In His Shadow (Tangled Ivy Book 1) (12 page)

At some point, Logan sat down next to me, the anger on his face turning to surprise, shock, then back to anger. When I finished, Logan was quiet for a moment as I nervously waited to hear what he’d say.

“This guy has broken into my apartment, assaulted you in your bedroom,
killed
several people, and I’m just hearing about it
now
?” Logan’s voice rose until he was nearly shouting at me. His fury was palpable and I flinched away from him. Seeing that, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though trying to regain his calm.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” I said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It was just so strange. And he didn’t assault me.” I swallowed. “I was . . . willing.” My cheeks burned. We discussed Logan’s sex life all the time. Mine, not so much, and there were good reasons for that.

“I don’t understand it,” Logan said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You don’t like this guy, tell me he scares you, yet you slept with him and you say he didn’t force you. Why would you do that?”

Logan was my best friend, but it felt weird discussing this. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just . . . happened. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He stared at me and I had to look away. “You know what I think?” he asked, as if I wasn’t going to hear it anyway. “I think this guy has some kind of sick hold on you, and you can’t even see it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The only man you’ve allowed to touch you in years is me,” Logan retorted. “And now you’re screwing some guy you barely know after he threatens you? It’s too much like your past and you know it.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Did you just say that to me?” I whispered.

Logan shoved a hand through his hair. “Christ, Ivy. I’m sorry. Can you blame me for being upset? This guy sneaks around, scares you, and I’m not supposed to be concerned when you tell me you slept with him?”

I threw off the blanket and leapt to my feet. “This conversation is over,” I snapped. “I wish I hadn’t told you at all.” I hurried back to my bedroom.

“That makes two of us,” Logan called angrily after me. I slammed my bedroom door shut.

I was shaking, I was so angry, and I was crying. I’d known Logan wasn’t going to react very well, but I hadn’t expected this level of anger. I got that he was concerned, but he was treating me like I was a brainless idiot who didn’t know what I was doing.

Well, if the shoe fits . . .

Shoving that traitorous thought away, I stripped off my pants and borrowed shirt, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a thick, cotton sweater. It had been beyond the pale for Logan to bring up my past, especially in this context. I was appalled and dismayed that he thought that about Devon and me. Not that there was a “Devon and me.”

I flopped down onto my bed, sniffing away the tears. I stared listlessly out the window until I drifted off to sleep.

I woke when it was already dark, and for a moment I didn’t remember the fight. When I did, my mood plummeted. How was I going to face Logan, knowing he was thinking there was something wrong with me for sleeping with Devon?

Who were we kidding? There
was
something wrong with me.

I brushed my teeth and hair, then went in search of Logan to apologize and talk things out. But the apartment was quiet and empty, save for me. I found a note on the counter.

Had to go in to work. Sorry we argued. Talk tonight. —Love, L

That made me feel a little better. At least I wasn’t the only one upset that we’d fought, though I didn’t know how we’d talk through it. What was done was done. It wasn’t like I was going to see Devon again. He’d made it quite clear that I was useful for only one thing. Well, two things if you counted the pendant, which still pissed me off when I thought about it. I’d rather Devon had just told me what he was after instead of lying.

My stomach growled so I peered into the fridge, wondering if I should go to the grocery store. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

I looked through the peephole first, then jerked back with a gasp.

Devon was there.

My palms immediately began to sweat and my heart rate kicked into overdrive. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

“Forget how to break in?” I asked coolly, glad my voice didn’t betray my nerves.

Devon’s lips twisted. “I was being courteous,” he replied, taking a step closer.

I didn’t back up, my body still blocking the doorway, and had to tip my head back to look him in the eye. He was wearing a tuxedo, of all things, that looked like it had been lovingly hand-woven to fit his body. The bowtie was actually tied, rather than the pre-tied ones I’d always seen at weddings and such.

“You’re awfully dressed up to be stopping by for a visit,” I said snottily. “Or were you hoping for a booty call?”

Devon’s grin spread wider. “I came with a purpose, though I’m not opposed to a . . . booty call.” He said the words as though they were foreign to him, and maybe they were. He acted and spoke as though he came from a higher class of society than me, a farm girl from Kansas.

“Forget it,” I said, then tried to shut the door, which came to an abrupt halt when Devon wedged his foot in the opening.

“I brought a peace offering,” he said.

“Not interested.”

“And . . . an apology.”

I paused. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve been a bit . . . dodgy with you when perhaps being more forthright would have been the wiser choice,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

Devon’s eyes twinkled with humor at my dry response. “You have my most sincere apologies,” he said. Though the words were serious, his eyes held more than a trace of humor.

I thought about it, how upset I’d been earlier. He was right, though, he had saved my life. Twice. And the sex had been good . . . very good.

“Apology accepted,” I said finally.

“Excellent,” he said, brandishing a hanger with a long, opaque plastic covering over it. “Now for the peace offering.” He held it out to me, but I didn’t take it.

“What is it?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“A dress.”

“What
kind
of dress?”

“The kind you’ve only dreamed about wearing,” he said with a knowing glint in his eye.

That perked up my interest and I eyed him. “Why do you have a dress for me?”

“I was hoping you’d accompany me tonight,” he replied. “Dinner and dancing at a very fancy party.”

“Is this a date?” I asked.

“It is if I buy you dinner.”

The excitement I felt at seeing him again couldn’t be denied, and the dress he held—still hidden from view by the protective plastic—was like catnip to me. Clothes—my Achilles’ heel.

