Page 3 of Heart of a Devil

I wasn’t running away—I’ve vowed to myself that I will never let anyone make me run again—but I was more than ready for a fresh start. The States held too many ghosts, too many badmemories. Sam’s email landed at the perfect time, and I thought about it for all of thirty seconds before I said yes.

“Really?” Nick says, frowning. “I can’t imagine that. I took the kids to Florida once, to the theme parks, and we couldn’t get enough of it.”

“Well, Nick, I’m sure that’s true—but real life isn’t Disney World, even in Florida.”

He shrugs, acknowledging the comment. “So you haven’t regretted joining us?”

“Not for a moment,” I say firmly.

Moving here was an adventure, and I try real hard to embrace adventure. I’ve spent way too many of my years on this planet doing what I’m told, being scared, living in fear of what might happen to me. Trying to play it safe.

These days, I’m a different person—or at least I try to be. These days, I try to take as many bites out of life as I can. I’m greedy for it, for all the new experiences, all the fun, all the passion. I want to live brave, loud, and proud, and I have a better chance of doing that here, where I can recreate myself and put my past behind me.

Since I relocated and added my name to the door at Donovan Cook, I’ve been having a blast. The work is tough but important, my colleagues are fantastic, and I have a great little apartment that overlooks the river. Pretty much everything in my new world is going well… with one small exception. It’s not the kind of exception I want to mention to Nick though—he might take it the wrong way.

Because the only thing bothering me about my new life is that I haven’t had a single orgasm that wasn’t self-administered since I arrived here.

Actually, now that I come to think about it, that is a pretty big exception. I like sex. I like men. I really like orgasms. It wasn’t always that way for me, but now it’s an important part of my life.

I’m not looking for love. No way. I’m not sure I even believe in love. I kind of see it on the same level as the Easter Bunny or Santa—a nice story we tell children and pretend to believe to make life sweeter. I certainly don’t want anything long-term. I’m not looking to settle down. In many ways, I’ve only recently started living life on my own terms. I’ve tried going the big relationship route, and my fingers were well and truly burned. Like most things that are supposed to be secure, my marriage turned out to be less of a safe haven and more of a cardboard shack built on sand, right on top of a fault line.

Now, I like my relationships to come without a single string. And with lots of pleasure.

Nick gulps down beer, and his eyes go to my chest. He’s not being lecherous, and I don’t take it personally. “A few of us are going clubbing later, if you fancy it,” he says, blushing slightly. He’s sweet, which is one of the many reasons I’m not interested in him.

“Thanks, Nick, but I’ll probably call it a night soon. Have a great time though.”

He nods, apparently not at all offended, and I leave him in the kitchen and head back outside. I sip my wine and smile at the sight of Samantha and her husband, Gabriel. They’re married, but they can’t keep their hands off each other. They’re like horny teenagers who manage to also have the full loved-up dream domestic scenario. Living proof that maybe there is a kernel of truth to the love myth after all. At least for some people.

Samantha glides around the garden with her usual grace, despite the fact that she had baby Max only five months ago. Gabriel always has at least one eye on her wherever she goes, a possessive fire in his deep green eyes that makes me shiver a little. God help anyone who gets between those two.

I want that, I think as he pulls her in for a slow kiss. They kiss like nobody’s watching, and it’s hot as hell, especially when shegives his admittedly very fine ass a squeeze. Yeah, that’s what I want. Not the baby or the wedding ring or the big house in the country, but the passion. The need. The look on her face that says she’s a woman who is getting well and truly fucked on a regular basis. There’s no orgasm drought in this house, that’s for sure.

Since I’ve been in London, I’ve tried the apps and been on a few dates, but nobody has floated my boat. They’ve been too eager or too into their ex or too freaky. Or not freaky enough. It’s possible that my standards are too high—or maybe I just need that spark. I need to feel that flame of desire when someone looks into my eyes, and I need to feel it right away. Life is too short to settle for anything less. I want to be able to look at a man and immediately be able to picture myself having a screaming orgasm with his name on it. Is that really so much to ask?

I sigh and go for a stroll around the pretty gardens. Maybe I’m doomed to be alone… and for my closest personal relationship to be with Roger Rabbit, my most trusted and loyal vibrator.

I head over to the chairs that are set around a decked area of the yard, intending to have a quiet moment to myself. Maybe I could use my phone to look online, see if I can find a pal for Roger and expand my collection.

That plan is shot to hell when I notice someone is already there. Someone big, with his extremely broad back to me. I take a few steps closer, then pause to admire the view. I grin at the wide shoulders, the brawny arms, the long, jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of him.

This, I know from her description, is Samantha’s dad, Sebastian. “You can’t miss him,” she said. “He looks like a caveman but smells like Chanel.”

Boy, was she right. About both. I go to stand in front of him, and there is a whoosh of liquid warmth in the pit of my bellywhen our eyes meet. Liquid warmth that spreads lower when he smiles. His dark hair is peppered with silver, I could easily drown in his warm coffee-colored eyes, and that cocky grin sets off little fireworks in my panties. The ridge of a scar on his neck, just visible above his T-shirt, gives him a grittier, more dangerous edge despite the domestic setting.

He has baby Max with him in a Moses basket, and that child is adorable—but nowhere near as interesting as his granddad.

I fight off laughter at the fact that I’m lusting over a grandfather. Sebastian Donovan is no ordinary grandparent. Sebastian Donovan is a stone-cold silver fox who is looking me up and down with blatant appreciation. This is the kind of man who would give as good as he got, which is always a turn-on. I’d like to climb onto his lap and ride him right now.

I’ve been searching for a flame of desire. Now, in the most unlikely of places, I seem to have found an inferno. Can I imagine that screaming orgasm with his name on it?

Hell yes.

Chapter

Two

SEBASTIAN

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