Even if Rosie wasn’t following Gabe, she would’ve known how to get to the de Vincent manor because of all the research she’d done. She kept that piece of knowledge to herself since it made her sound like a creepy stalker and she doubted Gabe would appreciate knowing that.

She already kind of felt like a stalker, a cheap one, trailing behind Gabe’s fancy-ass Porsche in her Corolla . She had no idea what kind of Porsche the man drove, but she imagined it cost more than she’d ever be willing to pay for a car.

Lance rang her just as she slowed and pulled onto the private access road. She let the call go to voice mail as she drove along the winding road crowded by tall oaks. Heavy Spanish moss clung to the trees, creating a canopy that nearly blocked out the autumn sun. It was really beautiful and eerie, and knowing that these trees and the moss had been here long before man had claimed this land had a humbling effect.

The trees cleared and rolling green hills came into view. The road kept going for at least another mile. Eventually she came upon more trees edging along the road. Rosie felt like she was driving into another state at this point, but eventually, a large gate attached to a small building that reminded her of a checkpoint came into view.

As she drove past the gate, she finally saw the house.

“Holy Mary, mother of God and baby Jesuses everywhere,” she whispered, clutching the steering wheel as she tipped forward in her seat.

There were no pictures of the de Vincent home anywhere on the internet, not even aerial views, which seemed impossible in this day and age, but it was the truth. So, this was the first time she was seeing the place.

It looked as big as the White House!

The center part of the structure was three stories tall and each side was flanked by smaller additions that appeared to be two stories. Every part of the compound was connected by balconies and breezeways on each level. And as she drew closer, she could see the fans churning from the multiple balcony ceilings.

Thick columns surrounded the front of the home and continued along the entire structure. Shutters were black and large, bushy ferns hung from the wrought-iron railings on the upper levels, and the entire home was covered in vines.

That wasn’t normal, to say the least.

Some of the older homes in the area had issues with the aggressive vines and ivy, but a house like this and covered entirely? Where the owners had the means to keep the structure clear?

Rosie needed to stop staring at the house and pay attention, because Gabe was heading toward the left wing and she was going to end up driving straight through the front door.

She followed him around to a separate structure she quickly realized was a garage—a garage large enough to store at least ten cars. How many vehicles did these people have?

Gabe didn’t pull into one of the bays, instead parking in front, so Rosie did the same, pulling up beside him. She snatched her phone, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans, and her purse off the front seat, and then climbed out.

Gabe was already waiting for her at the trunk of her Corolla, the weekender bag in hand and silver sunglasses shielding his eyes. He’d pulled his hair back, the dark strands secured at the nape of his neck. “Follow me.”

Rosie hurried to catch up with him. “What is up with all the ivy?”

“You know, that’s a good question.” He cut across the driveway and then stepped onto the veranda along the side of the house. “They come from the rose garden out back and have just spread out of control. Lawrence—our father? He used to have the vines pulled down yearly, but they always came back and quick, too. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah.” She drew the word out as she stared at the green vine crawling over the exterior walls. “That is notably weird.”

Gabe grinned as he started climbing the covered outdoor stairs. “Sometimes I wonder if the vines are trying to smother the house.”

Her brows lifted. There had been examples of weird vegetative abnormalities at sites with high paranormal activity. The Hoia Baciu Forest came to mind, which featured an unexplained circle where no living thing grew and a ton of firsthand accounts of the paranormal, but she’d never seen anything like this .

“This is my private entry,” Gabe explained as he rounded the second-floor landing. “Lucian’s is over in the right wing for now, but he’s moving out, and Dev is up there.” He jerked his chin up.

Her stomach dipped for some dumbass reason at the mention of Devlin’s name. They stepped out onto the wide, second-floor porch. She followed him around the corner and then saw comfy chairs lined up. There was a closed book, one that appeared to be an old historical romance based on the beautiful dress the model was wearing on the cover. The book rested on a wicker end table. The ivy had made its way to this level, spreading along the walls and even curling around the legs of the chairs. When she looked out over the railing, she wasn’t surprised to see the ivy covering that, too. Down below, there was a huge lima-bean-shaped pool and a . . .

“Is that a plane ?” she asked.

Gabe chuckled as he opened the door. “It’s Dev’s.”

“He has a plane?” She turned to him. “Why would he need a plane?”

“He travels a lot for the company. I guess for him it’s easier to have his own jet,” he answered. “It does come in handy when you want to head somewhere on short notice.”

“I imagine so.” Actually, that was a lie. Rosie couldn’t imagine waking up one day and randomly deciding to go Paris or the Caribbean, walking outside, and hopping on a private jet. Like her brain formally rejected the notion and she was a fairly spontaneous person.

