Page 90 of Silver-Tongued Devil
He picked up a magazine, sat back, and opened it. “Yep. She was. Myoldgirlfriend. And you’re more beautiful. Sorry, but you are. And that’s not the right dress. Color’s wrong with your skin, and you know it.”
When she put on the right one, she knew. And when she walked out to show Blake, he put his magazine down and sat up straight.
It was the flowers that had made her pluck it off the rack, and, yes, they were beautiful. Huge, lush, pink, full-petaled peonies, and they weren’t printed onto their black background. They were embroidered. They were something she’d have created in her glass, and they made you want to stroke them.
But it was the cut that was selling Blake, she could tell. She cocked one foot and put her hand on her hip again, but she did it in a different way this time. Because this dress was perfect for her. One-shouldered and sleeveless, skimming and emphasizing her curves all the way down to the knee. And when she pivoted and showed him the back, with the pink ribbon belt tied in a bow and trailing nearly all the way to the slim-cut hem, he sighed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Baby, that’s gorgeous. See, now, look at your skin. Look at your shoulders and your pretty collarbones. You’re classy, you’re sexy, and you’re everything any man could ever want.”
“Silver-tongued devil,” she said, trying to ignore the warmth that was spreading everywhere. Including to her heart. Especially to her heart.
“Nope,” he said. “Honest man.” His eyes were shining gold, her breath was coming fast, and she was falling hard. “Lucky man.”
They were on their way back to Wild Horse when Blake got the call.
Dakota didn’t pay attention at first. She was looking out the jet window but not seeing anything, thinking up a schedule and a proposal and a plan. That is, until something in the tone of Blake’s voice caught her attention.
“Yep,” he said. “Good. Don’t stop,” and hung up.
“What?” she asked.
All the fun and sweetness she’d seen in him these past two days was gone. “You were right,” he said. “There was broken glass on the beach. Right under the sand, in two spots. Two beer bottles’ worth. One of them just at the edge of the water, like you said.”
“Oh.” The ice trickled down her spine as if she were under the water herself, still trapped. Her reaction made no sense, though. This was no more than the scenario she’d imagined. “What… what are you going to do?”
“Already got more cameras going up, and we’re hiring more security. They’ve let the sheriff know about the glass, too, for what it’s worth. What’s that going to be, trespassing and littering?”
She hesitated, then asked, “Have they found out anything? About… what happened to me?” A question she’d avoided asking so far. When they’d been in Portland, it had all felt so far away, and all she’d wanted to do was forget it. But she knew Blake hadn’t, and he wouldn’t.
“He won’t tell me,” Blake said, confirming her suspicions. “Just says they’re investigating, and I should butt out.”
“Which you hate.”
“I do. But at least there was nothing in the water under the boulders.”
She did her best to get a grip on her emotions. “Then that’s it. Whoever it was, theydidfocus on one thing—the swim area. And they wouldn’t have thought it would be this bad. They weren’t really trying to kill anybody, just disrupt things. And now you’re on it, and you’ve beefed up your security, and they see that.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. All she knew was that she wanted it to be true.
“They’d better see it.”
She waited for him to say something else, and he didn’t. He didn’t look like the impossibly charming man who’d taken her shopping, the man who’d held her hand walking down the street. This was the hard man under the surface of the charm, and he looked dangerous.
She shivered, and his expression changed. “Hey,” he said. “You’re all good. Nothing else is going to happen.”
“I know it’s stupid. It’s just… sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see it. I try not to go back there, but I still feel it. Like… danger. Like it’s still out there.”
“I know,” he said. “Because I do, too. But it’s all right, baby. You’re safe.”
The next morning, she went to see Evan.
“Hey,” he said, setting down the roller in the living room of the Lake Street house. “You’re back.”
“Can you take a break?” She held up two paper cups and waggled them in what she hoped was an enticing manner. “Wolf Canyon’s finest dark brew right here.”
He took his cup and headed outside with her to sit on the steps of the wide wraparound porch. Barely past eight-thirty on this morning in late June, with a breeze coming off the lake. The water sparkled and rippled in the sunlight, a white boat carved a lazy semicircle through the water, and she took a sip of coffee and indulged in a dangerous moment of imagining that this could be her life.
Sipping coffee on the porch instead of going to work. Yeah, right.
“What’s up?” Evan asked, bringing her back to reality.
