The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

“Devon Whitehall, you’re the most gorgeous, funny, smart, witty, bougie man on planet Earth, and I’m madly in love with you. Have been from the moment our paths crossed. And it pains me to say that I don’t think any man could ever measure up to you, which is why I might as well stop fighting this.”

“Bloody right.” I turned to kiss her lips softly. “Sweven.”

“No,” she said.

I pulled away from her, frowning. “You don’t know what I was about to ask.”

“Yes, I do, and the answer is no. I want to ask you that. But I want to do it properly. On one knee.” Belle pursed her lips.

“There are far more interesting things you can do on your knees for me, sweetheart. Permit me this indulgence.”

“No can do, hottie.” She leaned in to kiss my nose then gave it a mocking bite. “I love you, though.”

“Love you too.”

“Devon …” she hesitated. Oh no, I thought. I couldn’t take more.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Frank is not the only person I’ve killed in my life. I just want to come clean, before we take the next step.”

Shite. Well, if there was a body we needed to get rid of, I suppose that was just the way it was going to be. Personally, I wasn’t a fan of people being killed, for any reason, but for Belle … well, I mean, what could a man do?

“I’ll take care of it,” I clipped.

She looked at me funnily then began to laugh. What was so funny? But then she said, “No, no. It’s not recent. It happened a long time ago. It was the person who abused me.”

“Your dad?” I asked confused.

Now she looked disordered. “My dad? He didn’t abuse me.”

“I thought you two had a weird relationship.”

“Yeah. I held a grudge because he cheated on my mom.”

“Oh,” I said for lack of a better answer. “So, tell me about the other person.”

And she did.

She told me about Mr. Locken, about her youth, about the attack, about the miscarriage, and about her revenge. At the end of it all, I gathered her into my arms and kissed her with such ferocity I thought we would both burn alive.

“Do you still love me, then?” she asked uncertainly.

“Love is a very weak word for what I feel for you, Sweven.”

“Thanks for making me lose my appetite. You should start your own diet method.” Sailor strode into the room followed by Persephone and Aisling, their husbands not too far behind. Suddenly, the room was full of people who’d been there for me, and just then I realized that I did have a family. We just weren’t blood related.

“You two getting married?” Sam leaned against the foot of the bed, draping an arm over Aisling’s shoulder.

“Not yet, I need to propose to him first.” Belle propped her head against my shoulder, and it hurt like all the bitches on planet Earth, but obviously, I did not say a thing.

“Would you look at that. Not even married, and she already wears the pants in this relationship.” Hunter jerked a thumb in her direction, laughing.

“Knowing Devon, he’ll find a way to get her out of them.” Cillian smiled—and for a second there looked almost human.

Everybody laughed.

This was the essence of family.

Two weeks later, I landed in England.

This time with Belle.

She was in her second trimester, the perfect time for travel—according to Doctor Bjorn, anyway.

“I don’t know what’s worse, my constipation or my heartburn,” the love of my life waxed poetic as she slid into the Range Rover waiting for us at Heathrow. This time, I opted to drive myself around London. I preferred conducting my business without running the risk of being spotted by the tabloids.

“I’ll have Joanne book an appointment with Doctor Bjorn as soon as we get back home.” I kissed the side of her head, starting the car.

“Thanks.”

“Are you experiencing any cravings yet? Anything you’d like?” I swerved the Range Rover into a mile-long queue to get out of the airport limits.

“Do true crime podcasts and coal count as cravings?”

“Sweven.”

“Chillax,” she yawned, gathering her ice-blond locks into a high bun. “No weird cravings. Other than sex.”

I was delighted to oblige in that department.

Belle had moved back to my flat as soon as we got discharged from the hospital, and this time there were no games between us. No crazy stalkers either, a lovely development. Unfortunately, the woman still didn’t make things easy for me. Two weeks had passed since I’d almost proposed to her at the hospital, and she still hadn’t popped the question. I was trying to respect her feminist values, and was also perhaps a tad nervous she’d rip my bollocks off if I asked again.

“Oh! Could you please ask Joanne to ask Doctor Bjorn if it’s normal for me to have ankles the size of water bottles?”