Saints & Sinners: The Devlin Saint Trilogy Read online

  After that, my life spiraled even more. I moved in with Uncle Peter, and all my friends thought that I was so lucky, because there aren’t that many beachfront homes in Laguna Cortez.

  But I wasn’t. I wasn’t lucky at all.

  Eventually, I grew accustomed to my new normal. I’d find myself going entire days feeling happy, only to hate myself at night, because how could I experience joy when my parents had both died so horribly?

  Which was why I wasn’t surprised when the storms rolled in on my birthday, because life will always sneak up and bite you.

  Still, even with only a few kids showing up, we’d had fun. Instead of the beach, we settled into the media room to watch movies. And when Brandy and I went downstairs to ask Uncle Peter if my favorite pizza place was delivering in the storm, there he was.

  A few years older than me, Alex was tall and lean, with close-cropped blond hair, a clean-shaven face that still had a boyish roundness, but an expression that was fully adult. His sandy brown eyes held me in place when he turned to look at me. And when his wide mouth curved into a friendly smile, a low, thrum teased between my thighs.

  I’d had a crush or two by then, but I’d never reacted that viscerally to a guy. But Alex … well, a mere glimpse gave me more understanding of what all the fuss was about than any of the late-night gossip sessions at Brandy’s frequent slumber parties.

  When he came over to shake my hand and wish me a happy birthday, I almost passed out. I was so flustered that I could only stand there, my hand in his, as I tried to play back the conversation of the last few seconds.

  Alex Leto. That’s how he’d introduced himself. And he was working for Uncle Peter during his gap year while he decided on a college.

  “Hi,” I’d squeaked, then kicked myself for being utterly uninteresting.

  “Trouble with the movie?” Uncle Peter had asked, and I’d squinted at him, not understanding a word. “The projector,” he clarified. “Did you come down because I need to fix something?”

  “Oh! Right. Pizza. We want to order pizza. Will they deliver in this weather?”

  “If not, I can go get it for you,” Alex said, and if I hadn’t already fallen hard, that would have sealed the deal. A real live Prince Charming right in my kitchen.

  Once Uncle Peter agreed, there’d been no more reason to hang out in the kitchen, and Brandy and I reluctantly went back to the media room. “Oh. My. God,” she whisper-squealed as we climbed the stairs. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

  “He was being polite,” I countered, though her words revived that down low tingle, now complemented by a swarm of butterflies in my belly.

  “Was he?” She winked at me, and I grabbed her wrist before she could burst into the media room.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I just … I … please? Can we tell them about the pizza and leave it at that?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gave me a quick conspiratorial smile. “But he really is super cute.”

  “I know, right?” And we both burst into giggles, only to fall into total hysterics when our friend Carrie pushed open the door with a scowl.

  “Hello? Waiting the movie on you two. I mean, rude.”

  We clapped our hands over our mouths to bite back another flood of laughter, took our seats, and settled in until the pizza came. And even though Alex was the one who delivered it—and even though he stayed to watch the second half of Aliens and sat right next to me—Brandy never said a word. Not then. Not ever.

  Which is a big part of why she’s my best friend to this day.

  After that, Alex was around a lot. Peter had a home office, but he did most of his work at construction sites or in the offices of the apartments and hotels he owned. He’d hired Alex to do administrative stuff, which meant that Alex was at the house most every day.

  I turned down beach and movie offers from my friends, choosing to stay in and fetch Alex water and snacks and coffee. Each time I’d linger a bit, asking what he was doing, and he’d never blow me off. He’d even invite me to stay. Then one day he asked if I wanted to help.

  “Not as interesting as spending the summer with your friends,” he’d said, “but I’d love the company.” He smiled then, and that tiny little motion—nothing more than muscles around lips—had melted me.

  “Good. Because I’d rather be here.”

  “Would you?”

  I nodded, my heart pounding with such ferocity I was sure he must be able to hear it.

  “That works out great, because I like having you here.”

  I met his eyes, and something deep inside me roared. For the first time in my life, I felt the hard punch of true, sexual desire.

  “Right.” I swallowed, trying to overcome my desert-dry mouth.

  So that’s what I did, helping him when I could, taking up space the rest of the time. And we talked. About anything and everything. I’d never been as comfortable with anyone in all my life, and that was despite the humming, buzzing, crackling in the air whenever we were near each other.

  “Have you done anything?” Brandy asked when we were back in school months later.

  “No! He works for my uncle, remember? Besides, he’s eighteen. Me, sixteen. And he knows it.”

  She waved away my words. “Yeah, but so what? You act older. Ever since … well, my mom says you raised yourself.”

  Honestly, Mrs. Bradshaw wasn’t wrong. My uncle may have sheltered and fed and clothed me these last few years, but that was about it. Nurturing, I got at Brandy’s house. And the rest? Well, I guess maybe I did raise myself.

  “Eighteen,” I repeated firmly. “Nineteen next week.”

  “That’s perfect.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Wrap yourself in a bow, and you can be his present.”

  I didn’t give myself to him, of course, but when he turned nineteen, I gave him a leather friendship bracelet with a Celtic knot. “That’s called a love knot,” he said, and I felt my cheeks burn hot.

