Page 34 of The Diávolos: Part One
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Angelica. I just do my homework.”
“You’re a creep,” I say under my breath.
“Do you need a reminder of what this creep can do to you if you keep running your mouth?”
I’m melting faster than a glacier as my temperature rises. I’m having a hard time containing my reaction. How can I go from wanting to run away from this man, to wanting to runtowardhim. I see Evan’s lips trying to muffle a smile. Global warming has nothing on him.
“I already know all the ways I’m going to touch you, hurt you, until you squirm and beg me to stop,” he whispers as he moves closer, invading my space in the middle of the coffee shop. He takes a strand of curls and twirls it around his finger, tugging it gently. “You’re at my mercy, Angelica. Remember that when you try to disobey or disrespect me.” His words hit me like a head-on collision, and the force of them is a powerful caress along my body. I struggle to close my mouth from the shock, let alone formulate a response. Thankfully, Anna calls us over to get our order and he swiftly releases the thin lock of hair, leaving me standing in an imaginary puddle of water caused by the overflow of wetness between my legs.
He walks up to the counter, and I take the opportunity to gawk at him. He is tall,verytall, built, and lean. Strands of his disheveled wavy brown hair fall perfectly on his forehead. The stubble around his face gives off a rugged look. He’s wearing deep blue trousers and a white buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing a trail of tattoos that start at his fingers and go up his arms. The first few buttons are unbuttoned forming a ‘V’ at his chest. I can see a peak of the Greek wreath inked on his collarbone through the opening and under the fabric. And those damn rings he wears make me want to have the imprints stamped on my ass.
He is perfect. I hate that he makes me feel like I can’t control myself.
He grabs our drinks, and hands me my coffee as we settle at a table. I bring the mug up to my nose and sniff the lovely aroma of coffee, vanilla, and cinnamon.
After getting comfortable, we engage in conversation, and by that, I mean Evan asking me loads of questions while he listens. He succeeds in getting me to talk about my time in Antium City and I see him watch the way each word slips out of my mouth, his eyes laser-focused on my lips.
The trance he seems to be in gets interrupted as soon as he hears me say the name ‘Danny.’ He snaps his head up.
“Who the fuck is Danny?” he asks.
I blink at him and laugh.Is he jealous? “Settle down, cowboy. Daniel is one of my best friends from college.”
“Does he have a dick?”
I stare at him, amused and maybe a little puzzled, as he scowls at me, pushing me to answer the question. “Uh, yes?” I reply.
“Then, you can’t be friends with him,” Evan states.
“Says who?” I ask incredulously.
“Says me.”
“And who are you exactly, Evan?”
“Someone to be obeyed, Angelica.” I want to tempt him further, ask him what he means by that, but no coherent words seem to formulate in my brain. I had a feeling Evan was slightly out of his mind, but he sounds straight up deranged right now.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” I finally muster. He laughs out loud and the booming sound reminds me of happiness. I wish he would do it more often.
“Of course, I am,” he says with a wink. I don’t believe him for a second. I roll my eyes at him and he grabs hold of my chin with his hand. The feeling of his fingers on my skin makes me forget everything else except his presence.
“Ómorfi.”Beautiful,he murmurs as he looks over my face. His piercing eyes set me on fire. He lets go of my face, and I lower my gaze to hide my shyness. I get so nervous when I’m around him.
I want to know what he does for work, so I ask him about his business endeavors to distract me from the way my body is reacting to him. He gives me a vague answer about helping with his uncle’s business and brushes me off almost instantly, so I decide not to pry or push it any further.
He encourages me to keep talking by asking about my family. I reveal that my mother passed away when I was young. I don’t usually talk about such intimate details of my life, but something compels me to share that part of me with him.
When I talk to him, I feel comfortable, like I don’t have to hide.
To my surprise, he reveals that both his parents and younger sister are deceased too. He seems to be taken back by his own admission. He stutters and breaks off what he was saying. I give him a soft, encouraging smile, and he carries on. He doesn’t disclose how they passed away, but I can respect that. Talking about a traumatic and painful memory is never easy. It’s best for me not to pry.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Evan. I had no idea. I mean— How could I have known? But I’m sorry. I know it’s tough.” I’m rambling, but I was not expecting us to have shared trauma. No one truly knows how it feels to lose a family member unless they have lost one too.
“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry for your loss too, Angelica,” he says, and I can see the sadness in his eyes. His parents must have meant the world to him, like how my mother meant everything to me.
“I miss my mom every day,” I whisper, sorrow consuming me. I lower my gaze and look at the coffee mug in my hands.
He scoots his chair closer to mine and rests his palm on my thigh. A charge of electricity hits me as it always does when he touches me. This time, I notice a change in his behavior. He straightens and leans into me, closing the space between us.
