Covet (Fallen Angels 1)

Vin narrowed his eyes, anger flaring. "You want to know why."

"Yeah. She's an incredibly gorgeous woman and she looks at you like you're a god."

Vin tilted his head to one side and spoke what had been banging around his head since the night before. "My Devina went out last evening wearing a blue dress. When she came home, she immediately changed out of it and took a shower. This morning, I pulled the thing out of the dry-cleaning hamper and there was a black smudge on the back of it - like she'd been sitting somewhere other than on a neat and tidy chair in a bar. But more than that, Jim, when I lifted the dress to my nose, I smelled something on the fabric that was a lot like men's cologne."

Vin measured every single one of the guy's facial muscles. Not one of them moved.

Vin sat forward in his chair. "I don't need to tell you that it wasn't my cologne, do I. And it might interest you to know that it smells a hell of a lot like yours - not that I think you were with her, but a man wonders when his woman's clothes smell like someone else, doesn't he. So you see, it's not because I don't have balls. It's because I wonder who else's she's been touching."

Chapter 10

Well, wasn't this a f**king party.

As Jim stared across the desk at his host, he realized it had been a long, long time since he'd met a man he'd been impressed by - but Vin diPietro did the trick. SOB was calm, cool, collected. Smart as shit, and not a pu**y.

And it was evident that the guy truly believed Jim hadn't been with his girlfriend - at least, that was what Jim's instincts were telling him, and as they rarely were wrong, he was inclined to trust them. But how long would that last?

Christ, if only he could go back to the night before and leave Devina in that parking lot. Or...shit, just walk her inside where it was warm and let her find some other guy to work out her confusion and sadness with.

Jim shrugged. "You can't be sure she was with someone."

A shadow passed over Vin's face. "No. I can't."

"You ever cheat on her?"

"Nope. I don't believe in that shit."

"Neither do I." Strange...for once, lying sent a shaft through Jim's chest. In truth, he hadn't cared at the time that Devina was with someone else.

As silence flared again, Jim knew the guy was waiting for another revelation so he sifted through his life, looking for ready-for-prime-time details. Eventually, he said, "I also speak Arabic, Dari, Pashto, and Tajik."

Vin's smile was part Cheshire, part respect. "Afghanistan."

"Among other places."

"How long did you serve?"

"A while." He hadn't been kidding about having to kill the guy if the information exchange went any further on his part. "And let's end the conversation there, if you don't mind."

"Fair enough."

"So, how long you been with your woman?"

Vin's eyes went over to an abstract drawing that hung on the wall by the desk. "Eight months. She's a model."

"Looks it."

"You ever been married, Jim?"

"Fuck, no."

Vin laughed. "Not looking for Ms. Right?"

"More like I'm the wrong kind of man for that sort of thing. I move around a lot."

"Do you. You get bored easily?"

"Yeah. That's it."

The sound of high heels on marble brought the guy's eyes to the study's doorway. It was obvious when Devina made her appearance, and not just because that faint, flowery perfume wafted into the air: Vin's stare went slowly down and then up, like he was seeing her for the first time in a while.

"Dinner is ready," she said.

Jim looked into the bank of glass across the room and studied her reflection. She was, yet again, poised under a light, the radiant glow making her stand out against the backdrop of the night view -

He frowned. An odd shadow floated behind her, like a black flag waving in the wind...as if she were being trailed by a ghost.

Jim whipped around and blinked hard. As his eyes searched the space behind her...they found a whole lot of absolutely nothing. She was just standing beneath a light, smiling at Vin as the guy came up to her and kissed her mouth.

"You ready to eat, Jim," the man said.

How about a head transplant first, then the frickin' pasta. "Yeah, that'd be good."

The three of them walked down through the various rooms to yet another marble table. This one was big enough to seat twenty-four, and if there were any more crystal hanging from the ceiling above, it you'd have sworn you were in an ice cave.

The flatware was gold. And no doubt solid.

Are you kidding me, Jim thought as he sat down.

"As the cook's on vacation," Vin said as he settled Devina in her chair, "we'll just serve ourselves."

"I hope you like what I made." Devina picked up her damask napkin. "I kept it simple, just some Bolognese sauce over homemade lingtiine. And the salad is nothing but microgreens. artichoke hearts, and red peppers with an ice wine vinaigrette that I whipped up."

Whatever it was, the stuff smelled amazing, and looked even better.

After big bowls with gold on their edges were passed around and plates were filled, everyone started eating.

Okay, Devina was a spectacular cook. Period. That micro-whatever with the ice-la-di-da dressing was flat-out amazing...and don't get him started on the pasta.

"So the work on the bluff house is coming along well," Vin said. "Don't you think, Jim?"

This launched an hour-long discussion on the construction, and Jim was once again impressed. In spite of Vin's digs and his flashy wardrobe, he'd clearly had firsthand experience with the job Jim and the boys were doing - as well as everything the electricians and the plumbers and the siders and the roofers got up in the morning for. The guy knew tools and nails and boards and insulation. Hauling and waste removal. Blacktopping. Permits. Regulations. Easements.

Which made all his attention to detail seem not like that of a nitpicking asswipe owner, but a fellow workman with high standards.

Yup, he'd definitely been a rough palm, at one point.

"...so that's going to be an issue," Vin was saying. "The weight on the load-bearing walls in that four-story cathedral foyer is going to be over code. The architect is worried about it."

Devina spoke up for once. "Well, couldn't you just make it shorter? Like, closer to the ground?"

"Ceiling height's not the issue - it's the steep angle and the weight of the roof. I think we can solve the problem by upgrading to steel beams, though."

"Oh." Devina wiped her mouth as if she were embarrassed. "That sounds like a good idea."

As Vin went off on another tangent about the house, Devina took a special interest in folding the napkin in her lap.

Shit, the guy might know from construction, but you had to wonder: If you'd asked him what his woman's favorite color was, would he have said the right one?

"So this was a great meal," Vin said eventually. "To the chef."

As he lifted his wineglass and gave Devina a nod, she ate up the attention, positively glowing with happiness. Then again, he'd just spent the balance of the meal talking about something she wasn't familiar with, relegating her to a shut-out observer seemingly without a care.

"I'll clear and bring in dessert," she said, getting to her feet. "No, please, sit. It won't take a moment."

Jim lowered himself back into his chair and focused on Vin. In the quiet that bloomed while Devina went in and out of the butler's door with the dishes, you could practically smell the wood burning between the guy's ears.

"What's on your mind," Jim asked.

"Nothing." A quick shrug was followed by a sip of wine. "Nothing whatsoever."

Dessert was homemade cherry-and-chocolate-chip ice cream and coffee so strong it could put hair on your chest. The combination was sublime, and yet it wasn't sweet or savory enough to clear the frown from Vin's eyebrows.

When the dessert plates were empty, Devina got to her feet again.

"Why don't you two go back to the study while I clean up in the kitchen?" She shook her head before Jim could offer to help. "It won't take a minute. No...honestly, let me do it. You two go back and talk."

"Thank you for dinner," Jim said as he got out of his chair. "Best meal I've had in ages."

"I second that," Vin murmured while tossing his napkin onto the table.

When they were in the study once again, Vin went to the wet bar in the corner. "Hell of a cook, isn't she."