“I’ll put him to bed.”
“No,” Devlin says sharply. “Hands is perfectly capable of putting himself to bed. Right?” It slowly lifts from the table and shuffles off, leaving the room. “I’ll check on you in a bit,” Devlin tells him.
As soon as Hands is gone and hopefully out of earshot, I turn on Devlin. “Why are you being so mean? He was just attacked.”
“I’m not being mean,” he spits. “You just don’t need to be giving him hand massages.”
I fold my arms with a huff across my chest. “And why not?”
“Because…” He drums his fingers on the counter impatiently. “Because you just don’t need to, is all.”
I study him. Devlin’s jaw is clenching and unclenching, and he’s barely looking at me. “Are you…are you jealous?”
He scoffs. “The last thing that I am is jealous. I just don’t want him getting used to you, especially since you’re throwing in your lot with a man who sends his cronies to break into my home and steal my inventions.”
“It might not have been him.”
He glares at me. “And who else would break in here?”
“I don’t know.” I toss up my hands. “Maybe one of your trysts who’s gone psycho?”
“Would you quit it with the whole man whore thing? It’s getting old.”
“Would you quit it the whole Storm-is-horrible thing?”
“No, I won’t. You know he lied to you tonight.”
“Yes, I know,” I screech. Why am I screeching? I exhale a calming breath and drop my face into my hands. “But you can’t expect him to say that you bribed him into coming to the ball.”
“Oh, I can’t?”
I hear Devlin move toward me, so I sit up and there he is, standing beside me with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Wine?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He pours me a glass of red and sits across from me, lifting his ankle and propping it on the opposite knee as I take a swig of wine. It’s good. It has alcohol. That is what I need.
The mood settles and I whisper, “I’m sorry about Hands. This is my fault, isn’t it?”
“No.” He scowls. “It’s Storm’s fault.”
“You don’t know that it’s him.” He shoots me a dark look, and I retreat to my wine, taking another gulp. “How did you meet Hands?” I ask when I sense that it’s safe to speak.
Devlin drums his strong fingers on the table. They are so strong. I’ve always noticed it, but in this second I can’t help but admire them. He also has nice forearms. I think most women are attracted to a man’s chest, his shoulders, his physique in total, but I love a good strong forearm.
Don’t ask me why, and Devlin has awesome ones—they’re rock-solid, and the muscles flex when he moves.
He wipes a hand down his tired face and settles back into his chair. It’s late, and he doesn’t have all the lights on—only a few that are casting an amber glow in the kitchen, making the place feel intimate. It would be perfect if there was food, but earlier I ate a fried sushi roll that was stuffed with crab and cream cheese and slathered in smoky spicy sauce, and I’m so full. But honestly the meal was so good that if it was offered to me again, I’d eat it right now, full or not.
“I met Hands a long time ago, when he was a person.”
My heart lurches in my chest. “What?”
He nods. “He helped me when I was just getting started in inventing. He was a good man, a great person, and he had thebest advice. His real name is John, but after the accident he didn’t want to be called by his name anymore.”
“The accident?”
Devlin takes a long sip of his drink. “He was running an experiment on a traveling device. It exploded, taking his body with it, and leaving his hands.”
