Nobody Does It Better (21 page)

Devin slammed the palm of his hand against the barbecue pit. Dammit, this wasn't a problem he could blame on his upbringing. Those guys weren't any better than him. He had to face that there were just some things that couldn't be had. Rachel was wrong. He wasn't the man for
Paris
. He'd fought bitterly to get an education, to make enough money to open his pubs, to have a good life. But none of that changed one important fact.
Paris
had only wanted him for three weeks. Three weeks of having her fantasy, of having Alexander, before she got on with her life.

And no matter how worthy he was, if she didn't think so, it was as good as over.

* * *

"And now, the man of the hour, Mr. Montgomery Alexander," announced the bandleader.

Paris
turned around to look for Devin, then winced when she saw him slip out from behind the brick grill and step to the podium. Had he heard everything? She took a step toward him. She needed to explain, to apologize. To say something.

Too late, of course. Devin stepped onto the platform and took the microphone.

"Mr. Alexander, Mr. Alexander!"

Paris
couldn't see the man at the front of the crowd scrambling for attention, but from Devin's scowl, she guessed that something wasn't right.

"Mr. Alexander, isn't it true that there are going to be some revelations about you and your books? Very soon?" Devin took a step backward, as if he'd just taken buckshot in the stomach. What was going on?
Paris
watched Devin skim the crowd until he found her. She raised her shoulders in a silent query.

Devin stared down the obnoxious little man. "Yes," he said, "some things will be revealed soon that I think will surprise my fans."

What revelations? What was he talking about?

"In the meantime, you'll just have to wait and see. Thank you for coming. Good night." He stepped off the platform.

Paris
looked at her watch. He was supposed to speak for half an hour. Barely two minutes had passed since he hit the podium. Now he was striding through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction from her.

The second she cleared the side of the house,
Paris
broke into a run, planning to cut through the kitchen and head him off in the entry hall.

Rachel slammed breathless through the front door just as
Paris
reached the entry.

"Where is he?"
Paris
asked, winded. She had the feeling she already knew.

"Gone. He just pulled away in one of the hired cars."

Rachel took a breath and looked at
Paris
. "So what was that all about?"

Paris
shook her head. "I don't know."

"Were we wrong about him? You don't think…?" Rachel trailed off, but
Paris
knew what she was considering.

"That he's planning to announce my secret? To blackmail me? No way. I don't think that. This revelation could be anything. Joshua's new partner, Vivian. The book deal. Maybe he's dyeing his hair back to blond. Anything."

Rachel nodded. "I know. I don't really believe it either. But what's going on? What's he talking about?"

Paris
shook her head. "All I know is that Devin wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"He left," Rachel pointed out.

Paris
looked at the floor. "That's my fault. I hurt him first."

* * *

Patrick Sommers slid a cup of coffee across the breakfast bar to
Paris
. "You've been moping about for four days, honey. Are you sure you won't tell me what's wrong? Did he fire you?"

Paris
shook her head, sniffed and blew her nose.

She'd flat out lied to Devin. She'd promised him,
promised,
that she'd follow her heart, and then she'd gone and chickened out. She did love writing the Montgomery Alexander books.

And she loved Devin.

For days now, she'd been seeing him around every corner, hearing him every time the phone rang, running to the door every time a car drove up. And each time he wasn't there, her heart broke a little more.

Well, it stopped right now. She was going to do everything she could to get him back. Everything.

And
Paris
knew where she had to start.

"Daddy?"

He lowered his paper and looked at her. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"About that book I told you I was writing…"

When she'd told him the whole story,
Paris
had to admit she was impressed. Her father hadn't interrupted, and now he just sat there, quiet and pensive. And although quiet didn't necessarily mean all was well, from
Paris
's perspective, quiet was a heck of a lot better than ranting and raving.

"Daddy? Are you going to say anything?"

The judge clasped his hands and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "I thought perhaps you were hiding something. I never dreamed you were writing those books. I thought you were in love with Mr. Alexander." He shook his head. "I mean, Devin."

"Yeah, well, I guess you get two for the price of one." She bit her lower lip and tried to read his face. "Are you okay with this?"

