
death.

"Forget it. I wouldn't care if it was Spielberg himself asking me to come back," I
told him. "I have more important things to focus on. Like Ophelia."
"Dev, come on," Marty whined into my ear, sounding like a bitch in heat. "Natalya's
her mom. Pack her off to her. Girls need their moms, y'know? Do you enjoy being a
Z-list actor, Dev? Would your daughter want a has-been for a daddy?"

"What the fck's your problem?"

"I was watching E!'s Where Are They Now? the other day, Dev. You haven't done a
movie in a decade! They think you OD'd. Even if they knew the truth about -"

"I'm ending this discussion, Martin. You of all people know my history. Don't call
me again." I cut off yet another classic Spitz gripe and turned my phone off,
dropping it onto my nightstand.

Speaking to Marty never failed to send me into a dark place. I was the first to
admit that I had issues and those issues were better off being dealt with alone. It
wasn't just that Marty reminded me of the fast pace of Hollywood and all that it
entailed; it was the fact that he was a constant reminder of who I had once been.

The Devin of the past would've done this godforsaken movie - and, in his spare
time, would have done strip clubs, booze and any woman with a pulse and real
breasts. I continued to tell myself that it had nothing to do with the fact that
the script could've been my biography - but the truth was that that was one of the
biggest reasons I wasn't going to do it.

"Fuck you, Marty," I muttered under my breath, kicking the covers off and sliding
out of bed. Any conversation - no matter how brief - with that rodent put me in a
shitty mood. In the old days, bad moods would've driven me to the nearest bottle.
These days, the only things that kept me going were walking the stretch of beach
and working on the Chevy.

And Ophelia.

I felt my lips quirk into a smile as I pulled open my bedroom door. I could still
feel the bruise where my daughter had enthusiastically thwacked a baseball into my
upper leg that very morning. Pride because my girl could actually hit a ball was
the first thing I'd felt. The pain had come much later.

I padded down the dimly lit hallway and slowly opened Ophelia's door, sneaking a
quick look inside. I'd done this as often as I possibly could, from the very first
night she'd slept under my roof. The first time, I'd been struck by how exquisitely
beautiful she was. Perfect. There was no way in hell a screw-up like me would have
been able to make something as perfect as her - which was why I'd had the DNA test
done. To say the results were a shock would've been a pretty fucking big
understatement.

Even now, while she lay spread-eagled in content sleep, I couldn't believe she was
the result of one meaningless night with one meaningless person. The fact that
Natalya had pretty much evaporated from our lives - but not my finances - hadn't
hit her as hard as I'd thought it would and I had one person to thank: Rory.
I closed Ophelia's door and glanced down at the front of my boxers.

Dammit.

I considered creeping into Rory's bedroom and giving her hard - hard being the
operative word - evidence of how much she aroused me, but thought better of it.
Over the past two weeks, something had changed between us and I had no fucking clue
what that was. She was still Rory - fierce, argumentative, nosy, caring, gentle and
sexy-as-hell - but when it came down to being naked with me, she gave me only
pieces of herself.

I couldn't really explain it but it felt like she was holding back. Oh, she wanted
me just as much as I wanted her - any time, any place - but none of the old Rory
spark was there. She made the right noises, did the right things but it wasn't the
expressive, spunky Rory I knew.

There was only one real explanation of it: She was afraid of saying no to a
murderer.

Smoke, I thought, taking the stairs down two a time. I need a smoke.

I kept a pack hidden in the living room, as far away from Ophelia's reach as
possible. I didn't realise how much I needed a cigarette until I thought of the one
person I'd come to trust with everything throw it back into my face by pretending
to understand.

"Oh, fucking hell," I heard a voice curse from what sounded like the kitchen.

There was no question that it was Rory. Her voice propelled me to her.

She was standing at the sink, running her hand under water. Her body was poured
into a disturbingly provocative red negligee, the stuff of wet dreams. From behind,
the curve of her ass was perfectly shaped against the satin material, as were the
width of her hips that joined to long, tan legs.

She switched the faucet off and turned around, sticking her index finger into her
mouth. Her eyes widened when she saw me standing by the refrigerator.

Sex, was the primal thought that coursed through my blood in that moment. Standing
there half-naked and sucking on a finger, Rory Harding was just begging me to take
her right there, on my kitchen counter.

"Is...is everything okay?" she asked hesitantly, regarding me with a wary look; a
look I realised I hated.

"No," I muttered darkly. "Everything is not okay."

"I cut my finger...picking up this glass." She gestured at the tiny shards of what
had probably been one of my good tumblers. "I just wanted water."

I went to her, skirting the broken glass. "Let me see your finger."

"Really, it's fine. Just a small nick," she protested.

I grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand up so I could examine her index finger. She
made some sort of noise in her throat, looking up at me with big, doe eyes.

"Flesh wound," I told her after glancing at the tiny, red line of raised skin. "Not
deep at all." I gently took her finger and brought it to my mouth, sucking on it.

"Please don't," Rory whimpered, trembling. "I really need to...go."

I released her. "What the hell's wrong with you? Spit it out."

Something crossed over her face but before I could put a finger on it, it
disappeared and her face hardened.

"I'm not in the mood for your shit," she spat, the flames I recognised raging in
her chocolate-brown eyes. "I need to clean up here, so if you don't mind..."

"What shit? You've been cagey for the past few weeks and when I actually want to
talk, you get defensive? Clearly, it's your shit we're dealing with here."

She glared at me, eyes blazing. "Why do you sound like a spurned husband, Devin? I
don't find that the least bit attractive."

I felt angry frustration wash over me and told myself to cool it. Whatever this was
with Rory, she did not deserve to see the ugly picture of the old Devin.

"Rory, is this about...Ivan? Is this about my past?"

"What?"

"Look, I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for...what happened to him," I
started slowly, "but talking to you? Talking to you changed me." And it had. No one
I genuinely cared about knew how I felt about Ivan Sharpe's death. Even if it was
in self-defence, it didn't change the fact that a man had died at my hands. Rory,
despite everything she'd said to me, had probably gotten time to process this and
had decided that being around me was dangerous.

She took a step back, leaning against the sink. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" I reached out and pulled her to me, not enjoying the distance
between us. My eyes searched hers. "Tell me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, shutting me out. "Let go of me, Dev."

"No way in hell." And I dipped my head and kissed the side of her neck, tasting
her.

"No," she whispered, trembling at my touch. "No, please."

"This is what you do to me," I murmured into her soft skin, taking her hand and
placing it on my aching erection. "Even now, with you behaving like this."

Her hand curled around me through the silk of my boxers. It was torture.

"Do you want me?" I whispered, cupping one heavy breast in my hand and running my
thumb over the hard nipple poking at the fabric of her negligee.

She whimpered, quaking. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." She squeezed my còck, drawing out a groan of surprise from my mouth.

I raised my head and scooped her into my arms, carrying her out of the kitchen and
upstairs. Lydia, the early riser that she was, was due soon and I wasn't in the
mood for any interruptions. Rory pressed her face into my neck, allowing me to take
her to my bedroom. She weighed close to nothing and it dawned on me that her sudden
weight loss was recent.

