Page 21 of My Cruel Salvation

“No? Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on going.” I sigh. “Like I said, you tip the scales, Saint. For me, you always have.

Chapter Ten

I’m grateful to Roger for stocking the kitchen, but not grateful enough to call him back when my phone vibrates with an incoming call while I’m waiting for my coffee to brew after a quick shower with Devlin. Had he called yesterday before the fiasco, I would have answered eagerly. Now, I’m not prepared to deal with the inevitable questions about Devlin’s true identity.

He’ll assume—rightly—that I’ve known about The Wolf for awhile. He’ll be concerned about me as a friend. He’s even savvy enough to worry about my safety in light of the enemies that will undoubtedly start to creep out of the woodwork.

But concern will only be part of the reason for his call. The rest will be work. I was writing a profile on Saint and his foundation, after all. And this little tidbit is about as newsworthy as it gets. Leaving it out shows my bias, and that’s not something Roger is going to look kindly toward. His boss, publisher Franklin Coates, is going to be even less happy with me.

So, yeah. I’m dodging the call. Sue me.

I let the call roll to voicemail as I reach for my coffee, and when it does, I notice two other missed calls—Brandy and Lamar.

Both have known the truth about Devlin’s father for a while, and both left messages. Brandy’s is short and sweet. “Just wanted to give you a virtual hug. Call me if you need to. And hug Devlin for me, too.”

Lamar’s message is similar, and I smile when he adds that Devlin didn’t deserve to get outed that way. He’s dating Tracy Wheeler, Devlin’s intern, who’s fast becoming one of my favorite people, and she got on the line for a second to add that the Council was stupid, and Devlin deserved the award even more because he’d overcome so much.

Their messages lift my spirits, but especially Lamar’s. He’d been a late convert to Team Devlin, and the sincerity in his voice is like a warm hug.

As soon as I’ve brewed two cups, I head back to the bedroom area. I’d slipped out of the shower before Devlin, and now I leave both our mugs on the dresser while I shimmy out of my robe. I’m bent over, pulling a pair of folded jeans from the bottom drawer when I hear Devlin behind me.

“I like the view,” he says. “Maybe we should stay in for breakfast.”

“We can’t. You wore me out. I don’t even have the energy to cook.” I’m naked, and now I turn around, offering him the rest of the view, and enjoying mine of him in only a towel around his hips. “Besides,” I add, “I think you got enough last night.”

His brows rise. “Oh, really? Did you?”

“Get my fill of you? Never.” I ease closer. “But if we don’t stop for breaks, there’s never any anticipation for when we start up again.”

He laughs. “I should never have told you that was a turn-on.”

“Nonsense,” I say, brushing a kiss over his lips. “You’re supposed to tell me everything. Speaking of which, Brandy and Lamar called. They both think you got screwed. Tracy chimed in, too,” I add, relaying the details of their messages to him.

“She’s going to be an asset wherever she ends up after college,” he says about Tracy, and I wholeheartedly agree.

“Tamra texted,” he adds, referring to Tamra Danvers, the foundation’s Publicity Director. She was friends with his mother and has been like a guardian angel, watching him for years.

“What’s her take on the leak?”

He grimaces, and I hear the heat in his voice when he says. “She’s working to spin the story. What else can she do? Whoever leaked that dropped a bomb. Now we’re dealing with the shrapnel.”

“Devlin…” I say, letting my voice trail off.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s personal, but it’s business, too. I’m fine.”

I nod. It’s the truth. He is fine. Pissed, yes. But he’s a man who learned to compartmentalize things at a very young age. Who’s lived a dual life for about half his life. Maybe “fine” isn’t the most accurate word, but it fits. And right now, that’s good enough.

I take his hand, adding a flirtatious smile when I say, “You’re more than fine in my book. Now get dressed. I’m buying you breakfast.”

“Oh, good. For a minute there I thought you were going to cook.”

I give him a playful slap, then scurry away before he can return the favor on my rear. I make a show of getting dressed, adding more wriggle than necessary as I tug up the jeans.

As soon as we’re both clothed, he tugs me toward him, then kisses me hard. “Thank you,” he says.

I tilt my head. “For what?”

“For yesterday. For turning around a very shitty night.”