Page 37 of Devious Truth

“She’s important to you.” I nudge my chin to get her moving again. “That’s all I need to know.”

After a slight pause, she starts down the stairs again. Her heels, a pair of black, strappy things, look impossible to walk in, but she manages gracefully.

The slit in her dress can drag a man from hell and bring him straight to heaven. It ends at her hip, showing every inch of her leg when she takes a step down.

“What?” Her eyes widen when she catches me staring again.

There’s no hope for me tonight. Whatever intention I’d had of minding my manners tonight to show her that a dangerous man like me can be a perfect gentleman has been destroyed.

This woman has no idea how beautiful she is, which only makes me want to devour her more. Innocence is fuel for monsters like me.

A bout of yelling comes from the apartment on the first floor as I usher her out of the building. “We need to discuss your living situation.”

She rolls her eyes as she climbs into the car, gathering the material of her dress so it doesn’t get caught in the door.

“Where would you like me to live?” She questions when I’m settled beside her, and Yosef has pulled away from the curb.

“With me.” I roll my shoulders back.

“You’re insane. Do you know that? And I’m not joking; I mean you may be legally insane. There are tests for that sort of thing now.”

Her fingers rub together in her lap, and her toes tap against the mat on the floor. Reaching across the space between us, I wrap my hand around hers and squeeze.

“It’s just us, Vivienne. You don’t need to be nervous.” It’s not entirely the truth.

If she could see the thoughts running through my mind. All of the things I want to do to her, with her, she’d probably jump out of the car, moving or not.

“I’m not nervous.”

I raise an eyebrow and lean in toward her. “You’re lying. You fidget when you’re nervous.”

I give a pointed look to her feet, still wiggling.

She freezes, then pulls her hand from mine and looks out the window. Silence invades the car, and since she’s not threatening to jump out at the next red light, I let her have her little reprieve.

There won’t be one later.

From the clutch sitting in her lap, her phone vibrates. She takes the phone out, typing in her passcode to unlock the screen—which I memorize—then opens her notifications.

The air in the car thickens in a matter of seconds from her reading the message. It’s rude to read other people’s phones, but I’ve already decided to give up on any pretense of manners tonight. But when I look over, she has the phone screen side down on her lap and she’s staring out the window.

“Vivienne? What’s wrong?”

Her body’s gone stiff, like she’s just received horrible news.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath before she slips the phone back into her purse. The message goes unanswered.

“It’s nothing.”

“Should I check for myself?” I’m not above stealing her phone.

With a steady breath, she grips the clutch tighter and swings her eyes to me.

“My mother-in-law died.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right.” I’m quick to assure him because he has that look in his eyes again.

The one that means he’s about to smother me in a protective blanket.

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