“Here’s what I want you to do,”

Devlin said. “When they come back, you say you know nothing. Be convincing. Very convincing.”

Mackenzie spoke tentatively. “What if I don’t want to—”

He was fast. Before she could blink, Devlin was standing in front of her, dragging her close against his chest. The move was supposed to be intimidating—and it was—but the great threat was the way he made her feel.

Alive. Scared, but so incredibly alive.

“You’ll do it,” he said grittily.

“Or what?”

Devlin’s lips came down on hers, knocking out every objection with one striking blow. His mouth was hot and his tongue was wicked. The shock was staggering. Mackenzie hadn’t known that a kiss could be so savage and still turn her molten with desire.

He wrenched his mouth away.

Mackenzie was paralyzed, swaying on her frozen feet. “Or what?” was all she could think to say.

“Or I’ll never kiss you like that again.”

Dear Reader,

I sum up this book in five words: Bad Boy Goes Willie Wonka.

Does a tough-guy hero like Devlin Brandt have the same sexy charisma if he’s wearing rather outlandish seventies garb instead of a leather jacket and jeans? What if he’s hiding out from the bad guys by working behind the counter at a penny-candy store? In Sinfully Sweet, Mackenzie, the youngest Bliss sister, discovers that her old high-school crush on Devlin is still going strong. And she just might have a few surprises of her own up her sleeve…or in her candy dish!

If you enjoyed Sabrina Bliss’s story in The Chocoloate Seduction (Temptation #925), I think you’re ready for another wild ride into the world of SEX & CANDY. Indulge!

Carrie Alexander

P.S. Don’t forget to stop by my Web site at www.carriealexander.com to sign up for my SEX & CANDY giveaways. And drop me a note while you’re there—I’d love to hear from you.

Books by Carrie Alexander

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

839—SMOOTH MOVES

869—RISKY MOVES

925—THE CHOCOLATE SEDUCTION*

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

20—PLAYING WITH FIRE

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1042—THE MAVERICK

1102—NORTH COUNTRY MAN

HARLEQUIN DUETS

25—CUSTOM-BUILT COWBOY

32—COUNTERFEIT COWBOY

38—KEEPSAKE COWBOY

83—ONCE UPON A TIARA**

—HENRY EVER AFTER**

Sinfully Sweet
Carrie Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Prologue

“I AM GOING TO DO IT,” Mackenzie Bliss said with all the bravado she could muster.

Sabrina glanced at her with an easy nonchalance. “You don’t have to do it.”

Everything comes easy to Sabrina, Mackenzie thought, taking in her sister’s sloppy appearance. In a denim skirt and a sleeveless ribbed T-shirt that showed her flat tummy, Sabrina still managed to look good. Whereas Mackenzie had groomed herself for an hour and felt like potatoes stuffed into a designer gunny-sack.

“I’m not going to force you.” Sabrina squinted into the distance, avoiding her sister’s eyes.

Mackenzie knew why. Sabrina was hoping that she’d fail first. If their bet was off, Sabrina would be free to pursue the gorgeous chocolate chef, Kit Rex.

“Hmm,” Mackenzie said as if she were thinking about bailing. It was only to torture her sister, who was one year older but didn’t often act like it. “Ah—no. I’m definitely going through with this.”

“All right, but then we have to go inside, don’t we?”

They stood near the glass double doors of a glam Madison Avenue salon. It was the type of place Mackenzie used to walk by with a guilty speed, as if the stylists might be standing in the window, rating the bad haircuts and fashion faux pas of the rabble who couldn’t afford their services.

“Hold on, hold on. I’m thinking about it.” Mackenzie adjusted the wide belt slung around her hips. A personal shopper at Barneys had sworn the belt enhanced her shape without actually drawing attention to its healthy proportions. An impossibility, in retrospect.

Sabrina had finally grown frustrated. “Really, Mackenzie, this is ridiculous. Get in there. It’s only hair, not an arm or a leg. Nothing to be nervous about.”

“Says you.” Mackenzie pulled her waist-length braid over one shoulder, feeling protective now that she was on the verge of cutting it off. Sabrina also had long hair, but she hadn’t even combed hers, just dragged it up into a messy ponytail. She was gorgeous nonetheless, although her looks weren’t very important to her. She’d probably shave her head on a whim.

The difference was that Sabrina didn’t need the reassurance. She had an interesting character, a striking face and a skinny model’s body, while Mackenzie was quiet, even shy, and a model-size twelve. She’d grown comfortable with her shape—most of the time—but avoided being the center of attention if she could, unlike her sister. Why Mackenzie had agreed to a bet that made her exactly that was a mystery as great as the Pyramids.

Two months ago, Mackenzie and Sabrina’s parents had remarried after having been divorced for sixteen years. The wedding had been a catalyst for the sisters to examine how they’d let their parents’ breakup misshape their lives. Swept up in the air of romance and possibility, they’d challenged each other to change, to find their own true happiness. Sabrina had even put up stakes—the heirloom diamond ring that had been passed down to her on the eve of their parents’ wedding. Their mother had chosen to start off fresh with a ring that hadn’t already been through a divorce.

Suddenly, the challenge had become a bet. Sabrina, the wanderer without a committed bone in her body, was to try settling down for the first time in her life. She’d also agreed to forego men until she became serious about just one. Now, two months later, she’d already signed a lease, found a job and developed an intense attraction with Kit.

