Page 11 of Devil's Claim

He seemed highly interested, shifting forward on his seat. “What do you know?”

So I was right. “Nothing really other than that her father is supposedly a dangerous man with connections in South America. I met him once. Not something you’d ever forget.”

The doorbell made me jump. Kruz did as well. Immediately, he had his weapon in his hand, standing and taking my arm so I was forced to cower next to him.

“Don’t do anything stupid,mi pequeño pastel. I would hate to ruin our evening together.”

Tension swept through me, but I was able to walk to the front door. The timing was too quick for food to be delivered. I was obviously wrong. The Chinese food had arrived. Bag after bag. I was shocked how many of them there were. I had to make four trips to get them to my tiny table. I was also shocked that my guest had handled the tip.

As my mouth watered from the rich smell, my stomach was doing flip-flops.

“My God. How much did you order?”

“Enough,” he said and watched me pull the boxes and bags of eggrolls from the different bags. There were soups too, three different kinds.

“This is crazy. I hope you’re hungry.” I busied myself getting plates, my mind still trying to process why he’d do this.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t a horrible person, but at least I’d give him a niceness notch even though I doubted he’d accept it.

Just as I grabbed several paper napkins, there was a hard knock on the door. We went through the same routine with Kruz remaining in the shadows with the weapon in his hands while I opened the door.

The shock of seeing so many grocery bags was almost too much for my emotional system. Tears formed in my eyes, even more so when I pulled out meats and eggs, cheeses and pasta. There was coffee and creamer, fruits and vegetables. Ice cream. Donuts. What did the man think he was doing? There was also wine, three bottles of it. And another bottle of tequila. A huge one.

I laughed the entire time I was putting everything away, creatively avoiding spilling the cake on the floor in the process. With everything jammed inside the fridge and cabinets, I closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it.

The entire time he didn’t lift a finger to help, only stared at me with his dark eyes.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you need to eat. Because someone hurt you.”

The man of few words slipped his weapon behind his back where it had been before, brought my wineglass and his tumbler to the table and sat down.

When I didn’t join him right away, he finally lifted his head. His facial expressions were commanding, his chest rising and falling from serious contemplation.

He was handsome.

He was strong.

He was generous.

God help me, I lowered onto the chair to have dinner with a monster.

CHAPTER 4

Christine

Somewhere between putting the leftovers of the Kung Pao shrimp and the sweet and sour pork away, the first tear rolled down my cheek.

I wiped it away furiously.

When I slid the delicious, heaven-sent Peking duck into the last remaining free spot on the shelf, several more tears fell.

I sucked them back faster than a drug addict snorting cocaine.

But when I was tossing away the empty bags and napkins, I totally lost it. It was another shameful moment. Allowing a stranger to witness my breakdown was perhaps one of the top five worst things that had happened over the last few months.

Although it was not the worst by far.

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