Wolf Island (22 page)

“Oh,
Dev, I’m so sorry.” Sympathy and compassion for everything he’d endured flowed
through her. She looked up at him and held his face between her hands. His gaze
softened and warmed as he looked at her. So here was another reason why Devlin
was so conflicted about being a good father, about women, about love and
marriage. Anyone would be, under the circumstances. But it made her love him
all the more.

And
she did love him.

Abby
touched a hand to her belly and suddenly wished with everything that was in her
that she was carrying his child. But would that child end up with mental
illness? Would she and Devlin have to watch the son or daughter they had
created suffer?

“Remember
that whatever Victor did, it has nothing to do with you.”

For
an instant, an expression of hope swept over his face; then it was gone. “Yes,
it does.” He gripped her shoulders. “I wanted to take care of this myself.
Don’t you get it?” he ground out.

“I
get it just fine. And you don’t need to shout. Why have you insisted on trying
to hide it?”

Didn’t
Devlin understand? Didn’t he have a clue at all? How could he not know? She
loved him. So what if there had been whispers, gossip, and questions in people’s
eyes? Couldn’t he see that none of that mattered to her?

“Because
I’m ashamed.” Devlin spat out the words. “I would give my life if I could
change the fact that Victor Morgan is my father.” Abby wanted to touch him,
hold him, soothe away his hurt. “I didn’t want anyone else hurt by him. I
wanted to rid this island of him once and for all because only then might I be
able to justify my being here.”

Anger
swept through Abby. “Now you’ve made me mad.” She stepped closer to Dev.
“Justify your existence? What on earth do you mean?”

Devlin
smiled coldly.

Abby
felt the tension grind along her spine and tighten the muscles in her neck.

“Don’t
you get it? The only reason I’m here is because my mother was raped. Why do you
think I started the research company? I thought if I could help heal people, it
might make up for some of the things
he’s
done.”

Abby
poked her finger in the middle of Devlin’s chest. “Let me tell you something,
mister. It’s insulting to me that you think you have to make up for whatever
Victor did. He’s responsible for his own actions. Not you. It’s high time you
got that through your thick skull.”

Abby
paced to the kitchen door, then turned back around. “I want you to listen, and
listen well. I love you. Period. I’m sure your grandparents loved Victor as
much as they could love a son. It must have hurt like hell when his mind began
to twist and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. But that has
nothing to do with you. What do you suggest they should have done with you?
Send you off to a kid’s home somewhere -- or just tie your hands and feet
together and drop you into the ocean?”

“It
has everything to do with me. I’m his son.”

Abby
shook her head. “So what?” She nearly shouted with frustration. “You aren’t
responsible for what he became or the crimes he committed, any more than I am.
Nobody is, except Victor. Why can’t you see that?” Suddenly, the anger drained
out of her. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Devlin
looked as though her words had just kicked his insides out.

“You
excelled at school. You went off to college, got your degree, and started a
private research lab. You took Otis in and gave him a home. You brought this
island’s economy back to life and gave people jobs. But most of all, you gave
them hope. And you can stand here and tell me that it might have been better if
you’d never existed. Who the hell do you think you are saying something like
that to me? It breaks my heart.”

Devlin
looked at her. She loved him so much. She hoped to God that he loved her.

His
shoulders slumped, and a faint smile played over his lips. “When I was about
eight, Billy Thompson, the village bully, started picking on me. I didn’t want
to fight him because I didn’t want anyone comparing my actions to Victor’s. So
my grandmother gave me some of those small cans of spinach and told me to be
like Popeye.”

Devlin
laughed and shook his head. “Of course, I had to strut around and show
everybody. Stupid, because the kids made fun of me, and then the only thing to
do was give Billy Thompson an ass-whooping.” He turned toward Abby. “You’re
right.” Abby felt a knot in her stomach ease. “It’s time for me to move on. I’m
sorry.” Devlin wrapped his arms around her and clung. “I do deserve to be
here.”

“It’s
about time you said it.”

Devlin
and Abby looked over at Otis. He stood in the doorway, with a smug look on his
face. “You’ve been wallowing in self-pity long enough. You done now?”

Devlin
chuckled. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Good.
You’re dead on your feet. Get some shut-eye, and we’ll figure out how to trap Victor
later. Between the three of us, we ought to be able to come up with something.”

Chapter Twelve

“I
think the rain has stopped.” Abby pulled open the windows in Devlin’s room to
let the breeze dance in. She settled on the window seat and gazed up at the
moon, white as polished marble.

Devlin
walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s go to bed.”
He wanted to hold her, touch her through the rest of the night.

“In
a minute. I just want to relax a little first.”

He
massaged her shoulders, easing the tension from her muscles. Abby’s head fell
back as she groaned. “That feels incredible. Too bad we can’t see the ocean
from here.”

“We
can. Come with me.”

When
they reached the small balcony at the top of one of the castle’s turrets, only
a few shredded clouds remained from the storm. The moon’s rays watered down
onto the ocean, creating pinpoints of light on the waves.

Devlin
heard the soft tinkling of chimes drifting up toward the castle on a current of
wind from the village.

Abby
touched Devlin’s arm. “Dev, do you hear that? I don’t believe in ghosts, but
isn’t it romantic to think that it’s Alice looking for her lost love?”

The
sound of the chimes faded, and Abby sighed. She turned and looked up at him. As
he gazed back at her, he felt the most profound sense of peace. He’d truly let
go of his past.

“I
think it’s probably someone playing a trick, but on the website, make sure the
legend about Alice takes center stage.”

Devlin
brushed some hair from her face.
His
. The word resounded through his
brain. “Maybe we’ll start a moonlit cruise. It’ll add to the romance.”

