Page 37 of Vows in Name Only
He needed distance, space to get himself back in check. Under control. Yes, control was key. Not losing his temper with his father or betraying any of his hurt had become an art form for Cain. After years of practice, not losing it over a woman he’d known for a handful of weeks was child’s play.
“Good,” he said, guiding his car down her quiet, dark street. “We’re in agreement, then. Tonight was a mistake. One we can’t repeat.”
His life contained enough complications with brothers he barely knew, a company to run and an inheritance to lock down.
And a mausoleum of a house to return to with only screaming childhood ghosts for company.
No, he didn’t need anything else on his plate. Like an inappropriate and inconvenient fascination for a woman with eyes like emeralds, a Mona Lisa face and the curves of a goddess.
“Of course,” Devon said. “Business as usual. We both know how good I am at following orders.”
The comment referred to how she so easily conformed to her father’s dictates, but that’s not how his body interpreted it.
Don’t stop.
Breathe, sweetheart.
Look at me and let go.
She’d followed those orders so sweetly, too.
Lust rippled through him when he remembered how he’d obeyed hers as well.
Take it off.
Her husky, sensual words echoed in his ears, and he steeled himself against the wave of need that crashed over him. Silently uttering a curse, he jerked the gearshift into Park and damn near bolted out of the car.
Distance and space. Distance and space.
The two words became his mantra as he rounded the car to open her door. But she’d already pushed it open and stepped out, heading for the front steps of the townhome.
“You don’t need to walk me to the door,” she objected in that cool voice that set his teeth on edge. Even though it was what he needed to keep her in the neat box where he’d placed her.
“I’m walking you to the door, Devon,” he ground out, his hand hovering over the small of her back. But after a moment, he lowered it. Better off not tempting fate by touching her at all. Not with their mingled scents still clinging to his skin. “You’re not some booty call that’s dropped off at the curb.”
“I’m not a friend. I’m not a lover. And now I’m not a booty call,” she said, fishing her key out of her purse and sliding it into the slot. “I’m beginning to wonder who or what I am.” She grabbed the knob and twisted. Even as his mind ordered him to avoid putting his hands on her, he cupped her elbow, halting her.
She didn’t turn around, and he didn’t force her to. Instead, he edged closer until his chest pressed to her back and his reawakened cock nudged the rise of her ass. He clenched his jaw against the pleasure and pain of the contact. Against the insatiable animal inside him that roared for more.
He lowered his head. “You’re a beautiful, unwanted, sexy-as-fuck complication,” he growled.
Then he stepped back. Away from temptation. Away from whatever pull she had on his will and his body.
Away from her.
Without looking back, he strode down the steps and the front walk to his car. Once he was inside the safe confines of the vehicle, he glanced at Devon, standing in the doorway. Due to the distance and the shadows, he couldn’t decipher every feature of her face, couldn’t see her eyes. There was no possible way she could note his regard through the heavily tinted windows, but only when he stared at her, did she walk through the entrance and close the door behind her.
Shutting herself in.
Shutting him out.
Thirteen
Being up at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning should have been considered a punishable offense, but having breakfast with her family before they returned to New Jersey pardoned her crime.
She smiled, excitement and happiness spilling over as she pulled on her jacket and descended the stairs to the foyer. Already, she’d talked to her aunt Angela, and the other woman’s steady flow of chatter and laughter had been infectious. Devon had needed to finally tell her aunt that she had to hang up and get dressed or she would be late meeting them at their hotel.
Devon shook her head, her smile faltering. When Zia Angela had informed her of the exact hotel where they were staying, she’d swallowed a surprised gasp. The five-star hotel catered to the wealthiest and most famous, and Cain had arranged for her huge family to stay there like they were royalty. Regardless of how their evening had ended last night after having sex, she was so grateful to him for his treatment of her family.
