Blame It on the Bachelor (20 page)

And without asking permission or forgiveness, he made quick work of the knot behind it. Kylie’s dress fell to her waist and would have dropped to the cement floor of the balcony except that she caught it with one hand and a gasp. “Dev!”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Nobody can see.” Each balcony was semiprivate, with side walls.

But she seemed concerned about the candlelight, and people below.

He shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve looked up here from down there, and the most you can see when the balcony is dark is a silhouette. That’s if you’re looking hard at one unit.”

“But—”

He blew out the candle. “What are you worried about? A telephoto lens? Trust me. I’m not that famous. Never was.” He took her beautiful face in his hands and kissed her until she seemed to forget about modesty. She lost her hold on her dress, and it dropped into a puddle around her feet.

He could feel her breasts, heavy and warm, against his chest. Dev slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, down her back and to that incredible, bare ass of hers.

She shivered with pleasure, and, he guessed, the sheer freedom of being outside on a balcony nude. He stepped back from her, holding her by the shoulders. “Just let me look at you, out here in the moonlight.”

He stepped back again, until his calves hit the edge of the nearest chaise. Dev sat down and drank his fill of her with his eyes. Her long, slender legs beckoned him, and so did the prize between them. Her breasts were so perfect that they defied description. Her skin appeared luminous in the moonlight.

She looked like some kind of sex goddess, standing in front of him without shame, a half-shy, half-sly smile playing on those lips. A sort of Mona Lisa smile, except frankly Dev thought Mona was homely as hell.

It hit him now, though, that the smile she was famous for could only have been produced by one thing: the chick had been stark naked when da Vinci had painted her. The ugly black dress had been painted on later—Dev would stake his restaurant on it.

Kylie, though, was anything but homely. He started to rise so that he could lick every inch of her, but stopped, taken aback, as her stiletto appeared in the center of his chest.

She pushed him back down. “Take off your shirt, Devon,” she ordered.

Well. She didn’t need to ask twice. Dev peeled it up and over his head, then dropped it.

“Now your shoes, socks, pants…everything. I want you buck naked and I want you ready for me.” Kylie took a sip of her wine and then ran her tongue around her lips.

Dev obeyed. Very quickly.

“Now, lie back,” she said. She poured a trickle of wine down each breast and, mesmerized, he watched the rivulets run down the lovely planes and swells of her body. The liquid eventually followed gravity, some pooling in her navel and some glistening in the hair at the apex of her thighs. She parted them, and the wine trickled down farther.

Dev wanted to pull her down on top of him and take her until the moon blushed, but once again, she stopped him as he tried to get to his feet, and the spike of her heel dug into his stomach this time.

“Did I give you permission to move?”

Dev shook his head.

“Then don’t.” She walked forward now, all wicked curves and crevices. She trailed her fingers from his knees, up the inside of his thighs, and up to the patch of hair on his chest—brushing over his balls and his erection with the lightest of tantalizing touches.

Then she swung a leg over the chaise and stood over him, giving him cardiac arrest and an eyeful at the same time. She cupped her own breasts in her hands and then let them fall. She rubbed the tips with her palms. And she bent low over him, so that they almost touched his face. But when he tried to touch them, to sit up and kiss them, she pushed him down.

He was painfully hard, harder than titanium, and she made matters worse by rubbing her breasts against his chest, now. And then she moved back and slid lower, so that his cock was imprisoned between them. He almost came at the very sight of that.

He almost lost it again as she moved backward yet again and began to rub herself intimately on him, slick and ready and teasing.

Dev heard heartfelt curses and soft pleas coming from his own mouth. He seized her hips, intent on driving into her, but she grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. Then, and only then, did she lower herself onto him. One inch, maybe two. Then she lifted off again, the tease.

“Please,” he begged hoarsely. “Please.”

She found him again with her body, and shimmied down another couple of inches before moving up. He wanted it all. He wanted to bury himself so deeply in her that nobody would ever be able to find him again.

He felt red-hot, almost insane with wanting, with pure, raging lust. And finally,
finally!
She took him all the way inside and ground her hips into his groin.

For the third time, he almost came prematurely. But he got a grip on her hips and forced her to stay still for a long moment, then two. “Make it last,” he said in a gruff voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. “It’s so good. Let’s make it last.”

When he was past the point of immediately embarrassing himself, he let her ride him. She was heavy-lidded, hair wild, hips liquid as her body worked him for pleasure. Her lips were parted and her breath came in shallow pants that turned into little moans as she built to a crest of pleasure. She looked surprised by it as the wave crashed over her and a small, astonished cry ripped from her throat.

She trembled and shivered around him, adding to his own orgasm as he came immediately afterward, feeling as if every nerve in his body—and probably the entire world—had shot in a giant, intensely happy stream out of his dick. She collapsed forward onto his chest, their bodies slick with perspiration, still joined.

19

THEY ALMOST FELL asleep like that, Kylie straddling Dev with her cheek against his chest. But after a few minutes her legs began to cramp, and she slipped off him to grope for her dress.

