An Impractical Match (Match #2) Page 4

“Good evening,” a man in a dark suit interrupted. “I’m Berton Falk, an assistant manager at the club. I understand you’re here to look at the courtyard?”

  Devlin came to his feet, and Jillian quickly followed. She felt like she’d been misunderstood, that she’d left Devlin with the impression she was some kind of a snob. That hadn’t been her point. She was only talking about first impressions, and she had been talking about business. It was Shari who’d brought up personal relationships.

  Devlin seemed to have gotten an entirely wrong impression. And she had no idea how to dial it back.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Devlin made his way onto the pool deck of the Copper Springs Hotel, where Jillian and Shari were staying in Phoenix. He spotted Shari right away, sitting at a shaded snack bar table, sipping an iced tea and reading something on her tablet. She wore a pair of loose gray shorts and a black tank top over a pair of bright green flip-flops.

  He crossed the hot, chlorine-scented deck area, hearing shouts and splashing in the pools, shrieks as kids barreled down the waterslides, along with the music piped in at the swim-up bar.

  “Afternoon,” he greeted Shari, pulling out one of the four webbed chairs at her table.

  She glanced up and lifted her sunglasses to her head. “Hi, Devlin.”

  “How are things coming along?” He glanced around but didn’t see Jillian anywhere.

  “Slow going,” said Shari. “It’s been a challenge to get hold of our guy at NMAC. But Jillian’s got a line on some food vendors, and we’re working our way through the liquor permits.”

  He found himself reflexively glancing around again. “Is she here?”

  Shari lifted her chin to indicate direction. “Swimming.”

  He looked into the main pool, seeing a few dozen kids splashing around amidst some rather long-suffering, middle-aged parents. None of them looked remotely like Jillian.

  “Swimming against the current,” Shari added. “Over there at the base of the waterfall.”

  Then he saw her, stroking rhythmically in a small pool where a current kept her in place.

  “We both worked out in the gym this morning,” said Shari. “But she’s more committed than I am.”

  “A fitness buff?” he asked.

  He tried to hit the gym a few times a week, and he jogged with Luke whenever the mood struck him. But he was pretty low-key about formal exercise. Had he been a professional motocross rider, he’d have had to pay a lot more attention to fitness, especially cardio.

  “She stresses if she gains or loses a few pounds. I think she likes her clothes to fit in a certain way.”

  “A perfectionist,” said Devlin.

  “What was your first clue?”

  “The pressed, white linen suit at the track.” He’d spotted it from about a hundred yards away.

  Shari laughed. “She’d tell you it was cream.”

  “Of course she would.”

  “She gets a lot done, you know. And she gets it done right.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

  Shari folded the cover over the tablet and set it on the table. “I’m leaving for DC tonight.”

  Again, Devlin’s glance went to Jillian. He could see the blurred outline of a white bathing suit bottom obscured by the moving water. His imagination filled in the rest. “Is Jillian leaving, too?”

  “She’s staying.”

  For some reason, he felt a trace of relief. It was silly. The woman was annoying. Fact was it would be restful for him if she wasn’t around for a while.

  “We’ve got a couple of weddings on the books,” Shari continued. “I’m going back to babysit them.”

  While they talked, Jillian brought her swimming to an end and glided to the edge of the pool.

  “Jillian will take care of things at this end,” said Shari.

  Jillian pulled herself out of the pool, water dripping from her braid and glistening on her golden skin. She adjusted the white bikini bottom then took several steps across the deck. She was toned and tanned, every inch of her lean body a study in perfection.

  “You two kids going to be able to play nice while I’m gone?” asked Shari.

  Devlin continued to watch as Jillian accepted a towel from a pool attendant, running it over her hair before draping it around her shoulders.

  “Devlin?” Shari prompted.

  “Huh?” He forced himself to look at her.

  “Do you think you and Jillian can keep from killing each other while I’m gone?”

