Colton's Twin Secrets. Justine Davis
And eight months later, here they were, not an inch closer to where she wanted to be. Oh, they had a relationship—it just wasn’t the kind she wanted with him. Because she’d quite fallen for the handsome lawyer, and if it was in large part because even after all this time he still seemed unreachable, she wasn’t at all sure what that meant.
If she wanted to see him, it was up to her to reach out. And half the time he had other plans he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change. Telling herself he was a busy, successful man was wearing thin.
Quinn’s words kept ringing in her head. Her cousin had been kind, gentle even, but her advice boiled down to one thing: you can’t force love. But she wasn’t trying to force it, she told herself. She already loved Devlin. And he loved her, she was sure, he just needed to move her up on his priority list. And she wasn’t certain how to do that; she’d never not been at the top of that list with anyone she’d been with before.
“No,” she said finally. “The fund-raiser went fine. Great, in fact. We raised even more than last year.” Her chin came up. “Even without you.”
He ignored the jab, as he usually did. She could never decide if it was because he didn’t see it or it simply didn’t bother him. She usually leaned toward the former, since the latter implied he didn’t care enough to let it bother him, and she didn’t want to believe that.
“I’m sure the animal shelter will be pleased,” he said, and he sounded so preoccupied that she was almost certain he was only vaguely aware of what he was saying.
She stifled the childish urge to stamp her foot and say, “Pay attention!” But it was a close thing; Gemma was not used to being an afterthought for anyone.
Especially a man she was crazy about. A man she wanted to build that future with. A man who would fit seamlessly into her world. A man even her father couldn’t find fault with.
“Dev!”
He seemed to snap back to reality. “Look, I just couldn’t get there, all right?”
She sighed. “It’s not that. Not really. Where are we going, Dev?”
He frowned. “Going?”
“You and me. Don’t you think it’s time we progressed beyond dinner a couple of times a week and only going to official functions?”
The frown deepened. “This is fine.”
A pronouncement. Not an “I think,” just a judgment as if the only input required was his. She would have to break him of that, and soon.
“This isn’t my idea of fine. I want more, Dev.”
He stood up. “I know,” he said softly. He reached out to cup her cheek, and she thought at last she was getting somewhere. At least she had his full attention now. But instead he looked almost sad. “I’m sorry, Gemma.”
He meant it. She could tell. And her entire mood shifted. “It’s okay. It was just a fund-raiser. There’ll be another one. In fact, the big gala is right before Thanksgiving, and—”
“No, Gemma.”
She blinked. “What?”
He gave her a regretful look. And her certainty about the sincerity flickered; it was the same practiced look he gave someone when he was turning them down for a case, or a favor, or any other request made of him that he did not want to say yes to. She’d admired how he did it, at first. But she’d never had it turned on her before.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. And again it sounded genuine.
“It’s all right,” she said quickly, not quite sure why she was feeling she needed to scramble to accept something that would have made her angry with anyone else. But she couldn’t be angry with Devlin. She was crazy about him. “I know it’s not your thing, so I’ll quit asking if you want.”
“It’s not that, Gemma.”
Anxiety spiked through her. It was an unfamiliar feeling; she’d had little to be truly anxious about in her life.
“What, Dev? What is it?”
“I wish I could give you what you want.”
“I want you. You know that.”
“Yes.” He said it sadly but gently. “Yes, I do. And I know you mean it.”
“I love you,” she said, the anxiety shifting to desperation, as if a snowfield she’d been admiring had suddenly let go into an avalanche.
“You do,” he said, sounding a little wondering. And looking almost puzzled. “You really do.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a bit better.
“You deserve that kind of love yourself. You deserve a man who adores you.” He gave a shake of his head, as if he were surprising himself. “And I’m going to give you the chance to find him. Because you genuinely, truly love me.”
None of this was making any sense. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t give you what you want, Gemma. I don’t love you. Not like that.”
She stared at him. For the first time she admitted to herself that he was really saying it. But she was still far from believing he meant it.
With the ease of long practice, Dante yanked his thoughts away from his brother, Dominic, who lived about three blocks from the rather dingy apartment he now stood outside, waiting to search. He tried never to think about him or the rest of his lawbreaking family. He’d long ago accepted that he was the odd one out, the one who had not only chosen not to break the law but uphold it. Sometimes Dominic and his snooty wife, Agostina, looked at Dante as if it were the other way around, or as if his very existence in the Mancuso family was some kind of accusation.
As perhaps it was.
Flash nudged his leg. He looked down at the dog. He knew most people would laugh at him for thinking it, but he would swear this time the dog’s solemn expression held concern, as if the animal had sensed where his thoughts had turned. And maybe he had. Like most dogs, Flash was sensitive in areas beyond his prodigious nose.
As he waited, Dante wondered idly if the local judges ever got tired of issuing search warrants in the so far fruitless efforts to relate just about every criminal in Red Ridge to the Larsons. He sure got tired of asking for them, even knowing most of those scumbags were probably part of the Larson operation.
And the ones who aren’t are probably related to me.
“Well,” Duke said, in the brisk tones of someone changing an uncomfortable subject, “our cursory search was a bust, other than finding out the guy’s apparently addicted to chewing gum. Never seen so many wrappers. Oh, and that microwave is a hazmat zone.”
“So,” Collins said, “I guess you’d better turn the nose loose.”
Flash was on his feet before Dante had to say a word. Collins looked startled. “Enough people call him ‘the nose’ that he’s learned it means he’s about to go to work,” Dante explained.
Collins looked impressed. “Mind if I stick around and watch? Never actually seen him work.”
“Just stay out of his way,” Dante said, his good-humored demeanor now replaced with the all-business attitude that told Flash he’d brook no nonsense. Bloodhounds were notoriously strong headed, and it took an equal amount of stubborn in a handler to get the best out of them. In the beginning he’d had to outlast Flash on a few occasions to get the dog to understand this was a human who would persist until he did what was asked of him.
But I’ve got a lot of practice in stubborn.
Dante