Nobody Does It Better (20 page)

And looming at the end of all that was the party. Thrown by
Paris
's father, the federal judge.

The chasm between their upbringings mocked him, reminding him that
Paris
had insisted their arrangement be only temporary. He was playing way out of his league. And even if her dad liked him, that didn't change anything. Judge Sommers wasn't meeting Devin. Montgomery Alexander
would
have the pleasure of his company.

A hell of a mess.

He cast one last glance at
Paris
before closing the bathroom door. Somehow she'd managed to cocoon herself in the sheet, except for one leg that dangled over the side. He shook his head, smiling. He'd been right. She was a notorious covers stealer.

A needle-fine spray of water worked the kinks out of Devin's shoulders and back. He hoped he'd done the right thing in not telling
Paris
about Carmen's threats.

He was furious that Carmen had dragged Andy into his life-style. The kid was smart. He deserved better than to grow up thinking Carmen's way was the best way. Carmen and his flunkies sure as hell weren't going to let the boy expand his horizons.

Bastards.

They'd seen Devin on television and pried the whole story out of Jerry. Devin couldn't blame Jerry, who'd spewed apologies for not keeping a lid on the secret. Devin knew just how persuasive Carmen and his lackeys could be. He was just grateful Jerry escaped with little more than a few bruises.

To think that Devin had actually believed he was nearly free from Carmen. With the money he'd get from
Paris
for playing Alexander plus the money Jerry'd been able to round up from friends, he had enough cash to satisfy his dad's debt.

Then Carmen had thrown in the monkey wrench, threatening to reveal
Paris
's secret unless she agreed to pay monthly hush money. Devin had said
Paris
didn't give a rat's ass about anonymity, that she'd reveal the truth herself rather than pay them.

It was a big lie, a whopper, and Devin hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him.

He adjusted the showerhead to shoot thick, massaging pulses, letting the water pummel his chest and face. He hadn't heard another peep from the hometown thugs. Maybe his bluff had worked. That was fortunate, considering he'd struck out trying to convince
Paris
to come clean with Alexander's fans, much less with her father.

Her father. Forty-eight hours before he met the man, and already Devin's nerves tingled. He decided to stay in the shower a few minutes longer, letting the powerful spray soothe his nerves and hoping it would wash away any sign of Devin's heritage, his neighborhood or his upbringing.

Chapter 11

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"
Y
ou must be Montgomery Alexander," the judge said, extending his hand. "Patrick Sommers. I'm so pleased you could make it to
Houston
. It's an honor having you in my home. And it's a pleasure to finally get to meet the man who's been keeping my little girl so busy." With his free arm, the judge gave
Paris
's shoulder a squeeze. She smiled at her father and looped an arm around his waist.

"The pleasure is mine," Devin said, with an Alexanderish tip of his head. He liked the man already.
Paris
might fear that her father wouldn't approve of her life-style, but Devin would be willing to bet that Judge Sommers would forgive
Paris
just about anything.

Rachel elbowed in and planted a quick kiss on the older man's cheek. "So, where's the bar set up?"

The judge laughed. "It's good to see you again, too, my dear." He looked over his shoulder. "Catering is set up in the guest house."

Rachel grinned at
Paris
. "See, this is why I love visiting your dad. He understands my basic needs."

Paris
raised an eyebrow. "Try not to single-handedly triple the bar tab, Rach."

"I'll do my best. But since you two got us here an hour late, I've got some serious catching up to do." She slipped into the crowd and headed for the quaint stone guest house.

Paris
winked at Devin and then looked up at her father. "Making up for lost time."

Devin could see bits of
Paris
in the trim, distinguished man. Like his daughter, Patrick Sommers's facial features were well-defined. But it was their eyes father and daughter shared most prominently. Deep brown eyes that held infinite potential. Warm and welcome one minute, sharp and commanding the next.

"I read one of your books last night," Judge Sommers announced, looking straight at Devin.

Paris
whipped around to face her father. "No way. Really?"

"What did you think?" asked Devin. He saw
Paris
stiffen, and he resisted the urge to take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

The judge pulled at his chin. "Not my cup of tea, really," he said.
Paris
's shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes. "But," the judge went on, "it was quite a bit more entertaining than I had imagined. Well-written, the characters weren't flat. Moved quickly. It wasn't…" He seemed to be searching for an appropriate word.

