Page 60 of Devil Mine

We end the call without any further words of care or comfort. We’ve never been those people, we wouldn’t know what to say.

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Chapter Twenty-TWO

Tess

“Merci, monsieur,” I say to the shop owner as I reach across the counter and take the bag he hands me.

“De rien. Bonne journée, mademoiselle.”

I spin on my heels and walk towards the exit, happy with my purchase. I found a super cute magnet with Dagny’s name on it, the first I’ve seen since being in Europe. It’s got a drawing of the Eiffel Tower and one of Paris’ iconic lamp posts on it. She’s going to love it.

Briefly, I stop and take a photo of the magnet before sending it off to her. I want her to know I’ve been thinking about her because who knows when I’ll be able to see her next. And maybe this will go some way towards apologizing for my fiancé shooting her.

Walking out of the souvenir shop, I turn my head to the left then right, debating which way I want to head next, when I slam to an abrupt stop.

My heart crashes violently against my rib cage and bounces right off with enough force to make me dizzy.

Leaning against the archway, standing not ten meters from me, is Thiago.

His back is to me, his face turned to the side as he scours the crowds of tourists. I only have a partial view of his profile, but that’s exactly how I first laid eyes on his face.

I’d know him anywhere.

Tall, dark and imposing. Sticking out like a sore thumb on this fancy street, getting the attention of all the women and the jealous glares of all the men around him. He’s in his signature black suit, his glower firmly in place.

I’m frozen watching him, warring feelings of disbelief, fear and attraction competing for dominance. The crowd between us feels like it moves in fast forward as I simply stare at him, drinking in my fill of his features.

He’s so close I could take three steps and touch him. Inexplicably, my knee twitches, almost as if it’s urging me to take those steps.

The sound of my thundering heartbeat is loud in my ears, drowning out the noise around me. It’s all I can hear. I wish I could convince myself that it was fear making my heart race, but fear isn’t responsible for the yearning in my belly, for the potent lust pooling even lower.

He’s still in Europe. He’s still looking for me. Somehow he found the city I traveled to,again.

He isn’t giving up, just like he promised.

“Thiago!”

The sound of his name piercing through the air snaps me out of my thoughts and into action. I dip back into the store, hiding behind a postcard stand. I rotate it slightly, pretending to browse but taking advantage of a gap in between the rows to continue staring at him.

He turns and my breath catches between my lips. FaceTime doesn’t do him justice; he’s so much more attractive in person. Video does nothing to capture the power of his gaze, the charisma that oozes off him, and the sheer size of his physical presence. He’s a masterpiece adorned with tattoos, making him even more spellbinding.

If he’d turned a couple seconds earlier, he would have seen me.

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find her?”

I almost go into cardiac arrest for the second time in five minutes.

Just when I think he can’t possibly affect me any more, he raises his hand. Clutched in his fist is my pink scarf. He presses it against his face and inhales like an animal, his eyes rolling back into his head. My knees go weak and waves of arousal hit me in the belly.

“Mademoiselle?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice behind me. The shop owner is staring at me weirdly, probably wondering why my face is pressed halfway into his postcard stand.

“Desolée,” I answer, flustered. Desperately, I clutch at the remnants of my secondary school French to form what I hope is a cogent sentence. “Deux minutes.”

He walks away muttering something under his breath that I’m pretty sure are colorful expletives cursing the British.

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