Page 48 of The Devil's Pawn

He flips me off, his mouth set tight. “You make me sound like a heartless asshole. Shit. I like people. I likeyou. Not right now, though.”

“Fuck you,” I chuckle. “You know what I mean. You told me you’re not getting serious until you’re at least forty.” I lean closer as the song changes to a louder one and the bass begins to pound under my feet. “What happened to that?”

“Joelle and I are never gonna happen, so that won’t be a problem.” He stares past me contemplatively. “She’s the only one who’s gotten to me, even back when she’d dance for me at the club.” He looks over at me again. “There was something about her. Something I wanted. And after everything between us, I knew I had to have her as soon as I saw her the night we burned down the strip club.”

I knew he liked her, but I didn’t realize how much.

“I enjoy getting under her skin,” he adds. “It’s so goddamn easy to provoke her.”

“You haven’t fucked her yet, have you? And you were giving me a hard time with Raquel?”

“Please.” He shrugs. “If I wanted her, I’d have her. But it’s complicated.”

He actually looks serious.

Shit. He’s got it bad.

I can’t picture him in love. I’m so used to seeing women hanging all over him, I’ve never imagined it ever being just one.

“All right. Well, I’m out,” I tell him. “Try not to catch any STDs tonight.”

“Yeah, go tend to yourheadache. Maybe she can stroke your pain away.” He smiles, looking proud of himself.

This time, I flip him off before walking back out of the club, pushing my way through people as I make it to the exit.

I say goodbye to the bouncers and head to my car, wondering if Raquel is in bed and if I’d be able to sneak inside and watch her sleeping, even for a moment.

* * *

I park the McLaren in the garage and climb out. The house appears quiet. It’s a little past midnight, so I’m sure she isn’t up. I slip my keys out of my pocket and open the door, hearing music coming from somewhere inside.

I turn, looking inquisitively at Elliot, one of my men. “Who the hell is here?”

“No one, sir.”

He shakes his head, looking slightly nervous, like he’s afraid I’ll fire him or something. He’s new, only a few months in, so I get why he’d be worried if he fucked up.

“Then what’s with the music? You guys throwing a party or something?” I laugh, but it never reaches my face.

“Nothing like that, sir.” He takes a step forward. “Miss Raquel wanted it on, and—”

“She’s up?” I interrupt, already marching toward the den.

Why would she be up so late? The need to see her, to…I don’t know what, because I’m supposed to be staying the hell away from her.

I’m a damn confused motherfucker.

Rounding the corner, I step into the room, expecting to see her on the sofa or something, but she’s nowhere near there.

Instead, I find her on top of my glass coffee table, a martini glass in her hand, bloodred liquid swaying in perfect rhythm to her hips.

Her eyes are closed as she dances barefoot, completely ignorant of me standing there. My jaw flexes.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap. “Are you trying to get hurt up there?”

Her eyelids drift up as she registers my presence, and her gaze grows large before a huge smile crosses her face.

“Dante!” she slurs, grinning as though unable to rip the thrill from her face.

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