This man was testing her kindness and patience like no other. “Were you harmed by beaded curtains as a child?” She kicked her legs up on the coffee table and crossed her ankles. “Did they not want to be friends with you or something?”
His gaze sharpened. Hell, his entire face seemed to sharpen. “Besides the fact that beaded curtains are inanimate objects incapable of harming a person or being friends with one, a door would suffice, would it not?”
Smirking, she took a sip of her coffee. “Suffice? Fancy.”
His nostrils flared.
“Look, I’m not the one who seems to be personally offended by beaded curtains, so excuse me for asking a genuine question. I mean, have you been smacked by a beaded curtain? Those things can sting.”
“I am sure your question was genuine.”
“Totes,” she murmured.
He came toward her in a slow, measured step. “How often are you smacked by beaded curtains?”
She snorted. “More often than I care to admit.”
There was an odd light to his sea-green eyes, as if that interested him. “Why wouldn’t you just get a door? It would offer more privacy.”
“Why don’t you just walk out of the one behind you?” she retorted.
That odd look to his gaze intensified. “Did you just tell me to leave?”
“Sure sounds like I did.”
He stared at her, and a long moment passed. “You know, most people would offer their guests a drink.”
Her grip tightened on her mug. “Last I checked, you weren’t a guest.”
“And how do you see that?”
“Well, mainly because I sure as hell didn’t invite you into my apartment to insult my beaded curtain.”
“If I recall correctly, and I do, you opened the door and let me in.”
She held his stare. “Your recollection is faulty. I let your brother inside. You helped yourself by walking in behind him and then proceeded to insult my interior design.”
Devlin laughed—barked out a deep, husky laugh that seemed to surprise him, because he immediately snapped his mouth shut. The laugh didn’t surprise her. Irritatingly, it caused a warm little curl low in her belly. She liked his laugh even though it seemed harsh.
“Interior design?” he scoffed, and Rosie stiffened. “It looks like a twelve-year-old obsessed with The X-Files and B grade horror movies decorated your apartment.”
“Okay, I draw the line with you insulting Scully and Mulder.” She sat her mug on the end table. “Seriously.”
And what was wrong with B grade horror movies? Spending a lazy Sunday afternoon watching horribly plotted zombie movies was a favorite pastime of hers.
He turned from her, scanning the bookshelves lining the wall on either side of her television. “Is that an encyclopedia of ghosts?”
“Isn’t that the clearly visible title?”
Looking over his shoulder, he pinned her with what only could be described as a droll stare. “How could there be an encyclopedia of ghosts?”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer his question. Part of her wanted to describe exactly how that was possible. She resisted the pointless urge. “You’re a de Vincent.”
“Yes.” He faced her once more. “Thank you for reminding me.”
She ignored that comment. “You live in a house that is rumored—”
“To be haunted and the land and the family cursed,” he cut her off. “Yes, I know. I do live there and I am a de Vincent.”
“So, is your house haunted?” she asked, already knowing the answer to that question.
Devlin’s lips thinned.
Unable to help herself, she clasped her hands together. “You know, I’m a part of a paranormal investigation team.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he replied dryly, stepping around the coffee table. He was now at the other end of the couch. “What is it called? Lunatic Investigations?”
Now her mouth was thinning. “Good guess, but no. It’s called New Orleans Paranormal Explorations.”
“New Orleans Paranormal . . . wait.” His dark brows lifted. “It’s called NOPE?”
“Yes. Catchy, isn’t it?”
The derision that clouded his striking face told her he thought it was the stupidest-sounding thing without him even having to open his mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I am not.”
“Do you truly belong to one of those joke investigative teams?”
Rosie felt that inner badass tigress rearing its bitchy head once more. Okay, now he seriously had gone too far. “There is absolutely nothing funny about what we do. Be a nonbeliever. Fine. But don’t stand in my house, right in front of me, and insult me.”
“Nonbeliever?” he murmured.
Anger flushed her system as she glared up at him. If there was a single doubt left in her that said she should tell him about what happened last night with Sarah, it wasn’t there anymore. If someone lived in a house like his and still didn’t believe, he wasn’t going to believe she possibly communed with his dead father. And that sucked, because if that spirit was Lawrence and if what he said was true, Devlin should know—his family should know.
But it wasn’t going to come out of her mouth. “Why are you even here? Did Gabe need a chaperone?”
He finally moved again, taking another quiet step toward where she sat. “Why I’m here is none of your business.”
Rosie threw up her hands. “You’re in my house, so yes, it is my business.”
“This is not your house.”
“What?”
“It’s your apartment .”
“Are you for real?” She let out a short laugh, looking away. Why did so many good-looking guys have to be such douche canoes? “Man, you are something else.”
“That I am.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“You sure about that?”
“Uh, yeah. I am.”
“Hmm.” He sounded utterly dismissive.
She had to force her hands to unclench. “I think you’re the most uptight person I know.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough to know you need a hobby or a pastime. Maybe a different workout regimen to de-stress or you need to get laid. Something to loosen you up a bit.”
His lips parted as he stared down at her. He looked affronted . Like if he had pearls, he’d be clutching them. “Did you seriously just tell me I needed to get laid?”
Rosie rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously just prove what I said?”
A moment passed. “Are you volunteering?”
Her mouth dropped open so fast she was sure she was catching flies. She was almost positive he was engaged to be married to Sabrina Harrington. Then again, since Sabrina’s brother was Parker, who’d just attempted to kill Nikki, perhaps that engagement was off.
A sudden sound came from her bedroom, drawing her attention. It sounded like a sob. Concern spiked as she pulled her feet off the table and started to stand.
“Don’t.”
Her head swiveled toward Devlin. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t intrude on them.”
Rosie stood and straightened, which put her right about chest level on Devlin. That little observation shot a trill through her system. Tall men were . . . they were just yummy. Unfortunately, this man’s personality was anything but yummy. “Please tell me there’s something wrong with my hearing and you did not just tell me what to do.”
“My brother is back there with Nikki. She needs him and he needs to be there for her,” he said, his voice low. “He loves her.”
Rosie snapped her mouth shut and then asked, “Gabe loves her?”
Devlin’s expression was bland as he nodded.
“Wow. You look so thrilled about that.”
He crossed his arms, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “What?” she demanded, mimicking his movements and folding her arms across her chest. “You don’t approve of his relationship with Nikki? You don’t think she’s good enough—”