Blame It on the Bachelor (17 page)

He bent to pet Potsy, but the animal jumped at his touch, turned on him and snarled. Like owner, like pet. Aaargh.

He snapped upright again. “
Okay.
Maybe you’d like my fish better than you like me, huh, dude?”

Kylie shot him an apologetic glance. “Potsy’s a little temperamental.”

“You don’t say.”

“How
is
your fish, by the way?” The corner of her lovely mouth quirked.

Dev shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “He’s great.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Uh…yes. Yes, he does.” Dev wracked his brain.

She set the cat’s bowl down and turned to look at him expectantly, stroking Potsy’s head while he gobbled.

“Fugly. His name is, uh, Fugly.”

Her expression quizzical, Kylie stood and walked to the sink to wash the fork she’d used in the cat food. “What kind of a name is that?”

As if it was any worse than Potsy? And didn’t logic dictate that Potsy should be an orange cat, if the name came from the old
Happy Days
show? Oh, wait—that was Ralph Malph. Potsy had dark hair.

Dev realized that Kylie was waiting for a response. “Well, my fish is a little homely. He’s a goldfish, but he’s not really gold. He’s dirty white, with orange speckles. And his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head.”

“Aw. He sounds cute.”

Dev shrugged in discomfort, thinking of the traumas and indignities Fugly had suffered today. He changed the subject as she messed around some more in the kitchen.

Finally, she picked up her evening bag from the small dining table. “Ready to go?”

Hell, yes.

Dev was ready to go in more ways than one.

THE RUSTY PELICAN was a great place for sunset drinks. Set right on the water, it offered a beautiful view of Biscayne Bay and a rustic, casual atmosphere.

Kylie had been there before, but it had been a while, and she’d certainly never zoomed up to it in a chili-pepper-red Corvette with a local celebrity. Dev knew the guy at the door and the bartender, as well as the pretty waitress who led them outside to a table next to the bay. She lit a citronella candle to keep the worst of the mosquitoes away.

Kylie ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc, and Dev a Dos Equis. He lounged back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles, raising the beer casually in a toast. “To our first date.”

She laughed self-consciously. “To our first date.” Again, she wasn’t sure she cared for the implication that there would be a second one. She took a sip from her glass after raising it.

The wine was cool and light, the way she wanted to keep the atmosphere between the two of them. But the sight of Dev had made her stomach do funny things, and the way he looked at her—as if he wanted to consume her whole—paradoxically raised both her body temperature and the tiny hairs at her nape that warned of danger.

Jack had never raised the hair on her neck for any reason, good or bad.

The sensual curve of Dev’s lips, the aquiline nose, the tough jaw and the mirrored sunglasses all combined to make him look like some South American dictator with an army at his beck and call. Sleek, unpredictable and powerful.

“See something you like?” he asked provocatively.

How did he make her blush like a teenager? It was very annoying. Jack had never made her blush, either. “Yes,” she said. “The sunset is beautiful.”

His lips twitched.

But it was true. The sky was lit with a lovely neon pink that trailed papaya orange and flirted with gold streaks. Here and there white clouds scudded across the horizon, filling with pink and gold as the breeze blew them east.

“So,” Dev said. “You’re gorgeous and the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. You were recently engaged to an idiot, and you work at Sol Trust. What else should I know about you, other than the weird fact that you’re my friend’s aunt?”

Kylie smiled. “You should know that I really do need to see more of your business than—” she looked toward the bay again “—the, um, refrigerator.” Her blush intensified, heat pulsing in her cheeks as she recalled that day.

“Understood. You should be my date to the grand opening of the restaurant this coming Saturday. How’s that?”

“Shouldn’t we see how
this
date goes before planning another one?”

“This date,” he said with a confidence that both amused and touched her, “is going to be the best of your life.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“But you have to tell me who the real Kylie is.”

She took another sip of wine. “What do you want to know?”

“Brothers or sisters?” Dev prompted.

“Well, my older sister is Mark’s mother.” She drew in a breath. “And I had an older brother. He…died.”

Dev’s grin vanished. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t even born yet. He was twelve, he got off the school bus. Ran around the back of it to cross the street, didn’t look carefully, and a van hit him. He was killed instantly.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes, it was. The driver wasn’t paying attention—she’d dropped something on the floor and was reaching for it. She was an out-of-towner who didn’t see the stop sign around the curve in the road. Poor woman. My sister said she was absolutely hysterical.”

Kylie drank more of her wine. “My parents never really got over it. Apparently my dad was a zombie for two years. My mom was a wreck. They almost split up. In fact they did separate, but somehow I came along—surprise!—and they patched things up, I guess for my sake. That’s what my sister thinks, anyway. Obviously I was too young to remember.”

“Were they at the wedding?” Dev asked.

“No. You have to understand, my mom was forty-six when she had me, and my dad was forty-nine. They’re gone now. She died of ovarian cancer when I was nineteen and he of a heart attack a year later.”