Whereas Mackenzie was undergoing the opposite process. She’d left her long-time career as a buyer in the sweets division of Regal Foods and had invested all her savings in her own business, a penny-candy store called Sweet Something. She’d let go of her steady old boyfriend, Jason Dole, even though being single again after several years of comfortable, if unexciting, companionship made her feel like an untethered kite. Last of all, she’d agreed to put herself in the hands of a stylist and personal shopper and was on the way to a brand-new look, just in time for her store’s grand opening.

Cutting her waist-length hair was the last step. One she’d been resisting.

She’d always been comfortable with long hair, simply because she’d always had it. She was a person who rarely ventured outside her comfort zone.

Yes, that was her reasoning and she was sticking to it. It wasn’t as if she was actually hiding behind her hair. And she certainly wasn’t still clinging to an ancient memory of Devlin, who’d once said…

Mackenzie closed her eyes, succumbing to a moment of pure longing. All she had was memories, but they were enough to make a hot flush of desire rush up her throat.

Nonsense. Her lids popped open and she stared at the distorted reflection of her pink face in the salon’s glass doors.

Nostalgia, she thought. Nothing more.

It had been nearly ten years since she’d seen her high-school crush, Devlin Brandt. Even so, she’d never forgotten that he’d once complimented her on her hair—which had been about the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. Far better than the “Thanks, cutie,” or “What would I do without you, Mack?” comments he’d usually tossed her. Like fish from a seal trainer.

By God! She wasn’t balancing that ball on her nose for another instant.

Mackenzie tucked her bag under her arm and whipped the braid over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Sabrina groaned. “We can’t leave. I bargained my soul for this appointment after you broke the first one. Costas is booked months in advance—”

Mackenzie interrupted. “No, let’s go inside.” It was true that she’d already backed out once. She would not do that again, even though her heart was going thumpety-thump. “I’m ready to make good on our bet.”

“Oh. Well, that’s great.” Sabrina’s enthusiasm was obviously dimming now that it appeared Mackenzie would follow through. Despite Sabrina’s easy-come, easy-go attitude, she didn’t want to lose the ring they’d both treasured since they were little girls. That meant she’d have to stick with her promise to keep out of Kit’s bed…even if the only way to cure her sexual cravings was to gorge on enough chocolate to dip the Statue of Liberty.

Mackenzie’s thoughts returned to her own most wicked temptation. As always, she got no satisfaction. Devlin was merely a fantasy, not a flesh-and-blood, here-and-now partner like Sabrina’s Kit.

While Sabrina had once known about her younger sister’s crush on the high-school bad boy, it was far too embarrassing for Mackenzie to admit that she still thought of him a decade later.

Every now and then.

Like whenever she brushed her hair.

In a moment of unusual whimsy, Devlin had said that her long dark hair made her look like an evil sorceress—the opposite of the fair-haired, smiley-faced princesses who ruled their school. Mackenzie, forever a “good girl,” wasn’t even close to being bad, so naturally she’d loved the comparison.

The problem was that Devlin had shown no sign of being bewitched himself.

And now Mackenzie was grown-up. Devlin was a distant memory. She had to give him up, forever, for good.

Sabrina was holding the salon door open. Mackenzie sucked up her courage and sailed on through it. Time for her to cut that man right out of her hair!

1

Two weeks later

“I WAS CRAZY to think that Devlin would be at the reunion,” Mackenzie Bliss said, working her tail-bone even farther into the padded seat.

She received only a grunt in response, but that didn’t faze her.

“Y’know, it’s bad enough that it’s raining and my new shoes hurt and the spiked punch has given me a headache,” she grumbled, pouring out all her complaints. She was in her safety zone, the one place where she could make an anonymous confession. “What’s worse is that my stylist persuaded me to wear a panty shaper. Do you know what a panty shaper is? No? I’ll tell you. It’s a girdle in disguise, that’s what it is.” She tugged up the tail of her blouse and poked a finger into the bulge rising from her tight waistband. “See that? Like a lump of dough overflowing the pan.”

Before her confessor could look—should he even want to—she let the blouse fall across her slumped midriff. “But the worst, the absolute worst, is that I wasted four hours of my brand-new life and four hours of the brand-new fabulous me waiting for a man who was never going to show. I’m deluded, is what I am. Deluded!” She tossed up her hands.

They fell limply onto the seat. She didn’t have the energy to work up a really good snit. The disappointment of missing Devlin was too heavy, despite all her resolutions that she was never going to think of him again. She hadn’t realized until tonight what a large part of her motivation for change had come from the ever-so-slight possibility of seeing him again at the reunion of their high-school graduating class.

“It was my tenth high-school reunion, did I tell you that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course Devlin wouldn’t come. He was the baddest of the high-school bad boys. By the very definition of bad boy, he wouldn’t come. Reunions are for ex-cheerleaders and the jocks who haven’t lost their hair yet. The geek who made a mil with a dot com, maybe. Girls who organized the car washes and decorated for school dances? Definitely.”

That’s me, she thought. You can cut my hair and dress me up, you can give me a trendy business and a feature article in The Village Voice, but I’m still the girl who did Devlin’s homework.

Not the one he kissed.

“Poor, poor, pitiful me,” she muttered.

