Devlin nodded slowly, clearly trying to figure Ronan out. “Fair enough, but if there is anything you need, don’t hesitate.”
“I know that, too.”
He stood almost at attention as Devlin’s steely gaze studied him, but Ronan knew he wouldn’t find his answers. Ronan was too damn good at hiding them.
After a moment, Devlin’s shoulders relaxed. “Want to come over later for a quick drink before you head to the airport? Ellie’d love to see you.”
“Can’t. I promised Brandy I’d fix her sink.”
“Oh?” The pitch of Devlin’s voice rose. “How interesting.”
“Mind out of the gutter, Saint,” Ronan said, wishing his own thoughts hadn’t gone in that direction, too. “She’s got a drip.”
Devlin grinned, and Ronan scowled. “No.” He said the word firmly, as much for himself as for Devlin.
“No to the gutter humor? Or no to Brandy?” Devlin asked.
“Both.”
Devlin circled his desk, curiosity in his eyes. “That’s another explanation you owe me.”
“Owe?”
“Another thing I’m curious about,” Devlin amended.
“What’s that?” Ronan asked, though he knew perfectly well.
Devlin tilted his head, almost as if he was surprised that Ronan was opening that door. Honestly, Ronan was too.
“All right,” Devlin said. “I want to know why, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you date.”
“Sure you have.”
“No. I’ve seen you pick up women in bars. I’ve seen you leave with them. I’m pretty damn certain you fuck them, and I know you have a membership at Masque,” Devlin added, referring to an LA-based sex club where Ronan went when he needed to blow off steam. “But I’ve never seen you in a relationship.”
“I already knew you were observant. But what’s your point?”
“One, I’m curious as to why, but that’s my problem.” Devlin leaned against his desk. “You hardly owe me an explanation. But on the side that does touch me, Ellie and I both thought there might be something going on between you and Brandy.”
“You thought wrong.” Brandy Bradshaw might have wormed her way into his fantasies, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who could decorate his bed with no strings attached. She deserved a hell of a lot more than that.
Strings.
The word stuck with him, dredging up buried fantasies from his subconscious. That innocent, scarred woman bound and begging for him. And Ronan teasing her mercilessly, letting the pleasure build until she pleaded with him to please, please, please let her come.
No.
Not her. Never her.
She was better than that. Better than him, a man who found pleasure in a string of women who could make him forget. Women he paid handsomely in order to ensure both obedience and discretion. Women he could push, who understood his need to face all those dark places. To go right up to the edge of their limits.
But actually getting close to a woman? Opening his heart and settling into a relationship? Not happening. As far as Ronan was concerned, that was the hardest limit of all.
“Like you said, Devlin. You know me, even if you don’t know the why of it.”
“Fair enough. But I also know what I saw at the wedding.”
Ronan felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t realized anyone had seen them in the alcove. Those few blissful moments he desperately wanted to regret but didn’t.
“Yeah, well, it was a mistake. Weddings and wine. A bad combination.”
“I’ll never regret my wedding,” Devlin said. “But I will regret my wedding day if it sets off a chain reaction that hurts that woman. Brandy is like a sister to Ellie. She’s family. We’re friends, you and I, and nothing will ever change that. Hell, you’re like a brother. But I promise you, Ronan, if you hurt her, we’re going to have a problem.”
“You think I don’t know that? I already told you it was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again. There’s nothing between us, and there never will be.” He met his friend’s eyes. “We both know that a woman like Brandy deserves a hell of a lot better than a man like me.”
Chapter Two
“Brandy!”
I come to a stop at the sound of my name, then almost fall on my face as Jake, my thirteen-year-old Labrador who’s convinced he’s still a puppy, continues to gambol down the street. I tug on his leash, then turn to find Inez Santos waving at me from across Pacific Avenue, the main east-west street in the Laguna Cortez Arts District.
She’s standing in the doorway of her boutique, The Escape, and we wait for a gap in the light traffic, then hurry to meet her.
“Hey, Jake,” she says, crouching down and ruffling his fur. He flops on the ground, licks her hand, and generally acts like he’s in heaven. “I don’t mean to waylay you if you’re in a hurry, but I wasn’t sure if you’d seen the new display.”
She rises as she speaks, then gestures to the store’s huge display window. I gasp, one hand going to my mouth as I take in the absolutely breathtaking sight. “Inez, it’s incredible.”
“Not it. You. Those bags are all you.”
The window is entirely devoted to BB Bags, my somewhat eponymous handbag business since it’s named after me, Brandy Bradshaw. Or my initials, anyway.
She has all my styles on their own pedestals—the waxed canvas bags that are my original design, the crossbody bags, even the fancy cocktail bags I’ve recently added. Those she has in the center, and the lighting is set to hit them so that the shimmery material sparkles.
“I love it,” I tell her. “You make me look good.”
“Please. These bags sell themselves. Stock’s already getting low.” She grins, her pale blue eyes crinkling as she pulls me in for a motherly hug. “I’m so proud. And did I hear you’ve got a booth at the Expo?”
I nod happily, and she squeals.
“That is amazing. And coming up fast,” she adds. “You must be so excited.”
“I am. And slightly terrified.”
“Nonsense. The Southern California Fashion Expo has launched so many careers. You’re going to be the next big thing.” Inez is about twenty years older than me and in incredible shape, with close-cropped short hair that would look horrible on me, but which she totally rocks. Inez was the first storeowner to stock my bags, and her belief that I’ll be a huge success has never faltered. Which is a heck of a lot more than I can say about my parents.
“Thank you so much for everything,” I tell her sincerely. “You’ve been my fairy godmother.”
“I like the sound of that.” She cocks her head toward the door to her boutique. “Time for a coffee? I bought an espresso machine for the store. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t do coffee. Well, I still have a kettle for tea.”
“Thanks anyway, but I can’t stay. I want to get home and wash off the beach.” I gesture to my capris, my exposed calves covered in sand. “I’m supposed to meet Ronan at four. He’s going to fix my sink.”
Her mouth tugs into a grin. “Is he?”