But she was not a super-wealthy spontaneous person.

“Rosie?” Nikki’s voice floated from somewhere in the recesses of the house. “Is that you?”

Gabe stepped aside, allowing Rosie to enter what was definitely not an ordinary bedroom in a house. It was an apartment .

An apartment triple the size of hers.

Feeling way out of her element, her gaze shifted to Nikki. “Surprise?”

“What are you doing here?” Nikki shuffled toward her.

“I helped Gabe get some clothes for you.” Rosie dropped her purse on a chair near the door. She met Nikki halfway, clasping her cool hands in hers. “I wanted to see you and he said I could come over.”

“Really?” Nikki’s wide, one good eye swerved toward Gabe.

“I didn’t see a problem with it,” he responded. “I’m going to take this back in the bedroom.”

She stared at him for a moment and then focused on Rosie. “I’m glad to see you. I’m just surprised. They aren’t really fond of having people over here.”

“You were surprised?” Rosie giggled. “I was prepared to beg and plead to come see you, even hold your clothing hostage, but I didn’t have to argue at all.”

“That’s . . . wow. Okay.” She glanced in the direction Gabe disappeared. “Sit?” She didn’t wait for Rosie to answer, leading her over to a couch. “I just woke up from a nap, so this was perfect timing.”

“You look a lot better.”

“You’re such a liar, but thank you.”

That wasn’t entirely false. Some of the swelling had gone down and her left eye was open a little, but yeah, she still looked pretty terrible. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better. I’m sore, but I’m alive.”

Rosie glanced at the hallway and when she spoke, she kept her voice low. “How is everything with Gabe?”

“Good, I guess.” Nikki leaned back into the thick cushions. “I mean, we haven’t talked about anything, but he . . .”

“He has you set up here, in the de Vincent compound, searched me down to make sure he got the right stuff for you, and even allowed me to visit?” Rosie whispered back, remembering what Devlin had told her. “And his br—”

“Want anything to drink?” Gabe yelled from the hallway.

Rosie’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll tell you later.”

Nikki studied her. “Okay.”

Just about then, Gabe appeared and then decided both of them needed a glass of sweet tea. It was strange, sitting in the de Vincent house, being served iced sweet tea by a de Vincent. It was so surreal, she hadn’t even thought about whipping out the Electronic Voice Phenomena recorder she always carried with her.

Nikki must’ve been reading her mind, because she said, “I’m surprised you don’t have one of those electronic meter thingies out and taking readings.”

“A what?” Gabe asked, sitting down on a barstool that butted up to the kitchen island.

“An EMF meter. It detects electrically charged objects, like power lines and ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” he repeated.

“Yep. See, it’s believed that when spirits are around, they emit electronic charges into the air, and an EMF meter will pick up on that.”

Nikki nodded. “I’ve actually seen her use one and it went off in the middle of nowhere, where there weren’t any power lines or electricity nearby.”

She was talking about that old cemetery near Tuscaloosa, where she’d met Nikki at the University of Alabama. “I don’t have an EMF meter with me, but I do have the EVP recorder.”

Interest filled Gabe’s expression as he hooked his feet on the bottom rung of the stool. She realized then he’d taken off his shoes. “And what does that do?”

Grinning, she glanced over at Nikki and saw that her expression had softened as she stared across the room at Gabe. “So, EVP stands for electronic voice phenomena. The recorder can catch intentional voices—voices you hear with your own two ears—and it catches voices that you can’t hear. Often it picks up just words or short phrases, but if you’ve got a place with a lot of EVPs, then you want to bring in a spirit box.”

Gabe lowered his glass of tea. “Like a Ouija board?”

“Hell no, I do not mess with that shit.” Rosie scooted forward. “Spirits sometimes need energy to communicate and there’s evidence that white noise in radio frequencies can provide the necessary energy. A spirit box provides that energy.”

“Why won’t you use a Ouija board?” Gabe asked, and there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone. Just honest curiosity. “Figured ghost hunters would be all up in that.”

“Only ghost hunters who don’t care what door they may be opening or who they may be contacting,” Rosie said, thinking of what happened with Sarah. Sometimes being a medium was like being a living, breathing Ouija board. “And not to mention, my mother would straight up knock me into next week if she knew I was messing with those things.” She paused, looking over at Nikki. “I could take out the EVP recorder and see if we catch—”

“No. No way.” Gabe held up a hand. “I do not want to know what ghosts may or may not be saying. I’d rather just pretend that everything about this house is completely normal.”