The cab screeched to a stop near her building on West 17th in Chelsea, a gently aged brown-stone with rent control. She paid the driver—who hadn’t spoken a word the entire trip—and shoveled herself out of the back seat, gathering her belongings with an unusual carelessness. When the booklet from the reunion fell into the puddle at the curb, she left it, feeling too disconsolate to make the effort. The thing was useless anyway. Although many of her classmates had provided lists of degrees, childrens’ ages, home and e-mail addresses, for Devlin there was nothing. Only an old senior photo and a name.

Devlin Brandt.

Halfway through the evening, she’d taken one of the keepsake pens off a crepe-ribboned table and scrawled MIA? beside his name. At the tail end of the party, having finally worked up some punch-drunk courage, she’d gone around asking about him.

The majority hadn’t seen Devlin since graduation day, when he’d arrived halfway through the ceremony on a dinged-up Indian motorcycle and then taken off with a diploma tucked in the front of his jacket and Misty “Most likely to become a Hooters girl” Michaelson whooping it up behind him.

Those who knew Devlin, or had heard rumors of him, had two words for Mackenzie: Stay away.

He was into bad stuff, they said. She asked what “bad stuff” meant and got back vague mutterings about shady characters, criminal operations and stolen goods. He’d spent at least a year in prison for burglary, someone claimed, one guy whose car dealership had gone under, admitted that he’d run into Devlin at a Yonkers pawnshop where the owner was known for being less than scrupulous about the goods he handled. Apparently the Rolex watches and diamond dinner rings collected from suburbanites who’d missed a payment on their SUVs were just for show. The real action took place under the counter. And Devlin was in on it.

Or maybe not. No one seemed to know for sure.

Mackenzie had finally tracked down Louie Scheck, who’d lived next door to Devlin’s parents. Louie said that his mom said that Mr. and Mrs. Brandt had washed their hands of Devlin after years of trouble had culminated in a prison sentence. He was rotten, plain and simple. Being a nice girl, Mackenzie would stay away if she knew what was good for her.

Stay away.

Wise advice, she supposed, but there was no need for it. She’d never even had the chance to get close.

Mackenzie jumped up onto the sidewalk as the cab drove away, spraying dirty rainwater on her shoes and hose. She tilted her head back, meaning to let out a deep sigh. A short huff was all she managed. Between the panty shaper and her underwire bra, she hadn’t taken a deep breath all night. You were really in sorry shape when you couldn’t even sigh.

The rain increased, pattering her face and running cold down the back of her exposed neck. A streak of mascara came off on the back of her hand when she swiped at her eyes.

Right. The perfect end to a perfect evening.

She trudged up the stoop, sliding her keys from the skimpy evening purse which was on a chain, slung over her shoulder. Raindrops dripped from the ivy that grew in a thick ruff over the lintel. The slap of footsteps running up the street made her turn, but before she could blink the blurry wetness from her eyes she was slammed from behind by a large, wet male. Whump. He had her up against the door.

Terror ripped through Mackenzie. She opened her mouth to scream, and the assailant clamped a hand over the lower half of her face. She bit at his palm, squirming against the pressure of his body plastered to hers.

Instep. She stomped.

Rib cage. She elbowed.

Scream! Filled with frantic strength, she wrenched her face away, gulped air and let out a howl that was immediately cut off when he slapped his hand over her mouth again.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He panted heavily in her ear. “Promise.”

As if she believed that. Her idea of “hurt” and his were miles apart.

She went against instinct and forced herself to stop struggling, as though she were mollified by his words. She was thinking groin shot, if only she could get a leg free. The painful high heels she’d been dying to take off might yet turn out to be a smart purchase.

“Put the key in the door. We’re going inside.”

She made a muffled sound of protest against his hand. He didn’t wait for her to comply, just pried the keys out of her fingers and tried each one in the lock until he found the key that opened the vestibule door.

Her mind raced. Defense class had taught her to never let an attacker get you alone. There was no way she was going into her apartment with a stranger.

He muttered something that ended in “Hurry,” and shoved open the door, propelling her inside. His arms were around her waist like iron bars. She slumped, making herself awkward and heavy in hope that his grip would loosen and she could get away. One of her neighbors would hear if she let out a good, hearty scream.

The plan didn’t work. He jammed his thigh between her legs and boosted her body across the small lobby. The shock of the contact froze her reactions for an instant. Three steps and they were at the door. Her jagged thoughts splintered. It was just her luck to be in 1A. But how had he known that?

Mackenzie renewed her fight when he moved his arm to thrust her key into the lock. She got one hand free and blindly reached back to rake her nails across his face. Eyeball gouge.

“Damn, that hurt,” he growled, shoving his face tight up against the side of her head. She flailed. “Stop it. I won’t hurt you.”

His breath was hot on her face. His mouth—

The feel of his mouth moving against her cheek was horrifying. Again, her attempt at a scream was smothered by his hand. She bucked violently, trying to throw them both off their feet. All that did was send her headfirst into the door. It banged open and suddenly they were inside.

He let her go. A panicked cry tore from her throat. “Help!”

The door slammed, cutting off her best chance to alert a neighbor. Instead, she plunged into her dark front hallway.

His voice, roughened but soft, came from behind her. “Mackenzie, please…”

He knew her name! Somehow, that was worse. The attack was personal now.

She bolted.

