Free Devil Without a Cause by Terri Garey Page A

old enough to be anyone’s mother, but news of a child didn’t faze him; after tonight he’d never see her again.
    “Divorced?”
    She shook her head. “Never married. He didn’t want what I wanted, so we went our separate ways.”
    Finn nodded as though he understood, but he didn’t. What kind of man walked away from his own child, his own flesh and blood, knowing no other man could ever quite fill those shoes?
    “What about you?” she asked.
    “No kids,” he said, shaking his head. “But I wouldn’t mind having them one day.” Except he never would, because he’d probably be a lousy father. Always working, always touring . . .
    The overhead light played on her hair, gleaming shades of red and mahogany that reminded him of the wood he used in his workshop. It was his sanctuary between tours, where music and chaos were replaced with the sound and fury of saws, drills, and hammers.
    He hadn’t lied about the British Virgin Islands—he did have a house there, and it was as close to home as anyplace else he’d been in the last twenty years. It was private, and it was quiet, and he could usually rest there, for a while, until the muse of Chaos roused herself and consumed his mind and body with the need for another song, another CD, another tour.
    Another triumph.
    “You didn’t eat much,” he observed quietly.
    She looked up. “I don’t usually eat red meat,” she admitted, “but I thought you might like it.”
    “Surely you’re not still nervous,” he teased. “Ever since I put my clothes on I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
    “You have.” She smiled, shooting him a glance beneath her lashes. “But you don’t have to be, you know.”
    Despite the open invitation, she was blushing again; no hiding it with skin that fair.
    “Good,” he replied, “because I’ve been dying to play footsies with you under the table.”
    He liked the way she laughed.
    “You’re quite the tease, aren’t you? The last guy I dated had no sense of humor—” Then she stopped laughing, as though she’d said too much. “I mean, not that this is a date , exactly . . .” She trailed off.
    He raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
    She looked uncomfortable. “You’re being sweet,” she said. “We both know I shamelessly pushed my way in here.”
    “I’m glad you did,” he answered smoothly. He reached across the table for her hand and took it. His hand dwarfed hers. “Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?”
    Her brown eyes widened.
    “For all your bravado, you don’t seem like the kind of girl who talks her way into celebrity hotel rooms on a regular basis, so you need to understand something. We can have a great time together tonight, but afterward . . . afterward you’ll probably never hear from me again.”
    He leaned in, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. “You need to be okay with that. One night, that’s all we’ve got.”
    “One night,” she repeated, biting her lip.
    “And in the morning, no hard feelings and no regrets?”
    “No regrets,” she murmured.
    “Do me a favor,” he said, his eyes drawn to those sweet pink lips. “Let’s pretend I’m not Finn Payne; I’m just some guy who saw you in a crowded elevator and invited you to dinner, and you’re not Amy . . .” He hesitated.
    “Smith,” she provided, a heartbeat later.
    “You’re not Amy Smith; you’re just a beautiful woman about to have a night of wild delight with a total stranger. Sort of like role playing, except we get to play ourselves.” He stared into her chocolate brown eyes, wondering if she could possibly be as gorgeous naked as he was beginning to imagine.
    She swallowed, squeezing his hand. The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her bottom lip, and his groin tightened.
    “Wild delight,” she murmured huskily, “sounds good.”
    “Doesn’t it?”
    There was something different about her; boldness mixed with vulnerability, shamelessness mixed with shame.
    Face of an angel, body