Page 2 of Break Me Beautifully
“Wait,” I gasp, jumping to my feet, roses fluttering around my ankles. “Give me that, it's private!”
“Why would you want it to be?” he asks in a low voice tinged with anger. He towers over me, easily dodging my attempts to snatch the book back. I'm panting from the effort as I keep jumping, swiping, struggling to get my sketchbook.
He freezes. I know what he's found.
“Sweet girl,” he breathes, eyeing me over the top of the page. He turns the book agonizingly slow, revealing my detailed, labor of love – a drawing of a man cradling a mermaid in the throes of passion, her breasts thrusting into his hard chest, hair tangled in his fingers.
Oh, yes. This man is indeed the Devil.
Whip-fast I grab the book. Maybe he let me take it that time; I don't care, I just crush it against me, glaring at him with absolute fury. “How dare you?” I spit.
“How dare Iwhat?”
“Take something that doesn't belong to you!”
“It's a terrible habit of mine,” he answers softly. Tilting his head towards me, his eyes flash with danger, with promise. “I'm a man who can't resist beautiful things. When I discover them, I make them mine.”
He's looking at me, and I think with a flicker of curiosity, that he isn't talking about my art. My heart beats in an unsteady pattern, I can't keep track of the rhythm. My blood is fighting with my brain and creates the most hot, delirious chaos.
This man I just met has a confidence I want to understand. How can anyone feel so sure of the things they do or say? What made him like this?
And how can I steal it for myself?
His hand moves towards me. I could stop it, but I don't. His fingers tuck behind my ear, sweeping down, causing my skin to tingle he brushes the sensitive patch of skin behind my jaw. I swallow loudly—he grins, then shows me the rose petal in his fingers. He rubs his thumb over the red flower, my body trembling as I imagine him rubbing me the same way. “Unfortunately, beautiful things break when I play with them.”
I hold out my palm. He hesitates, and I love that I've done something to confuse him. He isn't someone who's thrown off easily or often. He pushes the petal into my palm where I cradle it carefully. “It's not broken,” I say, tucking it into the pages of my sketchbook. “It's become something else, is all.”
He purses his lips. “A bookmark?”
“I don't know why you'd say it in that tone, like it's not important. You were the one who complimented my art in the first place. Were you lying? Making fun of me?”
There—I catch the tiny droop in his smile. The edges of his eyes narrow. He's judging me with new appreciation. It thrills me, even if it shouldn't. No one should encourage a man who calls himself the Devil. His phone beeps, and he yanks it out of his pocket. “Fuck,” he mumbles, reading the screen. His shoulders lower an inch. “Looks like the meeting is over.”
“Already?” I ask. “My father usually talks for hours.”
“No.Ourmeeting.” He motions between us, his smirk returning. “But don't worry. We'll talk again soon.”
A flutter rushes down my spine. “Why would we ...”
He turns his back on me, marching down the slope towards the mansion's front doors. I catch myself staring at his perfect ass where his pants tighten across the flexing muscles with his every long-legged stride.
I have no clue what the hell that was. None of it. My father's guests don't make it a point to talk to me. No one pays attention to me in this place. I can’t compete with the powerful money exchanging hands or my gorgeous, flirtatious sisters.
So what did I do to catch this man's eye?
Lowering myself to the grass, the breeze tickles my neck as my hair winds in loose curls on my shoulders. I'm watching the front doors, waiting to see if he comes back out. Wondering what he's here for.
Wondering why, even with the strong smell of roses all around me, I can't get his musky scent from my nose.
