Page 17 of Heart of a Devil
“He isolated you.”
He’s right, of course—that was one of the worst aspects of what happened to me as a child. The loneliness.
“Yeah. He always had me worried. Sometimes he’d leave me alone for a while, and I would hope he lost interest. But then he’d send me photos of myself in bed at night, with him holding a knife to my throat. Once, he cut off my hair while I was asleep, and I had to pretend I did it. It was endless, and it turned me into a nervous wreck. Nobody suspected a thing and put it all down to me beingdifficult.”
“Fucking bastard. Why would he do that to an innocent girl? His own family, for fuck’s sake.”
“There’s no answer to that. Now, I know there wasn’t a reason—he was just a psycho. But back then, I blamed myself. I assumed I was weak, or maybe downright bad. Why else would he be doing those things to me? I never told a soul, he had me so wrapped up in terror. He ruined me, made me distrust my parents, isolated me. Made me realize our whole family business was built on blood when I was way too young to handle thecomplexities of it all. Uncle Carlos dominated my life for too long, and it was running away from him, and from the Montoya legacy, that drove me into the arms of my husband. The safe bet. The boring, ordinary guy who ran an accounting firm and seemed to offer me a world a million times different from the one I grew up in. I made a lot of bad choices based on fear, based on the way Carlos Montoya manipulated me, and once he was dead, I swore to myself that I would always try to be fearless from that point on.”
I look at my half-eaten plate of food. My almost-empty glass of beer. Anywhere but at Seb. Talking about my childhood is hard, like using a muscle that has atrophied, and I don’t have any more words. I’m deflated and sad, and also pissed that, even from beyond the grave, my scumbag uncle is still exerting power over me. I feel like crying and only hold it together because I’m in public. Because I’m with Seb, and I don’t want him to pity me.
“And are you?” he asks, touching my chin and turning my face so I’m looking at him. The expression in his brown eyes is intense, and he props his elbows up on the table as he leans forward. His lips are inches away from mine, his breath a warm caress on my skin.
“Am I what?” I murmur, losing myself in his gaze.
“Are you fearless? Right now, Lauren, are you fearless? Or do I scare you a tiny bit?”
Just like that, he has flicked a switch, and the mood has gone from confessional to inferno. It’s exactly what I need to drag me out of my low mood, and he seems to instinctively know that. Turns out that my nipples tightening with arousal is an excellent distraction from the pain of my past.
My pulse speeds up, and I wonder if he can actually hear my heart crashing against my rib cage. The way his eyes swoop over me leaves me in no doubt about his intentions, and none of them are honorable. Fearless? I’m goddamn terrified.
The waitress returns to clear our plates, giving me a merciful moment of respite. She leaves us with dessert menus, and I study it with way more commitment than tiramisu and zabaglione merit. I risk a glance at him over the sheet and see him smiling smugly. He understands how he makes me feel, damn him, and he enjoys it.
I slam the card down on the table so hard he jolts. “Yes, you scare me a tiny bit. I can admit that without it making me weak, and you can get that shit-eating grin off your face as well, buddy. You feel it too, this thing between us, and I don’t care how much you pretend to be the tough guy—we both know you want me as much as I want you. Or is it just the chase?” I lean forward, wrapping a lock of my hair around my finger and licking my lips. “You seem like the kind of man who isallabout the chase. Is that what I am? A challenge?”
His nostrils flare, and he grabs my wrists with both his huge hands, holding them tight in front of him. I can’t move without snapping one of my forearms, and he knows it. “Yes, you’re a fucking challenge, Lauren. And yeah, I love the chase. I really love the chase, and I think you do too. It’s been a tough day, and I’ve spent most of it with blue balls because you’re right, sweetheart—you are lodged in my mind like a splinter, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to flip you over on this table right now and fuck you ’til you scream. I want to eat your pussy until you forget your own name. I want to fill every single hole you have and mark you with my cum. I want to make you mine, Lauren Maria Montoya Hayes, to possess you in every way a man can possess a woman. But first, I have a very important question to ask you.”
I’m trembling with arousal, my panties wet and my clit throbbing a needy beat. His grip on my wrists is tight, painful, unrelenting. I have no doubt he could do all of those things and more, and my body shamelessly wants him to. He sucks one ofmy fingers into his mouth, swirls his tongue over the skin, then kisses his way down to my captive wrists, nuzzling the butterfly-wing pulse point that is giving away my excitement.
“What kind of shoes are you wearing?”
Chapter
Nine
SEBASTIAN
Her face is a picture of confusion and desire, and both are fucking delicious. We’re sharing quite the dance, both of us jostling for control and power. Physically, I win that game, but there are many other types of power.
Hearing the anguish in her voice while she talked about her evil fuck of an uncle almost broke me. She’s overcome so much trauma she hides beneath layers of cocksure confidence, and I feel privileged that she opened up to me. Now she’s fighting to help others who are trying to escape domestic abuse, and I couldn’t admire her more. Coming from her background, she’ll be under no illusions about the threat that the Russian mob brings, but she’s scrapping for Caroline and Nicky anyway. Taking on a man like Volkov could unleash a world of pain in her direction, but if she’s worried about that, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. Now she has me on her side, though, and if anyone lays a hand on her, that hand will not remain attached to the owner’s body for long.
This has been a lot for both of us. Our friendly dinner turned into a soul-searching session way more intense than anything either of us is used to, and I know how it’s made me feel—jagged,exposed, vulnerable. I rarely feel any of those things, and it sucks balls. I can tell it’s the same for her, and I’m determined to change the tone of our night. In fact, my cock is already stirring at what I have in mind, and the bewildered look in her eyes is only adding to it.
“Shoes?” she echoes. “You want to know what shoes I’m wearing?”
I nod as I scoop out my wallet to pay the bill. “I do, yeah. Or shall I climb under the table and take a look for myself? Who knows what else I might get up to while I’m down there.” I wink at her and am rewarded with a sweet blush creeping across her cheeks.
“No! Don’t do that. I’m, uh, I’m wearing deeply unglamorous sneakers, Seb. Sorry to disappoint.”
“What makes you think that’s a disappointment? That’s actually perfect. Much as I loved seeing you in heels while I had my fingers in your soaking wet pussy, what I have in mind for tonight calls for something more practical. Like you said, we both enjoy the chase, and I think we both deserve a little fun. So how about we take the chase a step further? How about we make it real?”
She fights to keep her cool, capturing her plump lower lip between her teeth in a way that makes her look like a nervous schoolgirl. It makes me more feral for her, and I let go of her wrists before I’m tempted to drag her into my lap. “How would that work?” she finally says, her head tilted to one side.
“Pretty simple, sweetheart. You run, you hide, then I hunt you. You’re my prey. If you want to try to fight me off, give it your best shot.”
Her pupils blow wide, and she sucks in a breath. “What happens if you catch me?”
“I think you already know the answer to that. You get fucked, any way I choose. I do whatever I want to you, no holds barred.”
