Devil's Deception by Doreen Owens Malek Read Free Book Online Page A

caught sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser and stopped to look. Not much by comparison with Philip Cronin, he thought. Cronin looked like a model in an advertisement for tanning lotion: slim, golden, perfect. Devlin studied his own dark features and snorted derisively. No way. If a pretty boy like Cronin was what she liked, he hadn’t a chance in the world.
    Then he realized what he was thinking and cursed out loud.
    He had to concentrate on the task at hand. There was a safe someplace in this house, and Angela had access to it. She’d mentioned it when he broke the figurine, and tonight she’d been wearing jewelry that she’d obviously retrieved from a careful hiding place. But how to find it, and how to get into it? He was skilled in many diverse areas but he was no safecracker. He would have to think about this one.
    Devlin went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the gushing water and letting it run over his body.
    When he was finished, he would draw up a plan for getting Angela to open the safe for him.  
    Maybe that would keep his mind off her playing footsie with Cronin in the living room.
    * * * *
    Angela got rid of Philip as soon as she possibly could. She pleaded an early class, which was true, and a headache, which wasn’t. Fortunately Philip ascribed her funk to her unsettled situation and left gracefully after about a half hour, without the strenuous wrestling match that generally preceded his departures.
    Angela took off her shoes and wondered why she didn’t just give in to him. He was handsome, charming, and had a wonderful career. Hundreds of women would probably fall at his feet.
    Angela wasn’t one of them.
    She had never been able to figure out what held her back exactly. Her one and only lover, a college boyfriend who’d ditched her when Uncle Frank made his presence known, had hardly provided a magnificent introduction to physical passion, but that wasn’t the whole problem.
    She didn’t love Philip. She probably should, but she didn’t. She’d been going along with the relationship because he was pursuing her and because Uncle Frank wanted her to do it. But she was realizing that she couldn’t let herself be bulldozed by the two men, forced into a liaison, a marriage, that she didn’t really want.
    And she knew why she had come to this conclusion. The reason was just down the hall—a man with soot black hair and smoky topaz eyes.
    Carrying her shoes in one hand and her fur in the other, Angela went upstairs to read three hundred pages on the revised copyright laws.
    * * * *
    Devlin opened his door a crack and peered into the hall. The lower floor was dark. Angela had gone to her room.
    Barefoot, dressed only in a pair of jeans, he padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The booze was taking its toll; he was viciously thirsty. He filled a tall glass with orange juice and ice and was turning to take it back to his room when Angela appeared in the doorway, dressed in a floor length terry robe.
    Devlin groaned inwardly. Didn’t this woman ever sleep? She was always wandering around in the wee hours like Lady Macbeth.
    “I thought you had gone to bed,” he said.
    “I had a lot of studying to do,” she replied. “How about you?”
    “Couldn’t sleep,” he answered shortly.
    Angela tried not to stare at him but it was difficult. She had never seen him without a shirt, and his body was beautiful, neatly formed and hard, his dusky skin flowing over the sculptured muscles like fine, strong silk. Hair the same color as that on his head, but curling, matted his chest and grew in a line down to his belly. His jeans rode low on his hips, and she could see the faint line of his summer tan ending below his waist.  
    “I’ll just get a glass of milk and go,” she said awkwardly.
    “No rush. I was leaving,” he answered. He moved to let her pass by him, and Angela caught sight of a jagged, angry scar just under his left ribs, marring the spare