But that was the furthest thing from my mind as I lay her on my unmade bed.

Lying there, dark hair spilling over my pillows and skin a shade lighter than mine
gleaming in the orange streaks of dawn, she had never looked more fuckable. On a
good day, foreplay would take precedence. This was not one of those days. I had to
have her and I had to have her now.

Kneeling between her legs, I tugged at the thin straps of her negligee until I'd
gotten the godforsaken thing clean off her. The silk shimmered off her in one
movement and then she was completely naked in my bed.

"Don't look at me like that," she said softly, stroking my leg up and down with her
foot.

"Like what?" I growled, getting my boxers off. If I didn't watch it, I was going to
come. "Like I want to fück you? Like I have to have you now? Like you're the most
gorgeous thing I've ever seen?"

She bit her bottom lip.

"Because I can't. I can't stop looking at you like that," I continued, watching her
face visibly shut down.

"Am I just a warm body to you?" she said through clenched teeth.

Was she? I paused, asking myself this question. I would never have confided in a
warm body. I would never have wanted a warm body the way I wanted Rory. If she knew
how often she was in my thoughts, in my dreams... I had to physically restrain
myself from putting my hands on her every second of every day. She sure as hell
wasn't a warm body.

"Rory," I said gently, "I'm not going to deny that sex with you is incredible. I'm
a guy. Sue me if I get a hard-on whenever I see you. But I think you know that
you're something more."

"What, Dev? What am I? Your fück buddy? Your idea of recreational time?"

I could feel myself growing pissed off. "You want to kill the mood? Fine. It's
dead. You can go to your room, if that's what you want."

"Fück you. You're not going to get me wet and tell me I've killed the mood." Rory
flipped me over with her legs, using the element of surprise. Straddling me, she
leaned in, her breasts dangling in my face. "Give me your còck."

It was obvious that she was mad at me. Angry Rory was almost as sexy as Docile
Rory. Dammit, I was going to come at her words and, when she reached down and
grabbed my erection, I could feel that I was dangerously close.

She stared me in the eye as she slowly, painfully began to jack me off. My hands
flew to her hips as felt my control slipping in her practiced grip. Her hand was
tight around my shaft and one finger massaged pre-cum into the head, sending
shockwaves of intense pleasure through me. Up and down, she stroked, threatening to
drag out an orgasm from me so quickly, so soon. She had sole ownership of my còck.
Groaning, I made a weak attempt at stilling her jerking hand, not wanting to come
so soon.
"No," she hissed, massaging the head of my erection once more. "Come for me. If I'm
the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen, Dev, come for me."

That did it. Shít, I would've come at the drop of a hat for her.

I let out something between a grunt and a curse, bit my fingers into the skin of
her waist - and came hard. Cum surged out of me like a flood and I let it out - for
her, to her, because of her. She made a small noise of pleasure, her little hand
releasing me as I continued to spurt an offering to the fúcking goddess she was,
and mashed her lips against mine. Her kiss was angry, passionate, sexy and I didn't
realise that her hand was back on my manhood until she'd guided it to the opening
of her püssy and I was buried inside her as she took me in to the root.

"Oh hell," she gasped into my mouth, biting my bottom lip. "So big. So perfect. So
Dev."

"Ride me," I hissed, surprised to hear the plea in my voice. "Ride me, Ror. Take
me."

"Yes, yes, yes," she breathed, clenching her sex around me so sweetly. "I
need...this."

"Me, too," I told her honestly, holding on to her. "I need you."

She whimpered, sitting up and placing her hands on my chest. Her eyes were shut and
her body radiated the sexual need I felt whenever I was around her. Slowly, she
moved on top of me, biting her bottom lip. I watched her, mesmerised.

I arched my back and thrust into her, and her eyes flew open. Nails biting into my
chest, she leaned forward and proceeded to rock my world. I decided that the vision
of Rory's more-than-sizeable breasts and wild mane of hair flying before me would
be imprinted on my brain for the foreseeable future. The little mews she was making
were on par with a celestial harmony.

Jesus, Dev - when'd you get so corny?

She went faster, controlling me with her deliciously sweet püssy and continuing to
hypnotise me with the sensual way her entire body was moving. She was mine. Mine to
explore, mine to pleasure. Mine.

"Faster, baby," I growled, holding her gaze as she possessed my còck. Her eyes
registered shock, something that puzzled me until I realised that I'd called her
"baby". That had never happened before, not even with Natalya. Especially not with
Natalya.

I didn't have any time to consider that because Rory's nails dug into my skin,
stinging me, as she tightened around me and came.

"Ah," she moaned, her orgasm making her shudder. "Ah, hell."

I came, spilling myself into her, savouring how good it felt to come inside her.
She came again, her hair hiding her face. Empty, she fell forward with me still
inside her, and lay her head on my chest, panting heavily.

I could smell her shampoo. Something citrusy. "You're not a warm body," I found
myself saying, running my fingers down her spine. A sheen of delicious sweat
glistened on her skin. The contrast between my caramel and her newly-tanned cream
was intriguing.

"Forget about it, Dev," she said quietly, stroking my bicep. "I have."

"If something's bothering you, tell me." I felt a smile curve my lips. "Aren't you
proud of me? I enjoy talking now."

"I think I've created a talking monster," she muttered, "when there are so many
great things you could be doing with your mouth."

I knew she was trying to change the subject but I couldn't resist. "Yeah? Like
what?"

"Don't be thick now, Dev," she murmured, raising her head now and looking down at
me with gleeful eyes. "Kiss me."

So I did.

And that led to other things, things that had me calling her "baby" again. This
time, neither one of us was surprised.
<center><h1>10: In Which She Closes a Chapter</h1></center>
<hr>
10: In Which She Closes a Chapter

*************************************************
I rolled over and hit what my sleep-addled brain deciphered as a brick wall behind
me.

God, he smells good, I thought, now fully awake and taking a few blessed seconds to
examine a sleeping Devin.

This was the first ever time I'd woken up before him; the first time I'd managed to
sneak a peek at him while he was dead to the world. I had totally been missing out.

Asleep, his face was way more relaxed and striking. The long lashes of his closed
eyes kissed his cheek and the full curves of his lips were slightly parted,
releasing a barely audible snore. Five o'clock shadow peppered his angular jaw,
giving him the rugged look that often made me want to jump his bones. Like now.

The covers were draped over him as far as his waist so I got a good eyeful of
beautiful, tan, Devin skin - tempting Devin skin. He looked even sexier asleep.

Dammit, I hated being in love. It gave me super X-ray vision that made me notice
super cheesy things I had no business noticing. At all.

I debated what to do: Wake him up the way he usually woke me - which was with his
fingers then his còck - or slip out of bed and take a shower. Most of my nights, as
painful as this was, were spent in Devin's bed. I didn't know how that had
happened, except that he couldn't keep his hands off me and didn't mind PDA, much
to Bates' poorly hidden chagrin. He'd decided that his king-sized bed was big
enough for the both of us and didn't care who knew he was sharing it with me. I
wasn't too sure about Fee. Her knowing that I had "sleepovers" with her father
definitely made me rueful.

