Second Chances (The Lust List: Devon Stone #2) Read online

  But Devon. Good god, Devon couldn’t be more opposite. Unpredictable, adventurous, and determined. Like now, he only has vague information to work off of, yet we’re driving out of state for the possibility of an answer that’ll lead to…what?

  I feel a knot in my stomach as I remember this isn’t exactly a vacation. What we find out in Oregon, it can lead to even more trouble. And then what? I’ll be right there with Devon to take on that trouble. There won’t be anywhere for me to run when–if–things get out of hand.

  “So. M. H.,” I say. “You don’t know anyone with those initials?”

  “Not that I know of. No one that matters, at least. I’m sure there’s a million people that it can be, but…all I’ve got right now is a hunch.” He slams on his brakes and the horn at the same time as a car cuts us off, yet his voice remains calm and sure. “We’ll figure it out up there.”

  “What hunch?” He knows more? Why didn’t he say so?

  “It’s only a theory,” he says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not until I have proof.”

  And the plot thickens with Mr. Stone. If he’s not going to share the details, then we, at least, need a plan. Nothing gets done without a plan, right? I pull out my phone. I can help. We can form a strategy and make a to-do list. I can check the map up there, and see what places may have more information. Law offices. Banks. The post office. “Well, we should figure out how we’ll do it.”

  He glances over from the corner of his eye. “Right…Okay.”

  I look at the time. It’s 11:00 a.m. now. We won’t be able to do much until tomorrow. So, “Let’s start by setting an alarm. 5:00 a.m.? 6? When should we wake up to get going?”

  He laughs. “When my eyes open.”

  “I’m serious. Trust me, this works. I’ll make sure we get enough sleep by setting another alarm for…I don’t know…9:00 tonight? That should be good. If we follow the schedule–which is easy with reminders,” I say, shaking my phone in the air to emphasize the usefulness of this great device, “then we’ll be much more efficient. Otherwise–”

  His smile is still there, but it looks a little forced now.

  “Okay, I’ll handle the alarms. Let’s talk about something else.” Is he taking me seriously? Moving on to the next item… “Hotels. Where are we staying tonight? Are we driving straight through or should we stop? Considering we have to stop for gas at some point, we should calculate that time in, and–”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What? We need a plan. I’m forming a plan.”

  “No, you’re micromanaging shit that doesn’t matter.” His smile’s gone now, and his voice gives away his irritation.

  Well, guess what buddy? This is what you got yourself into when you decided you wanted to be with me, so you’ll have to get used to it. But instead of standing up for myself, I sink into my seat and look out the window. “Sorry. But it’s not like we can make it up as we go. Think about it, bathroom breaks, stops for food, sleep–which we will need at some point. Those all add minutes and hours, and I don’t know how long you plan on being gone, but if we’re aiming to be back home by, say, Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, then we have to account for all the details.”

  You know what? I do know what I’m talking about. I look at my phone again. I can work this stuff out myself, and when I have a detailed itinerary, he’ll see how awesome this is. I search through hotels and restaurants, selecting those that are right off the highway. I read reviews, and make a list of the best gas prices. Every now and then I see Devon look over, but I’m ignoring him. He can do the driving while I work on the navigating. We’ll be a team.

  About twenty minutes later, shortly after we’ve escaped the heavy traffic and are keeping a steady speed, Devon speaks up again.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “What?”

  “Your grand plan. I can see you’re working hard over there.”

  I hesitate. It’s like giving a presentation. I know it’s good material, but will he see it that way?

  “Okay…” I start. “In about an hour, there’s a decent gas station with the lowest prices in the area. We’ll stop there and get some snacks. And then, we’ll drive straight through until dinner, where I have three places from which you can choose.”

  Devon swings the steering wheel to the right, throwing me off balance. I grab the door to steady myself. He pulls into the parking lot of a closed bank and slams on the brakes.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He answers with sarcastic enthusiasm. “Never mind me. Tell me more. This is fascinating.”

  Oh, we’re going to be a condescending bastard now? Fine. “After dinner, we’ll go to a hotel where we’ll get some sleep, wake up early, and get back on the road.”

  “Right. And listing out all this is…what? Supposed to save the day? We couldn’t get through the trip without it being in writing?”

  I ignore him. “After we get into Oregon, we’ll stop for lunch. Oh yeah, breakfast will, um, either be more snacks from a gas station so it’s quick, or maybe we can do the breakfast at the hotel.”

  He lets out his frustrated laughter as he snatches my phone from my hand. I reach for it, but he holds it out away from me like an adult teasing a child.

  “I get that you have your issues, Olivia. But it doesn’t give you the right to be a pain in the ass.”

  He shuts off my phone and fumbles with it a moment. After some careful prying, he’s removed the SIM card and battery. I’m shuffling between feelings of anger and anxiety, and before I can think of what to say, Devon shoves the removed pieces into the glove compartment and carelessly tosses my phone into the backseat. I swing around and watch as it falls between the seat and the door, sliding out of view.

  I turn back to Devon, and open my mouth to speak. Instead, he moves toward me and presses his lips to mine. His tongue steals away all my arguments until he pulls away.

