Page 97 of A Deal with the Bossy Devil

“You’re so fucking pretty when you blush, Ria. It’s unreal.”

Something about that specific comment, said in that specific tone, accompanied by that specific look, caused a central wire in my brain to snap in half like a stale breadstick.

And everything went to shit.

“Welp,” I practically bellowed, startling myself. “Now that that’s been established, I’ll be on my way.”

And then I saluted him.

…

Isalutedhim.

And I didn’t know which one of us was more shocked by it, me or Adrien. His lips parted as he watched me, his brows arching.

My idiot hand was frozen midair, and I gaped back at him as my entire body turned into a Flaming Hot Cheeto.

Good god. What the hell are you doing?

My palm slammed to my side, and I stiffly marched toward my suitcase, determined to make my exit as swift and uneventful as possible. But Adrien stepped right in front of me, blocking my path.

“Excuse me,” I said in a strangely polite tone, attempting to step around him.

“Sanchez,” the bane of my existence purred, once again blocking my path.

“That’s me.” Was it just in my head or did I suddenly sound like I’d inhaled a bunch of helium?

“Are you flustered?”

My heart tripped. “Crikey. I don’t phink so, mate. It’s just a bit hot in ‘ere, innit?”

My teeth snapped together, my face prickling in complete and utter horror. What in the ever-loving fuck wasthataccent? If Steve Irwin and Moira Rose had unprotected Essex, their lovechild would pop out of the womb wailing in that accent.

It washorrible.

Adrien’s mouth began to spread into a slow full-faced grin that made me think of the cat from Alice in Wonderland, but a lot sexier.

“Oh my god,” he said, voice airy with amused disbelief.

“I’m gonna leave now.” My declaration was followed by another failed attempt at making an escape. I rolled my lips and glared up at him stubbornly.

“You’re so flustered,” he observed inaccurately.

Did I become weirdly polite, forget how speaking worked, and turn a medically alarming shade of blotchy purple when I was extremely flustered? Yes.

But did Adrien Cloutier possess the power and ability to make me flustered? Absolutely fucking not.

“I told you, I’m not flustered,” I responded coolly, threatening my tongue with ghost-pepper sauce if it even thought about rolling a single one of those words into a non-Canadian accent.

His eyes searched mine, softening. “Well, this is unexpectedly adorable.”

I didn’t know his voice could go all gentle and tender like that when he was talking to me. And I definitely didn’t realize someone calling youunexpectedly adorablewould be so butterfly-inducing.

I wasn’t sure how to respond so I shifted on my feet and put my hands behind my back, clearing my throat.

“Sanchez,” he said in that confusingly gentle way, taking a step forward, “how about that truce?”

I stepped back and leaned lightly against the wall, trying to come off as casual as possible despite the ruckus in my chest. “Why are you so dead set on this truce thing?” I managed.

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