Dev blinked myopically in the moonlight, his hair wild, his expression slack. “You stole my bones,” he said.

Kylie chuckled. “I think the normal expression is that I jumped them.”

“Ain’t nothin’ normal about what just happened between us.” Dev shook his head and fumbled for his beer.

“It was good,” Kylie said carefully.

“Good? Honey, there’s a bona fide
rainbow
coming off the end of my dick.”

She stumbled as she stepped into her dress. What was she supposed to say? She laughed again, weakly. “Right. I think I see a leprechaun climbing up the side of your building.” She glanced away from his face and inside his apartment. “And there’s a pot of gold—oh, no. It’s your fish tank.”

“Funny,” muttered Dev, still sprawled like a naked Gumby in the chaise lounge.

“I’m, uh, going to use the facilities and then pay my respects to Fugly. Isn’t that what you said his name was?”

He nodded, his face looking weirdly blank. Had she hurt his feelings somehow?

Kylie padded to the door and slid it open, then closed it behind her. The cool, dry air was a shock after the warmth and humidity of the balcony, and she shivered on her way to the bathroom.

What did Dev mean when he’d said what happened between them wasn’t normal? He’d been with hundreds of women. It stood to reason that he’d had good—okay, excellent…okay,
mind-blowing
—sex before.

And as for her, yes: the sex had been amazing. But she was old enough now, mature enough, to know that a lot of that was due to novelty. And a feeling of risk or daring, since Dev didn’t have a pinstriped bone in his body. He wasn’t her usual type.

No matter how much he might be deluding himself at the moment that he wanted a real relationship, he’d grow bored with one very quickly. He’d grow bored of
her.
Just like Jack had.

So that was that. She might enjoy having sex with Dev, but she wasn’t about to fall for him or give him any power over her emotionally. It would be stupid.

She washed her hands then pressed them against the reddened skin around her mouth where Dev’s five o’clock shadow had abraded her. As for the smugly satisfied expression on her face, she avoided thinking too long about it.

She headed for the fish tank. It was small and rectangular, perched on a stand in the corner of the living room. At first, she thought that a piece of plastic was floating on the surface in the front corner. But as she got closer, she saw that it was a fish. A white, speckled, ugly fish with a large protuberant eye, lying on its side. It wasn’t moving at all.

Gently she tapped the glass, but got no response. Fugly was oblivious. It became clear to her that Fugly, in fact, had gone to the Great Fish Tank in the Sky. Poor little thing.

She turned and walked to the balcony door. She slid it open and said, “Dev? I think something’s wrong with your fish.”

“No!” Dev scrambled off the chair, a look of horror on his face. “No, no, no, no, no…”

She moved out of the way as he ran inside and stood naked in front of the tank, his hands on his hips. He bent forward and tapped on the glass. “Fugly? Fugly? Wake up, boy!”

His expression was truly anguished. “C’mon, buddy…don’t do this.” Then he hit himself in the forehead with his palm. “
Damn it!
It’s all my fault. I forgot to condition the water when I—” He shot her a furtive look.

“When you what?”

“I, uh, cleaned his tank today. And changed out the water. When you do that, you have to add a conditioner to the water and wait an hour or so before you can put him back in. I was in a hurry and forgot to do that.”

“Because of me?”

He shrugged, looking miserable.

“You’re saying that I’m the instrument of Fugly’s demise?”

“No. No, not at all.” Again, he looked guilty, furtive, as if he’d been engaged in some criminal conspiracy. He dragged a hand down his face. “Poor little guy. God, I feel so bad.”

Kylie put a hand on his arm. “Dev, you made a simple mistake. It was an accident.”

He shook his head. “I murdered him.” He walked to the kitchen, and she couldn’t help admiring his buns. They were world class.

“You did not
murder
your fish,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“If I hadn’t been driving like a maniac—” Dev clamped his mouth shut and grabbed the bottle of wine. “Refill?”

“No, thanks. So what does driving have to do with the death of your fish?”

“Huh? Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Dev, you’re not making any sense.” She frowned at him.

“Forget it.”

“Okay.”

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked, still eyeing the dead fish with what seemed to be disproportionate emotion.

“I’d probably better get home,” she said.

“You don’t want to stay the night?”

“Oh. Well. Thanks, but—”

“No thanks.” He looked so forlorn she almost changed her mind.

“Dev, you told me yourself that Fugly had some kind of fish flu, so—”

“Right,” he said, his head swiveling toward her like a robot’s. “He
did.
That’s why I took him to the vet this afternoon. That’s why he was in the car. And I drove fast, and his bag fell on the floorboard, which probably upset him.” He said it all too fast, too conveniently. With a fixed smile.

Kylie was certain he was lying. What she didn’t understand was why. “You took your fish to the vet?”

“Well, yeah. He needed a doctor.”

“And what did the vet do?” She folded her arms across her chest and waited for the story to get even better. He didn’t disappoint her.

“He…well, he took one look at him and said he probably had this virus that’s been going around.”

Right. Because people take their fish to the fish park, where they play together. Chase balls and sticks.