Escaping this bed, it is, I decided, carefully sliding out from under the covers
and standing up. My robe was in a heap on the floor and I shrugged it on before
heading to the bathroom. If I thought I loved my bathroom, Devin's bathroom and I
were in a committed relationship. The tiles were onyx marble and the tub was a
round Jacuzzi-like bowl smack-bang in the centre of the room. Sex in it was out of
this world. In fact, I thought about how Devin had screwed my brains out in it last
night and I made a weak attempt at stifling the tug of desire in my belly.

He was insatiable. I was insatiable - but only for him, I recognised. I didn't know
what Devin's sex life had been like before me but such spontaneous, frequent sex
was unusual for me. I had had a very healthy libido but hadn't been as active as I
was right now with Dev.

Love certainly made me horny. It also made me lose my appetite.

Biting my lip, I stepped into the shower stall - a glass box with a marble seat
inside - and flipped on the hot water. I made it a point to shower as quickly as
possible, before Dev could wake up and fúck me.
I got out, steam misting the bathroom, and grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it
around me and tucking it under my armpits as I walked to the sink. I brushed my
teeth in a hurry before returning to the bedroom - and to an empty bed.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Each time I was with that man, a new wound was torn
open. It was a beautiful kind of hurt. Just looking at him was enough to bring me
close to tears. It was like being in the presence of something you really wanted
badly but knew you could never have because it was just too bloody unattainable to
mere mortals like you.

I sat on the edge of the bed, collecting my thoughts. Devin's scent hung heavy in
the air, scrambling anything sensible floating in my head. I had to put a stop to
this - whatever this was between us - before it was too late.

The door was pushed open and Devin strode in, freezing mid-step after kicking the
door closed. "That was fast," he said, balancing a tray in both hands. He'd pulled
on a pair of grey sweatpants that hung loose on his hips but didn't fail to conceal
his startling erection.

"What's that?" I asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of my voice.

"Your breakfast," he casually replied - as if he brought me breakfast every morning

- and set the tray on the rumpled bed.

The tempting smell of freshly-brewed coffee and buttered toast wafted into my
nostrils.

"You forgot the bacon," I mumbled, not wanting to read too much into this sort-of
breakfast in bed.

He let out a rich laugh. "Ungrateful wench. You really should eat something. Don't
think I haven't noticed...your weight loss." He said the last part cautiously, like
he was afraid of hurting my feelings.

Oh Dev.

He could be so sweet sometimes. I wasn't particularly hungry on any given day and
the fact that he'd noticed - well, it was nice. Little did Devin know that he was
the primary reason for my sudden "weight loss" and I wasn't about to tell him. The
smile left his face and he peered at me through probing eyes.

"OK, spit it out, Ror. What's up?"

"Nothing. God, you overreact sometimes," I muttered, getting to my feet. He moved

to stand before me, his hands on my sides.

"I'll fück an answer out of you then," he threatened, his eyes darkened and so
utterly intense it was hard not to look at them. I was positively drowning in them.

"You'll do no such thing," I told him, although blood began to rush through my body
in anticipation of him carrying out that sweet, sweet threat.

Ignoring me, he unravelled my towel and it fell to the floor in a flourish of

white. His eyes took their time drinking in my naked body and I trembled,
physically fighting with myself not to succumb to his intent.

"Fuck. You know what you do to me," Devin said huskily, and my eyes automatically
travelled to his sweats to gauge the evidence. He followed my gaze and smirked,
looking back up at me. "That's for you. It's yours."

God, I loved it when he said that, and he'd been saying that a lot lately.

I succumbed.

Grabbing the back of Devin's head, I
kiss, pleased when his hands flew to
rubbed my cünt against his rock-hard
his sweatpants between us. Absolute,
against my aching clít.
pulled him down into a very deep, very wet
my rear. He drew me to him and I wantonly
còck. It was torture, having the barrier of
sweet torture to feel his erection rubbing

"You ready to tell me what's bugging you, baby?" he breathed, pulling away from me.

Baby, I thought, melting. Totally melting into a puddle of hormones and

unadulterated desire. Pathetic.

I yanked his sweats down as far as I could in my position and he groaned when I
found his manhood, leaning into my hand.

"Shít," he hissed, as I slowly began to feel the length of him. "Ror, stop this."
He pushed my hand aside and picked me up, setting me on the bed.

"The coffee..." I began to protest.

He swept the tray off the bed, sending its contents flying to the floor.

"It'll stain," I told him, thinking of the plush carpeting of the bedroom and
mentally crying on its behalf.
He spread my legs apart. "Don't give a damn."

I sucked in a breath when his mouth kissed my inner thigh. "Ah."

"You're going to come into my mouth, baby. You're going to come long and hard and
you're going to say my name." His tongue flickered out, licking its way up my
thigh, dangerously close to my apex. "You get me, Ror?"

"Mm-hmm." I lay back into the pillows, biting my bottom lip.

"Where are you going to come?" Devin's tongue kissed my opening. I shuddered.
"Where?"

"Your...mouth," I gasped, because his tongue had just run up the slit of my
pussylips and speech was becoming increasingly difficult.

Fisting the sheets, I let out a low moan, unconsciously rubbing my cünt against
Devin's face. He held me into place, his hands gripping my thighs, as he
mercilessly tongue-fücked me. In and out, in and out he went, until I was
frantically rubbing my slippery flesh against his mouth, wanting him to make me
come so badly I was crying out in pain. He drew my pulsing cl!t into the heat of
his mouth and that was the last straw.

"Please," I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut. "Make me come, Dev. Make me come."

He stopped probing me with his tongue. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"You dick," I gasped, rabidly annoyed. I was so close, so bloody close. I propped
myself up on my elbows and threw him the dirtiest look I could possibly muster.

"You're not being straight with me, Rory, and that's beginning to piss me off."

Piss you off? I thought in disbelief. I was the one who was basically being used as
a plaything by a guy who denied I was anything but. Whatever he wanted to call it,
that's what I was: A toy that wasn't battery-operated.

"I'll get myself off," I spat, lowering my hand to my cünt. It would be

embarrassing but I was past caring.

Devin grabbed my wrist, freezing me. "Sorry, baby, but this ends now."

"Go to hell," I snapped, on the verge of frustrated tears.

 Just what exactly was I supposed to say to him? That I was stupid enough to be in
love with him and was hurt that he didn't believe in the concept? That even though
this was true, I wanted him physically and was trying to overlook the fact that
this relationship was based on lust and nothing more?

It cut me deep to even think about all that, so what more if I said it aloud to
Devin himself? I couldn't stand to imagine his face as he let me down easy and
slowly explained that he liked me in the physical sense; liked me enough to shag -
but that that was it.

Devin lazily toyed with my clít, his eyes trained on me. "Fück, Ror. This is
frustrating. I'm not trying to be the goddamn Mentalist."

"I can't do this anymore," I said sharply, and promptly burst into a flood of
tears. That was my weakest moment and although I was mortified, I couldn't stop.

Everything was coming out in those tears - my current sexual frustration, my

permanent emotional frustration - everything.