Judge Sommers stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He kept his back to
Paris
, staring out the window that overlooked the front drive.
Paris
shifted on her stool, anxious for him to say something, anything.

"Did I ever tell you why we named you
Paris
?" he finally asked, looking back over his shoulder at her.

Paris
shook her head.

"We were dating, your mother and I. It was May. And your mother decided she wanted to see the
Eiffel
Tower
. She was working in a secretarial pool, and I was in law school. She took her savings, and I took my schoolbook money, and we went to
Paris
. Just like that. That's where you were conceived. We were married the day we got back."

"No way. Who are you and what have you done with my father? That doesn't sound like you at all, Daddy."

He turned to face her, the tiniest smile playing at his mouth. "No, but it sounds a lot like your mother."

Paris
's eyes welled. "Really? I always wanted to be like her. I thought you wanted me to. She's always seemed like this perfect person. The best hostess, the best wife, the best mother. Always doing the right thing, you know? The smart thing. Watching out for the family name. For you."

"She was all that and more." He took
Paris
's hand. "Your mother understood how important it is to sometimes just follow your heart."

"So you approve?"

"Approval is a big step for an old man at breakfast. Let's just say I understand. I can't argue too much with your mother's methods. After all, it got me you. And you're very much like her. I just want you to be secure." He smiled. "And happy. I want you to be happy."

She laughed, harshly, at her own stupidity. "Devin makes me happy. Why couldn't I have just told him that a couple of days ago?"

"You wouldn't have believed it yourself then."

Paris
put down her mug. "Oh, Daddy. What am I going to do now?"

He stood behind her, stroking her hair like he had done so many times when she was a little girl needing comfort in the dark. But this wasn't the kind of problem a night-light would solve. "Anything you have to."

The ringing phone interrupted her brooding.

Devin!

Paris
lunged for it, scooping up the handset. "Devin?"

"Ms. Sommers?" The coarse voice sounded nothing like Devin's low, sultry tones.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I must see you. I'm Devin O'Malley's father."

Chapter 12

«
^
»

"
P
lease, call me Courtland."

She regarded the old man perched in a wheelchair. He was wrapped in a flannel robe, an ashtray in front of him on the table, with an unopened package of cigarettes resting nearby. Courtland glanced down at the package often, as if it taunted him.

She'd rushed to the Houston airport only minutes after he'd called, taking only her purse and leaving her suitcases with her dad. She'd had to change planes twice—which meant enduring three takeoffs—before finally landing in
New Jersey
and taking a taxi to Mr. O'Malley's nursing home. But she'd endure just about anything for a chance to get Devin back. "I would have known you were Devin's father even if you hadn't told me. He looks just like you."

"Poor boy."

Paris
laughed. "Not at all. And you know it."

"Once, maybe. But now I've got wrinkles and gray hair and nothing quite works the way it once did. Oh, the ladies around here don't complain much, but they're not exactly fresh off the farm themselves."

"You're extremely handsome. Sophisticated. Worldly. Sexy in a Paul Newman sort of way." She paused to make sure he was paying attention. He was, and she smiled at him. "And you can quit fishing now, because that's all the compliments you're going to lure out of me, even though each one is perfectly true."

"Spunky little thing. Of course you'd have to be for my son to fall for you."

Her heart leaped. Could what Courtland was saying really be true? And, more important, if it was, could she still get him back? "What makes you think he's fallen for me?"

"Television. My dear, the box sees all. I've watched you two on some of those interview shows. He looks at you that way."

"What way?"

"The same way you look at him."

"I'm in love with him." It felt good to say it. The more she said it, the stronger she felt. If she said it enough, she could get him back.

"I told him never to fall for a mark."

"I hired him. He's not blackmailing me." She grinned. "Well, he almost did. But he couldn't go through with it."

"I'm glad." Courtland looked out the window, but
Paris
didn't think he was seeing the trees and the clouds and the passersby. Courtland O'Malley was seeing the past and a little boy who'd beaten the odds. "I was afraid my debt drove him to turn his back on his own mind." He turned from the window to peer at her. "That's never good, you know. Doing something that's not true to your heart. Breaks the spirit."

