That did it. Pamela couldn't take it anymore. She stood and moved to where he sat. "You don't mean that. I'm sorry I said all those. I didn't mean it to, you know. I was just pissed."

"I do that a lot you know," He dropped his glass and grabbed the bottle. "I piss people off." He took a hearty swig of the whisky.

The mere smell of the drink made Pamela want to gag but she endured. "You're not a bad person Devlin. Yes, I don't approve of what you did today and sometimes your ways aren't exactly, well, noble but you can always change."

He raised one of his brows. "Really? My sins would sound great in confession." He gave a bitter laugh. "What you don't know is, I could never change because I'm the devil. I'm always going to be evil."

"No, you're not!" She snapped. He raised one brow in amusement and Pamela had to stifle the urge to yank it back down. Arrogant and sexy bastard. "Don't say that to yourself." She said quietly.

"There is no hope for me." He said, sighing in resignation.

"Well hurray for you. You've made a lifelong commitment to despair." She said sarcastically then sighed. His words were tearing at her heart. "Devlin, you shouldn't say that," she said softly and placed a hand on his thigh. The look he gave her made her snatch her hand back like she'd touched a hot kettle.

He had given her a look of pure longing.

He kept looking at her with that sensation in his eyes that she became uncomfortable.

"You're sweet, Pamela." He said his voice husky and just above a whisper. You're my –"

"Antidote, yeah you told me that before. That line has gotten kinda old." She smiled in amusement.

He scowled at her.

"What?"

"No one, no one –"

"Interrupts your speech, yeah I know that. Old too." She grinned at him. She didn't know what possessed her to be bold and free with him tonight but she was grateful to that unknown force.

His scowl got darker. He placed the whiskey bottle on the center table with a resounding thud.

Pamela grimaced at the sound. The man had flunked sensitivity training. She cocked her head to the side. "Being a grumpy bear, are we?"

He relaxed in the easy chair, his scowl gone, replaced by amusement. "Bear's not exactly the animal you could describe me as."

"Hmm, Stallion, then?"

His brows creased as if he was giving her words a thought. "You're a bit off course. I'm more like a goat."

"What?" Pamela burst into fits of laughter. She laughed so hard that she fell on the soft carpet. She kept laughing so much so that tears fell from her eyes. She clutched her stomach to prevent it from bursting. She sat back down, took a look at his confused face, and burst into laughter again.

"A goat?! You're kidding, right? You can't be serious!" She laughed harder then choked on it and sobered when she saw he was scowling. "Oh my God, you're serious."

"I am." He said still scowling.

"Really? Care to shed more light on that? " She used her sleeve to wipe her tears.

"Greatest Of All Time. G. O. A. T."

"Oh." She was amused and impressed by what he said. "But then, I said animal, not acronym. I can't imagine describing myself as an actual goat."

He shrugged indifferently, then she saw the corners of his mouth lift in a failed attempt to hide his smile. Soon he burst out laughing and Pamela joined him. They laughed for almost a minute before they sobered.

Their eyes locked.

Pamela was still smiling. He was too. She realized she'd never seen him burst out in laughter. He was always reserved and cold. There was a human beneath all the facade. There was a jovial and funny man behind the brick wall, one only had to be patient enough to chip off the wall, brick by brick.

A dark lock of hair had fallen loose on his face and she reached out to tuck it back but stopped halfway. She was unsure. If she displayed too much emotion, he might retract into his shell and become cold and unfeeling. She didn't want that. She hated it so much whenever he shut her out.

But before she had the chance to retract her hand, he caught it and placed it on his face, giving her unrestricted access. She touched his face, stroking back the lock of hair which was an indicator he hadn't cut his hair in a while.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "I've not cut my hair since the day I met you." His voice was rather husky.

"Why?" She asked. Her hands were on his cheek by now. "Were you waiting for my permission?" She caressed his face, loving the tingling sensation it awakened in her. It was as if she'd been asleep before and was now waking, waking up to something sweet and special and beautiful.

She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to feel his lips on hers, wanted to re-visit the stars he'd taken her to on the two occasions they'd kissed. But... There were lots of buts. For starters, his line of work was too dangerous. If she kissed him, she was afraid she'd want to commit herself to him. If she did, it was deadly. What if he went out and there was another shootout and he was killed? She would be left alone, and the thought of not seeing him again made her feel awful.

She dropped her hand again, dejected and sad but he caught it, again, and placed it on his heart. It was beating steadily. That proved one thing. He was alive now. He was here now. Now was all that mattered.

Now.

She looked into his eyes and saw much more than longing; she saw adoration, care, anguish, and...love? She had strong feelings for him too, feelings she dared not place a tag on. All she knew was that she desired him. She wanted him. She cared for him. He mattered to her.

With a moan of resignation, she bent forward and kissed him, damning the consequences. Her touch on his lips was gentle and light because she was still uncertain if she should be doing it, like a flint to a match but his response was explosive.

He held her head in place with his hands and kissed her with passion heated by long-denied yearning. It was as if he'd been starved of water for days and stumbled upon a freshwater fountain. She arched towards him and circled her hands on his neck and kissed him back with as much fervor and passion that matched his to a fare-thee-well.

She sighed against his mouth and this only sharpened their wild hunger. Devlin traced her lips with his tongue, tantalizing himself with the shape and the softness of her mouth making her shudder with desire. She tasted the whisky he had drunk and to her surprise, it didn't revolt her. It was, in an odd way sweet. She used her tongue to taste his, wanting to taste the alcohol in his mouth and that drew small urgent cries from the back of his throat. A violent hunger was unleashed within them, and they passionately sought to satisfy it.

A sudden loud sound echoed with a blast and that pulled them apart. The room vibrated.

Pamela clutched at Devlin in fear. "W– what was that?"

Devlin frowned and listened. Everywhere was quiet once again. "Probably nothing."

"Nothing? You call that nothing?"

"My boys usually practice in case of emergencies." He reassured her. "Don't be afraid. No one can harm you," He gave her a lop-sided grin, "Except me, that is."

She smiled at him. "Why, thank you that's reassuring."

He smiled and planted a deep kiss on her lips. He wanted to pull away but she kissed him back, wanting fervently to explore him, touch him. She placed her hand on his shirt and jerked back, remembering there was blood on it.

She tried not to gag. "Go and change your shirt." She pointed at the smear of blood. Goodness, she had kissed him when someone else's blood was on his body. She felt queasy. "Please." She added.

In an instant, the shirt was off and flung to the floor. "Why waste time changing shirts when we want it off in the first place?" He reached for her but she moved out of reach.

"Take it out of my sight. I hate blood." She retorted, trying to ignore his beautiful body.

"Then how do you deal with your monthly bleeding? Or do you bleed water?"

She slapped his chest and laughed. "Don't joke with that, it's not funny."

"I usually wonder why women get real touchy and defensive when men bring up such matters."

"Don't change the topic, go to the bathroom, now."

"Fine." He heaved a dramatic sigh, stood and grumpily picked up the shirt, and headed for the bathroom.

"And while you're at it, take a bath, will you? You stink of blood."

He paused halfway to the bathroom. "Now who's being a grumpy bear?"

"Not me. Oh, that's right. You're a goat. You don't growl, or whatever sound bears make, you bleat. Bleat on Dev boy!"

"Thanks for reminding me."

She snorted. "I'll send you a check. My services aren't free."

He grinned at her and entered the bathroom. Pamela smiled. She could get used to his handsome smiling face. It suited him. With a shiver, she swatted off the thought that crept into her mind.

That his smile would look good in their wedding pictures.

~

I hope you enjoyed their passionate lip-locking.

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