Hers By Request Page 12

  “Oh, but, Dev—”

  “Really, I’ll be fine.”

  He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and chucked her under the chin. “Believe me, there are lots of days I don’t get much sleep before going on the air. I wouldn’t have traded one minute of today for an hour of sleep.”

  “That’s so sweet of you to say but I wish there was something I could do—”

  “To make up for lost sleep? I don’t think there’s much you can do about that. I am going to have to use your bathroom before I go, though.”

  “Of course. Straight down the hall.” She pointed to the short hallway the led to the bedrooms.

  “Thanks.”

  She watched him all the way down the hall, aware of how well his butt filled out his pants, of how his broad shoulders tapered so nicely to slim hips and long legs. Aware of sensations she hadn’t felt for a long time. Then she concentrated very hard on remembering Danny exactly as he was the last time she saw him. She took the coffee mugs to the kitchen sink, turned on the hot water, and added some liquid detergent.

  A few minutes later Dev was back, offering to dry the dishes she had started to wash.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not doing dishes.”

  “I distinctly remember you telling me I had to dry the dishes.”

  “Well, I changed my mind. I don’t want you to be late for work.”

  He laughed. “It’s not a problem. The boss and I are like this.” He held up two fingers tightly together.

  “Regardless. No dish drying for you.” She dried her hands and led him to the door.

  “You’ll call me tomorrow if you need a ride?”

  “I will, I promise. Thank you for rescuing me today.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re my knight-in-shining-armor.”

  “Thanks for dinner.” His eyes glimmered like emeralds in firelight.

  She thought he was about to say something else but he turned away and crossed the porch to the steps. There he hesitated, then spun around and came back, flung open the screen door, and drew her into his arms. He gazed down at her for one endless second with such heat all she could think of was how her grill sounded when the match was struck and then—whoosh—they both went up in flames.

  His fingers threaded through her hair and his mouth came down on hers, hot, firm, demanding. Leaving no doubt that complete possession was his goal.

  She couldn’t remember why she knew this was a bad idea, dangerous even. There were reasons, good reasons, that she shouldn’t be doing this.

  Unfortunately reasons required thought and thought was beyond her at the moment.

  Right now there was only the length of Dev’s body, all flat planes and hard muscle that rippled under her hands and met her softness and curves in a perfect match. The feel of his erection pressed against her belly and the heat of his tongue as he licked his way into her mouth made her knees weak. The softness of the hair at the nape of his neck under her fingers and the feel of his arms tightening around her crowded out logical thoughts. Right now there was only feeling. Sensations so heightened it was like the difference between black-and-white and color. She hung on and absorbed it all.

  When oxygen starvation forced them apart, her legs were too weak to support her. If Dev hadn’t had his arms wrapped around her, she would have slid to the floor in a boneless heap.

  He picked her up, kicked the door closed behind him, and carried her into her bedroom. Enough light filtered down the hall from the kitchen to let him find the bed and lay her on it.

  She looked up at him, his pupils wide and black, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Other than the sounds of passion, neither had said a word since he thanked her for dinner. She reached up to brush his hair back and he closed his eyes at her touch.

  Then he stroked her cheek gently with a fingertip and let his head fall forward, his wayward hair hiding his eyes. In a voice harsh with regret he ground out, “I can’t do this.”

  Ten seconds later, her front door slammed again and he was gone.

  CHAPTER 12

  Dev drove with all the windows down, hoping the cold air would cool him off and deflate his raging hard-on. So far that plan failed miserably.

  Was he nuts? Or just a fool?

  A despicable opportunist, more likely. Worse than a seventeen-year-old with no self-control.

  He berated himself all the way to the radio station. Told himself he had no business starting anything like this with Amanda. Listed every reason he should back off, starting with Danny, his promise, his own shortcomings—to say nothing of the fact she worked for him, and was still in a very vulnerable place while she came to grips with Danny’s death.

  Every time he got to the end of that list, his mind did an instant replay of that single second that had stretched to infinity before he kissed her. Etched forever in his memory, he saw her eyes first widen in surprise then soften and dilate when she accepted what was going to happen. The soft intake of her breath when acceptance became desire and her eyes went molten silver as she watched him lower his mouth to hers.

  When he carried her to her bedroom, his need to bury himself in her sweet heat blinded him to all reason. She was willing—more than willing—to let him touch her, taste her, love her—and he wanted to pleasure her until she cried his name as she exploded in his arms.

  If only he hadn’t seen that picture of Danny on her dresser. The one he’d taken. On their first tour in Iraq. Danny standing under the only tree for miles around, wanting to send Amanda a picture that didn’t show any of the dirt, destruction, and desolation that surrounded them every day. Dev had told him some stupid joke to make him laugh while he snapped that picture.