“Gabe and his brothers have this remarkable ability to explain away everything they see or hear here,” Nikki chimed in.

“Like you don’t?” Gabe laughed while Nikki huffed.

Excitement filled Rosie. Gabe seemed more open to supernatural stuff. Maybe she could tell him about the possibility of his father coming through. At least she would get it off her conscience. “So, what—”

“Uh-oh,” murmured Nikki, her face turned to the glass balcony doors.

Rosie followed her gaze, and her stomach leaped to her throat. Every cell in her body seemed to freeze as she watched Devlin de Vincent open the balcony door and step into Gabe’s living room.

Against her will, her gaze roamed over him. Fitted dark trousers. Tailored white shirt that showed off his shoulders and broad chest. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed like before, not a single strand out of place, and there wasn’t even a five o’clock shadow on his smooth jaw.

That didn’t seem possible.

“Someone doesn’t know how to knock,” Gabe muttered.

Devlin didn’t seem to hear his brother or even realize anyone else was in the room, because those stunning, clear sea-green eyes were latched on to her. He stopped just inside the living room, leaving the door open behind him. “What is she doing here?”

Rosie’s spine stiffened like hot steel was poured down it and she stopped checking him out right then and there. He said “she” like she was some sort of venereal disease, and that was, well, freaking insulting. “I’m here to break shit and raise some holy hell.”

Nikki choked on what sounded like a laugh.

Devlin stared at her, his handsome face cold and bland.

“I’m visiting my friend.” Rosie rolled her eyes. “That’s all.”

“Is that so?” he remarked.

“Uh. Yeah?” she replied.

“Hi, Dev.” Gabe raised his glass in his direction. “You don’t know this, Rosie, but Dev has a preternatural ability of knowing whenever someone that is not family is in the house.” He paused. “It’s kind of freaky.”

“While having a preternatural ability sounds interesting, that’s not how I knew someone was here.” Devlin didn’t take his eyes off her. “Her car was parked in my space.”

“You have assigned parking?” Rosie felt a laugh bubbling up her throat. “At your own house?”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“He likes things to be organized,” Gabe replied. “For everything, even his car, to have a place—his place.”

“I can answer for myself,” Devlin said dryly, and finally he focused on his brother, and she felt like she could take a full breath. “But thanks for speaking for me.”

“You’re welcome.” Gabe took a drink.

Dev stared at his brother and then that unholy intense gaze came back to Rosie. “But you’re not parked in my spot. You’re actually blocking access to my spot in my garage.”

She stared back at him, stuck for a moment, wondering if he was actually being serious. “Would you like me to move my car?”

“That would’ve been nice of you to suggest when I first mentioned your car was in my spot,” he said, tone even.

Nikki stiffened beside her while Gabe sighed. “You don’t have to move your car,” he said. “Dev is fine.”

Devlin’s gaze still held hers and there was a challenge in that stare.

Swallowing down a mouthful of words that would probably get her kicked out of the house forever and a day, she stood. “You know what? I’ll move my car.”

“Rosie,” Nikki started.

“No, it’s okay.” Rosie smiled at her friend and then whirled toward Devlin, keeping said super-big smile plastered across her face while she glared up at him. “I’m more than happy to move my car out of the way for him. After all, I wouldn’t want him to get stressed-out over it.”

“I’m not stressed-out over it.” A slight frown pulled at his lips as he turned, watching her walk to her purse.

“Oh I don’t know about that.” Digging around in her purse, she pulled out her keys. “You seem like you’re one more occupied parking space away from having a cardiac issue and I would not want to be the cause of that.”

There was another choked sound, but this time it sounded like it was coming from Gabe. Keys in hand, she spun back to them. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Nikki murmured.

Moving toward the doors—the doors Devlin blocked—she stopped and stared up at him. “Excuse me?”

He was still for a moment and then slowly, purposefully, he stepped to the side.

“Thanks, buddy.” Walking past him, she patted his arm and then stalked right out the doors. Clouds had moved in, and the scent of rain was in the air. A storm was coming, both literally and figuratively.

Because, of course, Devlin was right behind her. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you following me to make sure I move my car?”

He arched a brow. “I’m not following you.”

“Sure looks like you’re doing that.” Looking away, she kept walking. “Or are you worried that I’m going to damage your property?”

“Should I be worried?” He fell into step beside her, easily keeping up with her brisk pace that was close to leaving her winded.

Rosie rolled her eyes again as she reached the staircase and started down the steps. “Yes. Very worried. I’m one bad ma—” She reached the end of the balcony and could see the massive garage down below, and the vehicle that hadn’t been there when she arrived. Her mouth dropped open. “A truck?”