The living room was on the right, but she ran past it, not wanting to be cornered in a room without an exit. The bed and bathroom were at the end of the hall. The bath was closer but she veered at the last instant into her bedroom, where there was a phone. And a window and door onto the enclosed courtyard.

She tried to slam the bedroom door behind her, but he was already standing in the jamb, holding it open. She had a fleeting glimpse of a battered face before she whirled away. Her eyes went first to the back door—locked. Was she desperate enough to throw herself through the window? It was too dark to see much, but suddenly she was confused. As if…

“Mackenzie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sorry? The familiarity in his voice was eerie, but she wasn’t about to confront him. Shuddering, she rushed to the window. He must be insane. A stalker.

The window stuck, the wooden sashes swollen by the damp weather. She was gasping, pushing futilely at the double-hung window, when the intruder’s hand closed over her shoulder.

In a last-ditch effort, she dove onto the bed, stretching for the phone on the nightstand. He crawled on top of her, dragging her hands away. “No,” she sobbed. “Don’t—”

“Mackenzie, it’s me.”

The calmness of his hushed voice reached her. She stopped struggling. “Wh-who?”

He let up a little, and she was able to turn her head. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for an instant. She saw his face for the first time. It was dreadfully familiar.

“D-Devlin?” She sucked in a shuddery gasp, unable to catch her breath. Her mind spun with disbelief. “Devlin Brandt?”

He eased his hold on her, but didn’t let go entirely. They lay flat on the bed, him on top of her twisted body, with his hands cuffing her wrists on either side of her head. Face-to-face.

The moment was surreal. No more than fifteen minutes ago, she had been staring at his senior-class photo in the reunion booklet. Longing for him. That Devlin was a brash kid with a wise-ass grin and long-lashed green eyes, whose silky brown hair had a chestnut sheen.

This man was not the same, even if she discounted the scrapes and swelling of his beat-up face. His eyes were hardened, maybe mean. His hair was dark and stringy. There were hollows in his cheeks, stubble on his jaw, a thin scar above his lip. But he was Devlin. Her vision blurred. One image superimposed over the other. She shut her eyes. Opened them again.

Devlin Brandt. Unbelievable! “What the—”

“I’m sorry,” he said at the same time.

“You’re sorry?” She grappled with him, yanking her wrists from his grasp, but he wouldn’t release her even when she boxed his ear. “Let…me…go!”

“Promise you won’t call 9-1-1.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Her voice escalated. “You grab me at my door, force me inside—”

“I was in a hurry. There wasn’t time to stand around and chitchat.”

“You scared me!”

“There was no other choice. I had to make a fast move.”

She was remembering how she’d been warned away from him. He’s dangerous to know, her classmates had said. Involved in criminal activity. By the looks of him, he wasn’t even successful at it. There was a scrape on his jaw and a lump on his forehead. One eye was swelling shut.

She panted, growing aware of the dampness of their clothing and the compromising position in which he had her. Devlin was heavy on top of her. The smell of his soaked leather jacket was strong, and his hair was dripping wet. He’d been out in the rain for a while. Lurking? Then why had he overtaken her? Why didn’t he let her go? None of this made sense.

Various observations that had been pushed aside in her fear came floating to the forefront. He’d known who she was when he grabbed her. He’d even known which apartment was hers. His motive was obviously crooked….

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “How did you find me?”

“The reunion.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw your name and address in the list they sent out with the invitations.”

Right. “But there wasn’t any contact information for you,” she pointed out, “so how did you receive the list in the first place?” Part of her recognized that it was absurd to debate details when her teenage crush turned ex-con was holding her tight in the missionary position of her schoolgirl dreams. How many times had she wished to have Devlin Brandt look at her as closely as he was right now?

A self-conscious warmth crept over her. She was no more a pretty sight than he. Her makeup was smeared, her shorn hair was plastered to her head, her carefully chosen outfit was a total mess—

And she was wearing a stretchy pink Lycra panty girdle.

Oh, hell.

“I have my ways,” Devlin said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Criminal ways.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devlin cursed a single epithet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

Bam, bam, bam. They were pounding at her door, so forcefully the hinges rattled.

She shoved her damp bangs off her face with the back of one wrist. “Let me look,” she whispered.

Devlin shook his head.

“Is someone after you?”

“Shh. I’m listening.”

The uninvited visitors had moved to the next apartment. Mackenzie pressed her ear to the door. Low rumbles interspersed with a higher-pitched, and increasingly excited, response. “My neighbor,” she said, so worried she had to resist smoothing wrinkles from Devlin’s creased leather jacket. Her fingers itched to smooth his hair. “Blair Boback.”

Devlin’s face was grim. “I hope she’s smart enough not to let them into her apartment.”

Mackenzie smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, yeah. Blair’s street savvy.”

They heard Blair’s door close. Devlin watched through the peephole. “Going upstairs,” he said. “How many apartments in this building?”

“Only eight.”

He released a breath and leaned against the wall—big, dark, wet and punk-tough against her peach-and-cream-striped damask. “When they don’t find me upstairs, they’re going to come back to your door.” Again, Devlin swore. “They must have seen which building I went into.”

“They?”

He didn’t answer.

“They might be canvassing the entire street.”

“Maybe.” He paused. “Here’s what I want you to do. Open the door, chain on, when they come back. They ask about me, you say you know nothing and shut the door. Be convincing.” He gave her the hard look again, his fingers squeezing her arm like barbecue tongs. “Very convincing.”

