Page 82 of Beautiful Revenge
Dev.
She’s never called me that before.
Just Dev. Soft and sweet—even if she did exhale it on an exhausted breath. Hell, I would’ve been happy had she growled my name in two angry syllables.
I move to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. “I thought you were asleep. Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”
She stares up at me with hesitant eyes. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a lot of things, baby. Strong and resilient one moment, and so damn vulnerable the next. Yet, you’re never naïve about it. There’s something about you...”
I let my words trail off, and she doesn’t hesitate to try to put words in my mouth, and guesses, “That makes you pull your hair out?”
I shake my head. “No, baby. It makes me want to wrap you up in my arms and lay waste to anyone who wants to hurt you. I want to pave the way for you, but you seemed to be doing a pretty damn good job of it before today. And when you won’t listen to me, I want to tan your ass.”
Her eyes widen. “I’d say no offense, but I say this with complete and utter offense—had you told me the truth rather than being a bossyarsehole, I would have listened to you.”
I tip my head and study the practically naked beauty in my bed. “Your headache must be letting up. Your spirit is back. I like it.”
She sighs. “You would like it.”
“I’m not good at this.” I motion back and forth between us. “I should’ve told you why I didn’t want you near him.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” she warns. “Protecting me from the truth is not protecting me. I need honesty like my life depends on it. Promise me you won’t do it again.”
“I promise, baby.” My gaze wanders to her bare back, and I drag my fingertips down her spine. Her skin is pink where I had her against the wall last night. Seeing her raw skin andknowing I did that makes me want to punch myself in the gut while the blood rushes to my dick. I’m a complicated fucker. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That will never happen again.”
She keeps the covers fisted at her tits. “What exactly isn’t going to happen again?”
I lean down to press my lips to hers, wrap my hand around the side of her neck, and stay close when I promise, “Hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”
Her fingers wrap around my wrist to hold me there. “I don’t know why I believe you, but I do. And I’m not in the position to believe anyone. What’s wrong with me?”
I shake my head and lean in to press my lips lightly on her forehead before sitting up. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You found yourself in the middle of a fucked-up shitshow. You’re a target because of who you were born to. That’s not your fault.”
She pulls in a deep breath, and there’s a tremble to her voice. She sounds more vulnerable than she is lying under the covers almost naked. “I miss my mom. I’m not sure I’ve ever missed her more. And that’s saying something since I had to go through years of therapy after she died.”
I let my gaze study every tortured feature set in her beautiful face. I can’t take it.
I stand and shrug my shirt down my arms.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry? I can get the kitchen to whip up some leftovers.” I toe my loafers off and kick them to the side as I unbutton my trousers.
She narrows her eyes. “Very funny. I just told you something personal, and you make fun of me not wanting to waste food?”
I push my pants to the ground and reach for my socks. “I’m being dead serious. If you’re not hungry, move over.”
She doesn’t move. “But this is my side of the bed.”
I yank the covers from her grip. She yelps, but I don’t stop and climb over her. “We’ve slept together once and you slept in the middle. You don’t have a side of the bed.”
She watches me settle on the other side of the middle and pull the covers over us. “We have plenty of time to order food before the kitchen closes for the night.”
“True. It’s a good thing you’re sleeping with the owner. If you wake up in the middle of the night hungry, I’ll raid the kitchen for you.” I stuff a pillow under my head and wrap a hand around her bare hip to pull her to me. Her fingers trail down my neck, land on my pecs, and she settles her head on my bicep.
“What are we doing, Devon?”
