Page 95 of Devil's Bride

He closed the door, slowly making his way in my direction. Eyes almost as stormy as mine. Stubble covering his chiseled jaw. Muscles barely contained in his white tuxedo jacket. The color surprised me.

“The truth is, my sweet bride to be, I do trust you. That came as much a surprise and I’m certain it does to you.”

“I’m learning nothing about you surprises me any longer.”

As always, everything about his presence was all encompassing. His aura lingered even after he left a room. The way he swaggered forward should be deemed a crime in and of itself. For anyone who didn’t know him, they would think him the perfect groom.

I knew him as a dangerous man, not only because of his kill count, but also because of how my body reacted to him.

The treacherous bitch.

Losing myself to him wasn’t going to happen under any circumstances.

Still, the way he approached, his long strides reeking of confidence and sexy swagger, caused another few treacherous moments in my body.

He crowded my space, his nostrils flaring as he drank in my perfume. “You smell divine.”

“You smell like a brewery.”

His laugh was subtle.

My scattered moan wasn’t.

As he began to crinkle the bottom of my dress in his fingers, I did nothing more than maintain eye contact.

“How many weapons are you carrying?” he asked.

“I assume your intent is to discover just how dangerous I am.”

“Mmm… You are so correct.” The second he slid his fingers under my dress, the tips of his fingers touching my skin, my mind floated to all the filthy places we’d already been.

He crouched lower, the wicked smile never leaving his face. My beloved knife, which he found almost immediately, was strapped to my calf. I didn’t react with anything other than a smile of my own. His grin was a strangely evocative method of approval. But as the brush of his callused fingers breached my inner thigh, I sucked in my breath. The tickling sensations could possibly derail my fortitude.

As he always seemed to enjoy doing, he took his time and that included the slightest rub of his fingertips in silent circles and zigzags. My panties were already damp and I sensed he knew that by the mischievous look on his face.

So much of me hated that the man upended me every time. This was just another sparring battle, a contemptuous move on a chess board to assert his authority prior to the two of us exchanging vows. I wanted to say I hated what he was doing, but I’d be lying.

Again.

When his fingers reached the gun, he cocked his head, the quirk of his eyebrow highlighting another round of approval. “My wife to be is a force to be reckoned with. I hope no one at our reception dares comment negatively about the food.”

“They likely wouldn’t appreciate my slicing and dicing skills.”

Jago eased his fingers under the thin elastic of my thong, holding that lust-filled look in his eyes as he swirled the tip of his thumb around my clit. His touch was delicate, a small reminder of his attributes under the sheets. It was difficult not to experience a swell of excitement from his touch.

“Do you trust me, Genevieve?” He asked the question as if disbelieving what I’d said before.

“Trust is an assumption and one often met with dangerous intent.”

His lips twisted in an entirely different form of appreciation as he rolled his thumb down the length of my pussy. “Are you suggesting making assumptions is dangerous?”

“Absolutely,” I breathed, finding it impossible to concentrate. “It gets people killed. Besides, trusting you means giving up a part of myself.”

His eyes gleamed as he thrust his fingers past my swollen folds.

I closed my eyes, forced to wrap one hand around his arm to keep myself steady.

“Would that be such a terrible thing?” he asked.

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