19

Megan released a sigh of relief as Bram ushered her to the table, the knots in her stomach unraveling when Devin Caldwell was nowhere in sight. Working with Devin day after day for the last week in a professional environment was one thing, but dancing in his arms on a crowded dance floor in front of family and friends was something else altogether. When Andrew had mentioned a family gathering to celebrate her homecoming, she hadn’t realized he’d meant the staff “family” as well—a surprise she hadn’t expected. Her heart had stuttered when she’d spotted Devin’s easy smile, his mention of saving him a dance conjuring memories that slickened her palms.

“I’d rather dance with a hog—more personality and smells better too.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if there would ever be a time when the barbs from her past would wane. She thought they had since Paris, but that was before Devin Caldwell had reentered her life. Now it took everything in her to remain professional and aloof in the workplace, distancing herself—and her heart—from both the man’s prior ridicule and notorious charm. She could not—would not—let her guard down.

Meg offered Bram a tremulous smile when he seated her next to Alli and Nick, then promptly reached for her water goblet while her eyes scanned the room. She spotted Devin dancing center floor with Linda Marie, who appeared to hang on to his every word while he chatted with George and Bonnie, who danced alongside. Chugging the rest of her water, she set the glass down with shaky fingers, desperately wishing the evening were done.

“Oh!” Hand to her throat, she jumped at Bram’s touch.

He nudged his full water goblet next to her empty one with a somber smile, his tone gentle. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it may be best to just go ahead and dance with him, Bug. You know, confront your fears and put them to rest?” He slipped an arm around her shoulder to give her a hug, eyes tender. “Not that I don’t enjoy dancing almost every dance with you,” he said with a crooked grin. His voice veered low. “But you danced with Conor, Teddy, and George, so common courtesy dictates you’re going to have to say yes to Devin too. And as much as I enjoy being your excuse each time he asks . . .” His smile was edged with sympathy. “I think you may have to just bite the bullet.”

“Or shoot it from a gun,” Blake said with a wink, clinking his water glass to Alli’s.

Bram chuckled and tugged Meg to face him, settling her nerves with his calm and steady manner. The humor in his eyes faded as he gently brushed a stray curl from her face. “I think you need to—face the past head-on and then put it behind, for your own good and his. Besides . . .” He glanced at the dance floor where the song was just coming to an end. “I’m not fond of him for how he hurt you in the past, but I had a chance to talk with him over dinner and he seems decent enough now, so who knows? Maybe a leopard can change his spots.” He tugged on the curl before slipping it behind her ear. “After all, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

Smiling despite herself, Meg inhaled deeply, her smile wobbly at best. “I hate skinning cats,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Think of it more as taming a tiger—less bloody that way.” His manner sobered. “I want to see you leave the hurt behind, Bug, and that can’t happen until you confront it—and him.” He rubbed her arms, as if doing so could infuse her with the courage she needed. When he tipped her chin up, the love in his eyes helped to calm her. “Ask him why he did it. Who knows—you might just find an answer that sets you free—and him.”

Expelling a quivering sigh, she felt the old insecurities whirling in her mind like the couples on the floor. She picked at her nails, gaze focused on her fingers. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Afraid to get too close, afraid he’ll charm me like he does everyone else, afraid to be honest.” She looked up, voice wavering as her glossy eyes met his. “And terribly afraid to be that vulnerable again.” She shook her head, palms sliding her arms like he’d just done. “No, I think I need time, time for the fear to subside before I can let him into my world.”

“That’s just it, Bug—the fear won’t subside. It will never leave until you confront it head-on. The truth is, the things that fear prevents us from doing are the very weapons to dismantle that fear.” His lips tipped in the barest of smiles. “Do it afraid, Meg—walk out on that dance floor with Devin Caldwell, knees knocking and heart racing, and just spit in the devil’s eye.” The lazy smile she loved skimmed across his face while a gleam lit up the blue of his eyes. “But don’t make a mistake and spit in Devin’s instead.”

A tiny giggle bubbled into a half sob, and she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Bram, what would I do without you?” she whispered, soaking in his strength and stability, an anchor in every storm of her life. Her eyes drifted closed while the peace of his friendship stilled the chaotic beat of her heart. “I love you so much.”

His body stiffened for no more than the clip of her heart, and then the solid warmth of his embrace enveloped her as he tucked his head to hers. “And I you, Bug, with all of my heart.”

The gruff clear of a throat disrupted the moment. “Excuse me, Miss McClare, but the final set of the evening is upon us, and I’ve yet to have the pleasure of a dance.” Devin Caldwell stood before them with a confident air, hand extended and smile calm. He tipped his head toward the floor. “May I?”