"Trash?" Devin suggested.

"Ah, there you go," said the judge, giving Devin a chummy pat on the arm. "It wasn't complete trash."

"Trash?
Complete
trash?"
Paris
repeated, looking from Devin to her father and then to Devin again.

Devin laughed, and
Paris
glowered at him.

The judge squeezed her shoulders. "Calm down, honey. The author over here is laughing. I don't think I've offended your client." He cocked his head toward Devin.

"I'm not offended in the least," Devin said, sure that
Paris
was seething.

"There. You see. You never expected me to love his stories, did you?"

Paris
sighed. "No, Daddy. I never did."

"Well, then. Why don't you two go join the party. Larry was looking for you earlier. I imagine he'll want to claim a dance."

"Larry?" Devin asked, as they walked away.

"We went to high school together. He's a federal prosecutor, and he just got appointed to head up the racketeering division. He's the youngest person ever to have that job."

Great. His competition was Larry the child prodigy. "Yeah. They asked me to do that, but I told them I really couldn't fit it in. What with my busy schedule and all."

Paris
bumped him with her hip, laughing. "You behave."

"Make me," Devin teased, longing to pull her close to him, but remembering that he was in Alexander-mode. He crooked his arm and offered it to her, pleased just to have her by his side. They strolled through the stone-paved backyard, shaking hands and making small talk with the guests, who ran the gamut from staid professionals to multi-pierced college students. The party was a welcome home for
Paris
, but it was also the last stop on Alexander's whirlwind tour, so fans and booksellers and the media were noshing with judges and CEOs.

"This is an amazing house," Devin said, grabbing a seat on a marble bench next to the Koi pond. "Did you grow up here?"

"Pretty much. We moved here from our ranch after junior high." She waved her arm to encompass the magnificent, landscaped backyard. "This was just dirt and grass when we moved in." Now it was a paradise. Ivy crept up the fence, roses climbed trellises, cobblestones wound a path through sections of the garden.

Strings of ornamental lights laced the trees, and their soft glow accentuated
Paris
's hair and skin. "You're beautiful," Devin said, particularly enjoying the way the criss-cross halter of her silk dress accentuated her breasts.

"I bet you say that to all the girls,"
Paris
said, her voice light.

Devin ached to kiss those lips, to taste her again. It had been over two hours since he'd held her close and kissed her, and that was two hours too long. "
Paris
, tell your father. Tonight. Follow your heart. Do it while we're here. He seems like a nice man, surely it won't be the explosion you think."

He felt her stiffen, and regretted pushing her.

"You tell me to follow my heart, but that's just the same as Daddy. He says to do one thing, and you say to do another."

"No, it's not the same," he said, more sharply than he intended.

Rachel sauntered up the walk, a fellow who looked as though he'd stepped off the cover of
Esquire
on her arm.

"Larry here asked to come see the lady of the hour."

"I thought we could have a dance, catch up on old times," said the child prodigy turned cover model.

"I, um,"
Paris
looked from Devin to Rachel.

"Come, dance with me," Rachel insisted, holding out her hand to Devin.

He hesitated, seeds of jealously starting to take root.

"Come on. Let the kiddies chat. I don't bite. Not hard, anyway." She turned to
Paris
. "May I borrow him?"

Before
Paris
could answer Devin found himself on the dance floor.

"Well, you're tense as a board," Rachel said. "Feeling a little competitive, are we?"

"What? No," Devin said, far too quickly to fool someone as sharp as Rachel.

"Uh-huh," Rachel said, as she twirled into Devin's arm. "So, have you told her?"

"Told who what?" asked Devin, figuring that if she was going to drag him away from Paris, the least he could do was make her work for her information.

"You're a man in love, my friend. Have you told her yet?"

That one was out of left field, although he should have seen it coming. He'd spent some time with Rachel over the past week, at least enough to learn she didn't pull any punches. If what
Paris
said was true, Rachel didn't have the strongest grip on her own love life. But when it came to looking out for her best friend, Rachel was as loyal as they came.