  “You can’t–”

  “Shut up and let’s go.”

  I’m still wide-eyed, and the taste of Devon lingers on my lips as he shifts back into drive and hits the gas.

  We’ve made it to Santa Barbara, and Devon takes us to a small restaurant on the beach. He pulls up to valet, and a man in a black suit opens my door. It’s funny. My idea of road trips includes fast food and excessive bags of chips and cookies. But it’s not the case with my wealthy companion. His life of luxury continues no matter what he’s doing.

  This restaurant is beautiful. Outside, it’s decorated with landscaped gardens and fountains that immediately put me at ease. Maybe that’s why he brought me here. After ripping apart my plans–and phone–he knew this would settle me down. Relax me. Nothing with him seems unintentional, like he’s always several steps ahead of the rest of the world. If he really did just pick this spot for me, I could love him for it.

  Whoa. Not so fast. Let’s keep that L-word under wraps.

  He takes my hand and leads me through the front doors. Inside is as gorgeous with enormous windows and beach wood furnishings. The hostess spots Devon, and without him making any request, she leads us past the main floor and up a set of stairs. We find ourselves on the private rooftop where the few tables up here are partitioned off by sheer white curtains that dance in the breeze. We’re seated at a table that gives us a perfect view of the ocean, and a server immediately walks over. I’m almost too speechless to order my drink.

  The server leaves, and I turn to Devon. “This place is phenomenal.”

  “But it wasn’t on your itinerary was it? Maybe we should leave…” He grins, and I playfully kick at him.

  We get our drinks and order our lunch. I stick with a kale salad while Devon orders a steak and baked potato. It’s blissfully quiet up here. The sounds of the waves mix with the classical music being played by a pianist in one corner.

  “Is everything with you so surprising and luxurious?” I ask and add in, “And over the top, extravagant?”

  “Why? Do you hate it?”
>
  “I love it.” Damn, there’s that word again. But it’s true. This is amazing.

  We get our food and eat slowly, enjoying the moment of peace. We finish our meal and sit back, sipping at our glasses of wine. Devon’s phone rings, and he excuses himself to answer it. I look out at the ocean and breathe in the crisp, salty air. Even I can admit how blissfully calm I feel. Maybe Devon can be the cure for all my ailments. I smile to myself and turn toward my Sexy Stone. He paces near a corner, intently focused on his conversation. I watch as he rubs his jawline and freezes in place. Another second later, he hangs up.

  And in the peaceful quiet of this exclusive rooftop dining area, Devon yells, “Fuck yes!” interrupting everyone’s meals. I look around to see a few curious faces peek over from their tables. My own cheeks go warm at the sudden attention, but Devon waltzes up to my chair and kisses me hard on the lips.

  “Nothing better than being right,” he says, returning to his seat. He ignores the other patrons glancing in our direction.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Yes, my theory. Which–no longer a theory, by the way. That was my P.I. He got a name.”

  I lean in toward him, certain things are about to get more exciting.

  “M.H. Melody Hastings.”

  “And she is?” I mean, a name makes it easier, but that only brings up more questions. Who is she? What does she have on Calvin Stone?

  “My guy did some extra searching, including the birth records my father somehow had sealed.” He drinks his wine as I tap my foot in suspense. “Melody Hastings is my mother.”

  Not to delve into family drama, but he didn’t know his own mother’s name? “I’m sorry. I need more information than that. Why didn’t you learn all this before?”

  “Because it was all a hunch before. I didn’t want to look like a lunatic, searching for my dead mother.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “Are you not listening? My dad’s paying her off, so clearly she’s alive.” He relaxes into his chair, and our server brings our check. He hands her a card and looks to me. “Ever since Kaidan and I were kids, we were told she was dead, that she wasn’t a good person, and we were better off.”

  That’s awful. How could you tell two little boys that about their own mother?

  Devon continues, “The story goes, my dad met a stripper named Misty at Exotic Blooms, in fact–the strip club, not the florist.” He winks at me, and an image of white orchids crosses my mind. “She ended up getting pregnant with twins, but soon after we were born, she was killed. Murdered. Or overdosed. Or…I don’t know. Those details were always vague. But I never believed it. I always had this feeling she was still alive. But I was the only one. But now…”

  Holy shit. “She’s alive. You were right.” This is incredible. To think, tomorrow, I can see them reunite. Devon can rebuild a part of his family he thought he’d lost forever. I’m in a hurry to get to Bandon now.

  The server returns his card, and Devon signs the receipt. We sit in silence for a moment as the truth settles in for both of us, but the moment is interrupted by what sounds like an event starting downstairs outside. A beach party for the rich and famous? I look to Devon as he looks back at me with the same curious expression, so we stand up to peek over the edge of the roof. Standing at the glass wall that lines the edge, we look down to see who’s making all the noise.

  The paparazzi have arrived. But maybe it’s not for us. Hopefully it’s not for us. Multiple cars pull up and park, and guys with cameras hop out to join those who beat them to the restaurant. One guy, who looks laughably like a pirate in his vest, looks up and spots us. “There he is!” he shouts and points at Devon, only I hear it as “Thar ’e iz” and giggle.