She spoke tentatively. “What if I don’t want to—”

He was fast. Before she could blink, he was standing directly in front of her, both hands on her now, dragging her close against his chest. He glared, their faces inches apart. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared. It wouldn’t be a shock if he snorted and pawed the ground like a bull. The move was supposed to be intimidating—and it was—but the greater threat was the way he made her feel.

Alive. Scared, but so incredibly alive. Her heart was pounding, her blood racing. She was sharply aware of every pleasure point on her body. The distant yearning she was so familiar with had become a strange and potent hunger….

“You’ll do it,” Devlin said grittily.

“Or what?” He’s a criminal, she reminded herself. Not the cool high-school bad boy you remember. The potential for trouble that she’d once found so fascinating had been fulfilled. And there was nothing alluring about knowing that he’d committed actual crimes.

Devlin’s lips came down on hers, knocking out every objection with one striking blow. He didn’t kiss—he attacked. His mouth was hot and his tongue was wicked, thrusting against hers with no pretense at pretty seduction. His teeth ground against her lower lip as he bit and sucked and drove his tongue deeper. The shock was staggering. She hadn’t known that a kiss could be so un-apologetically savage and still turn her molten with desire.

This couldn’t be happening! Oh God, oh please, oh please don’t—

Devlin wrenched his mouth away. His slitted eyes glittered with what seemed like a mocking, devilish intent.

Mackenzie was paralyzed, swaying on her frozen feet. When she licked her lips, she tasted a drop of blood.

“Or what?” was all she could think to say in a hoarse, thready voice.

“Or I’ll never kiss you like that again.”

Her eyes widened.

“Dammit, Mackenzie.” Devlin was obviously frustrated with her. He gave her shoulders a small, hard shake. “Do what I say. If you don’t, there’ll be violence. Your nice clean walls will get all messed up. I hear blood is hell to get out of silk.”

He didn’t have to shake her; she was already trembling. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” she blurted, but she didn’t sound so positive, even to herself. Especially to herself. Her lips were so raw it hurt to speak.

“It won’t be you,” he said. “It’ll be me.”

She blinked. Did he mean that he’d be the one who got hurt? Or that he’d be spilling a third party’s blood? “I don’t understand—”

Devlin released her with a rough shove. Her teeth came together with a click as she stumbled, then regained her balance. He’d turned his back to her and was looking through the peephole again. “You’ll get me killed,” he said.

Too much to absorb. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms, then lifted her foot and pulled off the remaining shoe. Part of her wanted to run, even though there was nowhere to go. She held the designer pump in her hand, weighing it as a weapon. The spiked heel could be lethal.

Devlin whirled around. “They’re coming back. Get ready.”

Panic hit her. She dropped the shoe and rubbed at her face as if she could erase his kiss. Her hair was a mess, and her blouse—She looked down. Half undone. Her peach lace La Perla bra showed in the gap between buttons.

The bell rang. She didn’t move except to clutch at the front of her blouse. Devlin had to push her resisting body toward the door. “Tell them you were sleeping. And whatever you do, don’t look at me.”

With a trembling hand, she reached for the doorknob. “Who is it?” she warbled.

“Police.”

She flinched in surprise. Police? Devlin wanted her to lie to the police?

She glanced at him, standing close beside her. His expression was black, ungiving. His hand had closed on the back of her neck and she had the feeling that he could easily pick her up and give her a shake. It was pretty clear, even in her frazzled state—he was the alpha wolf and she was a whimpering puppy, showing her belly in surrender.

Be brave. She cleared her throat to strengthen her voice as she put her eye to the door. “Let me see your badges.”

Something that might have been a badge flashed past the peephole. In the fisheye lens, she saw two men standing at her doorstep. One was older and squatter than the other, but they were both wet and disgruntled, dressed in limp, wrinkled suits and ties. They could be cops. But then they also could be rent collectors, insurance salesmen or…hit men.

“Open up,” the older one barked. He had a gun, she saw, holstered beneath his unbuttoned jacket. He reached across his chest and put his hand on it. Not an insurance salesman, then.

Mackenzie looked at Devlin. He returned the stare, his face drawn tight and pale. Once she opened the door, it would be just as easy for her to turn him in, and he must know it. Maybe there’d be a tussle, but if he surrendered with his hands up, no bloodshed would be involved.

Probably not. Chances were slim. But was she willing to gamble that Devlin would surrender without a fight?

The cops hammered at her door. “What do you want?” she asked.

“We’re looking for a man. He’s armed and dangerous.”

Devlin’s fingers clamped on her nape. Not hurtfully, but another shock ran through her. Her instincts were confused, fizzing and snapping in every direction like Pop Rocks. She didn’t know what to do.

“All right,” she said, turning the locks. Obviously she hadn’t locked them when she’d “arrived” home—at the time, she’d been frightened for her life. That meant Devlin had done it. Before he’d come after her. Whether or not he was armed and dangerous, he was certainly cool and calculating.

And hot and primal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here in the lobby. By the door.”

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

“It’s damp.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you? Kill someone?”

“No.”

“And the other charges?”

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

“Guilty,” he said.

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

“Yes.”

“And you’re in trouble again.”

“Yes.”

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

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

“So I’m a convenience.”

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

“What happens in the morning?”

“Not your concern.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugged.

