the top. “But he must be terribly busy arranging the new tour.”
Running scared more like, if he was avoiding even Katherine’s phone calls.
“I’m sure he’ll phone soon,” he told her.
“Oh, I’m not worried.”
Which meant she was. Unfortunately, the mounting evidence suggested his brother had been siphoning off more than his share of royalties on the early songs they’d cowritten. But surely Zander trusted Devin not to involve Katherine? Damn it, this situation was getting more and more complicated. On impulse Devin kissed his mother goodbye, something he rarely did. “Have a great night.”
For a moment Katherine looked startled, then she patted his cheek. “You, too…and I expect to hear all about it.” On those ominous words she left.
All going well, he reflected as he closed the front door behind her, the evening’s activities wouldn’t be fit for maternal ears. Checking his watch, Devin calculated time zones, then rang Zander’s cell and left another message: “Call your mother!”
Then he finished getting ready for his date, turning hismind to more pleasurable thoughts. Like teaching the librarian to forgo restraint, caution and common sense in favor of spontaneity, recklessness and instant gratification. And that was even before they reached her unmade bed. Her so-called vice perfectly complemented the only one he had left.
Sex.
CHAPTER NINE
R ACHEL DIDN’T WANT to be nervous.
It made the evening ahead feel too much like a date.
Which it wasn’t.
Peering past the mottled green patches in the antique oval mirror on her dresser, she applied a shocking pink lipstick and decided she was satisfied with her appearance. She wore a tight-fitting fifties cocktail dress of pink crepe overlaid with black lace, which had a scalloped edge at the strapless bodice and a mermaid ruffle hem. After straightening the black velvet bow at the Empire waist, she hunted for the lacy tights that went with the outfit. Holding them up, she frowned. They had a run, and the ladder was long enough for a fire brigade.
Reluctantly, she settled for patterned knee-high stockings—figuring the three-quarter-length skirt would cover them. She finished the outfit with a pair of dainty black ankle boots with a high heel, and clipped on velvet bows to match the one at her waist.
Opera presented a rare chance to dress up, but she was also trying to prove a point. Of course vintage could be sexy—look at Dita Von Teese, the famous striptease artist once married to shock rocker Marilyn Manson. Rachel hesitated, then picked up a tissue and scrubbed off the slutty lipstick, replacing it with a less provocative nude shade.
She glanced at the diamanté watch strapped to her wrist. Her car was being serviced so they’d go in his. She hoped Devin was allowing enough time for them to walk to wherever he’d parked.
The full-throttle throb of a powerful engine brought her to the door. Nervously wrapping herself in her fringed silk shawl, she stared at the leather-clad figure on the Harley-Davidson.
Devin lifted the black visor on his helmet. “No pre-car street layout defeats a red-blooded American,” he said with satisfaction, then scanned her shawl-swathed figure. “I brought a jumpsuit in case you wore a dress.” Reaching into a side satchel, he pulled out what looked like a pair of orange mechanic’s overalls, then unclipped another helmet from the pillion.
Rachel finally found her voice. “I’m not going to the opera on a motorbike!”
“Why not? It’ll be fun.” His gaze dropped to her feet. “Those boots should be okay on the bike.”
She tugged the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “What about my hair?” It was piled on her head, with loose tendrils softening the diamanté sparkles at her earlobes and throat.
Devin looked at it critically. “Very pretty.”
She had a sudden feeling he was doing this on purpose. “We’re catching a taxi.”
“Okay.” To her surprise, he got off the
Running scared more like, if he was avoiding even Katherine’s phone calls.
“I’m sure he’ll phone soon,” he told her.
“Oh, I’m not worried.”
Which meant she was. Unfortunately, the mounting evidence suggested his brother had been siphoning off more than his share of royalties on the early songs they’d cowritten. But surely Zander trusted Devin not to involve Katherine? Damn it, this situation was getting more and more complicated. On impulse Devin kissed his mother goodbye, something he rarely did. “Have a great night.”
For a moment Katherine looked startled, then she patted his cheek. “You, too…and I expect to hear all about it.” On those ominous words she left.
All going well, he reflected as he closed the front door behind her, the evening’s activities wouldn’t be fit for maternal ears. Checking his watch, Devin calculated time zones, then rang Zander’s cell and left another message: “Call your mother!”
Then he finished getting ready for his date, turning hismind to more pleasurable thoughts. Like teaching the librarian to forgo restraint, caution and common sense in favor of spontaneity, recklessness and instant gratification. And that was even before they reached her unmade bed. Her so-called vice perfectly complemented the only one he had left.
Sex.
CHAPTER NINE
R ACHEL DIDN’T WANT to be nervous.
It made the evening ahead feel too much like a date.
Which it wasn’t.
Peering past the mottled green patches in the antique oval mirror on her dresser, she applied a shocking pink lipstick and decided she was satisfied with her appearance. She wore a tight-fitting fifties cocktail dress of pink crepe overlaid with black lace, which had a scalloped edge at the strapless bodice and a mermaid ruffle hem. After straightening the black velvet bow at the Empire waist, she hunted for the lacy tights that went with the outfit. Holding them up, she frowned. They had a run, and the ladder was long enough for a fire brigade.
Reluctantly, she settled for patterned knee-high stockings—figuring the three-quarter-length skirt would cover them. She finished the outfit with a pair of dainty black ankle boots with a high heel, and clipped on velvet bows to match the one at her waist.
Opera presented a rare chance to dress up, but she was also trying to prove a point. Of course vintage could be sexy—look at Dita Von Teese, the famous striptease artist once married to shock rocker Marilyn Manson. Rachel hesitated, then picked up a tissue and scrubbed off the slutty lipstick, replacing it with a less provocative nude shade.
She glanced at the diamanté watch strapped to her wrist. Her car was being serviced so they’d go in his. She hoped Devin was allowing enough time for them to walk to wherever he’d parked.
The full-throttle throb of a powerful engine brought her to the door. Nervously wrapping herself in her fringed silk shawl, she stared at the leather-clad figure on the Harley-Davidson.
Devin lifted the black visor on his helmet. “No pre-car street layout defeats a red-blooded American,” he said with satisfaction, then scanned her shawl-swathed figure. “I brought a jumpsuit in case you wore a dress.” Reaching into a side satchel, he pulled out what looked like a pair of orange mechanic’s overalls, then unclipped another helmet from the pillion.
Rachel finally found her voice. “I’m not going to the opera on a motorbike!”
“Why not? It’ll be fun.” His gaze dropped to her feet. “Those boots should be okay on the bike.”
She tugged the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “What about my hair?” It was piled on her head, with loose tendrils softening the diamanté sparkles at her earlobes and throat.
Devin looked at it critically. “Very pretty.”
She had a sudden feeling he was doing this on purpose. “We’re catching a taxi.”
“Okay.” To her surprise, he got off the
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