  “I—I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t you? Well, it makes it all the more special to me.”

  “Oh.”

  He held out his arm to me. “Fasten it?”

  I did, lightly stroking my thumb over his wrist as I manipulated the clasp.

  “This is fucked up,” he said, so soft I could barely hear him.

  “What?”

  “Us,” he said, the words like ice.

  “I’m sorry. I should—” I turned to go, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. We were alone in Uncle Peter’s study, and he held me in place.

  “You’re sixteen.” He practically growled the words. “Why the hell are you only sixteen?”

  I shook my head, blinking as I tried to prevent the flood of tears.

  “We can’t,” he said, and I didn’t have to ask what he meant.

  “I know,” I whispered. I’d been talking to the ground, but I told myself that wasn’t fair. He deserved the words. He deserved to see my heart. I looked up and met his eyes. “But I want to.”

  His head tilted in the slightest of nods. “I know,” he said. “I want it, too.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  For months, being with Alex was both torture and bliss. It was like living in a pressure cooker, and I think we both knew that the day would come when we couldn’t fight it anymore.

  Then, right after Christmas break, Brandy’s dad pulled up stakes and moved the whole family to San Diego with barely any notice at all. We’d been devastated, and the day before she left, I helped her pack her room and stayed until her mom said I had to go because the movers were coming at five in the morning. I’d left reluctantly, fighting back tears so that Brandy wouldn’t lose it all over again.

  I got home to find Alex waiting up for me, ostensibly catching up on Uncle Peter’s paperwork. I’d hurried up to my room, unable to even talk to him without risking more tears. br />
  I’d been about to doze off when I heard the light tap at my door. I propped myself up, assuming it was Uncle Peter coming to say goodnight. Instead, it was Alex.

  He shut the door behind him, then stood on the far side of the room. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m sad,” I admitted, and it was as if the words were permission for the tears to flow. “I don’t think I’ve been this sad since Daddy died.”

  “Oh, Ellie…” I barely registered the fact that he’d crossed the room to me. That he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and I was upright and clutching him, sobbing against his shoulder.

  I don’t know when he slid into bed next to me, but he did. We were both fully clothed, him in jeans and me in PJs, and he held me tight as I snuggled against him. He stroked my hair, and I cried myself to sleep. Not only because Brandy was gone, but because I knew that one day soon, Alex would leave for college, and I’d lose him as well.

  Nothing happened that night. Nothing sexual, anyway. But emotionally? Well, whatever bit of my heart I’d held back was fully his by morning. He snuck out before Uncle Peter arrived, and we shared a secret smile in the kitchen as I made toast to eat on the way to school. Just a normal day. Except it would never be normal again.

  After that, every day held smiles and shared glances, and I floated on a cloud knowing this wonderful guy had become my rock. Someone solid and real in a world where everyone I loved kept getting ripped away.

  I didn’t have a party on my seventeenth birthday. With Brandy gone and Alex out of town for some work thing, I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. Instead, Uncle Peter took me out to dinner, and when he went out later that night, I took a twilight stroll down the beach to the tidal pools.

  I sat on the rocks, careful not to slip into the pool and disturb the tiny ecosystem. The moon was full, so there was enough light to see the silver fish, brown anemones, and all the rest of the sea life that lived in that fragile little world.

  I was bent forward, watching a hermit crab navigate its way across the pool, when I heard the soft pad of footsteps behind me. A spike of fear shot through me, and I jumped to my feet, not even thinking, and lost my footing. I started to go down, certain I’d either squash all the critters in the pool or scrape every bit of exposed skin on the rocks.

  But then suddenly I wasn’t falling. I was flying, being pulled off the rocks and into Alex’s arms.

  “I’ve got you,” he said as my blood pounded in my ears. Not from my near miss, but from his proximity. From the sensation of his body pressed against mine as he held my upper arms tight in his clenched hands.

  Our eyes met, and though I’ve never considered myself particularly bold, I moved first, tugging my arms free so I could wrap them around his neck as I rose on my toes and closed my mouth over his.

  There was no fear, no worry that he’d push me away. I’d known in the instant before our lips met that this was the way it had to be. This perfect, intense moment that ignited a firestorm inside me as he cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer until I felt like I could crawl inside of him.

  “Ellie,” he murmured when we broke apart, and hearing my name on his lips was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I wanted him. All of him. And once again, I lifted myself onto my toes and lost myself in the taste of him.

  He hesitated only a moment, but in those few seconds, I feared he’d push me away. But then he made a low noise in his throat and thoroughly claimed my mouth, his tongue tasting and teasing, dancing with mine as his hands slid down to cup my ass.

  He pulled me close to him, and I moaned when I felt his erection against my belly. I’d never been this close to a guy, and the proof that he wanted me that way burned inside me, making my inner thighs ache and my core throb.

  Then suddenly he wasn’t cupping my rear anymore. He had one hand down the back of my shorts and I was spreading my legs, offering him all of me.

  “Please,” I begged, gasping for air. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for. His finger? His cock? Did I want him to lay me down in the sand and make love to me? Did I want him to take me home?