He sat. No use waiting for an invitation anymore.

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

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

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

“It was an impulse.”

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

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

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

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

“Then what?” she snapped.

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

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

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

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

But she had covered for him. He wondered why.

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

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

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

Her head jerked up. “What?”

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

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

He ticked a finger at her.

“Who are they?”

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

“You don’t want to know.” He cut her off when she started to protest. “Trust me, the less I tell you, the better.”

“God, Devlin. What are you involved in?”

He shifted, becoming more and more aware of that uneasy, niggling voice inside him. Enough common decency was buried somewhere in there that he knew he shouldn’t be using Mackenzie this way. His being in her neighborhood wasn’t as complete a coincidence as he wanted her to believe. Ever since he’d seen the reunion invitation and class roster a month ago, he’d been thinking about her. Curiosity, he’d told himself, and nothing more. No way was he planning to come near her—that was too dangerous for both of them.

Yet here he was.

The irony was not delicious.

“I know, I know,” she said. “If you tell me, you have to kill me.” She laughed with a hollow sarcasm.

“That’s not even funny.”

Her face fell. She nipped at her bottom lip, then winced when that hurt. “Why do you want me to call the cops? I would think you wouldn’t want them anywhere near here.”

“They’ll do at least a drive-by and Sloss—” He tilted his head toward the street. “Those two will leave. Then I can leave.” He paused. “That’s what you want, right?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t want you to get killed, either.”

“I’ll go out the back.”

“There’s not much cover back there. What if they’re waiting for you?”

Devlin had thought of that. Sloss was a bulldog—slow, thorough and unrelenting. He’d nose into every building and sniff out every avenue of escape before he was satisfied that Devlin had given them the slip. Even police intervention wouldn’t keep Sloss out of the way for long.

“Are you arguing for me to stay?”

Mackenzie looped the blanket over her shoulders, shawl-style. Her hair had dried into spikes and her nylons bagged at her knees and ankles. She looked like a punk grandma. “I guess you can sleep on the couch.”

“Thanks.” He let out a soft groan as he settled back. His ribs ached fiercely from Bonaventure’s vicious kicks. Judging by the stickiness where his shirt was plastered to his skin, the nasty thug had managed to draw blood, as well. After Bonny had caught Devlin supposedly stealing from the latest haul, he’d called in Sloss and they’d taken him to a waterfront warehouse and alternated between questioning and beating him. He hadn’t given up a single incriminating detail. After three months on this job, there was no way in hell he’d be made by two small-time crooks.

Mackenzie sat forward, rocking nervously. “Okay. I’ll make the call, if you think that will scare them off. But first you have to tell me the truth. How did you land on my doorstep? Were you waiting for me to come home?”

“No. This isn’t a social call, Mackenzie. I swear I wouldn’t be here if those two thugs hadn’t been breathing down my neck. I never meant to endanger you.”

“Yet you were ‘in the neighborhood.’ You knew my address.”

“I explained that. It was coincidence.” A slight exaggeration. He’d thought he’d lost Sloss and Bonny the first time, after he’d worked free of the ropes and slipped out of the warehouse while they argued over what to do with him. Getting out of their neighborhood had seemed like a good idea—until he realized that he had no money, no weapon, no ID and nowhere to go. It wasn’t as though he could walk into a pawn shop and cash out the ruby he’d managed to squirrel away.

He’d headed for Broadway, where there would be plenty of people around for safety. Because Mackenzie had been on his mind—he had to think of something pleasant and real to keep himself from crossing the line into the dark side—he’d thought of crashing with her as a last resort, but only if it had been a one-hundred-percent safe situation. By a twist of perverse luck, Sloss and Bonny had spotted him on Broadway, heading this way. Desperation had brought him running to Mackenzie’s door, minutes ahead of the pair of henchmen.

Devlin would have rather kept on going, but when he saw her on the street and knew she’d recognize him there was no other option.

If lady luck was shining on him, Sloss and Bonny had believed her when she’d spoken to them at the door and wouldn’t be back.

If not…Mackenzie would need watching. Now that he’d dragged her into this, he’d have to protect her. A complication he didn’t need, even though she sure was a sight for sore eyes. And a deadened heart.

She grimaced, still not trusting him. “You should have come to the reunion instead, and spared yourself the…whatever it is you’re up to.”

“I’m not one of our old high school’s shining success stories.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should reconsider your career path, huh?”

He wasn’t going to follow that line of discussion. “Make the call, Mackenzie. Then we can get some sleep.”

She stood and moved silently through the living room on unshod feet, picking up a cordless phone from the desk beneath the window. Despite her disheveled state, she was even prettier than he’d remembered. In school, she’d been plump and quiet, something of a wallflower who’d been overshadowed by her active, outgoing sister. The past ten years had been good to her. The baby-fat face had gained more definition, and the womanly figure now suited her. Suited him, too. The feel of her breasts pushing against his chest had been quite the distraction.

Thoughtfully, she touched the phone to her chin as she walked back across the room. “Let me get this straight. You memorized my address from the sheet sent out with the invitation to the reunion. Then you just happened to be on this particular street, needing a hideout…at the very moment that I was coming home from our tenth high-school reunion. And then, instead of saying hello and introducing yourself properly, you attacked me and pushed me inside because you were in a—” she made quotation marks in the air “—hurry.” She plopped down beside him on the couch. “Have I got it right?”

