Authors: Ann Cristy
Dev kept his arm around her for most of
the dinner. And the dinner was a nightmare for her. The vodka had begun to make
her queasy and the broiled lemon sole didn't help. When the dancing began she
was feeling miserable, but she was also determined to hide it from Dev.
They had always
danced well together, and she had always enjoyed it, but tonight was an
endurance contest as she stumbled over his feet and kept mumbling her pardon.
When she saw a
hand reach over Dev's shoulder to cut in, she turned with a sense of relief
that she would be leaving Dev's company, that she wouldn't have to feel what
she was sure was his censure.
As she turned, so
did the room. It spun and dipped. "Oh, dear," a voice muttered
sounding strangely like her own.
"What the
bloody hell?" she heard Dev ask before the room darkened and fell away.
CHAPTER
TWO
Cle
surfaced in pain, the whole world in blackness, and knew she had been in an
automobile accident that had blinded her, broken every bone in her body, and
fractured her skull. She probably had two hours to live. She shouted out Dev's
name, wanting to tell him that the king sized bed was now his, but all that
came out was a croak. The croak jarred her whole body with pain.
"Want
to go to the bathroom, darling?" Dev was laughing!
Maybe
he was hysterical, Cle thought, trying not to move. "I'm blind, Dev."
"Blind
drunk, I think. Here, let me take the cloth from your eyes. Lord, I haven't
seen anyone so cold cocked by a double since I was at
You look awful, love. The bags under your eyes are blue, yellow, and
pink." He looked satisfied.
"You're
an unfeeling monster. I was probably poisoned by bathtub vodka and will die by
slow, painful inches... ohhhhh" Cle gripped her head, then one hand
clutched at her mouth. She jumped from the bed, aided by Dev who was chuckling.
He
was still grinning when he lifted her head from the toilet bowl and wiped her
mouth and face. "Now you're a perfect barberry green. The color clashes
with your eyes. And as to your reference to bathtub vodka, I assure you, you
can't blame this on anything but the best vodka. Stop reading so much F. Scott
Fitzgerald. You just have a decidedly classic hangover!"
"I
could have Asian flu." Cle moaned against his shoulder as he carried her
back to bed. "You don't care what happens to me." A tear trickled
down her cheek as she watched him tuck the blankets around her.
"I've
told Toner you won't be in until tomorrow. I've left a note for Mrs. Hubbard to
look in on you now and then, I'll be home early." Dev leaned over her, his
hand pushing at her stringy hair, his lips brushing her clammy skin.
"What
time is it, Dev? I should be up. There's so much to do for the fall collection.
Jaime will be beside himself." Her voice was thready and she felt
exhausted with the effort of speaking.
"Its
eight thirty in the morning and you are in no condition to go anywhere but to
sleep." His face hardened, the strong bones pushing into the flesh of his
face. "Damn Toner and his damned fall collection. I told him what I
thought of his creation, too." Dev pivoted on his heel.
Cle
wanted to argue with him but he strode out of the room so quickly, and besides
there was the matter of her throbbing head, her paralyzed brain...
That
evening when Dev returned home she was feeling better—and chastened. Cle had
hurried Mrs. Hubbard out the door, assuring her that she could finish preparing
dinner by herself. She wanted the time with Dev, alone.
She
greeted him in the foyer, her hands clasped together, feeling the blood run up
her heck when he paused to look at her before closing the front door.
A
smile played around his mouth as his eyes roved her from head to foot,
lingering on her face. "You look as though you might survive. I must say I
like the color of your skin better this way than the green it was earlier.
You're still a little pale."
"I
still feel a little pale." Her smile was weak, her lips wobbling a bit.
"Dev, I want to apologize for..."
"Is
that the silk punjabi outfit I brought you from
and turquoise combination with your hair and eyes." Dev spoke softly, his
hands reaching for her, the growl in his voice making the muscles in her
stomach expand and contract like clenching fingers.
She
responded to his kiss, welcoming his tongue, feeling the curl of heat grow in
her lower body. She pushed at his shoulders wanting to finish what she had to
say to him.
Dev
allowed her lips to pull back a fraction.
"Dev,
I didn't mean to embarrass you last evening. Was it very bad? I know how
conservative the Hopewells are. Did they think... I mean, was it—"
"Hopey's
sister Corinne sniffed a few times but the old boy was very understanding. He
was worried more about you being sick, than about you being tipsy, love."
His
hand swept down her spine in a soft caress. "You were more beautiful than any
woman there. And, drunk or sober, you couldn't make me one bit ashamed of
you." His strong white teeth nipped gently at her chin. "My opinion
is the only one that matters in that firm, and they had better know and believe
it." Dev's voice had the ruthless quality that crept into it from time to
time. Cle had never been the brunt of it, but she was made fully aware that Dev
was and had been for some time, master of his own destiny, kingpin of the firm
and his family. He might not ever use his title, but there was a tinge of lese
majeste about him that could not be denied.
He
lifted his head to look at her, the grin back in place. "Now are you going
to feed me, or must I starve?"
