My Fallen Saint Read online

  “Damn, but he’s hot.”

  I whip around to find Brandy towering over me in a classically tailored pale pink dress and strappy Manolo sandals. Since it would be bad form to squeal, I don’t. But I do hug her and whisper, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I won a ticket!”

  “What?”

  She nods. “Weird, right? I forgot I even entered. One of those lotteries they print in the Laguna Leader,” she adds, referring to the town’s twice-weekly newspaper.

  “You should have told me.”

  “I only found out after I got home tonight, and Lamar had already picked you up. A courier from the DSF brought it, apologizing left and right. I guess it was supposed to have been delivered days ago.”

  She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “So? Tell me about last night. I watched an entire second movie after you walked down the hill for coffee.” She says the last with air quotes. “After that, I was too zonked to stay awake. And since you still haven’t told me why you took so long, I’m just flat out asking.”

  I grimace. “Yeah, well, I got a bit sidetracked.”

  Her perfectly shaped brows rise. “Did you even get coffee, or did you go back to that bar and pick somebody up?”

  I wince. Sometimes it’s a bitch having friends who know you that well.

  “I knew it. You—”

  “Well, the plan was coffee…”

  “Elsa Holmes! Did you fuck him?”

  “No,” I say firmly, because it’s technically true. I did not fuck Mr. GT. And what I did with Alex doesn’t technically meet the definition either.

  “But?”

  “What makes you think there’s a but?”

  “With you, there always is.”

  I start to protest that she’s exaggerating, except that she’s probably not. And she knows it. My bad for telling her the details of far too many encounters during our late-night phone calls over the years. “Fine. There’s a but.” I tug her off to the side, so that we’re away from other guests. “Devlin Saint was there.”

  She leans back, suitably shocked. “What. In the bar again?”

  “Yup.” It’s only a tiny geographical lie.

  For a moment, we’re both silent. Then I guess she realizes I’m not going to continue, so she presses with, “And?”

  “He, um, scared away my potential hook-up.”

  “Oh, really?” Her voice rises with interest. “And then he hit on you?”

  “You could say that.” The cold, bitter weight of guilt settles in my stomach. She’s my best friend, but I’m only giving her crumbs.

  “Well, be careful,” she says earnestly. “The guy’s a loner, he sleeps around, and he never gets serious. He may be rich, but you don’t want to be part of his stable.”

  “I don’t think he holds on to any woman long enough to have a stable.”

  “Fine. He’s a serial dater. He doesn’t get serious.”

  “Who said anything about serious? And it’s not like any of those women are stepping up to complain. Presumably they’re in it for the short term, too.” I have no idea why I’m defending him, especially since I really don’t want to hear tales about his Lothario ways.

  “You like him.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I answer anyway.

  “Like, no.” And that’s the God’s honest truth, because whatever I’m feeling, it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than like.

  “But am I attracted to him? Oh, yeah. Like you wouldn’t even believe.” I hadn’t intended to overshare quite so much, but I need someone to talk to, and for better or worse, Brandy wins the toss. I may not be able to share everything, but even offloading a little bit helps.

  Because God help me, I do want him. And if he hadn’t shut things down, I would have let him take me on the hood of his Tesla, even knowing that I’d hate myself in the morning.

  Even after everything he did, after the way he hurt me—hell, after the way he’s still hurting me—I want him.

  How about that for a fucked up cosmic joke?

  Chapter Fourteen

  For the next hour, I circulate, chatting with people, nibbling on appetizers, drinking more wine than I should, and fighting an unreasonable urge to dropkick the mermaid into hell. Or at the very least, spill red wine all over that slinky, silver dress.

  Every time I catch a glimpse of Devlin, she’s at his side. Her wide, Julia Roberts mouth laughing and her shampoo commercial hair gleaming. I know I’m amped, and I know I shouldn’t be. I have no claim on this man, nor do I want one. He’s a sneaky son-of-a-bitch who left without a word, came back with no apology, and wants me to hate him.

  So, yeah. We are as done as done can be.

  Whatever weird game he played in the parking lot was just that—a game. A ploy to mess with my mind and get me to leave. But it hadn’t worked.

  Now I guess his newest ploy is to hold up Ms. Mermaid as a defensive barrier.

  Since I’m equally disgusted with myself as I am with Devlin, I quit letting my eyes drag that direction and instead head outside to the flagstone patio. I’m taking a fresh glass of wine from the bartender when Brandy circles back around to me.

  “It was him,” she says. “Jerk.”

  She’d abandoned me about fifteen minutes ago because she’d seen someone who looked like Justin, a guy she’d gone out with several times.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “Same old, same old. I thought he was one of the good ones. But as soon as I told him I wanted to slow down, he bailed. I know it’s me, but—”

  “It is not you.” My voice is firm, and I mean every word. “Just because you don’t fall in bed immediately with some guy doesn’t mean he can—”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “Bran—”

  “I mean it. It’s okay, and I’m fine. I just wish…”

  “What?”

  She shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know if I want to change me or the men. I do want to … you know. At least, I think I do. But I move so slow.”