“More or less.”

She shook her head as she dialed. “Just so you don’t think I’m swallowing that baloney.”

He grabbed the phone and hit the hang-up button. “Don’t use 9-1-1. They can trace your call.” He punched in a number. “Here, I dialed the precinct direct. But be brief and hang up fast.”

She hesitated before taking a breath and speaking in the querulous high-pitched voice of an old lady. “I want to report suspicious activity. West 17th in Chelsea, between Sixth and Seventh. Two men. They’re busting into apartment buildings.” She cut the connection. “How was that?”

Devlin smiled, thinking of Sloss and Bonny scrambling for cover when the N.Y.P.D. arrived. The interruption wasn’t more than a wrench in their plans, but even a minor victory was satisfying after the disastrous evening he’d had. Three month’s work was on the verge of collapsing. “You did good.”

Her serious expression lightened. “Shew. Does this make me a gun moll?”

“Only for the night.”

Her cheeks curved with a smile. “This has been one hell of a night.”

“Fun reunion?”

“It wasn’t all that I’d hoped.”

“Why not? Looks like you’ve done well for yourself.”

She adjusted the gap in her blouse, then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, giving him another glimpse of her new, confident attitude. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”

“Still working for the candy company?”

She blinked. “How do you know where I worked? We haven’t seen each other since high school.”

“I keep my ear to the ground. I hear things.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d purposely kept track of her when it hadn’t meant anything special. He’d been curious, that’s all. “You went to college and started at Regal right after graduation. I bet you’re a vice president by now.”

“Actually, I’ve moved on. Just recently. I opened my own penny-candy emporium in the Village a couple of weeks ago. It’s called Sweet Something. Several of the city newspapers ran items about the grand opening party. Mostly because my publicist got a few celebrities to come, but even so…”

He grinned, delighted with the wholesome rightness of her fate. By damn, the world hadn’t gone all wrong, not if Mackenzie Bliss owned a candy store. “I remember,” he said. “You always carried butterscotch candies in your backpack. And—” He searched his memory.

“Sugar Babies,” she said. “I had a minor fling with Zowies in eighth grade.”

“Still have all your teeth?” he teased.

She displayed them. “A couple of cavities. One root canal.”

On impulse, he touched the nick at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry about that.”

She pulled away, her lashes lowering as she slid a thumb over her lip. The gesture seemed too girlish for a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

“I did, but, um, not anymore.” She showed her teeth again, going for a feral female look that didn’t suit her. Not even the new her. “I dumped him.”

“Yeah?”

She frowned. “You don’t believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A heightened blush betrayed her. “Okay. It was more like a mutual breakup. The relationship died from natural causes, although I was the one who finally pointed it out. And it took me only two years to notice.” Her face changed. “This is dumb. You’re on the run and I’m talking about penny candy and my ex-boyfriend. Give me your jacket. It’s so wet it’s soaking through the couch.”

“This is the only chance we’ll have to catch up,” he said to distract her. It was better if he kept the jacket.

“Our one and only chance,” she said with an edge. “Right. So, you have my story. My parents got remarried, by the way. Almost three months ago. And my sister—remember her?—has moved to Manhattan. She’s working in a Tribeca bistro.”

“Sabrina Bliss,” he said, shaking his head. She was hot sun to Mackenzie’s cool shade. “I thought she’d be surfing in Hawaii or partying on a yacht in the Riviera.”

“Check back in another ten years. She might be.”

“Got a husband?”

“Not Sabrina. At least, not yet.”

“How come you’re not married?” he asked.

Mackenzie shrugged. “No one’s asked me.”

“Not even this guy you just dumped?”

“Well…”

“You turned him down? Why?”

Her gaze darted at his face, but she didn’t answer, only shook her head. She put on a smile, asking softly, “What about you?”

He knew he shouldn’t toy with her, but he couldn’t help it. She’d gotten to him. Not only via his overt reactions to her magnificent breasts and sweet mouth, but in some mysterious, subliminal way, just as she used to in high school. “What about me?” he asked, his voice grating as he turned her innocent question around. “Would you turn me down?”

She caught her breath, taking him too seriously. He had to remember that she was prone to doing that. “I guess my answer depends on your question.”

His laugh was harsh in his throat. “I’m not asking you to marry me, that’s for sure.”

“You’re already married?” she guessed, flicking her lashes at him again.

“Are you kidding?”

“Why not? I’ve read about those jailhouse marriages.” She reached over to unzip his jacket.

“I haven’t spent my entire adult life in prison,” he said out of a senseless need to amend her impression of him. She was supposed to think he was a lowlife criminal. And he wasn’t supposed to care.

She looked disappointed in him. “How are your parents?”

“Still living in Scarsdale.” His father, Ed Brandt, was an uncomplicated medical salesman who stayed on the road even longer than his job required. He was avoiding his wife, Marilyn, who wasn’t a bad person, but very difficult to live with on a daily basis. She suffered from manic depression, and her moods kept the Brandt household in a constant funk. Devlin avoided them now, but he kept track via his older sister, who was married and happy, the closest thing to normal the family had produced. Ed was nearing retirement and Marilyn was on a new drug, so Devlin guessed they were doing as well as could be expected.

“How’s your mother?” Mackenzie’s face showed her concern.

