Devon didn’t get the chance to utter the fuck, yes sitting on his tongue. She leaned over the table to set Morgan’s cocktail on his napkin. Giving them an up close and personal view of her firm breasts and tight ass. That had all been on purpose, Devon didn’t doubt it for a minute.
“Thank you, Fallon,” Morgan said as he discreetly admired her assets—he could be sly that way, play it cool, but Devon knew better. Morgan was an expert at concealing lust, though Devon always sensed when it flashed through him.
And how could it not when faced with a riveting redhead with a flirty smile?
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Presley.” There was a hint of teasing in her tone, so Morgan had been right about her toying with him.
“It’s Morgan,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Just Morgan.”
She smiled brighter. That dimple of hers drove Devon wild. How had he never noticed before how damn sexy it was?
Fallon sassily told Morgan, “It’s your rule that the staff use our members’ last names.”
“I’m not a member,” Morgan contended. “I’m a co-owner. Therefore, I have the right to supersede the rules when I damn well please.”
She laughed softly. Devon’s cock throbbed in wicked beats.
Her emerald gaze fell on him. “And you could pay better attention to your environment.”
“Duly noted.” He blew out a long breath. “Jesus, Fallon.”
This was a very unexpected twist to Devon’s return. He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, towering over her despite the heels she wore.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he asked. “I didn’t even know you were in town, let alone at the club. Someone failed to mention it.” He threw a smirk Morgan’s way.
“I’ve been back a few months and your chief financial officer signs my paycheck,” she said. “So I didn’t expect you to even know I was working here again.”
“How was Florida?” he asked.
“The record-breaking temps and humidity were sucking the life out of me—or rather, sweating the life out of me. I will say, however, that the Miami and South Beach nightclub scenes were outrageously fun. Hardest decisions I ever had to make were plotting out where to be between eleven o’clock and one a.m. and between two and four. I think it’s even livelier than Vegas.”
“Doesn’t let you off the hook for not thumping me on the back of the head so I’d know it was you serving me,” he lightly scolded.
“You were seriously engrossed. I didn’t want to disturb you. It looked important.”
“Trust me,” he all but ground out as the testosterone flowed like magma through his veins. “I wouldn’t have minded the interruption. Not from you.”
His gaze slid over her once more and his brain still reeled from the vision before him.
Fallon was an old friend. From way back in elementary school. Though, she’d never looked a thing like this smoking-hot woman standing before him. In fact, Devon wouldn’t have even realized it was her if Morgan hadn’t put two and two together for him.
She was downright breathtaking. Devon reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She let out a delicate squeal of delight. He gave her a firm hug, reveling in the feel of her sinful body pressed to him. All her feminine curves . . . and that soul-stirring aroma wafting under his nose. Everything about her nearly overwhelmed his senses.
He held her a bit too long. Though it didn’t seem to faze Fallon. Devon, however, had to fight the hard-on threatening to make its presence known.
When he eventually released her, he held her at arm’s length and continued taking in every sensational inch of her. “What’d you do, grow up overnight?”
She bit into her glossy lower lip, then caught herself. “Something like that.”
“Well, I’m completely blown away.”
“Thanks,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I colored my hair.”
That wasn’t the only thing different about her. Everything was different about her.
Devon said, “Miami agreed with you, regardless of the weather conditions.”
“It was an enlightening three years. I’d love to catch up with both of you. It’s so good to finally see you again.” She tore her gaze from Devon and glanced around the busy restaurant. “But my section is filling up, so I can’t talk now.” The earlier teasing fringed her voice as she added, “If you’ll excuse me, I have customers to serve, Mr.—”
“If you call me Mr. McMillan—or sir,” he warned, “I’m going to put you over my knee.”
And smack that luscious ass.
Heat flared in her eyes, igniting the twinkle to something quite explosive. Despite Devon not having said those last words out loud . . . they were devilishly implied.
She suggestively told him, “I’ll remember that.”
Then she strolled off to greet a foursome the hostess had just seated. Devon watched her go, admiring the sway of her hips and everything else that enticed him about her tempting backside.
He returned to his chair and Morgan shook his head at him.
“You can’t flirt with the help.”
Devon snickered. “It’s Fallon.”
“Precisely. Not a girl we ever flirted with.”
“She’s no girl. Don’t even begin to tell me you haven’t noticed.” He needed a sip of the iced sparkling water to cool his raging insides. “Christ, I don’t know what the hell happened to her in Florida that turned her into . . . all that. It was our loss at the club when she decided to visit her mom for a few years. But now she’s come back to us and . . . whoa.”
“She’s an employee, Devon.”
“She’s a friend, Morgan,” he countered. “One who asked for a job here when we opened our doors. She’s good at what she does and everyone likes her—whether she’s cute or drop-dead gorgeous. Though I suspect our male members are frequenting this place much more often with her return. And clearly requesting her.”
