Page 62 of Devil Mine

Oh, god.

I blink, thinking the exhaustion is making me imagine things, but when I open my eyes he’s well and truly there.

Thiago.

He marches determinedly towards me, the energy that’s swirling around him dangerously volatile and destructive, until he comes to a stop right in front of me. All that separates us is two inches of plexiglass.

His chest heaves laboriously, pushing insistently against the material of his dress shirt as he stares back at me. His eyes rake almost manically over my face like they don’t know what to look at first.

Like they can’t get enough of looking at all.

I must be as taken in by my own perusal of him because I don’t notice that his hand moves to clutch the exterior handle of the train door until I hear him try to yank it open.

Mercifully, it doesn’t budge.

I’m shaken out of my stupor when he tries once more, then a third time, making the door shake in its hinges. I’m afraid he’s actually going to manage to force it open, the brute. I clutch the interior handle to help keep it latched. I don’t know if I’m actually doing anything worthwhile, but I have to try.

Why isn’t this freaking train moving?

I have my answer seconds later when an operator comes on the speaker and announces that we’re waiting for a train at the next station to leave before we can move. We’ll be stationed at this platform for a couple more minutes in the meantime.

“Amor.”

A shiver runs down my spine, raising goosebumps all over my body. His voice is as clear through the glass as if he’d whispered the pet name right up against my ear.

Slowly, I lift my gaze back up to meet his.

His eyes darken to midnight, the pupils dilating and suffocating the color from his irises. That look is all-consuming, as claiming as two arms physically wrapping around me. No one’s ever stared at me that way before.

I can’t help but feel like I’m in danger. Not of bodily harm, no. Of something far worse.

It’s too much and I break our eye contact, looking down and away.

I hear an angry, menacing growl followed by a loud crack that makes my bones rattle and startles the other passengers around me.

His tone is lethal. “Look at me,amor,” he orders.

I do. His right hand is smashed against the glass, fingers splayed wide at chest level. I’m transfixed by the size of his hand, how large and dominating it is, seemingly taking up half of the window.

Slowly, gaze locked almost hypnotically on his palm, I raise mine to his and place it softly on the other side of the glass. His fingers are over an inch longer than my own. A shudder runs through me when I remember how he’d gripped my hair, how those very same fingers had thrust inside me while he whispered dirty things up against my ear.

His gaze slides unhurriedly down to where our hands meet through the glass. We both stare until I notice his eyes turn disturbingly possessive when he sees the diamond ring still adorning my fourth finger. His fingers bend as if wanting to lace his with mine but he grunts in frustration when he remembers the barrier that keeps him from me.

“I’m bringing you home,” he vows gutturally.

His words rumble up his throat, deep and hoarse and more of a guarantee than a suggestion. He tries the door again, to no avail.

His men have gathered behind him, overtaking the platform and sending any other potential passengers scurrying. He speaks to me like it’s just the two of us, like no one inside or outside the train stares when in reality dozens of eyes watch us.

The operator comes back on the speaker to announce the train will be moving soon and just like that, the spell is broken. Reality rushes back in. I drop my hand from the glass and take a step back.

Alarm flashes across his face when he overhears the announcement and realizes this is coming to an end. Three long beeps sound and then the train begins to move, slowly making its way out of the station. My heart starts racing once more, equally glad to put distance between us and dismayed it’s over.

He walks alongside my carriage, never quickening his steps and easily keeping pace. I stay at the window, both hands coming up to brace myself.

“Say something,” he asks.

There’s an imploring note to his words that heats my blood. He’s never been shy about revealing exactly how I affect him.

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