  Devon flinches back out of their view. “Dammit,” he says. “Come on.” He takes my hand as we rush across the rooftop and back through the door we entered. So much for peaceful and relaxing.

  We hurry down the stairs, but at the bottom, someone recognizes Devon and calls attention to us again. All the patrons who had been happily preoccupied with their lunches are looking our way. A few pick up their phones, focusing their cameras on us. My heart pounds, and I feel like my lunch might make a reappearance. It’s like an awkward scene from a movie as these, supposedly classy, people suddenly begin acting like the same vultures outside. Devon yanks me through a set of swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. Now we’re behind the scenes, rushing past cooks and servers and stoves and freezers. The staff turn our way as we pass through. My cheeks warm and I duck my head down as I try to ignore the embarrassing stares from those who know we shouldn’t be here. Then two large men in black suits cut us off on the other side of the kitchen. I jump and my skin turns to ice. Who are they?

  I recognize one of them as Carl, the guard from Devon’s condo. He says, “Mr. Stone, your car will be brought around, same place as usual. Will you be needing an escort out?”

  I look from Carl to Devon. Has he been through this before?

  “We’ll be fine. Thanks,” Devon says, and as quickly as they appeared, they seem to disappear off to somewhere else.

  “Are they like the Secret Service?”

  He laughs at me and pulls me to a small hallway that leads to the back door. Devon locks it, and I try to catch my breath as we stand there, waiting. “Security detail. They come in handy.”

  “Are they always with you? Have they been following all this time?”

  “I forgot to tell you how pretty you look today.”

  I laugh, but really, I want to know what’s up with those guys. Now seems like an odd time for compliments. Devon stands in front of me, still as calm and collected as he can be. How does one grow accustomed to these bizarre routines?

  Then he kisses me. Like before, all my thoughts melt as I sink into him. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, and I link my fingers into the waist of his jeans to encourage him. He tastes like white wine. He tastes like adventure.

  Noise from outside the door interrupts us. The camera clowns have found us again and are snapping away through the small window.

  Devon checks the time on his phone. Do they really have this choreographed down to the minute? “We’re going to have to run,” he says. “You ready?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  Devon’s fast and smooth as he unlocks the door and shoves it open with extra force. Two of the gawkers fall flat on their asses as Devon grabs my hand and yanks me out into the sea of clicking shutters and flashing lights. We bolt down the sidewalk–Devon pushing past anyone who tries to stand in our way. My lungs burn as we sprint, but hand-in-hand with Devon, I’m certain we could fly if we wanted to. The familiar blue car turns a corner ahead of us and is coming in our direction. People are chasing behind us, and my heart is pumping wildly. The valet driver stops the car and is barely out of it, when we reach him. In one swift action, Devon hands the guy a few bills, dives into the driver’s side, and pulls me in on top of him. I scoot into my seat as he yanks his door closed, shifts the car into drive and stomps on the gas pedal. Paparazzi blocking the street scatter and chase the car as we pass. There’s a blur of flashes and yelling people as I settle into my seat and buckle my seatbelt.

  Devon’s barely broken a sweat as he navigates the streets and gets us back out toward the highway, heading north. My heartbeat steadies itself, and I find myself laughing. Giggling madly. The adrenaline coursing through me–all that excitement.

  I’ve never felt more alive.

  The sun is setting as we enter a busy downtown San Francisco.

  “We’re stopping for the night,” Devon says. “That alright with you?”

  I’ve spent the last hour of this long drive nuzzled against Devon’s warm shoulder. My stiff body begs to get out and move, so I’d be willing to stop anywhere.

  We pass bars and theaters and shops. I peer at the clock on his dashboard. It’s only 7:30, yet it feels like a different day entirely. It’s busy outside as the nightlife is taking o
ver the city–all the happy people dressed up and in line to be the first to get into the clubs.

  Devon slows near a tall, brightly lit hotel and turns in. We follow the brick entrance to valet and get out. One attendant gets in to park while another pulls our bags from the trunk.

  “I got it,” Devon says and takes the bags from him. “Thanks,” he adds.

  He takes my hand with his free one and we go inside. A few minutes later, we’re riding the elevator to the top floor. We exit, walking to the first door on our left. Devon opens it wide to reveal the massive penthouse suite awaiting. Wow. It’s way more room than we need. Marble floors, chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the busy streets outside. This room has a tall, king size bed layered in linens and pillows in creams and deep reds. There’s a Jacuzzi in one corner and a full size, private bar in another. There’s a kitchen already stocked with the staples and an oversized bathroom. The center of the penthouse has white leather couches and a flat screen TV mounted to a large column that extends up through the ceiling. The room is chic and modern, but really, we’re only going to be here one night. Was it worth the splurge?

  Reality check. This probably isn’t a splurge for Devon. This is simply your run of the mill overnight hotel stay.

  Devon drops our bags onto the bed.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  He knows this is all new to me. I should be overwhelmed by all this luxury he paid for a single night, but I’m more entranced by the sexy guy who’s brought me here.

  I erase the distance between us and reach up, weaving my fingers into his hair. He leans down and kisses me.

  “Let me take you out,” he says after he pulls away.