Carrie Alexander - Sinfully Sweet

Devlin smiled, thinking of Sloss and Bonny scrambling for cover when the N.Y.P.D. arrived. The interruption wasn’t more than a wrench in their plans, but even a minor victory was satisfying after the disastrous evening he’d had. Three month’s work was on the verge of collapsing. “You did good.”

Her serious expression lightened. “Shew. Does this make me a gun moll?”

“Only for the night.”

Her cheeks curved with a smile. “This has been one hell of a night.”

“Fun reunion?”

“It wasn’t all that I’d hoped.”

“Why not? Looks like you’ve done well for yourself.”

She adjusted the gap in her blouse, then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, giving him another glimpse of her new, confident attitude. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”

“Still working for the candy company?”

She blinked. “How do you know where I worked? We haven’t seen each other since high school.”

“I keep my ear to the ground. I hear things.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d purposely kept track of her when it hadn’t meant anything special. He’d been curious, that’s all. “You went to college and started at Regal right after graduation. I bet you’re a vice president by now.”

“Actually, I’ve moved on. Just recently. I opened my own penny-candy emporium in the Village a couple of weeks ago. It’s called Sweet Something. Several of the city newspapers ran items about the grand opening party. Mostly because my publicist got a few celebrities to come, but even so…”

He grinned, delighted with the wholesome rightness of her fate. By damn, the world hadn’t gone all wrong, not if Mackenzie Bliss owned a candy store. “I remember,” he said. “You always carried butterscotch candies in your backpack. And—” He searched his memory.

“Sugar Babies,” she said. “I had a minor fling with Zowies in eighth grade.”

“Still have all your teeth?” he teased.

She displayed them. “A couple of cavities. One root canal.”

On impulse, he touched the nick at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry about that.”

She pulled away, her lashes lowering as she slid a thumb over her lip. The gesture seemed too girlish for a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

“I did, but, um, not anymore.” She showed her teeth again, going for a feral female look that didn’t suit her. Not even the new her. “I dumped him.”

“Yeah?”

She frowned. “You don’t believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A heightened blush betrayed her. “Okay. It was more like a mutual breakup. The relationship died from natural causes, although I was the one who finally pointed it out. And it took me only two years to notice.” Her face changed. “This is dumb. You’re on the run and I’m talking about penny candy and my ex-boyfriend. Give me your jacket. It’s so wet it’s soaking through the couch.”

“This is the only chance we’ll have to catch up,” he said to distract her. It was better if he kept the jacket.

“Our one and only chance,” she said with an edge. “Right. So, you have my story. My parents got remarried, by the way. Almost three months ago. And my sister—remember her?—has moved to Manhattan. She’s working in a Tribeca bistro.”

“Sabrina Bliss,” he said, shaking his head. She was hot sun to Mackenzie’s cool shade. “I thought she’d be surfing in Hawaii or partying on a yacht in the Riviera.”

“Check back in another ten years. She might be.”

“Got a husband?”

“Not Sabrina. At least, not yet.”

“How come you’re not married?” he asked.

Mackenzie shrugged. “No one’s asked me.”

“Not even this guy you just dumped?”

“Well…”

“You turned him down? Why?”

Her gaze darted at his face, but she didn’t answer, only shook her head. She put on a smile, asking softly, “What about you?”

He knew he shouldn’t toy with her, but he couldn’t help it. She’d gotten to him. Not only via his overt reactions to her magnificent breasts and sweet mouth, but in some mysterious, subliminal way, just as she used to in high school. “What about me?” he asked, his voice grating as he turned her innocent question around. “Would you turn me down?”

She caught her breath, taking him too seriously. He had to remember that she was prone to doing that. “I guess my answer depends on your question.”

His laugh was harsh in his throat. “I’m not asking you to marry me, that’s for sure.”

“You’re already married?” she guessed, flicking her lashes at him again.

“Are you kidding?”

“Why not? I’ve read about those jailhouse marriages.” She reached over to unzip his jacket.

“I haven’t spent my entire adult life in prison,” he said out of a senseless need to amend her impression of him. She was supposed to think he was a lowlife criminal. And he wasn’t supposed to care.

She looked disappointed in him. “How are your parents?”

“Still living in Scarsdale.” His father, Ed Brandt, was an uncomplicated medical salesman who stayed on the road even longer than his job required. He was avoiding his wife, Marilyn, who wasn’t a bad person, but very difficult to live with on a daily basis. She suffered from manic depression, and her moods kept the Brandt household in a constant funk. Devlin avoided them now, but he kept track via his older sister, who was married and happy, the closest thing to normal the family had produced. Ed was nearing retirement and Marilyn was on a new drug, so Devlin guessed they were doing as well as could be expected.

“How’s your mother?” Mackenzie’s face showed her concern.

“She’s feeling a little better, thanks.” Devlin cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the subject. He’d been ashamed by his mom as a kid and had never brought friends back to the house. Word had spread about the crazy lady anyway, making him an outcast early on. In Scarsdale, imperfection wasn’t tolerated. “My sister, Deb, looks after her.”

“Do you visit?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Mackenzie gasped. At first he thought she was reacting to his callous disregard for family, but then he realized where she was looking. Her eyes were round. “Devlin.”

Damn—she’d seen the blood. He should have been paying attention instead of worrying about her opinion to his cover story. And now she’d managed to tug the jacket halfway off him, revealing the red patch on his torn shirt.

“You’re hurt.” She reached behind the sofa and clicked on a lamp. Her eyes got even bigger as she goggled. “Is it a gunshot wound?”

“No. It’s nothing.” He pushed her hands away. “Only a scratch.”

“Then let me see…” Within seconds, his shirt was unbuttoned and she was examining his abdomen. It was decorated with bruises and a couple of raw red scrapes that matched the one on his chin. Bonaventure had taken great pleasure in stomping him into the cement floor when the first cursory pat-down hadn’t turned up the missing ruby.

Devlin sucked air between his teeth when Mackenzie prodded at his ribs. “Broken?” she asked.

“Not for lack of trying,” he said.

“You should see a doctor. What if your lung gets punctured?”

“The ribs are only bruised. I’ve had cracked ribs before and believe me, it hurt like hell. This only hurts like heck.”

“That’s hardly an educated diagnosis.”

“Them’s the breaks.”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you take off those wet boots and go clean up in the bathroom. There’s a first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet. I’ll make you something hot to drink and get you an ice pack for that eye. Then I can bandage you up.”