The overture never happened. The kiss was out of control before it began.
Their lips brushed, circled—then fused, currents of sensation barreling through them. Blake muttered something indistinguishable and tore his mouth away, scrutinizing Devon with a burning gaze. Then he gave up the fight. He hauled her against him, nudged her lips apart, and took her mouth.
Devon was trembling, inside and out. She couldn’t begin to think, much less object. And the truth was, she wanted to do neither. What she was feeling was just too damned good. Resistance wasn’t an option.
She gave a low moan of pleasure, gripping handfuls of Blake’s sweater and following his lead.
The kiss took on a life of its own.
Like Blake, it was consuming, his mouth eating at hers, possessing her with an intensity that swirled through her in dizzying waves. His tongue swept inside, rubbing against hers in slow, erotic circles. His arms locked around her, drawing her closer, deeper into the wildness.
Long moments passed. The kiss went on and on, growing more heated, more intense, like a wildfire blazing out of control.
Devon wasn’t sure who grabbed hold of reality first. One minute the two of them were locked together, the next they were an arm’s length apart, staring at each other with dazed eyes and ragged breathing.
“What was that?” Devon finally managed, running a shaky hand through her hair.
“I’m not sure.” Blake’s tone was husky, his expression as clouded as hers. “But whatever it was, it was about to move to my bedroom.”
“I know.” Devon wasn’t surprised by the realization. What surprised her was her reaction to it. “I don’t do this,” she supplied inanely.
“Yeah, I guessed. For what it’s worth, neither do I.”
She stepped backward, trying to put what had just happened into perspective. “Things like this don’t happen. Not in real life.”
A corner of Blake’s mouth lifted. “Apparently, they do.”
Unacceptable. Especially in light of what she was trying to accomplish for Monty, and for her mother.
“I’d better get home.” Devon blurted out the first mundane thing she could think of. She followed it up by glancing at her watch. It took three tries to actually make out what the dial said. “It’s almost one o’clock.”
Blake nodded his agreement. “I’ll get our jackets.”
“No.” Devon stopped him. “Just get mine. I’ll grab a taxi to Grand Central and take the train.”
“Not at this hour, you won’t. I’m driving you home, as planned.” Blake frowned, waving away the refusal she was about to utter. “Look, I understand you want to be alone. You’re freaked out. So am I. We both need space. And you can have yours—after I drop you off.”
He looked freaked out, too. And preoccupied as hell.
Idly, Devon wondered if the lip-lock they’d just shared had screwed up his agenda as much as it had hers.
“Okay,” she replied. The truth was, she was too frazzled to argue. Talk about complications. She’d just entangled herself in a huge one.
The problem was, she didn’t know if she really wanted to break free.
SALLY’S CALL CAME as promptly that night as on the two previous nights.
“Okay, now this is overkill,” Monty announced into the Bat Phone. “Plus, you tipped your hand. Punctuality’s great, but no one times their calls down to the second. You’re doing this to get a rise out of me.”
“Is it working?” Sally’s voice was stronger and clearer tonight.
“Sure is. My tail’s between my legs.”
Her laughter brushed his ear. “Now that’s an image. Anyway, no tail hanging necessary. Just a simple confession. Admit you’re lousy at time management. That’ll be enough to make my day.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll hire a different PI.”