  “Bullshit. You move at the speed of you. The right guy will stay. He’ll fight for you, even if that means fighting himself until you’re ready.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I do know. You just have to wait for the right guy.”

  “I know. I will. And I’m fine.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Truly. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Don’t be obtuse. You haven’t been back here since Alex. And as far as relationships go, you’re about as lame as I am.”

  She has a point. I fuck around. I don’t get close. “Yin and yang,” I say. “That’s us.”

  She gives my hand a squeeze. “I saw you came with Lamar. That was interesting, right?”

  “Not even. Friend zone, and you know it.”

  “Fine. Whatever. But everybody is in your friend zone. Have you dated anyone in New York?”

  “Dated? No.” She knows how I am.

  “Exactly. All I’m saying is that Alex is gone. And considering it’s been more than a decade, I think it’s safe to say he’s not coming back.”

  “I am not waiting for Alex Leto.”

  She holds her hands up in surrender. “I believe you. But you’re not even trying.”

  “I go out.”

  She cocks her head and stares me down. I get the message.

  “A relationship, Ellie. Give yourself permission to be in a relationship.Even just friends. Have you gotten close to anyone in New York?”

  I pick at a chip on my fingernail polish. “There are some people I hang with.”

  “Like me? Like Lamar?”

  “Roger?” It comes out like a question. Roger is great, and definitely the person I’m closest to in New York, but he’s not in the BFF zone. Not really. Brandy knows that as well as I do.

  “All I’m saying is you need to open up. Get to know more people. And give yourself permission to
be in a relationship.”

  That’s like saying I should give myself permission to stab myself through the heart. It doesn’t sound appealing. Because relationships end. You get close and you risk losing people. I don’t tell her that, though. If I did, I’d have to tell her how every day I battle the fear that I’ll lose her. Or Lamar. Or even Roger.

  I’ll have to admit that I hold things back. Because if I don’t give them all of me, then maybe I can outwit fate and keep them safe.

  I’m by myself at the dessert table when Lamar sidles up next to me.

  I shift my attention from the desserts to him and, in the process, notice that Devlin is currently mermaid free. Even better, he’s looking in my direction.

  “Laugh,” I tell Lamar, who manages to look both intrigued and confused.

  “What?”

  “Like I just said the funniest thing.”

  His eyes narrow, and I notice the moment he clocks Devlin. His expression turns to ice, not laughter, and he’s glowering as he asks, “Exactly what happened in his office?”

  “Nothing.” Which is the absolute, literal truth. After all, Lamar limited his question to the office. He didn’t ask about last night. Or about my history with the notorious Mr. Saint. Although, technically, I have no history with Devlin Saint. And according to Saint, Alex Leto is dead, along with so many others in my life.

  He studies my face a bit longer than is comfortable before answering. “Don’t get involved with him, Ellie. I know his reputation, and you’re better than that.”

  “Reputation?” Automatically, I turn back around, my eyes seeking Devlin again. But he’s disappeared into the crowd. “Earlier you made it sound like he was God’s gift to Laguna Cortez.”

  “As a citizen, I have no beef. But when we’re talking about you, things change. He doesn’t get serious about anybody, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  I scoff. “What makes you think I’d want to get serious?”

  “I don’t. But he—”

  “What?”

  “He has that look,” Lamar says. “Like a giant flame of pheromones, and he’s going to burn you. You know what I mean. He’s damn near irresistible.”

  “Oh, is he?” My voice rises in pitch.

  Lamar chuckles. “Well, I’m not blind.”

  “I didn’t think he was your type.”

  “Please,” he says. “Of course, he’s my type. The man’s walking testosterone.” Lamar hasn’t dated that many guys, but I know there’ve been a few over the years. And all of them looked like they could have starred in a Bond movie. For that matter, so did all the women he’s dated.

  He pins me with his eyes. “My problem is that he’s your type, too.”

  “So?”

  “You’re fragile, Sherlock. You know it. I know it. He knows it. And he may not be the devil incarnate, but I wouldn’t put it past him to prey on it.”

  “Clarity, please? I’ve had much wine during this shindig.”

  “Play the game if you think it’ll get your story. But be careful. And don’t lose your head.”

  I smile up at him. “I never do.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t lose your heart, either.”

  “Trust me. There’s nothing between me and Devlin Saint.”

  “Good,” Lamar says. “Keep it that way.”

  It’s good advice. I try to take it to heart as Lamar disappears into the crowd, then I stiffen when I notice Devlin looking right at me, his expression as cold as ice. And, of course, the mermaid is standing right next to him.

  My gut twists, and I hate myself for that reaction. He doesn’t owe me anything, and I tell myself that I don’t want him anyway. Not anymore. Not after what he did.

  Don’t you?

  I ignore the little voice in my head, because it’s wrong. Am I still attracted to him? Hell, yes. The teenager was good-looking, but the man is drop dead gorgeous and oozes sensuality. Of course, I’m still attracted to him.

  But what we had wasn’t real, and it’s fizzled away like cotton candy in the rain.

