This Year's Black by Avery Flynn Page A

disappointment, just like his old man had predicted when he’d started with Dylan’s Department Store. Just like he had failed to protect his little brother, James.
    Devin’s hard-on turned into a large speed bump under the sheet.
    Oh, yeah, and he ’ d just had mind-blowing sex—again—with the woman who’d fucked him and then wouldn’t return his calls. The only reason Ryder had wanted him last night was because of some crazy island aphrodisiac an old woman had mixed in their wine. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with him.
    That did it. He deflated until he was practically a eunuch.
    Ryder emerged from the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around her body. Her long, wet hair hung down her back. Drops of moisture glistened on her shoulders.
    His mouth transformed into a highway in the desert seventy miles from a gas station. God, the woman was going to fuck him up, and he was so stupid that he looked forward to the carnage.
    She gasped and slammed to a stop. “Sorry, I thought you were still asleep.” Her voice trembled a bit and her hands crossed in front of her body, locking the fluffy white terrycloth in place.
    “Nope.” Way to state the obvious, dude.
    “Well…” She gave him a wild-eyed look and swiped some clothes from the closet. “I’ll just get dressed now.” She shuffled backward, stopping when her back thunk ed against the bathroom door, exhaling an oof .
    “You okay?”
    She snorted. “Peachy keen.” Then she scurried into the bathroom, shoving the door shut behind her.
    They sure were a pair of articulate people.
    He fought the urge to smother himself with a thick pillow. What would he say to her, anyway? I know last night only happened because of the spiked wine, but I’d like it to happen again. That didn’t sound desperate or pathetic at all. He groaned.
    Time to get his balls out of Ryder’s purse and man up. They ’ d fucked. It was good. It wouldn’t happen again. So what? It wasn’t as if he cared.
    Bravado pumping him back up, he sprang off the bed and pulled on his boxers.
    “I’m going to go grab some breakfast. You want me to bring you back anything?” Ryder’s voice had regained is firm footing in badass chick territory, which made sense since she was back in her usual all-black uniform of skinny cigarette pants and a sheer black blouse with a tank underneath. Noticing a woman’s outfit was second nature to him by now—the pro and con of living and breathing women’s fashion for the past decade.
    “Breakfast?” His stomach rumbled. “Grab me something with lots of protein. We’ve got to nail down Sarah Molina today at the fashion show. I could use an energy boost.”
    Ryder picked at the collar of her blouse, right next to the spot where he’d done his damnedest to mark her last night. Heat rushed up his body at the memory of their battle for dominance. Be it the bedroom or the boardroom, few people ever challenged him. He’d never experienced such a rush of excitement at the prospect of battle as he had last night with Ryder.
    “Protein it is.” She gave a curt nod and slipped out the door.
    Looked like they were going to ignore the smell of hot sex still hanging in the room. He was good with that. Course he was. He was Devin Harris—jock turned fashion executive; rich kid made good; a man who rarely spent a night alone unless he wanted it that way. His hangover explained the tightness in his throat. No way was it because of her.
    He strolled toward the bathroom, stopping when his toes brushed the filmy yellow material puddled on the floor. Without thinking twice, he bent down and grabbed the soft sarong she had worn. Her sensual scent teased his senses, and his body responded with an instant hardening. After breathing in one last, deep lungful, he let the fabric slide out of his grasp.
    …
    “I swear to God, Sylvie, if you breathe a word of this to Tony, I will never come back and you’ll have to explain to my mother why her baby daughter is