Wordlessly, I stepped back and allowed him inside. He gallantly handed over the dress, his lips still tipped up in a knowing smile.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” I said, taking it from him. I left Devon standing in the living room and hurried back to my bedroom.

I unwrapped the dress carefully, hardly able to contain my excitement, and I gasped when it was fully revealed.

It was a two-piece dress in an avant-garde Indian style, the fabric a thick silk tapestry in black with shades of bronze and silver. The top fit tightly across my chest and had short sleeves that reached almost to my elbows. A draping ruffle of fabric wrapped around me from underneath my breasts and stopped a few inches above my navel to bare my midriff. The bottom was a pair of snug shorts in the same material as the top, overlaid with several layers of sheer, black organza that hung to the floor. The three-inch wide band at my waist hit right at my hips and was encrusted with tiny crystals that sparkled when I moved. You could catch a glimpse of the shorts I wore through the skirt, depending on the shift and thickness of the organza layers as I walked.

“Wow,” I breathed in awe, eyeing the dress in the mirror. I scurried into the bathroom to put on my makeup. Heavy foundation concealed the bruise on my cheek and I was glad it wasn’t swollen any longer. I applied heavy eyeliner and smoky shadow along with a dusting of glittery powder. Pulling my hair back into a low bun, I added long, dangling earrings. A pair of sky-high heels with a strap that wrapped around my ankle completed the outfit.

I had no idea how Devon had gotten this dress and probably didn’t want to know. It was a tiny size and for once I was glad of my smallish chest. If I’d been better endowed, there’s no way I could have fit into it.

Grabbing a black clutch to use as my purse, I stood straighter, my shoulders back, as I emerged from the bedroom. A dress like this deserved to be worn with pride and I was determined to do it justice. And I must have succeeded in some measure because Devon had poured himself a drink and was taking a sip, but he froze when he saw me, his hand halfway to his mouth.

I let a moment pass, then raising an eyebrow, I said, “So . . . I like the dress.”

Devon’s gaze swept me from head to foot and back, then he tossed back the contents of the glass he held. I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

“Me, too,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.

Hiding a satisfied smile, I rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a pen, then flipped Logan’s note over to write on the other side.

“What did you argue about?” Devon said, his lips at my ear. He’d come up behind me silently and his hands settled on my waist. The touch of his skin against mine was as though an electric current had gone through me. I bit my lip against the sigh that wanted to escape.

“Um . . . about y-you, I guess,” I stammered. Focusing my attention back on the paper, I scrawled
Went out for a while. Love—me.
I didn’t want to say who I’d gone out with or when I’d be back. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t know if I’d turn down that booty call, despite the hurtful words Logan had said to me. “He thought you had hit me.”

“Did you tell him I’m not the type of man to hit a woman?”

The warmth of his breath fanned across my skin and I shivered. His words didn’t even register for a moment, too consumed was I with the feel of him and the scent of his cologne.

“Why would I tell him that?” I asked. “I don’t know if it’s true.”

Devon went still, then turned me to face him.

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,” he said, and gone was the note of seduction in his voice. This was pure command. “I have not, and will not, hurt you. You may not trust me, but you can be assured that I will not deliberately harm you.” His clear blue gaze searched mine. “Is that understood?”

He actually seemed a bit disgruntled and insulted that I’d insinuated he’d hit a woman. But he was right, I didn’t trust him. Yet he asked me to believe he wouldn’t hurt me. Did I believe him?

Well . . . yes. Yes, I did.

I nodded. “Understood.” My voice was small, but steady.

“Then we’re off.”

Devon held my coat for me and I slipped my arms into the sleeves, then locked the door behind us as we left.

His car waited downstairs at the curb, the steel-gray Porsche a decadence I enjoyed as I slid into the front seat. It was scary how accommodating I could be for a man who brought me a designer dress and drove a luxury sports car, even if he killed people and worked as a spy.

Nice ethics, there, Ivy
, I thought, rubbing the soft fabric of my skirt between my finger and thumb. Despite my self-chastisement, a familiar pleasure curled in my belly at the pretty dress. Sheesh. What a girly girl cliché I was.

Devon drove us to the Four Seasons Hotel downtown, handing his keys to the valet who scurried to open my door. The valet’s jaw dropped a bit when I emerged from the car. I winked at him and his ears flushed bright red.

Appearing at my side, Devon offered me his arm, which I took as we entered the hotel and he led me to the elevators.

We emerged onto a floor high in the building. I glanced around, confused.

“I thought we were going to dinner and a party?” I asked.

“We are,” Devon replied, heading down the hallway. He stopped in front of a door. “Just dropping off your coat first.” Pulling a key card from the pocket inside his jacket, he unlocked the door. I followed him into the room.

It was one of the big suites that had a separate bedroom, and an amazing view of downtown and the Arch, all lit up and shining. Devon took my coat from me while I tried to figure out why he had a room here. I thought about asking, but then was a little afraid of his answer, so I kept silent.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his hand trailing down my arm to my hand. His thumb brushed my knuckles as his gaze met mine. “No matter what happens tonight, do exactly as I say. Understand?”

A flicker of trepidation crawled under my skin at his words and the dead-serious way in which he’d said them. “That sounds ominous,” I said with a tremulous smile, trying to keep it light.

“Caution and warnings are better than pain and regret.”

Letting go of my hand, Devon turned away, reaching into his jacket to pull out a gun from a holster underneath his arm. My eyes widened in alarm and I couldn’t tear my gaze away as he ejected and checked the magazine before slamming it home and replacing the weapon in its holster.