“She’s feeling a little better, thanks.” Devlin cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the subject. He’d been ashamed by his mom as a kid and had never brought friends back to the house. Word had spread about the crazy lady anyway, making him an outcast early on. In Scarsdale, imperfection wasn’t tolerated. “My sister, Deb, looks after her.”

“Do you visit?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Mackenzie gasped. At first he thought she was reacting to his callous disregard for family, but then he realized where she was looking. Her eyes were round. “Devlin.”

Damn—she’d seen the blood. He should have been paying attention instead of worrying about her opinion to his cover story. And now she’d managed to tug the jacket halfway off him, revealing the red patch on his torn shirt.

“You’re hurt.” She reached behind the sofa and clicked on a lamp. Her eyes got even bigger as she goggled. “Is it a gunshot wound?”

“No. It’s nothing.” He pushed her hands away. “Only a scratch.”

“Then let me see…” Within seconds, his shirt was unbuttoned and she was examining his abdomen. It was decorated with bruises and a couple of raw red scrapes that matched the one on his chin. Bonaventure had taken great pleasure in stomping him into the cement floor when the first cursory pat-down hadn’t turned up the missing ruby.

Devlin sucked air between his teeth when Mackenzie prodded at his ribs. “Broken?” she asked.

“Not for lack of trying,” he said.

“You should see a doctor. What if your lung gets punctured?”

“The ribs are only bruised. I’ve had cracked ribs before and believe me, it hurt like hell. This only hurts like heck.”

“That’s hardly an educated diagnosis.”

“Them’s the breaks.”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you take off those wet boots and go clean up in the bathroom. There’s a first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet. I’ll make you something hot to drink and get you an ice pack for that eye. Then I can bandage you up.”

He put out a hand, stopping her from rising. “Can I trust you?”

She seemed about to give him the sarcastic retort he deserved, but then her features softened. “You must think so, Devlin, or you wouldn’t be here.”

She was wrong. He’d been a deep undercover cop for so long that he didn’t trust anyone, even himself.

3

WITH NOT SO MUCH as a backward glance, Devlin went off to the bathroom, holding his side, his boots leaving wet, muddy tracks on her carpet.

Mackenzie stared at her fists, knotted in her lap, until the door closed. Then she bolted for the bedroom, swooping up her discarded purse and shoes along the way. She closed and locked the door. After only the briefest of thoughts about the phone—who would she call, after all, if not the cops? Sabrina?—she reached under her skirt and began wiggling out of the ruined hose and confining panty girdle. Not because she was letting Devlin’s hands anywhere near the area. Just because.

Ah, oxygen! She took a deep breath and let it out noisily. The hamper was in the bathroom with Devlin, so she kicked the offending garments under the bed. No time to be meticulous.

She couldn’t put on pajamas and a robe, but she didn’t want to look dressed up, either. Frumpy sweats would certainly scare him off, but she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Not yet. Might as well admit it—her interest was aroused regardless of the troubling situation.

Deciding on a sweater and jeans, she rummaged through the chest of drawers, startling herself when she glanced in the mirror above it. Raccoon eyes, puffy lips, hair going in every direction—disaster.

“Staying alive is your first concern,” she muttered, pulling on the jeans and sweater. To that end, she checked the tiny paved backyard, saw nothing unusual except an overturned garbage can, then grabbed her cell phone from the purse she’d thrown on the bed. A quick peek out the door ascertained that Devlin—Omigod, Devlin Brandt was in her bathroom!—was occupied.

It took Blair four rings to answer. Mackenzie ran a hand over her hair, trying to smooth down the bristles.

“Talk dirty to me,” Blair said in a husky voice.

Mackenzie exhaled in relief. Her neighbor often answered the phone that way. “Are you okay?”

“Depends what you mean by okay. If the question means is my neck killing me the answer is yes.” Blair had perpetual neck strain from a twenty-pound head-dress she wore in a cabaret act. “If it means am I being held at gunpoint by a dangerous criminal, then no. A pity. I could use the excitement.”

Mackenzie made a small sound of distress. Her knees gave out and she sat on the edge of the bed.

Blair’s voice sharpened. “Mackenzie? You okay?”

Half a dozen responses ran through her head, but in the end she only said, “Yeah, sure,” because there didn’t seem to be any way to explain about Devlin and the cops-that-weren’t in the five seconds she had to spare. She’d called only to see if Blair was okay.

“I know the police talked to you, too, Mackenzie. I poked my head out. Say bananas if you have a madman holding you at gunpoint to keep you quiet.”

“Plantains.”

Blair started to laugh, then stopped. “Is that a joke, or a code I’m not getting?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain tomorrow. I have to go and make tea now—”

“Wait a minute! I smell cover-up and it’s not my makeup.”

“Tomorrow,” Mackenzie said.

“Hey, what about the reunion?” Blair shrieked, but Mackenzie pretended not to hear. She shoved the phone into her pants pocket, checked the hallway and scurried to the kitchen.

Tea. It wasn’t easy to concentrate on normal activities when there was a criminal in the bathroom whose kiss had melted her panty shaper, but she filled the kettle, set it on a burner and took down a box of green tea with shaking hands.

“Who’d you call?” Devlin said from behind her.

She jumped. When she whipped around, he was shirtless and startling and she squeezed the box so tight the flap popped open. Tea bags spilled out across the floor. She dropped to her knees to gather them, her mind working, her stomach churning.

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