THE NEXT TEN days were a blur.
Pascal did eventually come back that morning, the car filled with files and two laptops synced to the office’s server in hand. He drove Becca to the police station to give her statement before returning her to Devon’s house and disappearing to who-knew-where.
She and Devon worked in his home office while he recovered, Becca organizing the client files and returning emails while Devon took calls and made deals, talking all the while as though he hadn’t been hurt the previous day.
The media had picked up on the story and called for a statement, but Devon knew how to underplay incidents with the best of them, and within a day or two, the next celebrity scandal swallowed up interest.
And so it went.
Every morning Pascal would show up in her parking lot then drive her to Devon’s. They’d work all day together, stopping for breaks only when she forced Devon to — or bribed him by cooking up something extra delicious.
At the end of the day, Becca would make dinner, and she and Devon would eat together.
It was decidedly domestic.
It felt decidedly right.
She was also learning more about him. He’d always seemed so big, so fierce and untouchable, but getting to know him, working side-by-side so intimately without all of the other stressors of Prestige’s work environment somehow blurred the edges of him.
He was softer, more approachable, and wore casual clothes. Or maybe she was just more comfortable with him.
Or maybe it was the kisses.
Devon was the best kisser.
At first it had scared her, how powerful his hold was over her, how much the spark between them threatened to incinerate her.
Then she realized he was in the same boat.
And so work got… fun.
A stolen kiss here, a brush of fingers there. She found that touching him made the day a lot better.
Snorting to herself, she flipped through the file in her hands to make sure it was all in order before moving to the next.
She was on the couch in Devon’s office, curled up near the gas fireplace and enjoying the warmth radiating over her skin. Nice to be able to get that with only the flip of a switch.
It was Friday evening and past time that she should wrap up things and head home.
Except she didn’t want to leave.
Behind her, Devon talked quietly on the phone, and his voice never failed to make her inner teenager sigh. It was slightly rough, had just enough texture to feel like a physical caress down her nape.
It was even better when he held her tight against his chest, the words rumbling through his body and into hers, vibrating her nerves pleasantly.
She set the file back on the stack and laid her head on the arm of the sofa, closing her eyes, listening, wanting to find the courage to take the next step with Devon.
The stitches had been removed that morning. He would be returning to the office on Monday, and this intimacy would be gone, tempered by HR policies and prying eyes.
And she would be leaving soon.
In a little over a week, Clarice was coming back. Her time at Prestige would be done.
Why did that make her so sad?
Fingers combing her hair back from her face made her eyes fly open.
Devon. Of course Devon. And he was so close, his mouth just inches away, his delectable body right there, calling to her to touch.
And so finally she did.
This was their swan song. Their last bit of time together before the real world intruded, and she was so damn — yes, damn — tired of resisting, of ignoring, of downplaying the pull between them.
For once, she wanted to give in.
And so she did.
Becca reached up, wrapped two hands in his T-shirt, and yanked hard.
Nothing happened.
“Bex?” he asked, glancing down at her clenched fists.
“This is so much easier in the movies,” she muttered, tugging the two halves again.
With a lopsided grin, Devon shrugged off his shirt. “Better?”
Her mouth watered, her head wobbled like one of those bobbleheads. Somehow, she had ended up still gripping the cotton T-shirt, probably because she hadn’t wanted to release him.
Now she dropped the slip of fabric like a stick of dynamite and touched… skin. Hot. Smooth. Skin. And muscles. A light dusting of hair covered his chest — except for three bare patches that were bisected by angry lines.
She swallowed hard at the sight, flicked her eyes away.
A finger under her chin. “Not your fault,” Devon murmured.
Blinking, she nodded, indicating the bald spots. “The guys are going to give you hell.”
He chuckled. “Yup. Except I get to play the hero card.”
“Yes, you do.” She leaned forward and gently kissed the red marks. The space between her thighs warmed at his rough inhale of breath. “You’ll have scars.”
He shrugged. “What’s another couple?”
God, she liked this man. Maybe even—
No. She pushed that aside and gave into the urge to kiss him.
It was coming home.
Their lips met, melded together. Heat zipped down her spine, lifted the hairs on her neck, her arms. She didn’t hesitate when his tongue touched the seam of her mouth, just parted and let him in.
The same as she’d let him invade the rest of her life. Her heart.
She gripped his shoulders and pulled him toward her, cognizant that he still might be sore, but needing him tight against her all the same.
He stretched out atop her, pressing her body into the cushions, parting her legs and resting his hips between her thighs.
He was hard. Everywhere.
Those were the last two thoughts she had before Devon ramped up the kiss. He plundered her mouth, delving deep inside and basically transforming her into a puddle of goo.
But just as things were starting to get really good, he softened the kiss and began to sit back.
Becca let him go. “Hurt?”
His mouth curled as he rested against the cushions. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Good.” She straddled his hips, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and licked his neck. “Because I don’t want to stop.”
“Bex—”
She kissed him, and since it felt so freaking good, rocked her pelvis against his.
He groaned and grabbed her waist, but instead of urging her on, his hands stayed her motion.
“We shouldn’t.”
They should. They definitely should. Especially since everything was going back to normal in two days.
And because she wanted. So dang — no, damn — much.
For once, she wanted to put her heart on the line.
Her hand slid down his bare chest, toyed with the waistband of his sweats.
He sucked in a breath.
“Devon. I’m saying yes. Please don’t say no.”