  Killing Jillian was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

  “We’ll be fine,” he told Shari, then allowed his gaze to wander back to Jillian, who was now walking toward them.

  “I didn’t know you were coming by,” Jillian said to Devlin as she approached the table.

  She scooped a filmy cover-up from the chair on the opposite side of Shari, casually dropping it over her head and snaking her arms into the wide sleeves. The translucent fabric clung to her damp skin, outlining her form, causing Devlin’s mouth to go from dry to parched.

  “I’m going to grab a soft drink.” She fished a twenty from her wallet. “Anybody else want something?”

  He came to his feet. “I can get it.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Don’t be silly. What do you want?”

  What did he want? Her. That was what he wanted. And he couldn’t believe how badly he wanted her.

  “A beer if they’ve got one,” he quickly answered. He could only hope a little alcohol would help his brain calm down.

  “Sure. How’s your iced tea?” she asked Shari.

  “I’m fine for now,” Shari responded, checking something on her tablet. “I got on the seven-fifteen. Did they say they had a shuttle to the airport?”

  “It leaves on the hour until ten,” said Jillian as she started for the snack bar. She called back over her shoulder, “There’s a house phone over here. I’ll book you a reservation.”

  “Thanks.” Shari turned her attention to Devlin. “Perfectionism in a business partner is really quite useful.”

  “I would think it could get tiring,” he couldn’t help but point out as he sat back down. Not that he’d ever grow tired of a perfect body like Jillian’s.

  “Keeps you on your toes, that’s for sure.”

  Now that Jillian was behind Shari, it was easy for him to follow her movements without being so obvious about it. “I’m not sure I’d want to be on my toes that much.”

  “Good thing you’ll only have to do it for a few more weeks.”

  Jillian finished her call and moved from the house phone to the snack bar, speaking to an overly friendly, young, male server. Not that Devlin blamed the guy. Not that the guy had a hope in hell.

  “How long have you two known each other?” he asked Shari.

  “We were philosophy majors together at George Washington.”

  “She has a degree in philosophy?” It wasn’t what he’d have guessed. Then again, he didn’t imagine you could get a degree in elitism. Philosophy fit as well as anything else.

  “We both do,” said Shari. “But then we decided we’d better find a way to earn a living. Turns out, I’ve got a flare for the artistic, and Jillian’s a wizard with detail. We’d met a few people in school with good social connections. Got ourselves a few start-up gigs. And here we are.”

  “And here you are,” he echoed, watching Jillian make her way back to the table.

  “What about you?” asked Shari.

  Devlin didn’t understand the question.

  “What’s your degree in?”

  “I don’t have one,” he answered.

  Shari looked both surprised and slightly embarrassed. “Oh.”

  He’d seen the reaction before, all the time, in fact, mostly from his own family.

  “What are we talking about?” asked Jillian as she set the glasses down on the table.

  “About how I don’t have a college degree,” said Devlin, refusing to bea
t around the bush.

  Jillian did a double take at his expression. It was pretty obvious she was waiting for a punch line. There wasn’t one coming. He had certification as both an automotive technician and an auto body technician. But he’d learned long ago that, for most people, they didn’t count for anything.

  “I had a call this morning from NMAC.” He decided to simply move on. “They think it would be beneficial for us to attend the King’s Cross race in Seattle this weekend.”

  “I’ll be at the Bigram wedding,” said Shari.

  Jillian slid the tall plastic glass of beer across the table to Devlin. “Have you been to King’s Cross before?”

  He shook his head then took a swallow of the beer. She’d bought herself some kind of juice blend, which she sipped through a straw. The sheer cover-up clung to the damp bikini, and its scooped neckline revealed her cleavage. He battled hard to keep his gaze out of trouble.

  “One of us is enough,” Shari added. “You get the intel, and I’ll get some of the staff working from DC.”

  “I can go back to DC,” said Jillian.

