Page 30 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Y-yeah. It was in my purse,” I lie, gaze trained on the two doors in the back of the room. One that Marcus went through and one that the judge used. Surely, he couldn’t sneak out that way.

“Let’s get going,” Mason says, completely oblivious to the eerie feeling that hangs in the air. “Mom’s tired. It’s been a long day.”

Slowly, I nod, and when he holds out his hand, I place my fingers in his, letting him lead me from the room.

That feeling never leaves, though.

The feeling of being watched from the shadows.

I’ve always loved the way waves from the ocean crash against the sand at night.

In March, the water is chilly. Freezing, to be exact, but I don’t care. I’m standing at the edge of the surf, letting the water wash across my toes and erase today, along with the heat still trapped in the pristine sand of Venice Beach.

I can look out over the water and imagine a life where I’m a nobody. No one knows I was related to the man who was just charged with heinous crimes against humanity. I’m not the girl who’s sister was used in some sick elitist cult. I’m not the girl getting stalked.

I’m just Mila, lost in the ocean and feeling the sand beneath my toes.

“You’re going to catch a cold.”

I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I feel the awareness travel up my spine from his gaze.

“Would you take care of me?” I joke, turning back to him over my shoulder. His eyes bore into mine, stealing my breath away, and my toes curl into the sand in the water from just that simple glance.

“Depends,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. I’ve always loved when he doesn’t shave every day.

I turn to face him, the bottom of my skirt I’d picked up on a trip to Romania last year dripping from the water.

“On?”

He cocks his head to the side, his gaze slipping over the loose, flowy skirt billowing around my legs, up to the piercing in my navel that I did in secret two years ago with a clothespin—not recommended. The same one he had to take me to the doctor to get medicine for when it got infected so my mother didn’t find out. His eyes slip over my tank top, then finally meet mine, and my mouth goes dry.

God, he looks handsome in a pair of jeans and a button-up. It should be illegal.

“On how long it takes you to get the fuck over here.”

My stomach dips at the growl in his voice, and I can’t fight the blush on my cheeks. Slowly, I step out of the water and step across the sand, stopping right in front of him.

“Is this better?” I breathe, looking up at him through my lashes.

“Get the fuck over here,” he bites, tugging me closer by a hand on my waist.

The moment his lips crash against mine, the world melts away. My stomach takes flight with butterflies. My core heats to a sweltering five thousand degrees, and all the problems of the day just don’t seem to matter anymore.

Christian Cross tastes like late nights and sneaking out. Like melted caramel dripping over vanilla ice cream or whiskey tinged with a hint of honey. Like everything I want to let ruin me if it means I can still be his.

“Fuck,” he grits, pulling away and stooping to press his lips the inside of my neck. “Miss me, little devil?” he purrs against my skin, slipping his teeth over my racing pulse. My eyes clenchshut at the heat that slips through me, and I wrap my arms around his neck.

Christian’s eyes twinkle with mischief when he pulls back, and my stomach does a backflip at the devil-may-care grin on his lips.

“How was the hearing?”

“As good as could be expected.”

He cocks a brow. “Meaning?”

I push away from him, my stomach in knots. I cross the sand to the little blanket he’s set up for us and sink onto it, falling back to look at the stars.

He follows, sitting down beside me and hovering over me, forcing my gaze to his when he blocks out the moon overhead.

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