  He’d looked down at Amanda and felt his heart clench in despair.

  If she had been surprised when he’d pulled her into his arms, she must have been astounded when he pulled out of hers.

  Hurt.

  Confused.

  Relieved?

  Maybe that too. He hadn’t waited long enough to find out, knowing he couldn’t explain his own reasons for going.

  Christ, what a mess he’d made. Work was going to be hell tonight. Please, God, keep the callers on the request line to a minimum. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do mindless banter over the airwaves with his mind and heart a tangled mess of guilt and desire. He walked down the hall to the studio mentally preparing himself for the eight-hour shift ahead.

  Andy was standing at the mike doing his wrap-up. A set of ear buds dangled around his neck, the cord snaking its way across his chest and into his shirt pocket where his own iPod held the music he preferred—heavy metal.

  Dev entered the booth and closed the door quietly behind him. He watched Andy hit the button that started the news feed—right on time—and flip the switch that killed the mike.

  “You’re late tonight, Boss. Had me worried there for a few.”

  Dev had a reputation for arriving early for his shifts. He didn’t have all that much going on in his life and oversleeping was never an issue.

  “What? You were worried you’d have to stay a few extra minutes to cover for me? You got a hot date waiting for you?”

  “Yeah, right. That’s gonna happen.” Andy snorted a laugh. “A few minutes or a few hours, it’s no problem. There’s only a beer, a computer, and a few Grand Theft Auto missions waiting for me at home.” He paused and added casually, “I just thought you might have been tied up with some . . . thing and lost track of time.”

  He finished stacking the CDs from his shift, missing Dev’s scrutiny, and took them over to the bookcases to return to their assigned slots.

  “Nope. Just had to stop for gas on the way in. Hadn’t realized I was so low,” Dev lied. At least at this point the bulge in his pants had subsided enough not to give him away.
>
  Somehow everything that concerned Amanda required him to lie, and he hated it. It was his own fault for not telling her the truth right from the beginning. Because one lie had inevitably led to another and then another and the weight of all those lies was adding up to a giant boulder that was going to crush the life out of him when she found out the truth. He shoved his worries to the back of his mind—where they would stew until the next time he tried to sleep—and concentrated on the job at hand.

  He was glad to see that his recent lecture on keeping the broadcast booth tidy was having its desired effect on Andy. Still, the kid was acting a little strange tonight. He hoped this wasn’t some symptom he should recognize. Andy’s PTSD seemed to be the most well-controlled of all his employees. He tended to be sloppy, though, and Dev wouldn’t mind it if he upped his personal hygiene a notch or two, but those were fairly minor issues. He saw a psychologist regularly, which was more than Dev could say for himself.

  He settled in front of the microphone with the first few CDs he’d use if no caller rang in on the request line.

  “Thanks for cleaning up, Andy. See you tomorrow.”

  “Want me to bring you a cup of coffee on my way out?”

  “No thanks. I’ve had a couple of cups already. I’m good to go.”

  “Okay then, good night, Boss.”

  Dev nodded as he flipped the switch on the mike and began his usual intro. The call-board lit up immediately with a request for “Cheek to Cheek” and as he queued it up he took two more calls.

  Andy flipped open his phone and punched in Mike’s number. “Mike? You listening?” he said without preamble.

  “To the boss? Yeah. Been catching the request hour ever since Rosemary gave me the heads-up. Why? You got news? Something more substantial to go on than just the music the guy’s been playing the past few weeks?”

  “Oh yeah. Rosemary was right. Dev just got in a few minutes before he was due to go on. I thought for a minute he might actually be late,” Andy marveled, recalling the numerous memos Dev had sent concerning arriving at work in plenty of time for the hand-off between announcers to go smoothly. “When he came into the booth it wasn’t his after-shave I smelled. It was Amanda’s perfume, or whatever she wears that makes her smell so damn good. I don’t think he even realized his hair was kinda messed up either,” Andy cackled.

  “All right,” Mike exclaimed, and Andy visualized the fist-pump that went with his tone. “That’s good news. The boss deserves a dynamite lady like her.”

  “Yeah, you got that right. Well, keep listening. I suspect tonight’s show will be even more interesting than usual. And pass the word, okay?”

  “Will do. Thanks for the call.”

  Andy snapped his phone shut and started his pick-up, his grin widening as he left the station’s parking lot. Hot damn. About time one of them got lucky around this home for the lost and unloved—and Dev deserved it more than any of them.

  Dev hadn’t wanted to be busy but maybe it was a good thing to be distracted from the jumble of mixed emotions ricocheting through his beleaguered brain.