  Devlin found himself going still as he waited for the answer. It was ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly matter which one stayed and which one left. Jillian might be insanely sexy, but she belonged to a whole different world. Even if he did want to do something about his attraction, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d give him the time of day.

  “No, you can’t,” said Shari in a stern, decisive voice.

  “I don’t know who died and left you in charge,” Jillian muttered.

  Devlin ignored his feeling of relief, reminding himself that women like Jillian looked for advantageous relationships. There wasn’t a thing he could do to move her life or her career forward. Sure, he’d made a bit of money with Timeless, but it wasn’t the kind of money she’d be looking for. The NMAC executive, whoever he might be, was far more worth her time and trouble.

  “Should I tell NMAC there’ll be two of us?” Devlin asked.

  “There’ll be two of us,” Jillian agreed in a tone of resignation. “There is absolutely no reasoning with her.”

  “You’ll love Seattle,” said Shari with a hint of a smirk.

  “You’ve never even been there,” Jillian countered.

  “But I’ve heard good things.”

  “What about you?” Jillian asked him.

  “I’ve never been to Seattle.”

  “Have you been to other NMAC events?”

  “A few.” He paused, wondering if he should be honest. “You’ll probably hate it.”

  “I probably will,” she easily agreed.

  o o o o

  The Seattle race wasn’t as bad as Jillian had expected. Turned out, it was a world away from the Desert Heat track. The place had tiers of neatly painted grandstands, a start-finish tower with electronic timing equipment, a garage full of track-grooming equipment, sturdy-looking buildings at a number of locations around the meandering track, permanent food kiosks serving everything from cotton candy to ethnic food and anything deep fried, and literally hundreds of volunteers keeping the competitors and spectators moving smoothly. Watching the well-oiled operation, she honestly didn’t know how they were going to pull it off in Phoenix.

  “Are we going to be able to get enough volunteers?” she asked Devlin. They were sitting side by side in comfortable, clubhouse seats in a VIP section of the start-finish building, a small round table between them. The place looked like it would hold about sixty people, indoors, with snack and beverage service.

  “We’ll get as many as we can,” he answered. “The families of the riders will probably step up.”

  She made a note of it as a risk factor.

  The grandstands on either side of the building were about two-thirds full, with many other spectators standing at various places around the course. She couldn’t help but admire the sturdy safety fence. The track also had a tunnel that provided safe infield access. She doubted they’d have either the time or the budget to dig one in Phoenix, though she supposed they might be able to put up a temporary bridge.

  A group of men came in through the side door, laughing as they made their way along the back row of seats. As they talked at the back of the room, she heard a vaguely familiar voice. She couldn’t place it, but for some reason it sent a shiver up her spine. While the racers in what Devlin had called “the first pro moto” ripped their way around the dirt track, she glanced cautiously over her shoulder.

  She immediately came eye to eye with Owen Stafford, Edmund’s cousin. She’d met him only a couple of times, but it was obvious he recognized her, just as obvious that she recognized him. There was no gracious way for either of them to ignore it.

  He gave her a tentative smile and began moving toward her. She turned back to the viewing window and swore under her breath.

  “What?” The pithy word had clearly surprised Devlin.

  She couldn’t think of a single option except to tell the truth. “My ex-fiancé’s cousin,” she hissed. “He’s here, and he’s headed this way.”

  “You have a fiancé?”

  “Ex. Very ex.” Very publicly an ex.

  She turned as Owen’s footsteps approached.

  “Jillian?” he opened on a careful note. “What on earth are you doing in Seattle?”

  Before she could answer, Devlin came to his feet. He briskly held his hand out to Owen. “She’s here with me. Devlin Camden, Timeless Auto Restoration. We’re affiliated with a track in Phoenix.”

  Owen shook Devlin’s hand, but his searching gaze moved swiftly back to Jillian. “I thought...”