Meg gulped, pulse erratic despite the firm press of Bram’s hand. Her frantic gaze darted to Bram’s gentle one, pleading for intervention despite the conversation they’d just shared.

Bram smiled and rose. “Excuse me, I believe I spotted an old friend,” he said with a final squeeze of her palm, eyes scanning the ballroom. She watched him walk away, broad shoulders and sandy hair disappearing into the crowd, taking her courage with him. And her calm.

“Meg?”

She glanced up as Devin waited. A smile crinkled at the edges of brown eyes that held a twinkle. “I suppose that’s one way to avoid dancing with me—stalling until the music is over.”

Heat skimmed her face as she rose, palm grazing her abdomen to quell the knots in her stomach. She tentatively placed her hand in his, peering up with an apology in her eyes. “Goodness, Devin—we’re coworkers—why on earth would I want to avoid you?”

He ushered her onto the floor, deftly sweeping her into a waltz with a pensive smile. “Well actually, Meg, I was hoping you could tell me, because we both know you have—tonight and at the office.”

She stumbled and stepped on his foot, but he transitioned smoothly with a steady hand to her waist, shoring her up as if he hadn’t noticed. Her cheeks flamed hot as she averted her gaze, feeling every bit of the “Megan McTubby” he’d disdained not so long ago.

“Meg.” His voice was a husky whisper, drawing her gaze. The contrition in his eyes took her by surprise. “I was a pompous blowhard in high school and an insufferable cad, especially to you, and I can’t apologize enough.” He cocked his head to study her as he effortlessly whirled her to the waltz. “You said you’ve forgiven me, but somehow I doubt that you have.”

Blood pulsed in her cheeks. “Devin, I a-assure you, I have forgiven you,” she stammered, praying the dance would just come to an end.

“All right,” he said quietly, the brown eyes dark with regret. “So then tell me, Miss McClare . . .” He executed a masterful spin that quickened her pulse. “How does a repentant cad achieve absolution from a young woman with whom he very much wants to be friends?”

She peeked up with a chew of her lip, deciding Bram was right—she needed to know why Devin had always been so cruel. Rib cage expanding with an infusion of air, she lifted her eyes to his. “Well, I suppose one could start with the truth, Mr. Caldwell, as to why one would be so hateful to another human being.”

A hint of ruddy color invaded his cheeks. “Ah, yes, the truth,” he said quietly, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. Returning his gaze to hers, he inclined his head toward the ballroom door. “Would you mind if we stole away for a bit of privacy and some air?”

She faltered again with a trip over his foot, and heat swamped every inch of her body. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, not sure which mortified her more—bumbling over his foot or stealing away with the likes of Devin Caldwell.

“You have no reason to be sorry whatsoever, Meg, but I do. It’s not a story of which I’m proud, but it is one better suited to fresh air and quiet rather than a noisy room.”

“Oh . . . oh, no, r-really, t-that’s n-not necess—” Her words came out as jumbled as she.

A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “I know you have never seen me play the role of a gentleman, Miss McClare, but I promise you I can.” He paused, awaiting her answer.

Tongue all but glued to the roof of her mouth, Megan could do nothing but nod as he ushered her into the foyer and out onto a stone veranda overlooking Union Square. She released the breath she’d been holding when she spotted another couple beneath the soft glow of a frosted wall sconce. Their presence and the intoxicating scent of jasmine helped soothe the jitters she felt as Devin led her to a quiet corner on the opposite side.

She spied the majestic pillar of the Dewey Monument and for a moment, all nervousness fled as she gazed at the city below, bejeweled with glimmers of light like a lady dressed for a ball. “Oh, it’s lovely,” she breathed, lifting her face to feel the breeze from the bay.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Devin said with a smile in his voice, and her jumpiness returned when she realized he was looking at her instead of the view.

Inching away, she faced him with arms tucked to her waist. “So, tell me, Devin, please—why would you show such disregard to another human being and why did you hate me so much?”

His face was somber as he stared at her for several seconds before he leaned over the balustrade, his exhale heavy as he gazed into Union Square with a casual fold of hands. “It’s really pretty simple, Meg,” he said in a droll tone. “Because you reminded me of my little sister and quite frankly, she’s a brat.”

Meg’s smile was dry. “I see—a family trait?”

He gave her a sideways grin. “Apparently, although mine was by provocation, not heredity.” His eyes lapsed into a stare, as if his thoughts were miles away. “I was the apple of my mother’s eye, you see, and the bane of my father’s existence. So when my mother died—”

Megan gasped, her hand lighting upon his arm. “Oh, Devin—I didn’t know. I’m so very sorry,” she whispered, desperate to comfort. “How old were you?”