It was through blurry eyes that I saw Devin come up beside me, pulling me into his
bare chest. He reeked of sex and his own masculine body musk. I inhaled him deeply,
his scent provoking a fresh flood of waterworks.

"Ror," he said gently, threading his fingers in my hair, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He was sorry? No. I was sorry. I was sorry that I'd ever come to Tacoma Bay to take
this godforsaken job. I was sorry that I'd ever been brainless enough to let myself
become attracted to Devin Lateef Shaw. I was sorry I'd ever let physical attraction
escalate to love. What did I know about it anyway?

I buried my face in Devin's chest, willing my tear ducts to shut down for business
but they clearly enjoyed their job and continued regardless.

All the while Devin was murmuring soothing, incoherent things into my hair, his
fingers gently playing with the damp strands. How could he be so...sweet? I liked
him better as a dickhead, I decided.

"I'm good now," I murmured, when I was all cried out. I had no doubt that my eyes
were red-rimmed and puffy, and that my nose was probably red and runny. If that
wasn't a turn off, I didn't know what was.

Devin's hands were at the back of my head as he gently pulled me away to look at
me. His golden eyes were filled with unwanted concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, jerking my head away. "That was just a lady moment. You
weren't giving me an orgasm."
His fingers reached out and wiped the streaks of tears away. "That was not a lady
moment but I'm going to let it slide because the last part appealed to me."

I swallowed. Nothing deterred this man from being inside me. Before I could blink,
I was flat on my back and he was over me, lowering himself into me. I breathed a
sigh of contentment as I gratefully accepted him - all of him - and we were joined
in the most primal of acts.

"Sweetheart," he groaned when I clamped my insides around him. He raised himself a

little before thrusting into me again, full force.

I cried out, looping my legs around his waist. "Please."

He dipped his head and captured my mouth with his, kissing the life out of me as he
leisurely fücked me. My arms were around him, my fingernails clutching at his
shoulder blades.

He was deep inside me, hips rotating as he probed me. I closed my eyes,
surrendering myself to him in entirety. I felt his lips on mine and surrendered to
that too, allowing him to claim my mouth as his. His tongue was just as hard as his
manhood and just as pleasurable. I let out a moan of pleasure when he gently sucked
on the top of my tongue, arching my back and squeezing my inner walls around his
hardness.

He growled something into my mouth and I felt that he was done with taking me
slowly. He drove into me, faster, deeper. I felt my orgasm bubble up inside me,
coming to the boil as I cried out. I came in a series of spasms, only Devin's name
on my lips like he wanted. I came long and I came hard, also like he wanted.

"Oh, baby," he grunted into my ear, his forearms on either side of my face as he
emptied himself into me, his big body shuddering.

We were breathing heavily and I was afraid my gasps would transform into sobs
because shit, this hurt. It hurt like hell and Devin making me come yet again was
not healing me and helping me get my shit together.

"Rory," Devin said softly, "I'm never letting you out of my bed. You're good for
me."

I swallowed down a ball of - of what? - and closed my eyes, wincing as he pulled

out of me and rolled onto his back beside me. This was confirmation enough that the
only thing he wanted from me was sex. Despite how sweet he sounded, that was what
he meant.

"Babe?" His voice was still so soft, so gentle.

"I'm here for Ophelia," I forced myself to say, "and when she doesn't need me
anymore, I need to...follow my dreams," I finished lamely.

He was silent for a long while. Then, "What dreams?"

"Dear God, Devin. Is talking all you do now?"

"I'm being serious here."

The annoying thing was that I knew that he was.

"OK. Fine. I've always wanted to see the world," I told him, staring at the
ceiling. It was safer to look there. "Places like Athens, Dubai, Italy, South
Africa, Brazil... Even Cairo. Since you've been disgustingly overpaying me - I'm
not an idiot, by the way - I can afford all that and more."

"And the only thing that's holding you back is my daughter," he said, more to
himself than to me.

I jerked my head in his direction and caught his eye. "She's not holding me back. I
love that girl," I said vehemently. "Athens will always be there but Fee won't be a
little girl forever."

Devin's face visibly softened. "What else would you like to do?"

"Superficial things. You'll laugh."

"Baby," he murmured, reaching out and stroking my cheek, "you're the furthest thing
from superficial."

I sighed inwardly. His Dr-Jekyll-and-Mr-Hyde act was going to be the death of me.
"My mother wrote children's books in her spare time. I never really liked kids
but...I'd really love to finish her book and have it published in her memory." I
paused. "Stupid, right? I have no one in my life in London, so I have no one to
tell me the truth."

He sat up and leaned over me, his gorgeous face inches away from mine. "I'm telling
the truth," he said firmly. "It's not stupid - it's beautiful. Rory, you have no
idea how special you are. To me."

"How special am I?" I whispered, looking up into the hazel eyes I'd drowned in a
million times before.

He squeezed them closed and it felt like he'd slammed a door in my face. "Too
fucking special to waste your life here." He turned away from me and got out of
bed. "I need a shower."

Déjà fcking vu.

***

"My Devin, what's your favourite movie ever?" Ophelia asked, when we were all in
the living room and Devin had popped in a Despicable Me DVD for his daughter to
watch that evening. Devin hadn't flat out told her to call him dad, although he'd
hinted at it. His name was just too hard to shake, although she'd started adding an
awkward-sounding "my" in front of it whenever she said his name.

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly, turning away from the TV screen to look at his
daughter, who was pressed adorably close to his upper body on the couch.

"Your favourite movie!"

"The Matrix," he said without hesitation, leaning back into the couch. I instantly
recalled the painting of Morpheus in his study. "Why, gorgeous? You want to watch
something that came out before you were born?"

"Just asking." She turned from her father and regarded me. "And you, Rory?"

Devin's eyes were narrowed as he too considered me.

I decided that it didn't hurt to tell a little white lie. "Love, Actually. When
you're older, I'll let you watch it, hon." My all-time favourite was actually E.T.

Devin groaned loudly. "Seriously?"

"I'm a romantic, Devin. I can't help that." Again, that was a lie. I was the
furthest thing from a romantic. I had the scars to prove it.
"Well, your choice of movies sucks. British humour is a train wreck. "

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, no offence," he said absentmindedly, totally not meaning it.

"Is there kissing?" Fee asked curiously, now ignoring Gru strutting across the
screen.

"Change of subject, please," Devin said loudly. "Go back to the part where you're a
romantic. We both know that life isn't a Disney fairytale," he directed at me.

"I'm a woman," I bit out. "I can't help it. Excuse me." I unfurled myself from the
couch and marched out the room, unsure of why I was suddenly feeling so shitty.
What was supposed to be a quiet evening of DVDs and dessert had just turned into me
walking out in a strop over Devin debunking romance and British comedy in one
breath.

I stomped into the empty kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, rooting inside
for something satisfying to eat and settling on leftover lasagne. When I closed the
fridge, Dev was standing there, a dark look on his face.

"You want to tell me what the fuck that was all about?" he snarled, grabbing the
Tupperware container from me and slamming it onto the counter of the island.

"Why are you always in my face?" I snapped back. I was frightened by the sudden
overwhelming urge I had to smack him across his irritated face.