  She knew what he was thinking. It was what everybody was thinking. “That I’d be holed up in my apartment eating gourmet ice cream, crying my eyes out?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Owen hastily assured her, dropping Devlin’s hand. “But you deserve to be upset. My cousin behaved like a stupid, selfish son of a bitch when he walked out on you.”

  Jillian felt her eyes widen in surprise. She was aware that Devlin was watching her intently.

  “You thought I’d be on his side?” Owen asked.

  “Well...” In fact, she had. She’d assumed the entire Stafford clan would be on Edmund’s side.

  Owen shook his head. “Biggest mistake of his sorry life.” He turned his attention back to Devlin, appearing to size him up. “Don’t you make the same one. Then again, if you do make the same mistake, give me a call and let me know.” His gaze slid back to Jillian, brown eyes going soft. “I’ll be after her in a heartbeat.”

  She blinked in utter astonishment.

  Devlin’s hand came down on her shoulder. “I can tell you that I’m not a fool,” he said to Owen.

  “I can see that you’re not. My loss, I guess.”

  “Owen...” But Jillian wasn’t sure what she should say. She didn’t really want him to confirm what he was so broadly hinting.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he continued. “That the family would freak if I showed up with my cousin’s ex on my arm. Just so you know, Jillian, I couldn’t give a crap what the family thinks.”

  “I have to say, I admire that,” Devlin unexpectedly added.

  Jillian found herself glancing up at Devlin, feeling like he was an anchor of sanity. He smiled warmly down, and she had the strangest feeling of falling through the looking glass.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” said Owen, taking a step back. “You’re a lucky man, Devlin Camden.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Devlin responded without breaking eye contact with Jillian.

  She heard Owen walk away, and Devlin sat back down.

  “I am so sorry about that,” she managed.

  He eased back in his chair. “I was trying to guess which way you wanted it to go. I hope I didn’t get it wrong.”

  “You didn’t get it wrong.” She couldn’t stop a surreptitious glance at Owen. “I have no idea what got into him.”

  “You want me to explain it?”

  She w
ouldn’t mind a little perspective, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “He has the hots for you, but you were marrying his cousin. His cousin walked out, and then he hoped he had a shot. It’s not rocket science.”

  “It was during our wedding.” Jillian didn’t know why she was admitting to that. But it seemed like Devlin deserved the truth. “Edmund left me standing at the altar.”

  Devlin angled his body sideways and drew back. “Are you kidding me?”

  “That’s not something a woman generally jokes about.”

  “When?”

  She couldn’t figure out how that made a difference. But there seemed little harm in giving him the entire story. “A little less than a month ago.”

  “Is that why Shari was so hell-bent on being the one who went back to DC?”

  “The Staffords are a big name in that town. She has this crazy idea that seeing their name all over the place will upset me. It won’t. It’s over and done with, and I’m perfectly fine.”

  Devlin seemed to ponder her for a long moment.

  The checkered flag was waving out on the race course, and the crowd was on its feet. Devlin didn’t even glance at it. “So, you’re not sleeping with some NMAC executive?”

  She was back through the looking glass again. “Excuse me?”

  “No offense,” he quickly put in.

  She squared her shoulders, putting as much sarcasm into her tone as she could muster. “How could you accusing me of sleeping with a client possibly offend me?”

  “It was the only explanation I could come up with for your involvement in a motocross event.”

  “Really? The only explanation? Of all the explanations in the world, that was the only one that fit?”

  “You have to admit, you’re an odd choice.”

  “And that took you to me sleeping my way into the job? And, hey, did it ever occur to you that Shari might be sleeping with an executive?”

  An expression of confusion crossed his face. “Is she?”

  “No, she is not!” She realized how loud her voice had become and took another quick glance around the room, hoping nobody had noticed. “My point is, it was a fifty-fifty proposition.”

  She glanced down at her white blouse, navy blazer and designer jeans. Then she looked him square in the eyes. “Is there something about me that says slutty?”