Devlin stopped beside her. “That is what it appears to be.”

Sort of dumbfounded, all she could do was stare. Parked on the other side of her Corolla was a . . . truck. Just an ordinary truck. Looked like a Ford. Not particularly a newer one either. It was black and had mud dried and splattered along the wheels. It wasn’t a Porsche. Or a Jaguar. Or a Benz. Or any other number of luxury cars that cost the price of a town house.

This man owned a private jet, but drove a truck?

“Is there something wrong with a truck?” he asked.

She blinked and shook her head no. There was nothing wrong with it, but it was unexpected. Whatever. His choice, no matter how surprising it was, didn’t matter. Turning, she stepped toward the staircase.

“I’m not following you, by the way,” he said. “After you move your car, I will need to move mine.”

Oh well, that made sense—

She gasped as Dev suddenly moved. One second he was beside her, and the next, he was blocking the steps below. She clutched the vine-covered railing. “How am I supposed to move my car if you’re blocking the stairway? Or do you expect me to go traipsing through your house to get downstairs?”

Even though he was two whole steps below her, he was eye to eye with her. “Do you often traipse through homes?”

“Daily. It’s how I get my workout in.”

“That must be interesting to see.”

“It most definitely is.”

He leaned in suddenly, and Rosie sucked in a sharp breath, unprepared for him to be so damn close to her. She immediately thought of Saturday morning. Him. Her. Their bodies pressed against one another. Was he thinking about that, too?

His dark lashes lifted. “You smell like—”

“If you say something ignorant, I’m seriously going to push you down these steps.”

The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen. “That wouldn’t be very nice, Rosie.”

There was another catch to her breath, because she was pretty confident that was the first time he’d said her name, and in that deep, slightly accented voice of his, it sent an unwanted thrill right through her.

“But what I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted,” Devlin continued. “You smell like vanilla and . . .” He trailed off as if he couldn’t place how she smelled.

Rosie sighed. “Sugar. Brown sugar to be exact. I work at Pradine’s Pralines and went straight from there to Nikki’s place to get her some fresh clothing. You’ve probably never heard of the place—”

“I have. They have amazing pralines.” He tilted his head to the side. “I didn’t know you worked there.”

“It’s been family owned since the beginning and my parents now run it,” she said, noting the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I can’t picture you eating pralines.”

“You can’t?” One eyebrow rose.

“Yeah, I picture you eating raw vegetables, lots of fat-trimmed steak, and beets.”

“Beets?”

She nodded. “Isn’t that what people eat when they’re in a permanent state of constipation?”

His eyes widened and his mouth went lax. “Did you just suggest I was constipated?”

“That would explain the attitude, wouldn’t it?”

“Then what would explain yours?”

“Mine has nothing to do with what I eat, but it’s affected by who I’m around, Dev.”

He came up a step, crowding her as he now stared down at her. “No one but my brothers call me Dev.”

“Oh I’m sorry? Do I need permission to call you an abbreviated version of your name?”

“You should. After all, that’s what’s appropriate.”

Rosie couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes so far back in her head, they’d probably get stuck.

“How would you like if I called you Rose?”

“That’s actually a pretty nickname and I wouldn’t mind,” she shot back. “Rosa would make more sense since my first name is Rosalynn.”

“Rosalynn? So Southern,” he murmured in a way that irritated her.

“Okay, I won’t call you Dev, Dev .”

“You just did,” he said dryly.

“How about I just call you Dickhead, then? That sounds about fitting.”

“You already did that.”

“Then that’s perfect. I’ll just—” Her phone suddenly rang from her pocket. She pulled it out and saw that it was Lance calling again. “Excuse me.” She held up her hand, silencing Dev as she answered her phone. “Hello?”

Dev stared at her—no, he gaped at her.

She smirked as Lance said into her ear, “I’ve been calling you all afternoon. What in the world have you been doing? I got news on the Mendez case.”

“I’m sorry. I know. I’ve just been really busy today and right now isn’t a good time.”

“Is something wrong?” Lance asked, concern filing his tone.

“If it wasn’t a good time, why did you answer the phone?” Devlin asked.

“Was that a guy’s voice?” Lance asked as Rosie shushed Devlin.

“Did you just shush me?” they both demanded at the same time.

Rosie clutched her phone. “I didn’t shush you, Lance. I’d never shush you. Look, can I call you back in a little bit? I’m in the middle of a very important argument with Devlin de Vincent over whether or not I can call him a dickhead instead of Dev.”

