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Tory heard a knock on her front door and she fairly leaped out of her skin. She gave herself one last glance in her bathroom mirror. She’d decided, after trying several different styles, to wear her hair loose. It fell to her shoulders, smoothed out with a little straightening gel and a flat iron. The only piece of jewelry she wore was her grandmother’s pearls. She loved feeling the weight of them against her neck. Her Nana had loved the pearls, claiming they brought good luck. Tory could use all the luck she could get tonight.
Grabbing her purse, Tory left the room. She took a deep breath, then opened the front door—and proceeded to drool.
Devon stood on her front step, one broad shoulder braced against the doorframe, wearing a crisp white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black slacks that showed off his long, powerful legs. She’d never seen him looking quite so magnificent. He’d even tried to comb the wild mane of his hair into some semblance of style. She could have told him he shouldn’t have bothered. Tory had always liked Devon’s messy brown hair.
“You look great,” Tory complimented, hoping her voice didn’t sound quite as throaty as she suspected.
His grin, laced with just a shade of masculine need, melted her insides as he stared down at her. “And you look sexy as hell, sugar.”
Tory’s hands shook with nerves. Another first. Devon never made her nervous. They’d been friends too long for that. Three years of knowing a person, seeing them at their best as well as their worst, tended to bridge the gap. Admittedly, Devon wasn’t acting himself of late. For instance, the way he looked at her now, as if he wanted to run his tongue over her, slowly, for hours. Yeah, that was a new one.
“Thanks. I spent a bloody fortune, so it better look fabulous.”
“You’re a total babe. I’m going to have to fend the guys off.”
Tory narrowed her eyes. “Why would you even bother?”
Devon stepped through the front door. His hand lifted to her cheek, and the warm strength of him obliterated her nerves in an instant. “Because you’re with me,” he growled.
“This isn’t a date,” Tory reminded him—and herself. If only she could stop thinking of it in that light, it’d give her words more credibility.
“I’m a man. You’re a woman. We’re going to a party together. How is that not a date?”
“We’re friends. This is no different than if I were going on a bike ride with Summer.”
“So, Summer thinks you look sexy, then? Summer can’t take her gaze off the way that satin hugs your curves?”
“Devon.” His name and nothing more. It was all Tory could manage in that moment.
He stroked a finger down her chin, then removed his hand altogether. She shivered clear to her toes. “Come on, sugar. Let’s party.”
She smiled, feeling her confidence level rise a notch. She was going out with one of her best friends and she was going to have a good time. Simple as that.
Fifteen minutes later, when Tory entered Con’s mansion—and that was the only way to describe a house the size of Con’s—she took in the beautiful decorations. One of the tallest trees she’d ever seen filled one corner of the great room. Mistletoe hung in various spots around the spacious room. The winding staircase leading to the second floor was decorated with large red bows and evergreen wreaths. The festive atmosphere warmed her heart. Con had grown up being bounced from one foster home to another. Poor and alone, with the exception of Devon, Con had built quite a life for himself with a lot of hard work and a good sense of business. Christmas music and more than a hundred guests filled the place to bursting and made her feel less skittish. Big crowds of strangers she could handle. It was the man at her side who had her wondering.
Tory quickly scanned the crowd, but didn’t see Con anywhere. “Where’s the man of the hour?”
Devon placed his hand at the small of her back and led her across the room. “Probably in the kitchen. You know how he is about the food. Everything has to be perfect or he has a conniption.”
She envisioned Con hovering over some poor unsuspecting chef and groaned. “We’d better find him before we have a repeat of last year’s Christmas party.”
Devon snorted. “Con deserved to have cheesecake dumped over his head. He was being an ass.”
She clutched her purse tighter as they neared the double doors leading into the kitchen. “But it was a waste of a perfectly good cheesecake, and that’s just wrong no matter how you look at it.”
“I’d forgotten how much you loved that stuff.” He chuckled. “Con felt terrible because you looked so sad over the loss.”
Pushing the door inward, she groused, “I wasn’t sad. No one gets sad over cheesecake.”
Devon snorted. “You looked like a little lost puppy.”
She started to protest that ridiculous statement, but the sight that greeted her inside the huge room with its stainless steel counters and cabinets took her breath. Not one, but three cheesecakes sat on the counter mere feet away. One was topped with strawberries, another with cherries, and the third was drizzled with chocolate sauce. Drooling would be extremely unladylike, Tory remaindered herself. She spied Con next to the stove, hovering near a steaming pot of…something. He turned, and their gazes clashed. The slow grin that spread across his face had her heart beating faster. Con should never be allowed to smile. It was like watching the sun rise over Cadillac Mountain in Maine. It made you want to stop and stare for a good ten minutes.
Unable to budge even an inch, Tory watched as Con crossed the room then gently pulled her into his arms. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. Inching backward, he looked her over. “You look gorgeous, baby.”
Taking advantage, Tory let her gaze wander. Con’s close-cropped midnight black hair, navy blue slacks and the white dress shirt straining to contain his thickly muscled torso sent a little shiver down her body. Con was a big man. Powerful. A little intimidating until you got to know him. His silver eyes and the hard planes of his face told of a rough life. Oh, Con might be rolling in money now, but Tory knew it hadn’t always been that way. In fact, growing up, he and Devon both had been forced to fight just to survive. She didn’t know all of it, but the little she did know always made her heart ache for the pair.
“Thanks,” she said. “You, uh, clean up pretty well yourself.”