  I understand that now. I’d been young and impressionable, and he’d been an ass. True story. End of story.

  I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.

  I take a deep breath as an attitude adjustment, force the whole thing out of my head, and start circulating again. It’s a party after all.

  I’ve chatted with half-a-dozen people and am about to freshen my drink when I catch myself glancing around the room and realize I’m looking for Devlin. He, however, is nowhere to be found. Instead, I see the mermaid … and she’s heading straight for me.

  I consider diving under the draped table upon which all the various items for the silent auction sit, but I’m a bigger person than that. Plus, I’m in her line of sight.

  Instead, I smile as she approaches, hoping I look like a friendly party guest enjoying the food, drink, and networking.

  She stops about eight inches from me, flashes a bright smile, and extends her hand, which, naturally, I shake in reflex. “Anna Lindstrom,” she says. Her smile is wide and friendly, but even so, I’m intimidated. Her voice is sultry, and with her height, her heels, and her near-perfect good looks, I feel a bit like a schlub. A short schlub.

  “I’m Devlin’s assistant,” she adds. Devlin, I note. Not Mr. Saint.

  “Oh. Right.” I clear my throat. “I’m Elsa Holmes. Ellie.”

  She laughs. “I know. I’m so sorry about the mix-up yesterday. Devlin’s asked me to pencil you in for Monday.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m the one who takes care of everything for Dev.”

  Yeah, I think. I bet you do.

  It’s catty, but considering how glued she’s been to his side all evening, I have a sense of what everything encompasses. But it’s not any of my business. Not anymore.

  “I appreciate that,” I say in my most polite voice.

  “It was lovely meeting you, Ellie. I’m going to go check in with the catering staff, but enjoy the rest of your evening.” She flashes that warm smile, triggering another wave of guilt as I assure her I will.

  As she heads back into the throng, I see Lamar heading toward me again, only this time he’s accompanied by one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life. With broad shoulders and chiseled features, he looks like some sort of mythical Nordic god. Arguably, even better looking than Devlin, though I don’t personally go for blond hair. Not anymore, anyway.

  Still, I wouldn’t say no in a pinch…

  “Don’t let her bother you,” the godlike stranger says, angling his head to indicate the departing Anna. “You’re a reporter and you’re poking around in her house.”

  “She was actually lovely,” I say.

  “Was she?” His mouth curves down. “Wonders never cease.”

  “I’m sorry, you are?” I look from him to Lamar.

  “Sorry,” Lamar says, “Elsa Holmes meet Ronan Thorne.”

  Of course that’s his name. I amend my earlier thought. Forget Nordic god. He’s more suited for movie star or romance novel hero.

  “Good to meet you,” he says, which is when I realize I’ve been standing quietly like an idiot. “I met Lamar at the DSF’s last shindig. He tells me you two went through the Academy together?”

  “We did. But after two years in uniform, I gave it all up to write. I’m a traitor to my family name.”

  “Her father used to be Chief,” Lamar says.

  “And now you fight the good fight with a keyboard.”

  “That’s the gig,” I say, deciding I like this guy. “So how do you know Anna? Are you with the foundation?”

  “Not as an employee. I’m what the DSF refers to as an ambassador.”

  “Which means?”

  “Pretty much whatever they want it to.” He grins, but I don’t think he’s kidding.

  “I’m not following.”

  “Essentially, I’m a volunteer.
I have a full-time job, but I put in time here when I can, and travel to liaison with the organizations the DSF supports when time permits and they need someone on the ground.”

  “That sounds like a sweet deal. How did you become an ambassador?”

  “Devlin recruited me.”

  “Oh?” I take a step closer as I realize I may be talking to one of Devlin’s personal friends. Which means this man may be part of the missing years. “How do you two know each other?”

  “We served together,” he says. “I’ve seen how much havoc war and poverty can inflict on people. So when Devlin asked me to sign on, I jumped all over it.”

  “What about your day job?”

  “Independent security consultant. Which makes things easy.”

  “I guess so. Nice work if you can get it, right?”

  “You’re a journalist,” he says. “That’s some bit of freedom, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you want a steady paycheck. I work at a magazine, so deadlines, assignments. Freelance would be a much harder gig.” I glance around the room, wondering if Devlin’s noticed that I’m talking to his friend, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  “He was called away,” Thorne says, when I wonder aloud where he could be. “I talked to him before he left. An emergency.”

  “That’s a shame.” It’s only ten, and though the crowd is thinning out, the event isn’t over until midnight. “He’s not ill, is he?”

  “He’s fine. With the kind of work he does, sometimes there’s a need.”

  “Could I steal a few minutes of your time? I’m writing a piece on the foundation and would love your perspective.”

  “Rain check? I’m actually on my way out, too.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.” I hope I don’t sound as eager as I feel, but the possibility of a source other than Devlin makes me giddy. And if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that it’s not about my article. No, I want to know about Devlin Saint. The man Alex is now.

  I want to know about the past. About where he went, and what he’s done. About how he started the foundation.