Page 96 of Devil Mine

“Believe me, I’d like nothing more.”

The cocky smile that pulls at his lips does nothing except piss me off further. I stomp on his foot. Hard. He winces, his arm tightening around me until he’s carrying me, my feet no longer touching the floor.

“Why are you upset,preciosa?” he coaxes seductively. “Tell me the truth.”

“Smile like that again and I’ll give you a dose of your own medicine,” I snarl, my jealousy making me spiral. I’ve never felt this way before. Making a point of looking around the room at all the men in attendance, I add. “After all, I don’t think a marriage is official if it hasn’t been consummated.”

Strong fingers wrap callously around my jaw, digging into my cheeks and using brute force to turn my face back towards his.

“Careful,” he warns, voice tight. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

I tip my chin stubbornly up at him.

“The infamous “Diablo”, you mean?”

“No, yourhusbandwho won’t fucking share you,” he corrects, livid. Squeezing my jaw, he brings his mouth inches from mine. “But if you push me to it, then yes,El Diablo. You’ve seen what I’ll do to a man who didn’t slight me. Imagine what I’m capable of doing to one who comes anywhere near you, one who touches what’smine.”

I rip my jaw out of his hand and shove at his chest until he releases me. Back on my feet, I tilt my chin up until our faces are inches from each other’s. The other couples keep dancing around us, paying us no mind, while we stand off like we’re about to kill each other.

“It’s not sharing,” I hiss. His jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek twitching erratically. “We haven’t slept together. I amnotyours.”

I won’t ask him for anything when he’s made no room for me. Chasing me was all about his ego, not aboutme. Not when I was clearly so replaceable.

I’ve had enough.

“Don’t test me, Tess,” he warns, his voice dangerously soft now.

I walk right off the dancefloor without answering, leaving him standing in a sea of couples, staring after me.

???

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Tess

Ikeep walking, unsure where I’m going, my rage and jealousy alone directing me as I get lost in this massive mansion. The gala area was cordoned off and I’m sure I’ve wandered into the private residence area now, but I don’t even remember making that decision.

The home is old and beautiful, built in the 1950s or earlier if I had to guess. I’m trying to focus on its careful detailing to calm myself down, but my blood is still thrashing in my veins.

There’s no one,no one, who can make me lose my entire composure like Thiago can. He does it effortlessly, that’s the most infuriating part.

I pace back and forth in a foyer of some sort, willing my heart to settle so I can access the rational part of my brain instead of the jealous viper that’s still shouting at me to track Claudia down and, frankly, slap the living shit out of her.

More worrisome than the anger though are the tears threatening to appear. I’d like to pretend I don’t know why I want to cry, but I do. Because after the long phone calls, after the shared ice cream and banter, after the arguments and the heated, tense moments of passion, he’d started to feel like maybe he might be mine. I hadn’t considered that other women could also think the same. Contending with a ghost is already enough of a weight without adding living competition.

Stomping my foot in irritation, I let out a frustrated scream at my naïvety. At those inexplicable, impractical feelings swirling around in my chest.

My eye catches on something red. It’s an envelope placed on top of a bowl of keys and other knick knacks on a mantel. Something about it looks familiar to me, but I don’t know why.

It’s not the wisest idea — but it’s certainly the rudest — to go through a stranger’s things. I realize I don’t actually know whose house this even is. I never asked Thiago.

Curiosity makes me pick up the envelope anyway. Idefinitelyrecognize this crest.

“Snooping around this house is an incredibly dangerous and ill-advised gamble,” a deep, cold voice informs me. The threat is mild but somehow present in his tone, like he knows he doesn’t have to exert much effort to scare me.

Startled, I turn around and come face to face with the largest man I’ve ever seen in my life. This part of the house is bathed in darkness, the lights all off except for one dimmed above the mantel, so I can only make out part of his features.

He looks to be about mid-forties, incredibly attractive with brown hair, scalpel-drawn cheekbones, and startlingly striking gray eyes. He’s a veritable mountain of a man standing atleastat six foot five with large, expansive shoulders straining beneath his tuxedo.

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