Page 48 of My Fallen Saint

He’d walked me back to the house, and his joy on seeing the car in the drive had rivaled my own.

“You were her first driver after Daddy,” I remind him. I let him take her out that afternoon, and the way he’d zipped around curves had delighted me. More, the way the thrum of the engine rumbled through me had messed with my senses in ways that even now makes me wonder how we’d been satisfied only with stolen kisses that night, though I knew we both wanted to ravage each other.

Except I do know how—Alex was too much of a gentleman, and I was still too shy and unsure to push him. But God, how I’d wanted him.

We’d gone driving the next day after school and every day after that until he left. He taught me how to drive a stick, and we’d take turns whipping through the canyons, enjoying both the speed and our long, drawn-out conversations. Then, on weekends, we’d find secluded places where we knew we’d stay hidden and only Shelby would know when our lips met and our hands brushed and our bodies ached for more.

“I wonder if she’ll remember me.”

“I’m sure she will.” I grin. “Cars are like dogs. They never forget a friend.”

He glances at me, and I know he’s responding to the word. I shrug. “You could always put your hand down in front of her grill and let her sniff you before you make any sudden moves.”

He pauses on the sidewalk. “Is that what I should have done with you?”

I slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks, a bit undone by the low timbre of the question. “I don’t hate you. Or maybe I do. It doesn’t matter. You damn sure seem to hate me.”

His shoulders stiffen. “It’s not hate.”

I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t. “Fine. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re grown-ups now. Water under the bridge, right?”

I start walking again.

He catches up to me, but I don’t look up until we pass a massive SUV and Shelby comes into view. That’s when I hear his intake of breath, and without thinking about it, I hand him the key. “Go on.”

He captures me with a questioning glance, and I nod.

“You earned it. You named her.”

His lips twitch. “Not the most original name, though, was it?”

“Maybe not, but it’s perfect.” I’d been running through a catalogue of mythological goddesses. He’d looked at Shelby herself, and seen exactly who she was. That’s always been his gift. He sees people.

At least, I know that he always saw me. Or he used to.

As I settle into the passenger seat, he slides in behind the wheel.

“Are we going to the foundation?” I ask. “Or your house?”

“Brandy’s is fine. I’m sure you want to get to work. I’ll catch a ride share from there.”

“That’s silly. You don’t have to—” I stop talking as reality dawns. “That was you outside Brandy’s house that first night. How did you know where I was staying?”

“I know about a lot of things in Laguna Cortez. Besides, where else would you have been? Your rental house is occupied.”

I open my mouth, intending to ask how he knows that I still own my childhood home, but he continues before I can get the words out.

“And you didn’t inherit Peter’s place.”

“No, I didn’t.” I frown, for the first time realizing why that is. Peter arranged for my dad’s house to be held in trust for me, with the rental income going to pay the mortgage and invest in a college fund. But he’d left all of his assets—money, property, even personal effects—to one of his cousin’s I’d never heard of.

“He was protecting you,” Devlin says, apparently reading my thoughts. “He left you nothing in his will because he knew that if you owned anything of his when he owed money to The Wolf it would have been—”

“Dangerous,” I say, my voice a whisper as a band that’s lingered around my heart for years loosens just a little. I swallow, then look over at him. “Have you always known that?”

“No. I looked into what ties you had to Laguna Cortez once I came back. The will was probated, so it was easy enough to find.”

“You looked into my property. Why?”