Page 72 of My Fallen Saint

“And yes, my service record is real. As for the gun, I may be a civilian now, but I won’t be lax about personal security. Not in my position. You’re not worried, are you?” Amusement colors his features. “Scared for your safety? Afraid I might be a danger to you?”

He’s lowered his voice, and the sensual timbre goes straight to my core. I squeeze my legs together, hoping the reaction doesn’t show in my voice. “I eat danger for breakfast, remember?”

He strokes his beard, his eyes locked on mine. “There are other things you can eat.”

I raise my brow, forcing myself not to laugh out loud. “So we’ve moved from sniping at each other to joking about sex? Amazing what a fine fuck will do for your state of mind, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he says, then lifts a brow. “But just fine?”

Now I really do laugh. “Don’t fish for compliments. And don’t change the subject.”

“I didn’t realize there was a subject.”

“There is now, because it just occurred to me.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “In your office, when we talked about the old Alex and the new Devlin, you said Witness Protection wasn’t involved. So how did you do it, then? It’s one thing to assume an identity and have a low-profile life. But you must have truly covered your tracks to join the military. Did the government help? I mean, were you in a special unit or something?”

“Let’s just say that I funded the DSF with most of my inheritance but used a large chunk to shore up my new look.” He shrugs. “Among other things, money can buy freedom.”

The waiter arrives with our drinks. I take a long swallow, considering his answer. It’s not wrong. As far as I’ve seen, money is as close to magic as anything I’ve run across. About the only thing it absolutely can’t do is bring back the dead.

He picks up his drink but doesn’t take a sip. Instead, he swirls the liquid, studying me from across the table until I break down and demand to know what he’s thinking. “I’m wondering if you trust me.”

“Hardly. I told you that upstairs. And let’s not forget the part where you popped my cherry and then bolted.”

He has the good grace to wince. “I wasn’t necessarily speaking about sex. As for our last night, there’s nothing I can say to make that better.”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe that. I think there’s nothing you will say.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could call them back. Because it’s only in hearing them that I realize they aren’t a brash slap in the face, at all. Instead, they’re an olive branch. Because basically I’ve just told him that I imagine a world wherein he was justified in leaving. A scenario in which he tells me the truth, and I forgive him.

Which is why I very quickly say, “You hurt me.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t understand that I can never make that up to you? Even telling you how much I want you—how many times I’ve fantasized about you over the years—that hardly makes it better, does it?”

I shake my head. “It just makes me sad. Especially since I still don’t understand why.”

“Why?” he repeats. “Fine. I’ll tell you why. I left because I had to. Because there’s never been anything I wouldn’t do to protect you.”

“If that’s true, then tell me the rest of it. Was it because of Peter? Were you next?”

“Those aren’t questions I can answer, Ellie. Don’t press me, or this conversation ends now.”

That, of course, makes me want to press even more. But instead I ask, “Why did you let me see the truth? That night at the tidal pools,” I mean. “You came to me. You weren’t wearing your contacts. You made sure I recognized you. Why?”

He traces his fingertip over the rim of his drink, speaking down at the table. “Because the moment I learned it was you who came to interview me, I knew I only had three choices. I could kill you,” he says lifting his head and looking into my eyes, without a hint of humor on his face. “I could keep you close, or I could send you away.”

He waits for me to respond, but when I only roll my eyes at his joke, he continues.

“Killing you was the only way to be one hundred percent sure you wouldn’t reveal that I used to be Alex. But, obviously, that plan had some downsides.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“Keep you close? That’s what I wanted. Christ, how I wanted it. But I hurt you in the past. And there are other reasons that I can’t have you, no matter how much I want you.”

My pulse quickens from the heat in his voice. I want to ask for his reasons, but I don’t want to interrupt. More than that, I know he won’t tell me.

“Sending you away was dangerous, too. What if you told the world that Devlin Saint is a fiction?”

He takes another sip. “I have secrets, Ellie. Hell, I have secrets inside secrets. I trust almost no one.” He takes my hand, then gently rubs his thumb over mine. “And yet over and over, I’ve trusted you enough to let you walk away. At the tidal pools. After the parking lot. After the gala. And once again, I’ll let you go after we get back to Laguna Cortez, trusting you to hold my secret close. But only after we have our fill of each other here first.”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying, and when I do, a shiver runs through me.

He’s saying he wants me.

He’s saying it’s only in Vegas.

He has his secrets. I have my job. And I’ll be back to Manhattan soon, anyway.

He’s put the ball firmly in my court. I can have him for now. I can fuck him out of my system, or do my damnedest trying. Or else I can say no, and we’ll both just walk away.

For a moment, I just breathe, letting the ramifications of both choices dance through my mind. Then I swallow the rest of my bourbon, push the glass away, and slide back my chair. “What happens in Vegas, right?”

His smile is slow and wickedly sexy, with just a hint of relief. “It’s late,” he says. “But I really hope you aren’t tired.”