This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

“What are friends for?”

“Chocolate ice cream and booze.”

Sylvie laughed. “Yeah, I’m good for that, too.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to need both when I get back to Harbor City. Thanks for everything, Sylvie.”

“No problem.” She sighed. “But think about what I had said, okay?”

Thinking about Devin wasn’t the problem. The fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about the hotness sitting in the suite, now that was a huge problem.

“Before you go, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.” Sylvie paused.

Ryder’s sixth sense for trouble perked up, and she held her breath, knowing whatever she heard next would rock her world.

…

The egg white omelet could have been made from painted cardboard for all Devin could taste. All the brain cells not connected to basic functions, like remembering to breathe, were busy making sure he didn’t say or do anything stupid while sitting across from Ryder at the wrought iron table on the patio.

Over her left shoulder, he could see white-tipped waves rolling onto the beach about ten yards from where they sat silently during the most tension-filled breakfast he’d ever experienced. Shit, telling his father to go ahead and disown him hadn’t been as nerve-wracking.

If he could turn down the Harris billions without blinking an eye, surely, breaking bread with Ryder Falcon was no big deal. He just needed to explain that last night was a freak—and freaky hot—occurrence that couldn’t happen again. The irony of being the one to say those words after the way she’d ditched him after their previous night together should have been a kick-ass victory.

It wasn’t.

“So…” His brain tried to catch up with his mouth, but it was slow rolling. “How’s your fruit and yogurt?”

“Good.” Ryder sucked the last bit of Greek yogurt off her spoon and Devin bent his fork, the metal digging into his thumb.

He must have groaned out loud because her lips started to twitch and she snorted a half giggle. “Let’s just get it out there, okay? We had sex. It was awesome, but it shouldn’t have happened.” Her brown eyes locked in on him as an ocean breeze tumbled her hair. “We’re both grown-ups. We can move forward from here.”

It was awesome. The phrase stood out as if she’d spray painted it on the table. She thought sex with him was awesome.

She stared at him for a moment with her wide brown eyes as if she expected him to argue, to protest, but his brain was too scrambled to come up with anything. His gaze followed a long strand of silky brown as it tangled around her blouse buttons.

“Glad you see it that way,” she uttered, her tone sharp.

What had he missed? She’d just blown him off. Again.

Her spoon clanged against the parfait glass rim as she released it and then crossed her arms, dislodging the hair that had snared his attention…and his libido.

The woman twisted his brain. Not sleeping with her was the best thing for both of them with so much on the line. He did see it that way. At least his big head did. The little head had other ideas. On automatic pilot, he shoveled the last bite of omelet into his mouth and followed it with the last gulp of orange juice.

“We’d better get moving.” Ryder’s chair screeched against the cement patio as she pushed back from the table and stood.

Keep it professional and all business. He could do this.

Couldn’t he?

…

Ryder stopped halfway into the room and waited for Devin to close the sliding glass door. As soon as it clicked shut, she put the bed between them, needing the mental safety a physical barrier provided. Then she glanced down at the rumpled covers, still twisted from last night’s activities, and heat singed her from the toes up. Sylvie was wrong. Trusting her instincts was the last thing that should happen.

Devin’s quiet chuckle from the other side of the room meant her reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Great.

She hot-stepped it away from the bed and toward him. “I talked to my friend Sylvie this morning. She’s a fashion blogger, the High-Heeled Wonder.”