  All I knew was that the answer was yes. All I wanted in that moment was to be his, however and wherever he wanted.

  When he looked down at me—when I saw the wild, raw heat in his eyes, I knew that’s what he craved, too.

  This was happening. Oh, God, this was really happening.

  But then something in his face shifted, and he pulled his hand out of my shorts. I heard myself whimper as he took a step back, breaking the contact between us.

  “Alex?” I heard fear in my voice. Fear that he didn’t want me. Fear that I’d done something wrong.

  “We can’t,” he said, taking my hand and holding it close to his chest. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you, Ellie. But we can’t do this.”

  I tried to swallow, but the knot of tears stuck in my throat. And when I asked why my voice was little more than a croak.

  He cupped my cheek. “You’re barely seventeen, El. And I’m almost twenty. Plus, I work for your uncle.” Something in his face hardened. “Your uncle’s not the kind of man who would overlook it. We’ve already been playing with fire. Push this, and we’ll both get burned.”

  I wanted to shout back that I didn’t care. I wanted to burn. I wanted to get lost in the flames with him until we were both reduced to ashes.

  But I didn’t say any of that because I knew he was right.

  He shook his head slowly, his expression profoundly sad. “I never wanted—”

  “What?”

  “Here. I never wanted to come here.”

  “To Laguna Cortez?” My voice rose in surprise. “I thought everybody wanted to come here.”

  “My dad made me. Now, though… ” He trailed off, running his fingers over his short hair. “God, Ellie, now this is exactly where I want to be.”

  “Please,” I said, blurting out the word before I lost my nerve. “I want to.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “Me, too. Obviously. But we can’t.”

  “Yes, we can. Uncle Peter’s barely noticed that we’re friends, much less that there’s more.”

  “Fine. We can.”

  For a moment, my heart stopped, but then he continued.

  “But, El,” he said. “I won’t.”

  He stuck to that, too.

  Every night, I’d go to bed and slide my hand between my legs while I imagined him doing all the things I read in romance novels. Every night, I’d silently pray for him to sneak into my room and into my bed.

  But he never did. He kept his word, even though each time we were alone the air was so charged, I was sure that one of us would crack.

  We didn’t, though.

  Not then. Not yet.

  For the next two months, our friendship grew even stronger. Especially with Brandy gone, he became my closest friend. We talked for hours that summer after he was done with work, mostly at the tidal pools. Sometimes he’d stay late at the house, because Uncle Peter was hardly ever home.

  We’d talk or cook dinner or watch movies. Horror mostly, because it was an excuse to sit close and hold hands at the first scary scene.

  And always, always, there was that greedy, guilty need that had me squeezing my thighs to relieve the pressure. I imagined crawling into his lap and doing exactly what the girls in those movies were doing.

  And I didn’t even care that if I did them, then surely the monster would get me, too.

  Maybe I should have cared more. Maybe in the end, I really did bring the monsters down on me.

  I don’t know. But I vividly remember that September day when Chief Randall came to school and delivered the news that Uncle Peter was dead. Killed by a single bullet to the back of the head, shot from the gun of a monster.

  In grief and fear, I’d run home, expecting to find Alex working in the office. But he wasn’t there. Later, I learned that he’d been checking the books at one of Uncle Peter’s properties when a detecti
ve had come to give him the news. They’d questioned Alex for over an hour, digging deep into Uncle Peter’s business, searching for clues as to who might have held a grudge.

  I didn’t know any of that at the time. All I knew was that I was dying inside. That I needed to hear his voice in order to know that he was truly okay. Because everybody I loved—everybody—was taken from me. Over and over and over again.

  All afternoon and evening I sat with my phone beside me, curled up under a blanket in the living room with Amy Randall, the Chief’s wife, bringing me hot tea and cookies. I loved her for taking care of me, but even with Amy in the room, I felt alone.

  Alex never called, and at ten o’clock Amy kissed my cheek and got herself settled in the guest room. I went upstairs to my room—and there he was, sitting on the edge of my bed.

  I don’t know how, but I managed to shut and lock the door behind me before I fell, sobbing, into his arms. “You’re going to be okay,” Alex whispered. “I hate that you’re hurting, but you’re strong, El. Never forget how strong you are.”

  There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice, and he spoke straight to my soul when he said, “I’ve seen your heart, and you will survive this. And I’ll tell you something else, too. I love you, Elsa Holmes.” His voice burned with emotion. “That’s why I call you El,” he added, his thumb and forefinger making the sign for the letter L. “Because it’s the first letter in love.”

  Pure joy battled the loss and pain inside me as he cupped my cheek, his eyes locked on mine. “Promise me you won’t ever forget that.”

  “Alex… ” I could barely say his name though my tears.

  “Promise me.” The words were harsh. Demanding.

  “I promise.”

  He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. And when he opened them again, I gasped at the wild intensity I saw. The blatant hunger. “Tonight, Ellie. Damn me all to hell, but I’ve got to have you tonight.”

  “Yes,” I said, though I wanted to cry with relief. “Yes,” I repeated, only to have the word lost in the soft brush of his lips, that innocent, tender touch exploding into something much more passionate. Something raw.