Morgan gave a half-snort. “I should have our Accounting department do a quarterly comparison to see if sales have surged since she’s been back.”
“The sales aren’t the only thing surging,” Devon muttered.
Morgan studied him closely, his gaze narrowing. “Don’t go getting any ideas about her.”
“Too late?”
“Devon,” Morgan chastised with sudden agitation and bunched shoulders beneath his dark-brown polo shirt, bearing the Bayfront Yacht Club logo. “First of all, she works for us. Let’s not open ourselves up to a sexual harassment suit. Second . . . as you stated, it’s Fallon. Childhood friend. Everyone’s favorite little sister. Sweet, smart, and sassy. But innocently so. She’s not the sort you fuck the way you like to fuck.”
Devon slid a glance toward the bar where she was collecting drinks again. “You’re talking about Fallon Carteris, the kid. I’m looking at Fallon Carteris, the woman. Apples and oranges, my friend. Apples and oranges.”
“Devon.”
His attention shifted. “Morgan.”
“No.” Another quick shake of his head.
Devon groaned. “Yeah, you’re probably right. It would be kind of bizarre to see her naked. Hotter than hell, but still . . . it’s Fallon.” Devon contemplated this a minute more, then roguishly shrugged a shoulder. “No, I don’t think it’d be bizarre at all. I mean, there isn’t even a hint of the former Fallon. Even her voice is different.”
“I’ll admit, this is a jolt to the system. The Fallon we used to know was never into appearances.”
“Well, she’s made up for that in spades.”
“I’m telling you straight out,” Morgan insisted, “she’s completely off-limits to us both.”
Devon shrewdly eyed his partner. “Sure you’re making that declaration so HR doesn’t rain hellfire down on us, or . . . ?” His brow crooked.
“Drop it, Dev.” Morgan’s tone was tight with finality. “You wanted to discuss business, so I flew in from Seattle. Stay focused. What’s the extreme urgency about?”
Devon’s jaw clenched. No doubt it was for the best that they didn’t broach the subject of why they’d both been on opposite sides of the continent the past year. Certainly not prudent to bring up that night with the blonde in the scarlet dress. True, it’d been a scorcher—one of the sexiest nights he and Morgan had ever had sharing a lover. But they’d nearly taken the threesome too far . . . and that just wasn’t right in either of their books.
So Devon pushed aside thoughts of what had almost happened and also tried with all his might not to let any forbidden notions of Fallon linger.
He jumped in, saying, “We have an offer on the club.”
Morgan’s head whipped back. He clearly hadn’t seen that coming. “This one?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t realize we were considering selling.” Was that a tinge of betrayal Devon now heard?
“I haven’t been secretly soliciting offers,” he hastily said. “If that’s what you’re thinking. An investment group came to me. And it’s perfect timing, really. I’d like you to entertain the idea of building again. In the Hamptons.”
“This is the Hamptons—West Coast style,” Morgan pointed out.
“We should expand our horizons. The clubs back East are doing incredibly well. I’m not saying this one isn’t still profitable; it’s proven a worthy asset. But this club and marina are the smallest of our holdings. We could double or triple our size in the Hamptons. And I’ve already scouted potential locations. That’s what makes all of this a prime opportunity to explore other options.”
He slid the contract Morgan’s way, with the top sheet reflecting the most important terms of the sale.
Devon sipped his Pellegrino as Morgan perused the documents. Then he reached for his gin and tonic. He drew in a long drink. Devon expected some hesitation on Morgan’s side, some valid reasons for why he didn’t want to consent to a sale. Yet it also made sense at this juncture. If they weren’t amenable to being in Bayfront when the other was here—unless absolutely necessary, like today—what was the purpose of keeping this club?
Morgan could live here, stay in Seattle or move to Santa Barbara, if he so chose. Devon would oversee the construction and operational startup of the new venture. They could remain business partners, they just didn’t need to be in the same town at the same time.
Not that Devon didn’t miss his best friend. But under current circumstances . . . This seemed like an appropriate—intelligent—solution.
Morgan continued to hedge. Whether he needed more time to deliberate the pros and cons or not, he didn’t say. Just drummed his fingers atop the stack of papers and hemmed and hawed mentally.
Devon didn’t push him. The prospective transaction had come about unexpectedly. Sure, they’d had interest before and not just from Devon’s brother, Max. This, however, was a fortuitous offer from an international enterprise that had put a very appealing cash deal on the table. An offer they really shouldn’t refuse.
Eventually, Morgan’s gaze lifted and he speared Devon with a sharp look to match his tone as he said, “If you want to sell, then we’ll sell. You want to leave Bayfront for good? I’m not going to hold you to this place.” He shoved back his chair, stood, and stalked off.
Devon stewed. Because he could read between the lines.
Morgan didn’t want out.
Yet he was giving Devon an out.
In the grand scheme of things . . . What the hell did that mean for their friendship?