His glance was vague, almost as if he were trapped in the past and not really seeing her at all. “Just turned six,” he said quietly, smile sad as his gaze returned to the park. “And would you believe I still miss her?”

Meg’s heart cramped, the thought of losing Mother swelling her eyes with tears. She took a step closer, fingers grazing his back. “Yes, I do. I’d be devastated if I lost my mother.”

“I was.” His tone hardened. “But my father sure wasn’t.”

His words chilled her skin. “Wh-what do you mean? S-surely he loved her . . . ”

“Nope. Married her for her money.” He angled to face her, his attitude suddenly cavalier. “An arranged marriage, you know—to fortify two of San Francisco’s wealthiest families.”

Meg’s eyes rounded in shock. “Oh, Devin, I’m so sorry—my heart breaks for you.”

He grunted. “Mine did too, especially when he remarried a woman with a prodigy daughter who can do no wrong.”

“Prodigy?” Meg tilted her head. “You mean in music?”

His mouth slanted. “I mean in everything. She’s all of sixteen and a master at academics, art, music, athletics, you name it. A ‘wunderkind,’ as her private tutor calls her. And as spoiled as the three-day-old fish heads rotting on the pier.” His smile went flat. “Which should give you some inkling as to why I hated the smartest girl in the archdiocese.”

Megan bit the side of her lip. “It does clarify things, but did you have to be so cruel?”

He buried his hands in his pockets with a sheepish shrug. “What can I say, I was my father’s son—the one who couldn’t measure up. The one he openly maligned as a mama’s boy, lazy runt, moron, troublemaker—whatever title suited his fancy that day.” He sighed and cocked a hip against the wall, his brow furrowed with regret. “It’s not an excuse, Meg, I know, but I hope it explains somewhat just why I was so harsh with you in school.”

Her voice came out as a rasp, heart aching for Devin Caldwell or any son who’d suffer such cruelty at the hand of their own flesh and blood. “Why did he treat you that way?”

He sucked in a harsh breath and released it again, shoulders slumping as if all energy had siphoned out too. “In his defense, I was a pretty whiny child, I guess. My mother pampered me to make up for my father’s neglect, and he’d rail at her that she was turning me into a useless, namby-pamby kid, which I suppose she was.” He kneaded his nose while his eyes remained closed, and Meg didn’t miss the angry quiver in his cheek. “But I suspect the real reason he hated me was he didn’t believe I was his son. He used to accuse my mother of having an affair, which was nothing but a bald-faced lie.” The hard angles of his jaw calcified. “The man could have spit me out of his mouth, we look so much alike. But he will never, ever be a father to me.”

Meg stood there, bleeding for the little boy he’d been. Without a single thought to propriety, she flung herself into his arms, crushing him in an embrace born of a sorrow so deep, a sob broke from her lips. “Oh, Devin, I never knew, and I am so very, very sorry.”

His low chuckle was warm against her hair as he patted her back. “You should be, Miss McClare—for calling me a worm and all those other inappropriate names over the years.”

Her eyes expanded in denial. “No, I promise, I never called you any names, ever . . .” Heat braised her cheeks. “Well, except I may have called you a twerp once or twice . . .”

The adorable smile for which he was famous made an appearance. “And ‘lower than dirt,’ as I recall . . .”

The blush went full throttle as she squirmed beneath his gaze. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

His grin softened as he gently tugged on a loose curl feathering her ear. “You are, Meg, and apparently I’m as big a dolt as my father believes for not realizing that sooner.”

Goose bumps popped that had nothing to do with the cold. She avoided his eyes while taking a step toward the door with a brisk buff of her arms. “Brrr . . . I should have brought my wrap, but I suppose as guest of honor of the party, I should probably just go back in anyway.”

He whipped his jacket off and settled it over her shoulders, the warmth and scent from his body causing her stomach to flutter. Offering his arm to escort her in, he bewitched her with an endearing smile as warm as his coat. “It is a bit brisk out here, Miss McClare, but I’m hoping our newfound friendship has cleared the air for warmer climes, both here and at work.”

She peeked up beneath heavy lashes to give him a skittish smile, not sure friendship with Devin Caldwell was a sound idea in the least. But it was certainly better than enmity and far less dangerous than attraction. She hurried through the door, girding herself with a deep ingest of air. Perhaps when it came to Devin Caldwell, the middle of the road was the safest place to be after all. Holding the door, he gave her a wink, and a lump promptly ducked in her throat.

If his charm doesn’t run me down first . . .