She nodded. "Yeah. I just learned that one myself." She realized what else he had said. "Your debt?"

"I have a fondness for the ponies. My son's always managed to help me out. But this last time, I dealt with the wrong people. Should've known better. I've always been small-time. Got way
in
over my head, and they called in my marker."

"And Devin told them he'd cover it."

"I told him not to. After all, what can those fellows do to me in here?" he gestured around the cramped nursing home room. "My mind goes in and out. Half the time I don't even remember I owe the money."

"Devin's got his own code of honor. He couldn't let them hold that money over your head."

Courtland nodded. "I've never told him how proud I am of him not following my example. Oh sure, I taught him what to do, but that was because I was scared not to. What if he had failed at success? At least my kind of skills kept us from going hungry."

"But he hasn't failed,"
Paris
said. "He's smart and funny and he must love you very much."

"Why isn't he with you?"

The question tore at her. "I made a mistake. I was following my head, and not my heart." A tear slid down her face, and she wiped it away. "And now I'm afraid I've lost him."

The old man crooked a finger, and
Paris
bent down to get closer. "If you want him, if you want love, you need to fight for it."

Paris
nodded. "That's my plan."

* * *

"You're an idiot
,
boss," Jerry announced.

"Thanks, Jer. Your moral support is truly overwhelming." Devin lost his train of thought and had to start adding up the credit card receipts again. He'd been easily sidetracked for the past four days, and he knew the reason.
Paris
. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her. About her laugh, the feel of her body, her quirky sense of humor.

After overhearing her with her father, and then having one of Carmen's thugs make a not-so-subtle threat in
Paris
's own backyard, Devin had thought it was better for her if he left. But now? Now that every day was killing him, Devin was beginning to realize he was wrong.

He could give up a lot of things, but not
Paris
. His resolve had grown even stronger when he'd received the special delivery envelope that morning. Inside he'd found a check, neatly filled out in her precise handwriting, for six thousand dollars.

So she'd paid her debt, effectively severing her last tie to him. But that was an ending he just couldn't stomach. He needed her, and somehow he was going to get her back, or die trying.

"What's that old saying, Jerry? If you love something—"

"—hunt it down and kill it, boss."

Devin laughed. "Set it free. I think it's set it free."

Jerry shrugged. "Whatever. So?"

"The hell with that. If Larry, Curly and Moe want her that bad, they'll have to go after her through me, because I'm going back to
Texas
and I'm not leaving until that woman admits she loves me."

Jerry cast him a sideways look.
"Ya
got it bad, boss."

"Yeah, Jerry. I know."

Only after Devin stepped out into the
Manhattan
night, did he remember that it was
three o'clock
in the morning, and he wasn't going anywhere, much less hopping a plane to
Texas
. He considered going back in and helping Jerry, but the guy had been doing a fine job with the pub over the past three weeks, and Devin needed to get some rest if he was going to have the energy to wrestle Paris away from the three stooges.

He trudged the five blocks to his building and climbed three flights of stairs to his apartment. He'd left every light in the place on, he realized, as soon as he pushed open the door. No wonder his electric bill was always outrageous.

Then he saw her. Curled up on his battered sofa under an old quilt he'd rescued from a flea market.

He must have made a noise, or else she heard the Hallelujah Chorus playing in his head, because she stirred, then opened her eyes and squinted at him.

"Hey there," she said.

"Hi." Not poetry, but the best he could manage with his heart threatening to burst.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position. One of his old, ripped T-shirts barely covered her, giving him an enticing view of her thigh. Her hair was a mess, with wild curls going every which direction. Most of her makeup had rubbed off, except for the touch of mascara that was smudged under each eye.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Montgomery Alexander's not retiring. I told my dad. I told him everything." She smiled. "There wasn't exactly gunfire. Maybe a few stray shots, but overall it went well." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, and he couldn't help but grin. "I always thought that I wanted a certain kind of man and that I wanted to write a certain type of book. I thought that if I got that man, that life, then I could be happy."