"Why are you behaving like this?" he countered.

God, did he have to look so good? Even in a casual grey NYU T-shirt and sweats he
looked completely doable. His hair was even tousled from being outside in the wind
that day but it looked sex-tousled, and in my depraved mind, I wanted to further
tousle it - during sex.

"Behaving like what, Devin? Like a woman?" I glared at him. "My period's due. So
sorry you won't be getting a fuck this week."

His brows knitted together. "What's a little blood, Rory?" he growled. "I wouldn't
care if you were bleeding from every fücking orifice, Rory. You'd still be under
me, begging me to make you come."

I stifled a gasp, unconsciously clenching my insides. We'd never had sex when I was
on my period and, quite frankly, I wasn't about to start. In fact, ever.
"I just had an epiphany, Devin," I said quietly. "I realised that I don't need your
bullsh!t in my life. I don't need your drama, I don't need the sex. In short, I
realised that I don't need you."

His eyes became glacial. "Oh?"

"You only call me your baby, your sweetheart when you're making me come," I hissed,
hating myself for mentioning this face. "That is the only time I matter to you -
when you can prove how man you still are by dominating me."

He was silent, his mouth thinning into a line.

I sure as hell wasn't done yet. Not by a stretch.

"I realise that you've been through a lot but guess what? So have I. That doesn't
give you the right to treat me like some cheap wh0re." I said the last part as a
whisper but he heard it.

"If you feel that that's the way I treat you, you're delusional," he bellowed,
scaring me into taking two steps back. He frowned. "Rory," he said softly, stepping
forward. I retreated. He stopped coming at me. "Don't... I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to yell. Don't be afraid of me."

"You meant to. And it's OK. I need more reason to stay the hell away from you."

His eyes widened before they returned to their normal arctic state. "Very well." He
ran a hand through his hair, the only visible sign that he was frazzled. "I suggest
you allow me to enjoy some quiet time with my daughter. Alone."

There was a ball wedged in my throat. "Gladly." And I pushed past him and shot out
the kitchen and up the stairs, only surrendering to my tears once I was safely
behind my bedroom door.

***
I came out of the shower that morning and knew that someone had been in my bedroom.

Everything was as I'd left it - a complete and utter mess because I couldn't be
bothered - but I could sense that not minutes ago, someone had been in there.

I went to the vanity table and was met by a stack of travel magazines and dinky
pocket-sized travel books - Bon Voyage, Alphabet Cities, A Guide to the Globe... I
flipped through each one, puzzled.

"I figured you could start your way in Athens this year," a voice said from behind
me. Even if I were half-deaf, I'd still know it was Devin's. "Then work your way to
Brasilia, Cairo, Durban - and so on."

He'd been reading Alphabet Cities, of course - or he'd just mentally stored the
little titbits of info I'd given him about my stupid dreams.

I slowly turned around, bracing myself for how good he'd look. He didn't
disappoint. It was seven in the morning and he already had grease splodges on the
front of his white wife-beater and faded blue jeans. How could he make car oil look
good?

"Why?" I said quietly, wishing I'd at least had the chance to put on a robe instead
of being left to feel so vulnerable in nothing but a micro towel.

"Why Athens? Isn't that what you -"

"No." I held up A Guide to the Globe. "Why are you giving me these?"

"Truce, Ror. I want a truce after last night."

"We're not fighting," I snapped, slamming the book onto the table. "Would it be too
much to ask if I could have some privacy?"

"I'm giving you time off." Devin completely disregarded my valid question. "A
month? Two? How long do you want?"

I paused, processing this. Time off. He was giving me time off to go to Greece.

"I-I don't know what to say," I whispered, amazed that he'd thought about this.

"Let Josie book your ticket. I'm not filthy rich enough to own a jet,
unfortunately."
Would absence make the heart grow fonder? Or would it dull the pain in my heart
until it was just a manageable ache? And what about Ophelia? She adored me, I knew.
In fact, we were supposed to go out for ice-cream today, after her final lesson of
the term. Lloyd, her tutor, had had to deal with Natalya interrupting his time with
Fee. I couldn't leave her. Not even for a month.

"Ror? You OK?" Devin carefully took a step in my direction.

I picked up a copy of Bon Voyage. I flung it at him. I watched him neatly step out
of the way. I delighted in the sight of his face clouding over in classic Devin
Shaw fury.

"Un-fcking-believable!" he roared, dodging yet another travel magazine to the face.

"Aurora fcking Harding, what the hell is your goddamn problem?"

"You! You're so bloody dense." I grabbed Alphabet Cities, weighing it in my hand.

"A holiday? You think that's what I need? A holiday!"

In a flash, he was gripping my wrists in his hands before I could chuck another
book at him, his eyes blazing.

"That's what you said yesterday, dammit!"

"Seeing the world is not what I need. You don't get it, Devin, and I'm starting to
think you never will." I tried unsuccessfully to get out of his unyielding grasp.

"Get what?" Devin asked, his voice laced with irritation. He shook me. "Get what?
Why do you suddenly expect me to be able to read your -"

"I love you!" I finally wrenched myself away from him, staggering away from the
vanity table. "And I hate it, Devin. You hear me? I hate loving you. I hate it...so
much!"

There were a lot of expressions I'd seen on Devin's face in the past few months I'd
lived with him and total shock had never been one of them. Sure, he'd been
curiously surprised by my admission of my no-sex policy - but this was a whole
different ball park. If someone had told him Anthony Hopkins dressed in Lady Gaga
drag, he couldn't have looked more shocked.

"Me," he muttered, walking past me and over to the large window beside my bed.
"You... love...me."

It was actually pretty gratifying to finally get that off my chest. I'd never said
those words to anyone but my parents. They were sacred words to me. Saying what I'd
been thinking and feeling for so long was like a weight off my chest.
"You don't have to say anything," I told his back, although this cut me to the
core. I'd survive, though. "I know the concept is beyond you and that's OK. I just
had to say it because... well, just because."

I took the opportunity to grab my robe and slip it on, securing the dinky belt
around my waist. My towel fell to the carpet and I stooped to capture it. When I
straightened up, Devin was facing me, his face annoyingly unreadable.

"I'm an ass, a shitty father, a recovering alcoholic, a reliant smoker, unemployed,

detached, aggressive at best..." He took a deep breath. "Should I go on or should I
add the part where I murdered my best friend? What could you possibly love, Rory?"

Our eyes locked and I saw the turmoil inside him. He would never forgive himself
for Ivan Sharpe's death. He would never forgive himself for the terrible choices
he'd made in the past.

"You're an...ass. No disagreement there," I started, hugging myself. "But Dev, some
of the things you say and do? So kind, so sweet, so gentle. You're not a shitty
father. Ophelia worships you! And you're stronger than alcohol. I've seen it. Your
old habits are in the past." I bit my bottom lip when he broke eye contact. "I know
you're trying to quit cigarettes. Don't ask me how. I just do." He didn't need to
know that I loved kissing him when he'd been smoking. "And you're not working by
choice. You always have a choice and if working with Jensen Markham isn't what you
want to do, don't do it." I sucked in air. "Detached? Yeah, not so much.
Aggressive? Sometimes it's attractive." I exhaled sharply. "And Dev, you are not a
killer. You're not."