Devlin’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment she thought he was going to fall over backward. The shock pouring into his expression was the first real hard-core reaction she’d seen from him.

“Devlin de Vincent—the Devlin de Vincent?” Lance sounded like he might fall over, too.

“Yes.” She met Devlin’s stunned stare. “The Devlin de Vincent. So, can I please call you back? Like I imagine most things with him, I don’t think this is going to take long.”

Devlin snapped his mouth shut.

“Uh, yeah. Call me back as soon as you can,” Lance muttered, sounding way confused.

“Thanks, babe.” Rosie ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. “You’re still here? I was hoping you’d go ahead and walk down.”

“Who was that?” he demanded.

“The Pope. Can you please move out of the way so I can move my car before your precious truck gets a raindrop on it, even though it looks like it could use a bath?”

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated, and then he moved in.

They weren’t as close as they’d been on Saturday, but she could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. Close enough that if she took a deep enough breath, her chest would brush his, and she knew that would be bad, because as terrible as it was, her body wanted that closeness. Her brain, however, was not on board with her body. Her brain was seriously considering the consequences of pushing him lightly down the stairs.

“I want you to listen to everything I say, because I will not ever repeat myself,” he said, his voice so low, so soft that she could barely hear him. “I should not have to explain how incredibly rude it is to answer the phone in the middle of a conversation, one in which you’re insulting the other person, but then to shush me? Even as a child, I was not shushed.”

Her heart rate tripled. “I guess there’s a first for everything?”

“You’re not listening. If you were, you wouldn’t be speaking.”

Rosie narrowed her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“Good. Silence must be a new thing for you,” he continued, and when she opened her mouth, he placed his finger over her lips. So shocked by the contact, she was effectively silenced. “I am not done, Rosalynn.”

Oh dear.

His thumb curled under her chin and his touch was oddly gentle in comparison to the hard line of his jaw. Then he dipped his head, bringing his mouth within an inch of hers.

Oh my good God, was he going to kiss her?

That would be a sharp turn in events, so sharp she just stood there as a hot flush swept over and an acute heaviness settled into her breasts and flowed down to her stomach and lower, much lower.

Wait. Bad Rosie. Bad. Bad. Bad.

She did not want him to kiss her. He was a dickhead douchebag of the highest order!

But yep, her nipples were hard, and yep, something was wrong with her, and nope, he did not kiss her.

“Being shushed was a first for me and it will be the last,” he said, definitely not kissing her. “But most importantly? The insinuation you made on the phone about most things not lasting long with me? I can assure you, that is not the case.” His finger slid over her lips, eliciting a gasp from her. “That takes longer than I’m betting you can last and you’d be begging me to stop while pleading with me to keep going the whole time. I can assure you, no one would ever fuck you longer or harder.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Rosie was actually speechless. Utterly shocked into real, honest to goodness silence while her body and mind engaged in a full-fledged war with one another. Her mind was telling her to be offended, like kick him in the balls offended, and her body had liquefied as molten lava swept through her veins, sparking to life a fire—a need she’d never experienced before, not even with Ian.

Devlin dragged his finger back over her bottom lip, tugging on it before lowering his hand. “But that, my dear, is something you’ll never have the honor of experiencing with me, because the mere idea of me even thinking about fucking you is laughable.”

His words were like having a bucket of cold water dumped over her head. The fire was doused in a heartbeat. What he said . . . that was, wow. . . . Never in her life had anyone ever spoken to her like that. Ever. A horrible messy knot of emotion plugged her throat. His words stung more than they should, probably because she was getting close to that time of the month and was overly emotional.

Holding her wide-eyed gaze, he turned sideways and stepped aside. “Now you may go move your car.”

A thousand retorts rose to the tip of her tongue. She could out-shade him to the point he was eclipsed by the shade she could throw in his direction, but he . . . he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth a single second of her snarkiness or her time.

He wasn’t worth anything to her.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to serve it right back at him, because she was not the kind of woman to let a man stand there and talk to her like that.

Pushing the knot in her throat down, she held his gaze even though her eyes burned. “I think you misspoke. I think you meant to say that fucking me is an honor that you know you’d never be worthy of and that is why it would never happen, Dev .”

Something flickered across his face that looked an awful lot like respect—reluctant respect, but she didn’t give a flying chupacabra’s ass what Devlin de Vincent thought or felt.

Slipping past him, she walked down the steps without looking back and without saying another word.

She was a lot of things. A little out there. Definitely weird. Sometimes irresponsible and she probably drank too much wine and ate way too many sweets, but she’d never been a doormat for any man to wipe his feet on, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to become one now.