Page 40 of Blake

Blake set the boxes onto the counter and glanced around. He’d seen pieces of the apartment before through their countless video calls. A wall behind Devon’s desk. Part of the kitchen when she’d wandered around while they spoke. Once, he’d seen an extremely blurry view of the ceiling after Willow knocked the phone out of Devon’s hand.

But being inside the apartment felt different.

This was Devon’s space. The place Billy Crawford had invaded. A hired hitman who’d broken into her apartment, kidnapped her and beat her, because the prick’s boss had wanted to use her to get to Janie.

His gaze swept the open area without making it obvious.

The kitchen. Front door. The fire escape beyond the living room window.

“You’re doing it.”

He looked at Devon. “Doing what?”

“That whole security-guy thing.” When he frowned, she explained, “You just scanned the place like you’re plotting an emergency escape route.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Blake opened the top box. Devon leaned in for a look and smiled.

“Pepperoni and pineapple. You remembered.”

“Of course, I remembered.” He slid the box off the other one and put it on the counter. “One disgusting pizza for you, one amazingly delicious one for me.”

“Say what you want.” She picked up a drooping, gooey slice. “I’m actually glad you don’t like pineapple on your pizza because that means there’s more for me.”

He pretended to gag when she took her first bite.

“Mmm…” Devon closed her eyes and moaned.

The sound was completely innocent. His body’s reaction, however, was anything but.

Not now.

The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable or awkward. He’d come to offer comfort, not scare the poor woman even more than she already was.

With their food on paper plates and a roll of paper towels to wipe their hands, Blake followed Devon into the living room. She sat at one end of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her while he took the other. Willow positioned herself between them, apparently deciding it was her job to chaperone.

It took another twenty minutes to decide on a movie. Mostly because Devon’s taste in film was questionable.

“You cannot be serious.” He stared at the selection on the screen.

“What?” She looked at him with innocent eyes.

“That movie has singing.”

“Well, yeah.” Devon frowned. “It’s a musical.”

“I get that.”

“Then why do you sound so confused?”

“Because I didn’t expect you to try to make me watch a movie where people spontaneously burst into song.”

Her soft chuckle sent a rush of warmth through his chest.

“It’s your fault, Savage. You said I could pick.”

“I assumed there would be standards.”