There, I thought with satisfaction. I've said everything I need to say.

His eyes slowly travelled back to me. "You didn't know me when I drank."

"I know you now."

There was a long hush that seemed to stretch for eternity. No matter how
heartbroken I was, I wasn't going to take my words back. Any of them. Ever. Whether
Devin liked it or not, I wasn't entirely happy with being used like a toy. I folded
my arms across my chest and stared him down.

"Fuck," he swore loudly, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Sit down."

"What?"

"Baby," he said grimly, "sit the fück down."

Weak-hearted as I was, I mutely obeyed, gingerly taking a seat at the foot of my
bed and looking up at Devin expectantly. He moved to stand before me, lowering
himself into a crouch and spreading my legs so he could position himself between
them.

Now I was barely looking down at him.

"Sweetheart, you're the only reason I'm trying to quit smoking," he said softly,
gripping my thighs as he looked up at me. "You're the only reason I'm making
progress with my girl. You're the only reason I don't walk around at night trying
to suppress the urge to grab a bottle. You're the only reason I've forgiven myself,
Rory." He pushed the silk fabric of my gown aside and dipped his head to kiss my
knee. I sucked in a deep breath. "I don't believe in love, Rory. I believe in you."

"What does that even mean?" I whispered.

"God, I don't know," he said, flustered. "It means that I can't stand to send you
to Greece where you'll probably get snapped up by a spray-tanned Adonis," he
growled, squeezing my thigh. "I think about you every second of every damn day. I
want to spend every evening inside you and every morning beside you, Rory Harding.
If that's what love is, then I guess I'm in love with you."

I didn't want to cry. Hell, I'd told my tear ducts we weren't going to do this
again - yet there I was, the first sign of tears prickling my eyes. Oh God. I
looked horrid when I cried.

For someone who hated romance, he was pretty fucking romantic.

"Say it again," I choked out, furiously rubbing at my eyes.

"I love you, baby."

"Can you say it in Arabic?"

He flashed me a megawatt grin, leaning forward and kneeling at my feet. "Don't push
your luck." He loosened the knot of my belt, pulling open my robe and undressing
me. He gazed at my body and I saw the same adoration that was probably in my own
eyes 24/7. "This is new for me," he soberly remarked, leaning forward and kissing
my navel. "I need to hear those words again."

I reached out and grabbed his head, tipping his chin up. "I love you."

His eyes were shut. "Better than nicotine. God, how could I not love you?" His arms
wound around my waist and he buried his beautiful face in my breasts, kissing my
heartbeat.
My legs looped around his lower back, drawing him even closer. It scared me how
much I loved this man, this enigma that was mine to solve. He probably - hell,
definitely - had no clue.

He had me at "You're fired".

<center><h1>EPILOGUE: In Which She Survives "The Drought"</h1></center>

<hr>
EPILOGUE: In Which She Survives "The Drought"

*****************************************

"Don't say another word, sweetheart," I pleaded into the phone, awkwardly meeting
Ophelia's eyes over her novel. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. "I've got Ben 10
in the background and two innocents within earshot."

"Dad?" Fee mouthed at me, leaning back into the couch.

I nodded in response.

"They can't hear me," Devin reasoned, noise resounding in the background. "So
answer my question, baby."

My insides turned liquid. "You know what my answer is," I said softly, although I
was probably drowned out by the TV. "It's always the same."

"Yeah?" His voice was husky, thick. "Sweetheart, I bet you're wet for me."

"Yes," I said, feeling my throat dry in contrast.

"You want my còck inside you."

"You already know that's what I want. Just get home." I was glad that he was
already in the country and was only hours away from our place.

"You want me to fukk you to sleep."

"Always." I licked my lower lip. "Every night."

"You want me to eat you like I'm on death row. Suck that gorgeous cl!t of yours and
tongue-fukk your sweet cunt until you beg me to stop."

I was begging now. "Dev, stop," I breathed, sitting up on the couch and crossing
one leg over the other. "Please."

"And when I'm eating you, you'll be moaning my name the way you do and shit, Ror,
you'll come hard enough to break something."

"Oh," I exhaled, toes curling. "I want you now."

Of course, Ophelia, with her bat-like hearing, heard me.

"Are you guys having phone coitus again?" she asked loudly, so loud her father
heard over the phone and laughed his beautiful laugh. "Ew," she ejected.

Calvin, who was sprawled on the carpet, looked up at us curiously, always wanting
to be in on things. "What's phone coitus?"

"Ophelia Shaw!" I hissed. I gave my son a concerned look. "Your sister's just made
a terrible joke." At nine, he was far too young to learn what "phone coitus" meant.
Quite frankly, sixteen-year-old Fee was, too.

She let out a laugh. "Relax, Mama Bear. I won't go into detail. Only if you guys
don't."

"If she's having phone coitus with anybody, you'd tell me, right?" Devin's voice
was in my ear.

I rolled my eyes although he couldn't see. "Right, baby. Get your pretty little
butt home safely, OK?"

"We'll continue this conversation in the bedroom, OK?"

"Yes. Can't wait. I've missed you."

I could almost imagine him smiling. "Not as much as I've missed you, Nancy Drew."

Heat flushed my face. "Ten years later and that name's still stuck, huh?"

He laughed again. "Six months." His voice became solemn. "You remember that?"

"Longest six months of my life," I said seriously. "How could I not?"

It really had been the longest six months of my
years before Devin but six months of officially
been torture. It hadn't mattered that it was my
Still, it was worth it. I'd needed to know that
wasn't with me just for sex.
life. I'd gone without sex for four
being together - with no sex - had
idea; it had still been agony.
Devin, sexual fiend that he was,

When I'd broached the subject of being abstinent for six months, he'd surprised me
by agreeing immediately, even after I'd told him my reasons.

"Not being inside you is going to be torture," he'd told me candidly. "It's not
about the sex. It's about the closeness." To this day, I remembered his exact words
as if they'd been uttered a few hours ago.

"Maybe, but I need this, Dev. I'm just not one-hundred-percent sure if you know
what love is yet and that's not your fault."

We had been standing in his bedroom, a week after I'd told him I loved him and the
worst possible place to discuss abstinence.

He'd reached out and cupped my chin. "I'll do this. For you. If you really need
this, I'll give it to you."

"Will it be...difficult for you?"

His eyes had brightened with amusement. "If you're asking if I'll be jerking off
every morning, the answer's no." He'd leaned in to me, his lips brushing my
earlobe. "Because when the six months are over, baby, I'm going to be so sexually
frustrated, I will literally fukk you to death to make up for lost time. That,
sweetheart, is certainly worth the suffering."

I'd creamed my knickers listening to him.

True to his word, he didn't touch me for half a year. We'd shared a bed - which was
torture in itself - and that was it. We'd spent every waking moment together -
talking, curling up on the couch watching TV, taking Ophelia out, talking some
more. I learned everything there was to know about Devin Shaw - things that Google
didn't know, like how his mother's untimely death had made his father as distant as
he'd later grown up to be - and he in turn learned everything about me, including
the Richard Pritchett, Jnr. incident, which had pissed him the hell off, especially
the part where Pritchett had painted me out as a wh0re so I couldn't get a job
elsewhere.

