Page 14 of Heart of a Devil

His eyes shine with curiosity, and I guess he’s imagining guns blazing and action heroes swooping through broken windows on ropes. “How did you get your revenge, Seb?”

“I lived, Nicky. I built a whole world for myself where I feel safe. And that, my little buddy, is the sweetest revenge of all.”

Chapter

Seven

LAUREN

Iescorted Caroline and Nicky to the reception area and then fled to the ladies’ room. I’ve been in here for a good fifteen minutes now, and I still don’t feel quite ready to leave my sanctuary. It’s nice in here—apart from Nick, all the staff are female, and we keep toiletries and changes of clothing around. It smells of perfume and hand lotion and feels cozy and warm. Hell, I might stay here for the weekend, call in some takeout.

The main office doors have opened and closed a few times, and there have been no other sounds for the last few minutes, so it seems everyone else has left and I’m alone in the building. Good. I need time to pull all my loose threads together and stitch myself back up.

It’s been a hell of a day. I’ve spoken to Caroline on the phone a few times, but those were clandestine, snatched conversations, and she often had to hang up without warning. I didn’t expect her circumstances to be pleasant, but the details she revealed today turned my stomach, and I am no stranger to the dark side of life. Seeing her and that beautiful little boy so cowed, so broken, was enough to drag me down into a pit of despair. Her desperation and fear were infectious, and although I managed to keep up a professional facade, inside I was drowning. I playa good game, but my own fear is always right below the surface, waiting to reclaim me.

Seb, of course, had no idea what he was walking into, but he responded to it all with such kindness, such quiet ferocity, that it touched more than a few raw nerves. He didn’t know what their situation was, but he saw the damage straight away and didn’t hesitate before offering to help.

That was enough to bring those irritating tears to the surface. Since I last saw Seb, I’ve persuaded myself our night together was a one-off, a harmless bit of fun and nothing more. He’s a player, a shallow guy who cannot commit to anything other than the superficial.

I don’t have a problem with that, because being superficial is a logical response to a world that can hurt so deeply. But now, he’s shown another side to himself. One that’s much more unnerving and makes it harder to dismiss him. It’s a side of him that scares me, because I’ve never met a man who affects me this much, who strips away my control so easily. Who makes me wonder what it might be like to ask for more than a world-class fuck and multiple orgasms. What would it be like to have a man like Seb on my side, fighting in my corner? Protecting me and keeping me safe…

Screw it. This is all too much, and I won’t solve anything by sitting on a toilet seat behind a locked door. I force myself to emerge and study myself in the mirror. It could be worse than a moderate case of panda eyes. I grab my makeup bag and repair the damage. I was supposed to have a date tonight, but there’s zero chance of that happening now. I get out my phone and quickly send a message, hoping it gives the guy enough time to find someone else for a precious Friday night hookup. I swap my heels for comfortable sneakers and give myself permission to go home, drink a bottle of wine, and pass out watching something fluffy on Netflix.

When I open the bathroom door, though, I realize it’s not going to be so simple. Sebastian Donovan is standing right outside, leaning casually against the wall, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he looks me up and down. My lady parts tingle immediately, and I’m furious with them. Gloria has no sense of loyalty, damn her.

“I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to kick the door in,” he says, unsmiling.

“Seb. I was just… Well, that doesn’t matter. Why are you still here?”

“I’m taking you to dinner, obviously.”

“There’s no obvious about it. I don’t remember you asking me, and I definitely don’t remember saying yes. Besides, I have a hot date with my couch tonight.”

I try to walk past him, but the man is as big as a goddamn tree trunk. A sequoia trunk at that. He blocks my path, his head tilted to one side as he surveys me. “No, you have a hot date with me. Or a nice dinner between friends. I don’t mind which.”

“Seb, if I don’t want to go out with you, I’m not going to, okay? We might have fucked, but that doesn’t mean I now obey your every word.”

A range of emotions flicker across his face, and it’s like watching one of those big spinning wheels on a game show—I have no idea which one it’s going to stop on.

He sighs loudly and rubs his hand over his face like he’s washing it. “Lauren, let’s not do this. Let’s not fight for no reason, okay? This doesn’t need to be a big deal. I saw how upset you were in there, and I’m guessing Caroline’s story wasn’t easy to stomach. Being on your own tonight isn’t a good idea, especially when you don’t need to be. Let me take you out to dinner. We can talk it through, see what I can do to help. It doesn’t have to be more than that. It doesn’t need to be abattle of wills or verbal foreplay, or whatever the fuck this is. Sometimes dinner can just be dinner.”

He’s wearing a plain white cotton shirt, open a few buttons at the neck. His muscular arms are almost busting out of it, and his black pants might be perfectly tailored, but they do little to hide the bulk of his thighs. Gloria gives a little squeal, and I shake my head. “I’m not sure that’s true Seb, not with us. But okay. Just this once, I give in. I’ll let you take me to dinner. I warn you, though, I plan to choose the most expensive thing on the menu and order champagne.”

He throws his head back and laughs, and I want to nip at the strong column of his throat. “No worries, sweetheart—whatever my lady desires. Now come on, I’m bloody starving.”

Chapter

Eight

LAUREN

He pays particular attention to locking up the building, and then he insists on driving. He settles me into the passenger seat and leans across to fasten my belt, giving me a whiff of his Chanel cologne and a scent that is entirely his and one hundred percent man.

When we arrive at the restaurant, a cute little Italian joint tucked away on a side street, the place is already full. I’m not sure we’ll get a table, but Seb knows the owner, Vincenzo, who soon makes a quiet corner booth available for us.

“I’m disappointed,” Sebastian says once we’ve ordered. “Pasta arrabbiata instead of the lobster tails? A beer instead of the Bollinger?”

I shrug and sip the beer in question. “Yeah, I know. Sorry to disappoint. I’m a simple girl at heart.”

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