Devin also knew that she wouldn't settle for a half-truth, at least not where
Paris
was concerned.

"No," he said, "I haven't told her."

"Then you do love her."

"Are you blind?" he asked, grinning. "Of course I love her."

"You should tell her."

Devin took Rachel's arm and led her off the dance floor. "Is
Paris
blind?"

"No, but she can be … nearsighted. Especially now." She waved her arm to encompass the house, the party. "And especially here."

"Why the sudden burst of matchmaking energy?"

Rachel tilted her head. "Honestly? Because I like you. I think you two are a match. And I think you're good for her, not one of these stuffy old dudes her father's drooling over."

"The child prodigy doesn't look stuffy."

Rachel's eyes widened. "Who?"

Devin pointed back to the dance floor, where Mr. Federal Prosecutor held
Paris
in his arms. "Him."

"Larry? Nah, he's okay, but he's not right for
Paris
. Besides, they've known each other since high school. If it was going to happen it already would have."

Devin looked again. Rachel was right
Paris
was moving on the floor with Larry, but she wasn't
dancing
with him. Not the way she'd danced with Devin before. She didn't look bored, but neither did she look enraptured. As Larry spun her around,
Paris
looked in Devin's direction. When their eyes met, she smiled, and Devin went to mush.

"So you think I've still got a shot, here?"

"Oh, yeah. You're perfect for her," said Rachel. She stepped forward and crooked her finger, urging him to bend down. "But more than that," she whispered, "I figure if my goofy best friend who makes up fantasy men can find Mr. Right, then there's still hope for me."

Devin knew she was joking around, but he remembered what
Paris
had told him about Rachel's less-than-stellar track record with the opposite sex. He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up and brushing a soft kiss across her temple. "Rach, there's definitely hope for you."

She blushed, a first as far as Devin could tell, then looked down. "Thanks," she whispered. When she looked back up, she smiled, and he thought her eyes might have been a little misty. "I told
Paris
she got the last good guy in
New York
. Looks like I was right."

He waved his hand to indicate the party. "Plenty of fish here in
Texas
."

She laughed. "A cowboy? No thanks. I'm a city girl, in case you hadn't noticed."

Devin was still chuckling at Rachel's last words as he circled the dance floor in search of
Paris
. He thought about what else Rachel had said, and decided that she was right on target.
Paris
needed to know how he felt. She needed to hear it out loud before she convinced herself that she meant what she'd said about their three-week-only deal.

He avoided getting sucked into another conversation with a group of party guests by slipping behind the built-in barbecue. As he reached the edge, he heard
Paris
's voice. Devin eased back into the shadows.

"What I wanted to tell you, Daddy, is that I'm writing a book,"
Paris
said. Devin sucked in his breath. Was she about to tell her father the truth?

"Well, good for you, sweetie. What kind of book? Nonfiction?"

"No. Well, not exactly." Devin heard her take a breath. "It's … oh, hell … I haven't written much of it yet, but it's this saga. It starts in
Ireland
, and goes all the way through the Civil War to the Depression."

"Well, that sounds fascinating. I'm surprised you have time to write, traveling as much as you do."

"It's not easy."

"Have you thought about settling down?"

"I've thought about it," she said.

"Larry still adores you. Of course, Anson and Michael are waiting in line." Devin felt a wave of dislike for Larry, Anson and Michael. "You could do worse than a doctor or a lawyer." The wave increased to tsunamic proportions.

"I know, Daddy. And Larry's a great guy…"

"Well, you're not getting any younger."

"Daddy,"
Paris
said. "I'm barely thirty."

"Still. Are you seeing anyone seriously?"

Devin held his breath.

"No,"
Paris
finally whispered, thrusting the knife into Devin's heart.

"No one," she said, twisting it.

Devin closed his eyes and fell against the rough brick surface. Anger, disappointment, despair battled for attention in his stomach. Disappointment won. He couldn't be angry at her, not really. She'd told him the ground rules on day one. He'd just been arrogant and foolish enough to think he could change her mind.

Fat chance, Devin. Look around you. You think Larry, Curly and Moe had to work their way through night school? Do you think their fathers had to pull cons to put food on the table?

He couldn't ignore the truth. She was a diamond, and he was coal.