"If I ever bump into that cünt..." Devin had threatened once I'd told him.

"Let it go. I have."

"I don't forget a name," he'd said menacingly, but thankfully dropped the subject.

Before I knew it, those six months had come to an end and Devin asked me to marry
him. The ceremony on the beach had been quick and Ophelia, who had once shunned
fairytales, was a fairy princess of a flower girl. Lydia and Bates had been our
witnesses and I'd worn a pale sky-blue sheath dress I'd gone to great pains to
find. Tacoma Bay certainly wasn't known for its haute couture.

Devin wore a tux, a delicious one that fit him perfectly and had to have been
tailor-made. His eyes had been filled with almost tangible passion, pride, desire,
relief - and love. I'd cried and he'd kissed away my tears. Ophelia had joined us
on our honeymoon in Cairo and had slept in an adjoining room. True to his word,
Devin fúcked me to death to make up for lost time - and Calvin David Shaw had been
the surprise result.

The Six-Month Drought, as Devin sometimes jokingly called it over the years, had
only brought us closer. That didn't mean that I didn't crave Devin's body when he
was away in some distant land filming one documentary after the other. I respected
that he loved being in front of the camera but that he needed to do something with
substance - hence the fact that he was always in places like Sudan, Egypt, Libya,
India, Iraq - the list was endless - doing his damndest to be a mouthpiece for the
voiceless. I was proud of him.

"Well, baby, even if you had wanted two years, I would've given that to you," he
was saying in my ear now, his voice low. "Because I love you."

"I know," I whispered. "I'm in love with you."

"And only with me, Mrs. Shaw. One more thing - I have a surprise for you."

"Will I like it?"

He was silent for a while which didn't bode well. "Yes, and no."

"Dev," I warned.

"Just trust me, OK?"

"I do trust you."

"Excellent. Tell my monsters I'll be home for Christmas, Ror."

I laughed. "Will do, you ridiculous man."

He chuckled and ended the call and I tossed the phone onto the coffee table,
getting to my feet.

"Your dad says hello and I'm going to help Lydia with supper."

"He's supposed to get me Danny DeVito's autograph," Calvin muttered without looking
away from the TV screen. "He promised."

I didn't bother to tell him that Danny DeVito was hardly going to be moseying about
in Sudan where Devin had been filming his latest documentary. Calvin was obsessed
with the actor for reasons he didn't care to explain and had been counting on his
father to score an autograph for months now.

I shook my head and caught Ophelia's eye. She gave me a hopeful look, one that
she'd been shooting at me the entire day as we went about garnishing the house with
Christmas decorations, singing old Katy Perry songs off-key.

"No," I said simply, turning and heading to the kitchen.

"Oh, come on, Ror!" she exclaimed, and she was suddenly by my side, a few inches
taller than me barefoot. Tall and willowy, she was certainly taking after her
mother in the looks department. It was a blessing that Natalya had quietly
evaporated from our lives and Ophelia hadn't taken it the least bit hard.
Personality-wise, she was nothing like that witch.

"Honey, I know what this is like but you and your father will have to talk first,"
I told her as we walked into the kitchen. I was assailed by the delicious aroma of
Lydia's heavenly curry.

"But you know how he is," Fee complained. "Dad will say no. Which is ridiculous
because we all know Kyros."

Lydia turned from the stove, a grin on her face. "Did Kyros ask you out again,
Fee?"

Ophelia nodded. "Yes, and Rory said I can't go out with him. All we're doing is
swimming."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" I said dryly, and Ophelia playfully
slapped my arm.

"Mama Bear, I've known what sex was all about for years," she said matter-of-
factly, perching delicately on a stool before the breakfast bar, "and I do not want
to have sex with Kyros."

Lydia tutted, returning her attention to her masterpiece. "Children of today."

I narrowed my eyes at Fee. "We've had The Talk, right?"

"At least once a week," she grumbled good-naturedly.

"Baby," I said gently, moving to take her hand, "I made a lot of mistakes when I
was younger. I just don't want you to do the same. Thing is, you're a heap of a lot
smarter than I was so this is probably redundant."

"So does that mean I can go out with him?" she asked hopefully, squeezing my hand.
"Please, Rory? This is practically the only time I get to see him."

This was true. Christmastime was the only time she came here - but, "It's almost
dark."

"Tomorrow, then?"

I smiled. "You'll have to ask your dad." This was totally unfair because I did know
how Devin was: Overprotective.

He thought every guy under the age of twenty-one was out to take his only
daughter's honour, therefore any boy Fee genuinely liked - like Kyros - had to be
thoroughly interrogated by him if they so much as wanted to breathe the same air as
her. In fact, although he'd intended to give Ophelia the adorable Chevy Camaro he'd
restored, he'd claimed that she wasn't allowed to drive it without supervision,
much to her annoyance.

Fee sighed heavily. "I love you even though you're being a total pushover and
letting down our gender in the process by deferring to the patriarch of this family
to make minor decisions."

"Why did we send you to school again?"

She stuck her tongue out at me and I pulled her off the stool and onto her feet.

"We're good?" I asked, hugging her to me. "You know your father loves you, which is
why he protects you this way. He would want to look Kyros in the eye and make
certain his intentions were good."

Ophelia laughed. "Yeah, we're good. I know. And I love you."

"I love you, too, Fee."

I ended up contributing nothing to supper, aside from my mad table-setting skills.

The only thing on my mind was my husband's imminent arrival and his husky promises.
Dinner came and went and I had just stepped out of the shower when I saw him
standing before our bed, tugging off his black T-shirt and mussing his thick hair
in the process.

"Dev," I breathed in surprise, stark-naked and dripping in more places than one.

"Fuck," he grunted, his eyes locked on mine. "Baby, welcome me home."

He didn't have to ask me twice. I was before him in seconds and his mouth was on
mine, hungrily staking his claim on my lips. He scooped me up, flinging me onto our
bed and kneeing my thighs even further apart.

"Missed you," he murmured into my mouth, palming one breast in his big hand and
tweaking the nipple until it hardened. "Missed you so fúcking much."

"Show me," I gasped, reaching for the fly of his jeans and blindly unzipping him.

He helped me get him out of his jeans and boxer briefs and I instantly got to work
making sure he was hard for me. He was always hard for me.

"Argh," he groaned, raising his head when I began to palm his growing erection.
"Rory, don't. I need...need to come inside you."

Need. He needed to.

I released him. "Hurry," I begged, surrendering to the beautiful feel of the tip of
his cöck being guided into my cúnt. "Hurry up and make love to me, baby."

"We're fucking because" - Devin plunged into me, eliciting a gasp of surprised
pleasure from my mouth - "there's no time right now." He pulled out halfway before
thrusting into me again, drawing a low moan from my lips. "But I promise you,
sweetheart, once we've both come and I've taken you downstairs, we're going to come
back up here and I'm going to take you slowly."
I mewed, wrapping my legs around him. "Less talking, more fucking."