Devin tried not to anticipate where
Paris
was going. He was terrified of being wrong. Terrified she'd flown all the way here simply to say thanks for playing the role, have a nice life, and by the way, thanks for making the mob notice me and my little scheme.

He swallowed. "What are you saying?"

"That I never knew what I wanted. But I do now. The man I want can dance on the beach or in a ballroom. He can make love to me with a passion so intense it ignites my soul. He's suave, yet funny. He works hard, but he knows how to play. He loves adventure, but a perfect Sunday morning is reading the paper in bed. And most of all, he loves me." She stared at him with an intensity that cut to his core. "I love you, Devin. You. And I'm sorry I didn't say it before."

Devin exhaled, relieved, but still wary. "I'm not Alexander."

"I don't want Alexander. Alexander doesn't even exist." She stood up. "I don't want an Alexander, or an accountant or a social climber." She took a step closer. "I want you. I want the man who charmed me and teased me. I want the man who's so fiercely loyal to his family that he's willing to cover a gambling debt that's not even his own."

"You talked with my dad."

"He's a sweetheart. He told me to fight for you." She grinned. "And he gave me his key to your apartment."

He pulled her to him. "Remind me to thank him," he whispered, bending down to claim her mouth, to claim her. This was the woman for him, and nothing could come between them.

Except…

He gently broke the kiss, pulling away to look down at her face. He saw confusion in her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's not just about you and me. Alexander is part of this."

"No, he—"

"They'll never leave us alone," he insisted.

She shook her head. "We can pay off your dad's debt."

He stepped back from her, gently stepping away from her outstretched hand urging him back to her. He ran his hands through his hair, dreading telling her. But she had to know.

When he looked back at her, she was smiling.

"What?"

"I like your hair blond. It's sexy."

"
Paris
, if we don't pay them, they're going to reveal that Alexander doesn't exist."

He watched her brow furrow and her mouth curl into a small, adorable frown. "The men in Vegas?" she asked.

He nodded.

"The press conference," she said. "That guy was making a threat, and you were setting it up so that I could introduce me. It wasn't the new character or the book deal or anything else you were thinking about."

"If you don't go public that you're the real author, then you'll be under their thumb forever." He fixed his gaze upon her. "I can't live with knowing I brought that on you."

"Did you like being Alexander?"

"That's not the issue."

She nodded furiously. "Oh, yes. It's exactly the issue. I'm without an Alexander. He can go back into seclusion, of course. But if you enjoyed it, he wouldn't have to."

"I loved it," he admitted, then laughed. "Maybe I am my father's son."

She laughed. "And maybe you're my soul mate. After all, I guess I'm Alexander, too."

"Soul mates. I like the sound of that."

"Can you do it? Even just part-time? Can you keep being Alexander and still manage your pub?"

Of course he could, but that wasn't the point. "Paris, these men—"

"Can you?" she interrupted.

"Jerry's been managing the pub here, and doing a great job. We close next week on the
Boston
pub, and I've got a couple of people in line to run it. I'll need to spend some time up there getting it off the ground, supervising the finish-out, but nothing too extensive. I'd actually like not to have to do the day-to-day stuff. I'm more interested in opening a few more." He smiled at her. "I thought
Texas
might be a good venue."

"Well, see?"

No, he didn't see. "All I know is that if Alexander becomes a recluse again, maybe these thugs will forget about you. If I'm out there front and center, they'll hound us for life."

"I'm not letting these men come between us. And I'm not letting them dictate what I do with my life or my books." She turned to face him, her eyes defiant. "It took me a long time to realize that I can't even do that for my dad. Not and be happy. I certainly won't do it for some two-bit thugs who don't have anything better to do than threaten invalid old men and helpless authors."

"You're hardly helpless," he said, feeling proud as he watched her stand straight and determined. She was one gutsy woman.

"Well, I fudged a little on that part."

"Do you have any ideas?"

She shook her head. "No. You?"

Neither did he. He studied the floor for a while, looking for a brilliant plan buried in the polished wood. Nothing.

But then…