Page 37 of The Devil's Playground

“Arm’s fine,” he says. “You got a good swing on you, but I’ll be alright. And now that I know you’re worried about someone sneaking around your house, I’ll make sure to ring the doorbell next time I stay over.”

I fiddle with the hem of my sweater. Like Royce, I haven’t taken a seat yet. “So… that means there will be a next time?”

Royce’s jaw tightens, his easy humor taking a back seat as he looks me up and down. “Yes. There will.” His blue eyes flash, daring me to tell him he’s wrong. When I don’t, he says, “You started something with me last night, Nicolette. I’m not about to walk away from it.”

“If this is about that stupid bet?—”

“The bet only made it so that you’d get used to me. It was never about one night. I need you to understand that, yeah? Sinners play to win. If you ask me, I got my prize last night all right, but it wasn’t you inviting me to stay over. It was you finally figuring out that you’re mine.”

What? “I… I am?”

“You are. You have been. I was just waiting for you to realize that.”

“Royce, I?—”

“Breakfast’s getting cold.”

Breakfast can wait. “We need to talk about this. If you honestly think that we can turn last night into a… a relationship or something, then… we have to talk.”

Royce crosses his arms over his chest. He’d look a little more intimidating with that pose if it wasn’t for the apron, and I wonder if that was another reason he put it on. Kinda hard to be afraid of a mafia man in neon pink.

A half-smile tugs on his lips. “I’ve said what I wanted to say. I’ve considered you mine since the moment you walked into the Playground. I kept my distance since I didn’t think it would be appropriate to use my position of power to convince you to be with me, but I’ll remind you, Nic… you came on to me last night. As far as I’m concerned, I didn’t make you do anything. And if you decide to fuck me because I run the Playground? I’m good with being used, so don’t worry about that.”

“It’s not that,” I begin.

“You sure? You’re not trying to take back last night because I’m your boss?”

Okay. Maybe it is that.

He’s got one thing wrong, though. “Last night… I didn’t go after you because of what you are. My boss, I mean.”

That was actually one of the reasons I stayed away. Like Royce, I was sure that it would be inappropriate if I went after him, especially when all of the other staff at the Playground made it clear that he never mixed business with pleasure.

Then there was the fact that he’s second-in-command to the leader of the Sinners Syndicate. After all those years with Kieran, I almost imagined each of the West Side gangsters to have literal devil horns and tails rather than just the brands on their skin.

But while Royce might have a devil’s tattoo on the side of his chest, the man I’m getting to know is nothing like what I expected—and more than I could ever hope to have.

Which is probably why I’m having such a hard time believing he could ever want me…

As though Royce has no idea how much I’m struggling right now—or maybe he does—he shows he has another one of my favorite personality traits: a good sense of humor.

Smiling down at me, he waggles his eyebrows. “Let me guess: you seduced me because of my good looks, but you just got super fucking lucky when you pulled out my amazing cock?”

I can’t help myself. I laugh again. “Don’t forget you’re so very humble.”

Royce snorts. “Fuck being humble. I know what I can offer a woman. When I decided to make one mine… you won’t want any others. And you, Nicolette, are mine. So I suggest you get over your hang-up about me being your boss since it doesn’t matter, eat your breakfast, then let me eat mine.”

The way his pretty blue eyes dart to the crotch of my sweatpants makes it obvious what he’s referring to. And while sex was amazing last night—and I’d be lying if I said I’m not insanely attracted to Royce—I still can’t get over the fact that he wants me.

When I stay quiet, he obviously thinks that I haven’t gotten over that one particular hang-up about him being my boss.

Royce slips his hands into his pants pockets. Honestly, I’m immediately distracted by the way his chest moves, muscles in his forearms flexing as he digs deep, fingers moving around as though searching for something. In the morning light streaming in through the kitchen window, I can just make out a few blond hairs dusting the space between his nipples.

I kissed him there last night. Pressed my open mouth against his pale pink nipple and fell asleep with my cheek nestled against the front of his shoulder. He’s wearing my mom’s apron instead of searching for his shirt, and seeing him standing over a frying pan full of burnt bacon, I realize I’m suddenly very hungry after all—just not for food.

A lump lodges in my throat. I swallow it as Royce jerks his chin at me.

“Hey. Listen… if it makes you feel better, let’s flip for it. Heads, I fire you. Tails, you stay at the Playground and I couldn’t give a fuck what anyone says. I won you, Nic, and I took you. But, you know, we can leave it to chance and blame that.” He lifts his eyebrows, humor—and a dare—written in his baby blues. “Unless you have a preference.”

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