Dev leaned forward and covered her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said again, clearly feeling awkward. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” Kylie traced a finger through the condensation on her wineglass, which clung to the surface like tears. She didn’t want to think about the long, terrible weeks her mother had spent in the hospital, the radiation treatments, the chemo, the pain and the nausea. The scarves Kylie had made for her to cover her hair loss. Her dad’s bewilderment when the doctors said there was nothing further that they could do.

He’d been blank and robotic for the year after her death. He’d done nothing but stare vacantly at the television or read the paper. Until one morning while walking down the driveway to get it, he’d dropped in his tracks.

She’d been afraid to love anyone after that, for fear that they might die on her, too. Truth to tell, she was still careful. She didn’t get attached easily, and when she did, it was a calculated process. When she’d met Jack, she’d tabulated all kinds of things about him over the year that they’d dated before becoming engaged. He was athletic. He didn’t smoke. He was basically a healthy eater. He didn’t take unnecessary risks. He even drove a safe car....

Dev squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the present, the stunning sunset over the water and his warm, sympathetic gaze. He’d taken off the shades and tossed them onto the table. The light had gone soft and golden, and shimmered blue highlights in his hair. Gone was the South American dictator, and in his place was a dark Adonis. He was dazzling.

But this version of Dev wasn’t any more trustworthy. Play with a sun god and you were pretty sure to get burned. And Dev was all about sex—even if it was real sex, not cyber-sex—which reminded her way too much of Jack’s issues. Speaking of which, she was pretty sure she’d heard rumors that Dev drank too much. It wouldn’t be surprising—the guy did own a bar. And that was definitely not a character trait she wanted in a boyfriend.

Then again, she’d picked the last one so carefully and couldn’t have been more wrong about him.

“So are you close to your sister?” Dev asked.

Kylie hesitated. “Jocelyn? She’s twenty-two years older than I am. We’re at different stages of our lives, and always have been. But we’re there for each other.”

Dev nodded. “And what stage of your life are you at?”

His tone was casual, but she had the feeling that the question was very serious. “I’m focused on my career,” she said firmly. “I will be a bank vice president one day.”

“What about marriage? Kids?”

“If I find the right person, then I’ll think about it.”

Dev raised his beer to his lips and drank. “What if he’s sitting right in front of you?”

He was nothing if not audacious. And persistent. She laughed softly and shook her head.

“Why is that funny? Because I don’t walk around in a designer golf shirt? I’m not a member of a prestigious country club? Because I don’t drive something conservative, like a BMW sedan?”

“No…”

“Let me tell you why you don’t want to
meet,
much less marry, that guy.” Dev had leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table.

“Go ahead. I want to hear this.”

“Yeah, you do,” he said seriously. “You don’t want the country club guy, because all his life, he’s followed the rules. He’s worn the right clothes, gone to the right school, dated the right girls. He’s kissed the right asses, gotten recommendations from the right teachers, gotten the right degrees and now works at the right firm.

“Everything he does is calculated, robotically programmed for success. He sees
you,
Kylie, and what he sees is the right woman, the one he can conquer the social scene with, because you’re perfect. You’ll look good on his arm, you’ll flatter the appropriate people and you’ll have kids in his image that he can name after himself.”

Dear God. He was describing Jack. Kylie swallowed more wine as Dev went on with his assessment.

“And you know what? No matter how ideal this guy looks,
he is a ticking bomb.
Why? Because he’s been so busy doing everything he’s supposed to do to get ahead that he doesn’t even know what the hell he
wants
out of life. And when this occurs to him—and it will, because underneath it all he’s a pretty smart guy—he is going to have an almighty meltdown. He’s going to go off the deep end. He’ll run away with a stripper, or gamble away the equity in your home, or become an alcoholic bum and sell coconuts in the islands.”

Or become addicted to internet porn and pain pills after he pulls his Achilles tendon.
Kylie’s hands tightened unconsciously around her wineglass, transferring all the condensation to her already damp palms.

“Okay, Dev. I hear you. So what makes you the better man?”

“It’s simple. I’ve lived a less-than-ideal life. I’ve been with hundreds of women—I won’t lie to you. I was a man-slut, up until the very moment I saw you.”

She repressed a snort at that. “Oh? And what happened in that moment?”

“Don’t know,” he confessed. “It was sort of mystical. I know that sounds cheesy, but my dad said the exact same thing happened to him when he met my mom.”

That did something funny to her heart.

“My dad’s this cynical, wickedly funny Irishman—very understated. He always thought he’d marry a strapping Irish country wench who’d beat him regularly with a rolling pin. Then he saw my Cuban mother, who is an over-the-top, still sexy, vivacious drama queen. He was a goner.”

Dev winked at her.

“But I digress,” he said. “Let’s see. I’ve also done my share of illegal substances, not to mention a lot of the legal ones. I’ve hung out in every dive in the southeast and a bunch of others. I’ve lived the life I wanted to live, without asking anyone’s permission or forgiveness. But I’ve now gotten it out of my system. Take me on today, and there won’t be any surprises tomorrow.” His eyes were direct and honest; his words rang true.