I’d already had so many reasons to be isolated, separate from everyone. That she would throw the fact that I was biracial in my face like it was some kind of defect pissed me off.
So I had leaned in and whispered to her, “I’m your worst nightmare.”
It was the smartest thing I’d ever done, because she freaked, and I had immediately been reassigned to Cat’s family, one of the few places I had felt safe.
I felt safe here too at Richfield. Even with Devin there. Maybe more so with Devin there, whether or not that was logical. “Okay,” I said simply.
“Can I touch your arm?” he asked, his voice low, compelling. “While you watch me do it. I’d just like to see that I don’t scare you. I really don’t like the idea that you could be afraid of me.”
“Why does it matter?” I whispered, not sure I could just stand there and have him do whatever. Run his hand down my arm? I didn’t know. I couldn’t picture it. Aggression I knew how to respond to, gentleness I didn’t.
“Because I like you.”
My lip started to tremble. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. To him, they were casual and simple words. An affection he’d expressed for a thousand people in his thirty years. For me, they were profound, powerful, agonizing. They weren’t a slap or a criticism or a mocking tease. To my complete and total shame, they brought tears to my eyes. I fought hard against them but they blurred my vision and hung there stubbornly.
“Hey,” he said softly, standing up and moving right in front of me. “Tiffany. Look at me.”
“What?” I said, miserable.
“Come here.”
Then he wrapped me into his arms and pulled me against his bare chest. Tense, I kept arms between us, but I did close my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, reining in my emotions. His body was warm and he smelled like cologne, a subtle, expensive cologne that made me want to lean against him. When his lips brushed softly over the top of my head, I shivered.
Devin put his hands over mine, and gently pulled them down so that there was no barrier between us. Our chests weren’t touching, but I felt breathless, aroused, confused. Embarrassed by all my feelings. His fingers stroked mine, and one hand came up to wipe the tear that had escaped.
“Come for a walk with me and Amelia,” he said, squeezing my fingers before releasing it and stepping back.
I was grateful that he wasn’t pushing me for an explanation for why I had suddenly lost my shit and started crying. That he hadn’t drawn out his compassionate moment. It would have just embarrassed me further. “I think you need a shirt first,” I told him, sniffling a little and tucking my hair behind my ear.
He smiled. “Maybe the cold-hearted guy doesn’t need a shirt.”
I shook my head. “You’re not cold-hearted. You’re right, your bark is worse than your bite.”
Devin winked at me. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll never be able to control my artists if word gets out.” Then he turned and whistled to Amelia. “Come help me find a shirt, puppy.”
If that sentence had been directed at me, I was pretty sure I would have trotted after him willingly, tongue hanging out.
The thought of which made it even more embarrassing when he glanced back and said, “You, too. Come help me find a shirt.”
“Excuse me?” He couldn’t be serious. The thought of walking into his bedroom with him was horrifying. “No. Absolutely not.”
His head tilted slightly. “I can’t figure you out.”
That was ironic. I couldn’t figure him out at all. “There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked. He sounded hurt by that fact.
Why the hell would I? I didn’t know him. I didn’t distrust him, not exactly, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go to his bedroom with him. “No.”
Suddenly he laughed. “Of course you don’t. God, I’m sorry. You’re probably thinking I’m going to lock you in my room and hold you captive for a decade.”
I didn’t see why any of that was at all humorous. I fought the urge to take a step backward.
But then he sobered up. “I’m sorry. I’m used to people doing whatever I want. Yet having nothing for myself. You’re smarter than I am, Tiffany.”
I shook my head. “I just assume bad intentions. Don’t take it personally, please.”
“I can go back to New York if I make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s your house,” I said, shocked. “You have every right to be here. I can leave if you want me too. I can stay with a friend while you’re here.” How had we suddenly gotten there? I’d ruined the moment of closeness. Or imaginary closeness between us.
“That hardly seems fair to you. Especially since I hate this house.”
Who could hate a house that beautiful? “You do? Then why are you here?” It was none of my business why he did what he did. He was eccentric. I’d already established that. But for some reason, his hesitation, his stance on the second step, shoulders stiff, made me feel like he was wrestling with something. That he was hurting, not physically, but emotionally.
“I don’t know,” he said simply. “Because fools rush in, I guess. And I’ve always been a first-class idiot.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“Somehow I doubt you do.”
“There’s still time.” Because the truth was, I hadn’t made any mistakes because there had been no opportunity to make any. I had no money, no freedom. Until now.
He gave me a smile. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I won’t hurt you, I promise. The house is monitored by surveillance cameras. Even if you don’t trust me, you can trust that.”
That was precisely what I was afraid of. Had he seen me doing searches on him online? How good were the cameras?
He clearly misinterpreted my silence. I was worried about what he’d already seen, not whether or not he was being truthful, but he came back down the two stairs he had climbed.
That made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what ground I was trodding on here, but it felt uneven. “I trust you.”
I did. Everything I’d read about him online had reassured me that he was a decent guy. He had zero arrests, no public confrontations. He wasn’t known to drink heavily, and while his ex-wife was often referred to as making a scene, he had spent a lot of time working with the Boys and Girls club, and donated a ton of money. I didn’t think he was in Maine to molest me.