Page 42 of Speak of the Devil

“No fucking way.” The horror on his face speaks volumes over his actual words. He’s up and storming toward the kitchen. Turning, he paces to the sliding glass door, but the seven steps he takes to cover my apartment don’t appear to satisfy the turmoil. Stopping on the other side of the coffee table, heclenches his jaw. “There’s no fucking way I’m claiming I can’t perform my duties. I can perform on stage and in the bedroom just fine, sweetheart.”

“Prove it.”

What the—I can’t breathe until I realize I said that in my head.Oh my God.Thank goodness. I drop my head into my hands, needing a reprieve from the pressure cooker where we’re trapped. “There are no other solutions.”

“Except divorce,” he replies, defeat tainting his tone.

We’re here but apart. I hate feeling like this fight is between us instead of the situation we’re in. He’s been quiet for so long that I’m afraid to break the peace. I watch as he returns to the patio door to stare out like there’s more than cars to look at. He crosses his arms over his chest in quiet contemplation, his breathing finally evening out again.

What can I say that won’t upset him even more? But the silence is killing me. What is he thinking? I angle my body in his direction, and say, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you, Cat.” When he glances back at me, I don’t see the assurance I once did. No humor dances in his eyes. No flirty intentions in a smirk. All I see is the guy who said he’s exhausted from his own life.

Lowering my feet, I pad across the short span of hardwood floors and stand next to him, staring ahead. Bold for me with him, but he’s so different than I imagined. There’s no chip on his shoulder when he’s with me.

Friends can comfort each other, but I wonder why I keep justifying what feels right instead of leading with my heart when it comes to Shane. His status, his fame, his wealth has never been weaponized against me. I need to put down my own defenses and see him for who he really is.

I rest my cheek on his arm. “We don’t have to decide tonight. We don’t have to rush into anything either.”

His arm comes around my waist, holding me in the nook of his body like I belong there. It feels so natural that I peek up at him in awe.

We stand together now, somehow an unlikely pair against the world that tricked us into a relationship, which is beginning to feel more like a match made in heaven with every day that passes.

The sun’s almost down for the night. Since the other buildings are blocking the sunset, we catch the rays of light reflecting off the cars. It’s magical in its own right . . . not a view of all of Los Angeles magical but quaint in its own way.

I’m finally willing to admit that this feels better than expected, making me glad to give whatever it is between us a chance to grow in its own direction. I wrap my arms around his middle, leaning against him, and whisper, “You can stay?”

I could have told him what I wanted a million other ways, but instead, I torture myself by tossing it out as a question. I close my eyes, hold my breath, and wait.

The tips of his fingers pull my chin up, and when I open my eyes, I’m staring into Shane’s adoring gaze. “I’d like that.”

“I didn’t buyit for having company over,” I explain, wriggling for more covers. “I bought the bed for me. A queen-sized bed for the queen of her own domain.” I fall back on my fluffed pillow and turn to look at him.

Seeing him next to me in bed is a thrill I never thought I’d experience. I’ll carry this to my deathbed, then spill the family secret that Grandma once shared a bed with Shane Faris.

He says, “It’s just kind of . . . small.”

Here I am, developing lifelong fantasies of this man, and he’s still stuck on the size of the mattress. “I hear what you’re saying, and I agree that it might be a bit small for a giant, but that’s not what I’m working with over here. I’m five-five on a good posture day.”

“A good posture day?” He chuckles, then gives me a wink. “Five-five is a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Wow, thanks.” I sit up, poking him in the bare chest that I can’t get over. So tempting to rub all over his carved muscle and those abs. Hands or my tongue will do. I’m not picky when it comes to him, but I am turned on. “Fine. I’m five-four, the average height of an American woman. So tease me all you want, but this is all sixty-four inches of me.”

I’m pulled into his arms; my body pressed to his athletic physique—hard in all the right places and growing against my leg. “I like every inch of you, Cat.”

My heart races from the position, but his words have me swooning in his arms. He makes me feel so much and more than ready to cross lines we probably shouldn’t. My nipples press against the thin cotton T-shirt I thought was a good choice when I put it on, but it practically puts my boobs on display, spotlights that draw his attention away from my face.

A large hand covers my ribs and moves higher until he’s cupping under my breast. With a stroke of his thumb, the pad brushes across my nipple, perking it even more. He tips his head and breathes across my neck, “Every inch.”

The air is sucked from the room, leaving us to be consumed by sexual tension.

Did I expect a different outcome when I invited Shane into my bed?

I’m not innocent.

I knew what I was doing, and now I’ll reap the benefits—rewards?

“I’m awful.”

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