Page 35 of Destined for the Devil
And in that moment my whole world shifted.
I loved him too. His ocean blue eyes, so tender and loving, cemented my feelings, and I knew I never wanted to look into anyone else's eyes ever again.
"I have to do something first. I'll be back in half an hour. Or…why don’t you come with me? But you will have to wait in the car." He spoke so softly, waiting for my answer.
I nodded slowly, basking in the beauty of his smile. My hand in his, he led me back to his car, closing my door like I was precious cargo.
In the same awkward silence, as if afraid to speak to one another, we drove through the city, and I watched the scenery change outside. We sped into what looked like very rich people territory.
"Where are we?" I finally asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"Bel Air." Roman pulled up to a stunning mansion, the size of which was hard to even comprehend.
As soon as he killed the engine, he turned to me and passed the key. “Stay here, okay? Don't get out of the car; lock it. Here’s the key. I'll be back in five minutes." His light smile gave me no confidence, but he was already out of the car, throwing his jacket into the back seat. "Lock the car." He reminded me before he shut the door.
Very apprehensively, I did as I was told while I watched Roman calmly stroll to a gate and wait to be let in. The gate opened after a few seconds, and Roman disappeared down a wide driveway toward an incredible white mansion all lit up in the darkness behind the tall hedges.
Alone in the car, I wondered where on earth we were and what the hell we were doing here. People who lived here must have done something lucrative for a living. To afford a neighborhood like this?
Just as he promised, five minutes later Roman emerged from the gate, calm and composed. But in the headlights of the car, his white shirt told a different story—it was all splattered in red. Blood. He walked straight to the driver’s side and stood there patiently until I realized he was waiting for me to unlock the door.
As if nothing had happened, he slid back into the seat with that same smile, and that’s when I saw it—his knuckles were all mangled, raw, and bloody. His sleeves and chest were stained, large drops of crimson decorating all of him.
Holy fuck. My mind blanked. When he turned and asked for his keys, I scanned him head to toe, searching for an injury, but he was all intact. Whose blood was that?!
Without a word, he drove us back to my apartment, his jaw tensing and relaxing every few seconds. But when I unlocked the door and he stepped inside, I caught it—a stifled groan he tried to hide.
"Are you...hurt?" I asked timidly, not sure how to approach whatever the hell just happened. Whose house was that, and why did he need to do this?!
"No. I'm not. Are you alright?" he lied, changing the subjectimmediately. We were mere inches apart, and I gained enough courage to grab his hand and bring it closer, inspecting his busted knuckles and broken skin. Fuck. Touching him like this—on purpose—was a whole experience in and of itself.
I wanted more. My trembling fingers found the top button of his shirt, and I gulped as I popped it open. One, two—five, I unbuttoned the bloody shirt, his strong and tattooed body being revealed to me with every passing second. He took a small step closer and whispered, “What are you doing, Isla?”
WhatwasI doing? My eyes took in the sight, greedily, like I was starved. A bruise was taking form on his ribs, and I reached for it, my fingers brushing his warm, tattooed skin. He took a sharp breath in and stepped closer, taking all the light with him again.
As discreetly as he could, he smothered a groan, his muscles tightening and shifting underneath my fingertips. Good Lord. In an instant, an image flashed in my mind—him above me, body pressing into mine, his energy consuming me.
He smelledso fucking good. It wasn’t cologne, it washim. God, he smelled fresh, clean, mouthwatering. Like sin.
Likelust.
"I forgot that you're almost a doctor.” He chuckled through his obvious pain.
"I studied psychiatry.” I straightened out, catching the hungry look in his eyes. "Go take a shower. Really freeze your ribs. I…” I contemplated whether to tell him the truth, but there was no use hiding anything. “I…stole some of your clothes so...I can give you something to change into."
His jaw dropped in mock surprise, so overdone it made me giggle. I nudged him toward the bathroom, then returned with a towel, his black t-shirt, and a pair of gray sweatpants I’d pulled from his closet. Romandidn’t say a word—just watched me with that enigmatic smile that I so loved.
I stood at the foot of my bed, letting the dress pool on the floor as I stepped out of it, my mind spiraling. What was my plan, exactly? I’d brought Roman home. I had one bed. And I had the hardest fucking time resisting him.
And he was in love with me.The words rushed inside my head, once more stunning me to my very core.
Confused and shaken from my own ruminations, I pulled on my pajamas, shivering with real fear at what was happening between us.
What the fuck was I doing?!A logical thought broke through. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what he did or what hejustdid. Who did he beat up, and why?!
Roman emerged from the shower looking like some kind of forbidden candy. His black hair was slicked back, and large drops of water collected at the ends, right at his nape—the exact place my fingers ached to touch.
My gaze slid to the gray sweatpants, and the sight of him—casual, comfortable, at home inmyapartment—was almost too much. I bit back my own groan as I brushed past him on my way to the bathroom. I washed off my makeup, brushed my hair, and found some cream.