  Little by little, the music got to him, as it usually did. Music had always been his refuge, his inspiration in tough times, his celebration in good ones. It was an integral part of his being and even now—when he couldn’t play the notes himself—it was still there, his heartbeat echoing its rhythms, the melodies every bit as vital as the air he breathed.

  No wonder he loved the music of this era. The songs were actual stories, celebrating the wonder of new love, the tragedies of love lost, and everything in-between. Lyrics you could understand set to music that made your body move in spite of your best intentions to stay still. None of those three-word phrases repeated twenty times in a row and that passed for a song nowadays, or lyrics so mumbled you couldn’t understand them without reading the liner notes.

  His callers were building themes with their choice of songs—playing on the previous selection’s words or sentiment. Whether that was intentional or just coincidence, Dev went with it, the same way he’d treated Amanda’s requests in the past. He wondered if she was listening now or too angry with him to keep the radio tuned to his station.

  When a caller requested “A Kiss to Build a Dream On”, he cued up Louis Armstrong’s version and let the raspy voice lay the groundwork for the next few selections.

  His next caller was a woman who obviously knew her music and was happy to stay in theme. Very specific about the version, she asked for Vera Lynn singing “I Had the Craziest Dream,” and Dev searched for the forties singer n his database. His listeners were reminding him of tunes he hadn’t played for quite a while, and yet were somehow perfect for his mood tonight.

  He faded Vera out and faded in Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra playing “Imagination” with a young Sinatra giving the lyrics his perfect timing and impeccable phrasing.

  Yep, there was no denying that dreaming, crazy, and imagination had a lot to do with Dev’s feelings for Amanda. He was not only crazy about her but crazy for imagining his dreams could go anywhere but down the drain as soon as he told her the truth. He had a hard time imagining what he was going to say to Amanda about his abrupt departure tonight when the call board lit up again.

  “Thanks for calling Dev’s Dream Machine. Do you have a request?”

  “I have two of them actually,” the slightly husky voice whispered over the phone.

  He stood up abruptly, raking his hand through his hair.

  “Amanda. Hi.”

  Stellar response, Dev.

  He hadn’t believed she would call, so he was completely at a loss for words—not a good thing in a deejay. Thank God he didn’t take these calls ‘live’ on the air.

  “Amanda, I’m so sorry to bolt out of there the way I did,” he began, still not sure where he was going with this apology.

  “Let’s be honest, Dev,” she murmured.

  A tight fist squeezed his heart. Honest. Yeah. Sure. That would work. Suicide by truth. But not over the telephone while he was on the air.

  “If you had kissed me one more time, we both know you would never have made it to work tonight. That wouldn’t be the kind of precedent a boss should set, don’t you agree?”

  He did a mental double-take, afraid he had misunderstood. Ever the glib conversationalist, he replied, “Uh . . .”

  “So, I repeat, I have two requests. Is it okay to have two?”

  “Absolutely.” There, he had actually said a real word.

  “Oh, good. Well the first request is for you to play ‘My Dreams Are Getting Better All the Time’.”

  “All right.” Two words this time. He was on a roll.

  “And the second request is for you to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning.”

  His heart started to pound. The blood rushing south left him dizzy and he fell into his chair, still struggling with speech. He took several deep breaths, then savagely squashed the small seed of hope threatening his sanity.

  “You know we need to talk, Dev. You can’t pretend it never happened. I’m not sure I want to pretend it never happened. So we need to talk, don’t you think?”

  Her voice got fainter and more hesitant with each word—like she had second thoughts about the wisdom of this call—and he finally found his own voice with the urgency to reassure her it hadn’t been a mistake.

  “Yes, we need to talk, and, yes, I will be at your house for breakfast this morning. And, yes, I will try my damnedest not to ravish you on your kitchen counter before we eat. But it’s going to be a close thing, Amanda. A very close thing,” he warned her.

  “Maybe we should go out for breakfast.”

  The breathlessness of her response had him wishing he was with her right now to kiss her senseless and finish what he had started earlier. Get a grip, ass-hat. You shouldn’t be laying a finger
on her, let alone contemplating what it would feel like to be buried inside her.

  “No. Not necessary. I’ll be happy just to share another meal with you, Amanda. I’ll be there at eight-thirty, is that okay?” That would give him time to go home, shower, and change after he ended his shift at seven.

  “Perfect, Dev. See you then.”

  She hung up, and he sat, stunned, sure that the last five minutes had been a figment of his overheated imagination.

  He’d fallen so hard, so fast, his conscience had deserted him. His judgment was totally overwhelmed by the warmth in her eyes, the sound of her laughter, the gentleness of her touch. He debated calling her back and canceling. He should find some excuse to stay away, because he sure as hell shouldn’t be going.