Page 90 of Inseparable
It would be effortless to give in to this; to melt into his loving arms and never leave. His body is warm and solid against me, and images of him naked unhelpfully flood my mind. No guy has ever stacked up to Devin. Not even close. He feels good, he smells good, and he feels like home and safety and a host of beautiful things I’ve missed so much. I close my eyes, fighting tears and the urge to grab him and never let him go. We hold each other tighter, and my chest heaves with pent-up emotion. His muscles quiver underneath me, and I can tell he’s all twisted up on the inside too.
How did this happen?Afterall this time, how the hell did hefind me?
Because this can’t be coincidence. I don’t believe in such things anymore.
“Morgan, what the hell is going on here?” the client asks, his black mood evident in his challenging tone.
I try to pull away, but Dev keeps me locked in place, fastening a hand to my back and pressing me into his chest, as if he’s afraid to let go of me. “Devin, please. I can hardly breathe,” I muffle into his shirt.
Reluctantly, he loosens his hold. “Look at me,” he whispers, blatantly ignoring his friend. “Please, baby doll, let me look at you.”
The tears spill softly over my cheeks as I raise my head slowly to lock eyes with the man I still love after all these years. I suck in a gasp. We stare at one another, and even though the music is blaring in the background, and the drone of many voices surrounds us, all I hear is silence. All I see is him. Nothing and no one else exists in this moment except Devin Robert Morgan.
Jesus. Devin’s always been drop dead gorgeous, but the man standing in front of me is a knockout. His good looks have matured, and he seems to fit his skin more comfortably. He’s even more gorgeous than he was growing up. His hair is shorter in the front now but still clipped at the sides, and it’s still glossy and jet-black. Those long, thick lashes I used to love blink in fast succession as he rakes his gaze over me. His sea-green eyes glisten with raw emotion as he peers deep into my eyes. A coating of dark hair covers his jawline, giving him a rugged, purely masculine look. His skin is smooth and unblemished, and he looks so damn good. I can’t help it. I reach up, running my fingers along the soft stubble on his cheeks, cupping his face.
“Morgan,” the client growls, slicing through our moment.
Devin glares at him, and I almost laugh at the all-too-familiar menacing scowl on his face. “Do me a favor, Rick, and just fuck off.”
Rick doesnottake too kindly to that. “This is my bachelor party, asshole, and I have every right to know why the fuck you stopped my fun.”
A muscle pops in Devin’s jaw. “How long have we known each other, Rick?” He gestures toward me. “Use your brain.”
Rick frowns, trading looks with the tall, dark-haired guy standing beside him. I catch his eye, and he winks.
“Danny?” I splutter.
He grins. “Hey, Ange. Long time no see.”
Rick startles. “Wait up?You’reAnge.” His eyes almost bug out of his head. “As in Angelina?”
A flash of red on the outskirts of our little group captures my attention. Cara is looking at me with a puzzled expression on her face.
Great. This is just what I need.
Rick cracks up laughing. “Oh my God. This is priceless.” He grins at Devin. “You’ve put your whole life on hold to find your childhood sweetheart, and she’s whoring herself out for a cheap buck?!” He slaps his leg, as if this is the funniest thing ever. He’s doubled over, almost pissing himself he’s laughing so much. If I gave a crap, I might feel offended. Predictably, Devin erupts, launching himself at the guy with his fists swinging.
A few other guys jump in, Danny included, and chaos ensues. I seize my opportunity, not stopping to talk myself out of it.
I race toward Cara—not easy to do in towering seven-inch stilettos—grabbing her urgently by the arm. “We need to get out of here.”
Cara is sharp as a tack, and we always pair up at gigs, so she trusts me, and vice versa. We flee into the night without any explanation asked for or given. I fling my bag in the back seat of my car and dive into the driver’s seat, yanking the killer shoes off my feet and slipping on my flats before cranking the engine. Cara has barely closed the door before I take off.
An hour later, we’re in a dingy club over on the other side of town, knocking back shots, and I’m counting the cost of my near disastrous encounter. The quarter bottle of vodka I knocked back before the gig has helped, and I’m already more than nicely buzzed, but my hands are still shaking like crazy, and my heart is beating way too fast. We’ve ditched the nasty stripper outfits for tight black dresses, and we’re occupying our usual corner booth, watching the idiots attempting to dance on the scuffed hardwood dance floor.
“So,” Cara says, dragging the word out. “You gonna explain what that was about back there.”
I throw back another shot, but I’m still not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. “Nope.”
She pouts, but I know my friend. She’s not giving up that easy. “Who was the hottie?”
“No one.”
She purses her lips, draining her shot. “Is that so.” She sends me a wicked grin. “So, you won’t mind if I take an Uber back to the club and drag him home to my bed.” I growl, like a legit deep-throated growl not heard since caveman times. She laughs. “Yeah, thought as much.”
“He’s off limits. Permanently.”
Her expression turns more serious. “Tell me what’s going on, Ro.” She cocks her head to the side. “If that’s even your real name.”