He chuckled, the rumbling of his body doing incredible things to my own body.
Nuzzling his face in the valley of my breasts, my husband proceeded to make me come
and then I gladly did the same to him. This was the way I welcomed him home.

"What is it, Dev?" I asked impatiently, allowing him to wordlessly lead me out onto
the terrace overlooking the beach. "Just spill."

Calvin and Ophelia were upstairs, banished to their respective bedrooms for a
little while. I was impatiently curious.

Out on the terrace, cold, evening wind whipped my hair about and I released Devin's
hand to hug myself. He flicked on the light switch and light flooded the area.

"Is this the surprise?" I asked, glancing at him. "Frostbite?"

"Hello, Aurora," a small voice said from the deckchairs to my left.

I jerked my head in that direction, unable to stop the white-hot rage that suddenly
flowed out of me at the sight of a slightly haggard Richard Pritchett, Jnr.
standing out on my terrace.

"What the fúck?" I spat, and lunged at him.

Devin's arm was around my waist before I could take more than two steps. I writhed
in his vicelike grip, irritated.

"Let me go! Do you know what he said about me? How humiliated I was? I was in a bad
space and he...he ruined my life!"

"I know, baby. I know," Devin said soothingly, "but he's lost everything and would
probably sue you for lunch money if you attacked him."

I stopped squirming. "Lost everything?"

Pritchett wiped at his face with a peach handkerchief, looking uncomfortable in an

ill-fitting brown suit. "Pritchett Ad Global went bankrupt four years ago. We were
sequestered."

"That's karma, you shithead," I snarled, unable to believe that something that had
happened to me a decade ago was making me this angry now. I'd told Devin that I'd
let it go but clearly I hadn't. "I didn't exactly love my job but I was good at it!
And you took that from me because I wouldn't give you a blowjob."

Devin's arm was still snug around my waist and I felt him wince.

Pritchett reddened. "That was the old me, Aurora. I was a prick, I acknowledge
that. A pervert. You had to have realised that I was attracted to -"

"Fuck off," Devin snarled, letting me go and moving to stand in front of me. "She's
my wife. Now say what you have to say and get the hell off my property." He stepped
aside, allowing Pritchett to look me in the eye.

"I'm sorry for the misery I caused you all those years ago," he murmured, glancing
nervously at Devin. "I'm sorry that I -"

"You're begging for forgiveness here, Pritchett," Devin said menacingly. "Begging
denotes getting onto your knees."

Pritchett opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and slowly got
onto his knees. "I'm sorry that I made up those stories about you. It was immature
of me and I abused my power to ensure that you didn't lay a complaint. I tried to
get into contact with you and apologise for -"

"Bullshit," Devin snapped.

"Fine. I didn't. Because I'd completely forgotten about the whole thing until your
husband came up to me in London yesterday and kidnapped me!" Pritchett's voice was
high-pitched and anxious. "I'm trying to make an honest living here! I'm a
different man!"

"Dev," I said, turning to my husband, "you kidnapped him?"

"Do you honestly think I forced him onto a plane?"

"Well, that does sound ridiculous..."

"I'm not making this up, Aurora. He said...he said he'd castrate me with a Swiss
army knife if I didn't drop what I was doing and come to this godforsaken place!"
Pritchett rose. "Well, castrate me, then! Castrate me!"
"Keep your voice down. I have kids," Devin said coolly, and his bodyguard, a German
called Arno, materialised from the shadows.

Pritchett flushed, obviously afraid. "Aurora, I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry."

"You satisfied with his apology, baby?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Sure?"

"Yes."

Devin gave his attention to Arno. "Take Mr. Pritchett to the airport. He'll find
his way home." He returned his gaze to my former boss, who was a shadow of his
former self. "Next time you decide to sexually harass a woman - hell, anyone - I'll
cut off the junior in your name."

Pritchett swallowed. "Those days are over."

"Let's go," Arno muttered, grabbing the skinny man's arm. He marched him out onto
the beach until they disappeared into the shadows.

"What the hell, Dev?" I snapped when they were gone.

"I'm not going to apologise."

"That happened ten years ago! I was over it. It wasn't a big deal."

He tugged me into his arms and gazed into my eyes. "Don't you know that I would
hunt down your third-grade bully if you ever had one? I would hunt down anyone
that's ever cut in front of you in traffic. I would do anything for you, Rory
Shaw," he said passionately, shaking me. "That man is a pig and he wanted my woman
to suck him? I don't care that it happened a decade ago. Fact is, it happened and
he made you unhappy." He sucked in a deep breath. "I know I've made you unhappy
many times, babe. It's in my nature. But making it up to you is just about the only
thing I really know how to do right."

I felt tears prickling my eyes. "Can Fee go out with Kyros tomorrow?"

He quirked a brow. "He's an eighteen-year-old punk and my answer's no. Where's this
coming from?"

"You have to trust our daughter. She's smart."

"Oh, I trust her. I don't trust him."

I sighed. "Dev."

"You're not a guy, gorgeous. Sex is on our minds twenty-four-seven and I'll be
damned if Ophelia spends even five seconds around a horny man."

I rolled my eyes. "We'll talk tomorrow. Any progress with Danny DeVito?"

"Jeez, Rory. You know the art of subject-changing." Devin laughed, pecking my
forehead. "Cal can beg for his autograph himself. He's agreed to meet him whenever
we're in the neighbourhood."

I thought of shy, sweet superhero-obsessed Cal getting to meet his favourite actor
and beamed, knowing how excited he'd be when he heard. The blast-from-the-past in
the form of Pritchett had almost been pushed out of my mind. Almost.

"A Swiss army knife?" I asked, giggling.

Devin grinned, laugh lines visible when he did. "As an actor, improvisation is
called for sometimes."

"Ridiculous man," I murmured, looping my arms around his neck, "what am I going to
do with you?"

"Anything you want, Nancy Drew," he said softly, looking down into my eyes.
"Anything you want."

In that moment, nothing else existed. I was immune to the chilly Greek island
weather and the distracting sound of the Ionian Sea lapping against the rocks on
the beach. I was immune to everything but my husband's charm.

I glanced at my wristwatch and smiled. "It's midnight and it's Christmas Eve," I
told him. "Happy birthday, baby." I got onto my tiptoes and kissed him, long and
hard.

We were both gasping for air when I pulled away and I could feel Devin's erection
flourish against my belly, reminding me that, now at forty-five, this very sexual
man could still wear me out night after night. I loved that. Strands of silver in
his hair only made him look distinguished and belied the playful, virile man he
really was. He was my man.

"Jacqueline Ellis," I said brightly, pressing myself against the bulge in his
pants.
"What?"

"That's the name of the girl that bullied me in third grade."

A slow smile spread across his face and he pressed his forehead against mine. "Got
an address?"

I laughed, taking his hand and leading him back into the cosy warmth of our holiday
home, closing the door behind us. Hand in hand, we made our way to our bedroom and,
behind closed doors, I gave him a present we both wanted. Again.

~FIN~ (For real, this time, lol)

***

A/N: Thank you all for your support! I enjoyed this journey with you and hope you
enjoyed it, too. xo - Kim

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