Free Never Coming Home by Evonne Wareham Page A

this simply does the opposite, drives Jeff deeper underground?’
    ‘Chance we have to take. We talked about this before.’ Devlin looked bored. ‘Subtle wasn’t an option here. Sometimes you have to shake the tree.’
    ‘Pools, trees. You turning into an environmentalist on me, Devlin?’ She gave a shaky laugh.
    ‘Nope, a poet.’ He grinned suddenly. Kaz felt the knot in her stomach unclench and regroup in a different way. ‘Must be something in the air.’ He gestured towards the restaurant behind them. ‘Let’s eat.’
    They took the last vacant table outside. Kaz gave her order, barely looking at the menu, and sat back in the shade of the umbrella. Devlin was watching her.
    ‘What?’ Irritated, she leaned forward and pushed the wraparound shades up onto the top of his head, so that she could see his eyes. The dusty blond hair was springy under her fingers. She withdrew her hand, fast. ‘I can’t see what you’re thinking when you have those things on.’
    ‘Maybe you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.’ The predatory smile rolled over her skin like a touch. Kaz swallowed. He was tormenting her, for invading his space. When he glanced away though, at the waiter who’d just placed a bottle of mineral water on the table, the relief was tinged with something else, something that shivered along her skin. Downtime, in a city like Florence, with a man like Devlin   …
    He was attracted to her, but he had his professional code. She had to respect that. She’d thrown herself at a man once before, and got burned. She mustn’t do it again.
    He was pouring the water, pushing a glass in her direction. He leaned back, lazily, nursing his own glass. Kaz inhaled shakily, sensing the threat withdrawn.
    Devlin buried a smile in his glass. The move with the shades had surprised both of them. Then she’d reacted as if she’d been burned, setting irritation and awareness buzzing in his gut. He’d flicked out that barbed response on a reflex, then regretted it when he saw her face. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. He didn’t need her vulnerability to make him feel like an asshole. She was too tightly wound and too tightly wrapped a package for him to unpick. However much he wanted to.
    The shock of that one rocked him. Kaz Elmore didn’t just make his groin ache. She had layers, and he wanted to explore them. Shit .
    Now she was looking at him as if she was peeling skin. With deliberation he let his limbs relax, easing back in the chair. He saw her ease back too, both of them stepping down from code red. She’s a Client. Out of bounds. Remember that, buddy. This is lunch, not combat.
    Conversation; that was the thing. She was looking expectantly at him. What the hell had he been about to say? Oh, yeah.
    ‘The way you speak Italian. You didn’t learn that in an evening class.’
    ‘No.’ She swirled the water in her glass, then thanked the waiter as he put a plate of antipasti on the table. Devlin helped himself to salami and olives and waited. Looked like she was sorting through memories. For him, or for herself? ‘I lived here, and in France, until I was twelve,’ she said finally. ‘Oliver rented a palazzo in Venice, before he bought the château in Provence. I grew up in both places.’ He could see one kind of wariness being replaced by another.
    ‘Not exactly your average childhood,’ he offered casually.
    ‘Not at all. Oliver was the centre of – what? A commune? An entourage?’ She picked out a black olive. ‘You know the rock stars in the ’60s and ’70s – Elvis, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones – the way they had this whole group of people around them, agents and managers, gofers, backing groups, stunningly beautiful girlfriends – even wives? That’s how it was with Oliver. Wherever we lived, the house was always full. Twenty, thirty people, sometimes. Mum was his favourite model for over twenty years.’ Devlin heard the defensiveness and the pride.
    ‘So – what