LITMIR.BIZ

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tugged against his light grasp. “Let go of me.”

      His fingers tightened. “Make m-”

      “O-kay,” Hannah said. “I think it’s time you and I took off, Dev. Jane, it was nice meeting you. Love your yellow slippers, by the way. They’re très sexy.”

      Jane blinked as if she’d forgotten Hannah was even there, then glanced down at her feet. “Oh, no, they’re just-” Chopping off her protest, she cleared her throat. “That is, thank you. They’re more comfortable than my heels for all the backing and forthing I do here.”

      “Not to mention gorgeous. Well, listen, I hope to see you again. I’d also like to come back another time to inspect the property. I try to do that with every Kavanagh job in order to get an idea of the scope of the work for scheduling, and also to add the female perspective. Most of my brothers,” she said, shooting him a look, “seem to appreciate that. Next time, however, I’ll make an appointment for a time when I won’t be inconveniencing you.”

       Which is exactly what I tried to tell you to do in the first place. Dev turned Jane loose, wondering what the hell had just happened. Jesus. He didn’t go around grabbing women. And had he really said make me? He rubbed his palm down the outer seam of his jeans, trying to erase the sensation of her soft skin imprinted on it. “Maybe during one of the mornings,” he muttered. “She’s not around then.”

      Jane didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “ You’re welcome anytime,” she told his sister. “Just don’t bring him with you.”

      “Listen, lady-” He took a hot step forward, self-recrimination suddenly nothing but a mushroom cloud on the horizon. Don’t bring him, his ass. He worked here.

      Hannah wrapped both hands around his left biceps and tugged him toward the door. “See you around, Jane.”

      A damp gust of wind slapped him in the face as his sister hauled him through the kitchen door into the blustery evening. He pulled free of her grasp, looking at her warily. “I’m good. I’m not going to pop her or anything.”

      “You hitting her never even entered my mind.” Stabbing the remote keyless entry button to unlock her car, Hannah stalked around its hood. “Man, I have seen some crazy excuses for foreplay in my life, but you two take the cake.”

      He froze in the midst of reaching for the passenger door handle to stare at her across the roof. “What?”

      “Oh, that’s good. You oughtta be an actor.” She shook her head at him. “Please. I almost called 911. If there’d been any more heat pumping off the two of you the house would have burned to the ground.”

      A short, sharp laugh escaped him. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family.”

      “No, that would be Kate.”

      Ignoring her reply, he yanked the door open and climbed in, then glared at his sister across the console when she followed suit. “Don’t confuse heat with irritation, sis. Jane Kaplinski is a cranky little crow who hasn’t hesitated to think the worst of me from the instant we first clapped eyes on each other.” Well, not from the very first instant, he admitted to himself, recalling the look in her eyes when their gazes had originally connected.

      Now that had been heat.

      “Yeah, I heard you got clumsy drunk.” She started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

      “Of course you did. No such thing as a secret in the Clan Kavanagh.”

      “Never has been, never will be,” she agreed cheerfully.

      He had given up defending his actions years ago, yet he found himself twisting in his seat now to face his sister. He’d always been closest to her and Finn, both in age and interests. “I was seriously jet-lagged that night, Han. Then Da poured me a couple of strong ones at my homecoming, and the drinks I had on top of them at the bar with Bren and David and Finn hit me harder than usual.”

      “That seems to be the general consensus, all right.”

      He laughed without humor. “And you wonder why I’ve spent my adult life on the other side of the world. Don’t you ever get tired of everyone in the family knowing every move you make, practically every thought you think?”

      “No.” Braking at the stop sign to Queen Anne Avenue, she reached over to pinch his cheek. “Ach, but then I’m a tough little hazelnut. Our Devlin, now, he’s a sensitive boyo.”

      He couldn’t help it, he grinned. “You ever let Aunt Eileen catch you imitating her?”

      “Do I strike you as the suicidal type?” She looked both ways before turning left down the steep hill. Then she shot him a glance that was wiped free of humor. “This is a huge opportunity for us, Dev. Don’t screw it up.”

      “There’s nothing between me and Kaplinski to screw it up with!”

      She shot him a disbelieving look.

      “There isn’t,” he insisted. “But even if there were, I wouldn’t do anything to mess up your business opportunity, okay?”

      “It’s your business too, you know.”

      No, it wasn’t. The minute Bren’s cancer went into remission and he was strong enough to return to work Dev had every intention of heading back to the Continent. He’d made a life for himself there crewing sailboats and picking up construction work in his downtime-which was increasingly rare these days.

      “Anyhow,” she added when he didn’t comment aloud, “I guess deep down I already know you’d never jeopardize our livelihood.”

      He pulled a face. “Sure you do.”

      “No, really. I may no longer know you the way I used to, but the Dev I got into trouble with back in the day would never deliberately do anything to mess up his family-no matter how crazy they drive him.”

      They crossed Denny Way a while later, leaving the Queen Anne district behind and entering Belltown. She let him out on Second and he crossed the street to the Noodle Ranch, where he ordered Spicy Basil stir-fry to go and a beer to stay. Taking his drink to a nearby table, he sipped from the bottle and thumbed through a copy of The Stranger while he waited for his order. The personals in the alternative weekly newspaper were always good for killing some time.

      His mind, however, was apparently more interested in wandering back to what Hannah had said about him and Jane than reading about nerdy punk girls searching for passionate dominates. She saw their constant clashing as foreplay? That was just plain nuts, right? Maybe his sister had taken to snorting illegal substances in his absence.

      Yeah, right. He took a deep pull on his beer. That being such a likely possibility and all.

      Still. It was no more absurd than her theory.

      “One order of Spicy Basil to go,” the counterman called out.

      He rose to his feet with alacrity, more than happy to shitcan the entire line of thinking. He reached the counter just as a woman wearing a black coat, leggings and high-heeled boots did, and they both reached for the to-go bag at the same time. His hand slid across hers. And he felt…

      Warm skin.

      Smelled…

      Scented hair.

      Aw, shit. The scent might not have implanted itself already in his mind, but he knew that skin.

      Jane looked over her shoulder at him, and if he hadn’t felt so blindsided himself he might have smiled at the perfectly round O her lips formed when she saw who was wrestling her for the Spicy Basil. Then she narrowed her eyes, giving him her Psycho Bitch From Hell look.

      “Oh, for God’s sake.” She slowly pivoted to face him head-on and her hair, which she still wore down, gleamed beneath the restaurant’s lights as it spilled over her coat collar. “Are you following me now?” She tugged on the take-out bag beneath their

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