Her breath hitches.
“Are you afraid of me, angel?” I inhale her sweet scent.
She scoffs. “Seems like you want me to be.”
“You haven’t talked to me since the engagement. Why is that?”
I wait a long moment for her answer. I can’t tell, even from the stubborn tilt to her chin, whether she’s thinking hard or refusing to speak. Maybe it’s both.
“Are you afraid of me, then?”
“Shut up.” She shoves at my shoulder.
I don’t budge, but she has a way out if she wants it.
“We could have a good marriage.” I don’t mention how my mother and father loathe each other, how my father always has a mistress and my mother leaves a trail of brokenhearted lovers in her wake.
Danica laughs softly. “A good marriage. Right. Me, to you.”
Easing closer, I blow softly against her ear. “Yes, you to me. We already know there’s heat between us. So much heat.”
I can practically taste her resolve melting away, rich and heady against my tongue. When I take her hand in mine, she doesn’t pull away. I rub the soft skin over her knuckles. She feels so good. Every time I touch her—it doesn’t matter where—I feel it with my whole body.
“Danica.” Her name leaves my mouth as a raspy plea.
Then her lips are on mine.
Troy
The Laytons’ lake house has been scrubbed and stuffed with flowers. A jazz quartet plays softly in the background, and caterers wield trays of finger foods and champagne. Tiny lights dangle from tree branches and illuminate the wide lawn that stretches to the lake.
Not bad for an engagement party planned only six days in advance. Then again, with enough money, it’s possible to get all kinds of last-minute services. Security, catering, decor, invitations sent to the top criminals in the city.
Dani has never looked more beautiful…or more glum.
But she seems to shake off her sadness when she sees Edmund approaching.
I watch their conversation, but I can’t tell what they’re saying to each other. My chest feels too tight when he takes her hand and leads her away.
They disappear in the shadows by the boat house, where the light from the paper lanterns doesn’t reach.
I hate this. She’ll be his, not ours.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again. Dread fills my gut. I know who it is—she’s been calling all night. Still, I can’t help myself. I check the ID. Amber Pinton.
What can she want?
Nothing I’m willing to give her. Not ever again. I have enough black marks on my record, thanks to her.
4
Danica
I swore to never give him the time of day. I told myself I would ignore him until our wedding. I would only interact for “official engagement business.”
Yet here I am, lip-locked with the insufferable incubus, kissing him like it’s the key to survival. His jacket surrounds me like a hug. His soft, spicy scent envelops me as well. A moan gathers in my throat as he cups my cheek and our tongues and lips move against each other.
What the fuck am I doing?