“Speaking
of romance ...” She laid her hand on his chest. “Are you ready for bed
now?”

Devlin
gazed at her and saw heat and hunger in her eyes, but also amazing tenderness.
He swept her up into his arms and carried her back into the castle and down the
spiral staircase. Once back in his room, he brushed his hand over her cheek as
he set her on her feet. “If you want romance, Abigail, I’ll give it to you.”

He
left her standing there and gathered some candles. As he touched a match to
each wick, he kept glancing at her. He wanted to feel her.

Now.

Skin
to skin. She started to remove her clothes, but he stopped her. “Tonight is all
for you, baby. I want to undress you. Slowly.”

Once
the candles glowed softly, he ventured to her room and brought back three roses
from the vase Otis had placed on her nightstand.

Devlin
stroked her lips with the petals, then handed one of the buds to her, leaned
over, and kissed her softly on the mouth, followed by a slow sweep of his
tongue over her lips. He turned down the bed, crushed the roses in his hand,
and scattered the petals over the sheets.

Slowly,
he removed her clothes, kissing the exposed skin as he went. Finally, she stood
naked before him. “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice cracked with emotion.

She
unfastened his shirt and stroked her hands over his chest. “So are you.” He had
never known a woman to desire him this much. But here was Abby, the most
wonderful, loving woman he had ever known, standing before him telling him she
wanted him -- not just with her words, but with her eyes, her hands, her
heart.

He
reached out to caress her breasts. Abby sucked in a breath. Warmth gathered on
his skin and rushed to his groin, needing her to touch and soothe the ache
between his legs. He moved his gaze from her head to her feet, savoring every
inch of creamy skin.

Gently,
he lifted her up into his arms. He wanted her naked -- not just
physically, but emotionally.

“Devlin,
I love you.” The whispered words caressed his soul. Her eyes filled with
sensual promise.

He
laid her on the bed. “I love you, too. Don’t ever doubt that. Now, bend your
knees for me. I want to taste you.”

Slowly,
she bent her knees. He parted her with his fingers. “Pretty. You’re so
unbelievably pretty here.” He stroked his thumb over her and watched the
pleasure radiate over her face and make her eyes glaze.

He
spread her legs a little more, opened his mouth, and licked her from bottom to
top. Again. And again.

Another
swipe of his tongue and the passion tossed her up like a wave cresting. He
pressed his tongue to her body and felt her throb all the way to his toes.
Devlin didn’t lift his mouth until her orgasm had faded and she’d come back to
herself again.

He
took his mouth away and heard a whimper escape her lips. In seconds, he
stripped down to his skin, his penis hard and ready between his legs. He laid
over her, fitted his mouth to hers, and kissed her.

Tenderly,
he opened her legs even wider, then plunged in one easy glide until he filled
her. He moved slowly at first, wanting to draw out the pleasure for them both.

Passion
sucked him under. He thought only of her and where their bodies joined. His
rhythm grew faster. Sweat glistened on her skin, and all the while he made love
to her, he stared into her eyes. He knew the moment she came. “I love you,
Abby. With all my heart, I love you.” With a moan of pleasure, he spilled his
seed inside her.

·
        
* * * *

Abby
woke slowly, wrapped in Devlin’s arms and draped around his body. Sunlight and
birdsong floated in through the window. She didn’t want to open her eyes; she
wanted to stay there with him forever. Abby felt the tips of his fingers nudge
her chin up and then the warm touch of his lips. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Or
I should say, afternoon.”

“Is
it afternoon already?”

“Yeah.
Would you like to get up and go scrounge for some food, or would you rather
take a long shower with me?”

“Hmmm,
shower. Then coffee.”

In
less than ten minutes, Devlin had her soaring toward another mind-bending
orgasm. He pushed her against the wall of the shower and took her fast and hard
this time.

When
she came, the sensuous pulse punched through her like a hot velvet wave. Devlin
followed her over the edge, the muscles in his back tense and straining.

By
the time they stepped out of the shower, the water had gone nearly cold. Devlin
rubbed a big, soft towel over her, being careful between her legs. She winced
just a little when the towel touched her tender areas.

“You’re
sore, aren’t you? It’s going to take some time for you to get used to taking
me. I intend to take you frequently, so we’ll have to go easy on the showers
for a while.” He stroked his fingers over her face. “I hope I wasn’t too rough,
but when I got you all naked and wet, it made me crazy.”

A
delicious burst of female satisfaction filled her. She, Abigail Chapel, drove a
man like Devlin wild. “No, you weren’t too rough. I loved every minute of it.”

Devlin
kissed her deeply and was removing the towel from her body, his hands beginning
to roam again, when they heard pounding on the bedroom door.

“Mr.
Dev! Mr. Dev!” Otis shouted through the door.

Abby
slipped into her robe, and Devlin wrapped a towel around his waist. She padded
behind him to the door. Otis stood there, his black eyes worried and his face
creased with anxiety. “There’s something the two of you need to see.”

Abby’s
warm, sensuous thoughts of a moment ago plummeted. “What’s happened?”

“Just
get dressed and come downstairs.”

Abby
and Devlin dressed quickly, then headed for the kitchen. When they came to the
top of the stairs, they saw Otis standing halfway down the staircase. Devlin
put his arm around Abby, and together they walked down the stairs.

Otis
pointed to the painting of Devlin’s mother hanging on the wall. Abby gasped at
the sight before her. Devlin tightened his arm around her waist and hugged her
to his side. His mother’s portrait hung crooked. The canvas had been slashed,
and hanging from the top of the frame was a crude effigy of Abby, with red
paint splattered over the doll and some wire from a set of chimes coiled around
the neck. Taped to the doll’s hand, a piece of paper with
Whore
scrawled
across it froze Devlin’s blood.