Regina Kyle - Triple Time

He circled the sailboat pond, trying to figure out why he felt more numb than crushed by Kara’s refusal, when a high-pitched voice from behind the boathouse froze him in his Ferragamo shoes.

“Get your fucking hands off me, or I’ll knee your balls right through the roof of your goddamned mouth.”

Gabe did a one-eighty and sprinted toward the sound.

A woman stood with her back to him, fists clenched. Her attacker lay curled at her feet, wheezing for air.

“No means no, asshole.”

The guy let out a muffled moan and she bent over him, making her short skirt ride even higher up her toned thighs. Her fishnet stockings covered her long legs, disappearing midcalf into a pair of hot-pink Doc Martens.

“Okay, okay. You made your point. You didn’t have to kick me so hard. Frigid bitch.”

Gabe stepped out of the shadow of the boathouse. “Watch your mouth. And don’t move a damn muscle. I’m calling the police.” He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial.

“No cops. Please.” The woman held out an arm as if to stop him, and Gabe caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her shoulder. A distinctive, familiar tattoo of some sort of forest fairy. “Freddie just got a little overeager. But I set him straight.” She prodded him with one boot, eliciting another moan. “Didn’t I, Freddie?”

Gabe’s stomach clenched. “Devin?”

She pivoted slowly, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open in recognition.

“Shit.”

* * *

OF ALL THE white knights in New York City, why did Gabe Nelson have to be the one to ride to her rescue?

Devin Padilla stared at her best friend’s brother and swore again.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Heading home. Same as you should be.” Disapproval dripped from his voice as he eyeballed her, frowning no doubt at her outfit of choice. Sure, the lacy camisole clung a little too tightly to her 36Ds and her short skirt showed off her J. Lo booty. But she was a bartender, for Christ’s sake, not an astrophysicist. How was she supposed to earn enough tips to support herself and set something aside for Victor if—no, when —she found him, if she didn’t give her customers something to look at on top of her witty repartee.

“Isn’t that dive you work at downtown?”

“It’s not a dive. And yes, it is. Sometimes I pull extra shifts for a friend at The Mark.” She never said no to extra cash, and she always raked it in at the Upper East Side hotel bar.

“Hello?” a voice interrupted from the pavement. “Injured man down here.”

“Get up, Freddie. You’re not hurt. I barely touched you.”

“You know this guy?” Gabe asked.

“He’s one of my regulars. Said he’d take me to the subway.” She glared down at him, hands on her hips. Just another one in a long line of losers that had hit on her in the past six months. It was like she was wearing a sign that said Attention all guys. Are you mentally stable? Gainfully employed? Reasonably attractive? Then keep away. “The subway, Freddie. Not to heaven against a slimy park viaduct.”

Freddie struggled to his knees. “It’s not my fault. You’ve been giving me mixed signals for months.”

“Mixed signals?” She raised one Doc Marten and aimed it at him, making him flinch before she broke off and scuffed the ground in front of him. He scuttled back like a frightened crab and she couldn’t help but scoff. “How’s that for a mixed signal, dirtbag?”

Gabe put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re relieved from duty, Freddie. I’ll see the lady home.”

“Like hell you will.” Devin shook off his hand. No way she was spending one minute more than necessary with Dudley Do-Right. No matter how dead sexy he was. “The subway’s two blocks from here. I can make it just fine on my own.”

“I’m sure you can. But a gentleman always makes sure his date arrives home safely.” Gabe tugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Devin’s shoulders, shielding them—and the breasts barely concealed by her skimpy top—from Freddie’s prying eyes. “Isn’t that right, Freddie?”

“I’m not your date.” Devin’s gaze ping-ponged from one man to the other. “Either of you.”

“Humor me.” Gabe’s hand held steady against the small of her back. The shivers she hadn’t noticed subsided, tempting her to succumb to the warm, reassuring feeling of a good man’s touch.

His touch.

“Have it your way.” Freddie stood and backed away slowly. “But I’m telling you, man, the chick is trouble.”

Devin started for him but Gabe held her back, and damn if his touch didn’t make her quiver all over again. What was it about Holly’s stuffed-shirt brother that got her engine revving faster than a dirt bike at the X Games?

It couldn’t be the banging body she was pretty sure he hid under all those designer suits—broad shoulders that led to an equally broad chest, narrow waist, lean hips and long, strong legs. Or his stormy, gray eyes, intense and mysterious, never revealing what was going on behind them. And it sure as hell wasn’t his lips, full, firm and just right for hours of sensuous kissing.

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” Gabe slid his hand to her elbow, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

“It’s your funeral,” Freddie tossed over his shoulder as he fled into the darkness.

“Asshole.” Devin watched him disappear then turned to Gabe. “I appreciate your help...”

“But you’re fine. Yeah. Got it.”

She shook off his jacket, thrust it at him and headed for the subway. She hadn’t gone three steps when he caught up with her. “Nice try, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I meant what I said. I’m taking you home.”

His eyes sparked with something. Anger? Frustration? Devin’s insides tingled in response. Maybe letting him take her home wasn’t such a bad idea. Then he could take her against the living room wall. And on the kitchen counter. And in the...

“Besides, my sister would kill me if she found out I left you alone in Central Park in the middle of the night.”

Right. His sister. Duty, not fantasy. Thanks for the verbal equivalent of a cold shower.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But we’re taking a cab. Your treat.”

“My pleasure.”

He took her arm, propelling her toward Fifth Avenue, where he hailed a cab. Hustling her inside, he gave the cabby her address, one he knew well since, until recently, his sister had lived in the apartment directly below Devin’s.

“How is Holly?” she asked to break the awkward silence that descended once the cab pulled into traffic. “I haven’t talked to her in almost a month. Since she and Nick left for Istanbul.”

“She loves it there.” Gabe loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his impeccably pressed white cotton dress shirt, revealing a triangle of fine dark chest hair. “But my parents are worried sick about her. I can’t believe her doctor let her travel in her condition.”

Devin swallowed hard and turned to stare out the window. She’d tattooed her share of gorgeous, muscle-bound men and hadn’t so much as blinked. But one glimpse of Mr. GQ’s freaking chest hair and she was practically hyperventilating.

Pathetic.

“News flash,” Devin said when she could finally breathe again. “Holly’s not due for like five months. Women in her condition travel all the time. And Nick added an ob-gyn and a nurse to their entourage.”

With his money, he could have a fully staffed maternity ward on set if he wanted to. And she had no doubt he would if shooting on his latest Trent Savage pic went longer than expected. She’d never seen a couple as devoted to each other as Nick and Holly. It was almost enough to make her forget what a fucking farce love could be.