Cle
laughed, feeling somewhat more reassured than she had earlier. "I'm going
to feed you... and it's a surprise." She urged him toward the stairs to go
up and change, then rushed to the kitchen to see to the poaching of the salmon
that had been flown in from the northernmost coast of
had once told her that he thought the salmon caught off the coast of
the most succulent in the world. It had been Jaime who had put her in touch
with an importer who had it flown in each day. Tonight seemed the golden time
to serve it. Mrs. Hubbard had picked it up in the afternoon, then had fixed the
rutabagas Dev said were a "must" to accompany the salmon poached in
the driest and palest of sherries. The yellow turnip had never been a favorite
with Cle because it was too smelly and strong. Baked in butter and lemon with
coarse ground black pepper on the top, the vegetable had a mouth watering
appeal for her now. The salad was endive and hard cooked egg with crumbled
Roquefort, lightly coated with oil and vinegar.
Cle
was stubborn about the wines they drank, insisting the upstate
blanc de blanc, was the equal of French. She was a staunch New Yorker. She gave
a last adjustment to the centerpiece of tiny pink roses and baby's breath and
sighed deeply.
"Well,
well, this is beautiful, darling. Are you going to seduce me?" Dev
sauntered into the room, his long stride taking him to her side in an instant,
his mouth a welcome pressure on hers. He reached around her into the ice bucket
that stood next to his seat. "Ah, a very good year in
"Of
course. There are no bad years in
York
He
smiled down at her, his arm not releasing her as he lifted his head, a puzzled
look crossing his face. "You know something smells just like Western Isle
salmon. What is it?"
"Western
Isle salmon!" Cle was gleeful as she watched his face change. Taking his
hand she pulled him from the dining room into the kitchen proudly lifting the
lid on the simmering liquid. Then she shooed him out to pour the wine while she
made the final preparations and served. They ate with gusto, their enjoyment of
the food and one another complete.
It
was while they were having cheese and fruit that Cle broached the subject that
had been gnawing at her. "Ah, Dev... What happened after I passed out? Was
it awful for you?"
"I
thought we talked that all out this morning," Dev said, pouring Drambuie
into many faceted crystal liqueur glasses.
"Well,
yes, we did some, but you didn't say what happened at that moment." She
squirmed in her chair, not looking at him. "Was I sprawled all over the
floor? Oh, Lord, Dev, I've never acted like that."
He
stood and came round to her, taking her hand to draw her to her feet, then
leading her into the living room. When she protested that she wanted to clear
things, he told her that they would do it together later. He pulled her down
beside him on an overstuffed couch opposite its twin, also in the Wedge wood
blue that was Cle's favorite color. "First of all, you didn't hit the
floor. I caught you and before many people were aware of what happened I had
taken you into an anteroom off the ballroom. Only Hopey was with me and he
stayed just long enough to determine you weren't really ill. He made our
excuses to guests and I brought you home." He leaned forward his mouth closing
on her lower lip. "Stop chewing your lips that way. Only I can do that.
Don't worry, I took you out of there through a cloakroom and down a back
elevator to the underground garage."
"Oh,
Dev, you didn't carry me all that way! I'm too heavy." Cle was anguished,
squirming as he laughed.
"I
think you were lighter when we first met. Now you're too contented. You're
getting chubby."
"Pig!"
Cle squawked, throwing herself atop him as he lay back on the cushions,
pummeling him as his laughter increased.
They
rolled off the couch, narrowly missing the tiny glasses of Drambuie as they
continued to wrestle on the floor.
Cle
was triumphant when she managed to pin Dev to the carpet. She clambered fully
on top of him, stretching her arms on his to hold him in place. Then she looked
down at him. "Gotcha."
"I
surrender." Dev grinned up at her as his arms lifted hers in a slow
backward movement. With no effort at all he freed his arms and clamped them
around her. "Gotcha," he whispered, his one hand pulling her head
down to his.
"That's
not fair. You tricked me." Cle couldn't stop giggling while she struggled
against Dev's hold.
"You
know I'd do anything to hold you, angel," Dev drawled just before he
fastened his mouth to hers and made her forget the hard glitter in his eyes
when he spoke.
"Dev,
don't you want to listen to music?" Cle mumbled, her arms tightening on
his neck.
"Yes.
You can sing to me while I make love to you," Dev muttered, frowning at
the hook and eye fasteners on the punjabis. "Damn things! I'll rip them
off you in another minute."
"Don't
you dare, Devon Charles Albert Eldred Carstairs! I love this outfit." Cle
glared at him, pushing him to one side so that she could undo the fasteners
herself.
"Stop
that," Dev said.
"Stop
what?" Cle moaned, tugging the silk shirt from the waistband of the
matching pajama bottoms.
"Stop
calling me by my full name. You know that annoys me. Besides, you forgot to
include the name Willett before Charles. My family would never forgive you for
such an omission."
"Your
family would never forgive me anything." Cle gasped as his mouth sucked at
her breast.
"It's
not my family that you need to please. It's me," he drawled, drawing back
to stare at her breasts with a deep, satisfied look on his face.
Though
Cle could tell by the leaping green heat of his eyes that Dev was in the grip
of the passion that always held both of them in thrall, she also knew that he
would take his time looking at her as he always did. He made no secret of how
he felt about her body. He gently tugged at the punjabi trousers, slowly
drawing them down over her belly, thighs, knees...off completely. It was wildly
erotic, as erotic as the way he began to stroke her from breast to thigh and
back again. All the while he kept repeating, "Beautiful, beautiful."
It
still amazed Cle at how unselfconscious she was with Dev, how delighted she
felt that her body pleased him. And just as wonderful to her was how Dev's body
seemed ever new and marvelous to her. She knew she wasn't an expert on men's
bodies, but she was convinced that no man could have a more perfect body than
Dev.