Page 8 of Devil's Claim

CHAPTER 3

Christine

Oh, hell, no.

Absolutely not.

There was no way I would spend another minute with the man, let alone an entire night. He’d need to wrestle me to the floor, tie me up and gag me for the night. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe the most excitement I’d had in months.

Except…

No, I wasn’t going down that ridiculous road. Unless I had a pitchfork in my hand and was planning on driving it into the man-who-would-not-be-named’s heart. Although at this point, that would suit me just fine. I needed to release my aggression, especially right now.

“Um, I don’t think so,” I told him as politely as possible. He did have a weapon after all.

“I’m afraid,” he said while twisting the finger covered in icing, my icing, “that you don’t have a choice.”

For a man of few words and with danger exuding from every pore, he had a very sensual way of sucking the frosting from his finger. So much so, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. That made me some kind of sinner myself. I took pride in that I didn’t do something stupid like smash the wineglass and attempt to drive the broken stem into the sexy man’s eyeball.

The true working word was attempt. His reflexes were abnormally quick. That meant he was highly skilled. An assassin? Maybe. I reached for my wine, determined to finish it and every drop of liquor in my house. To hell with offering him another drink.

He decided to do it for himself, moving around me to grab the bottle. In doing so, he was forced to brush past me just like I’d done before.

I couldn’t stand to watch him any longer. I still needed to finish icing the goddamn cake. Fuck. Why was I even bothering? The three-tiered cake was leaning at this point, probably because of the heated testosterone forming gas rings from Mr. Dangerous. I slapped on more icing, trying to fill in a few gaps.

What if I made a funny face instead of continuing the dainty fucking flowers surrounding the base? Maybe my abductor’s face. Yeah, why not immortalize him? That is what I should call him. Right? Granted, I was still in my own house, but I could be abducted by remaining right where I was.

Apparently, my last months of hell hadn’t taken a complete toll on me. I still had a firm hold on my self-deprecating and very twisted sense of humor.

“Who is Tonya to you?” I asked. The silence was as suffocating as his huge, muscular body filling the tiny space. Soon, I’d be out of air, gagging for every last breath. What assassin looked like him, all buff and perfect? His hair created a desire to run my fingers through it, much like I longed to trace the incredibly artistic tattoos he had sweeping down both arms.

I had so many questions to ask.

“It’s best you don’t ask too many questions,mi pequeño pastel.”

His voice was little more than a husky growl, so masculine. So…

“What did you call me?”

“My little cake.”

I shoved the paddle toward him before I realized what I was doing. “Hey, be kind. You’re in my house. I’ve offered you tequila. I’ve haven’t called the cops, although I’m certain you’d tackle me to the ground if I tried. What I’m managing a shitty job of saying is that you need to be nice to me.”

Suddenly, his eyes became entirely too hooded and bad, bad things rolled through my mind. What would it be like to fuck a dangerous man? My bestie, Chloe, the bride with the perfect hero for a groom, had told me my problem was that I didn’t take risks. I’d taken one. One in my entire life of being the good girl and where had it gotten me?

But still, Mr. Dangerous was tempting.

“I don’t know Tonya that well. All I can tell you is she’s a true socialite. Her parents come from old money from another country. I don’t know where and I don’t care.” I returned to the pastry bag, trying my best to concentrate on the flowers while being stared at by his perfectly luminous eyes. They matched hiscarved features, including a high forehead and an oh-so strong jaw covered in dark stubble. Much like his thick, dark hair, I longed to run my fingers from one side of his jaw to the other.

“If she’s such a terrible person, why are you friends?”

I wasn’t expecting the question and I laughed almost maniacally. My nerves were finally starting to get to me. That was obvious. I stood back, making faces at my masterpiece. “You know what? I’ve been asking myself that very question now for almost four months. Four grueling months of dealing with her making fun of my clothes, my rust-bucket of a car, my apartment that I’ve been lucky to get since otherwise I’d be living in my car, and reminding me in those subtle yet pointed jabs every time she’s graced my company that I don’t come from fine stock like she does.”

If only the woman knew the ugly truth.

I was breathless after jumbling the words, but that’s what being a nervous wreck did to you.

“Can you make yourself useful and open the refrigerator door for me so I can safely put the cake away? Chloe doesn’t need my mess of a life to interfere with hers.”

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