Page 40 of The Devil's Torment

A vein pulses in his forehead, the cords of his neck protruding. “It doesn’t matter? Of course it fucking matters.”

“Nicholas.” I press my palm to his cheek. “It was a long time ago.”

“And yet it’s still affecting you.”

He’s right. It is. Or it was.

“Will it stroke your ego to say that it was affecting me… until last night?”

“Yes.” His lips tilt up, and the small smile changes his entire appearance. I can’t look away. Nicholas has always been a broody kind of guy, the frown lines between his eyebrows prominent and menacing, but when he smiles, like he is now, those lines disappear, and his features soften.

Bracing himself on his forearms, he lowers his head and brushes his lips against mine. Tingles explode in my body, and I writhe beneath him, showing him what I want, what Ineed.

“You’re temptation wrapped in a pint-sized yet perfect package, wife.” His nose traces mine in a gentle caress. “Sadly, we don’t have time.” He springs off the bed and reaches down for my hand, pulling me up with him.

“Why? What’s so urgent?”

“Our honeymoon. Unless you’d rather stay here.”

My eyes flare. For some reason I hadn’t expected a honeymoon. This wasn’t a love match. It was an arrangement. Yet it doesn’t feel like that. It feels… real.

“Honeymoon? Where?”

The wink he gives me is so fast, I may have imagined it. “You’ll see.”

ChapterFifteen

VICKY

I’ve never been on a private jet. My parents aren’t short of money, but we’re a far cry from De Vil wealth. My eyes bug out of my head as I walk up the steps and into the body of the plane. A flight attendant greets me with a glass of orange juice, or maybe it’s a mimosa, but whatever she says as she hands it to me goes right over my head. I’m too busy gawking at the luxurious interior: the plush leather armchairs, the walnut styling, the gigantic TV on one wall.

Business class has nothing on this. Not that I’ve flown extensively. My parents always preferred to holiday in the UK, but a few years ago, we went to Japan for Beth’s eighteenth birthday, and Dad splurged on upgraded flights.

Another memory crawls uninvited into my mind. For my eighteenth birthday, we visited the Cotswolds.

Before the weight of depression can settle on my shoulders and ruin this experience, I push it aside and take a sip from my glass. Mmm, it is a mimosa. Nicholas’s hands settle on my hips, and he steers me farther into the jet. My skin heats from his touch, and I lean into him slightly, breathing in the clean scent of bodywash and a trace of expensive cologne.

“Where do I sit?”

His lips touch the shell of my ear. “In my lap.”

A rush of desire explodes in my veins, a reminder, as if I needed one, that we still haven’t slept together. He can’t mean to do it here, surely? Not with two bodyguards settling into their seats at the rear of the plane.

I can’t say that for certain, though, can I? Nicholas is almost a stranger. I might have known him and his family for years, but we’re little more than acquaintances, and now we’re married.

Only because Beth died.

A familiar agony rips through my chest, both for the loss of my precious sister, who’d never hurt a fly yet died a violent death, and for me, for never being good enough no matter what I do.

“Relax,” he murmurs in my ear. “You’re stiffer than my dick.”

A tremor slithers up my spine, and I clamp my thighs together. He’s misread my body language as nerves, maybe, but I don’t correct him. As much as I adored my sister, the last person I want to talk about on my honeymoon is Beth.

For once, I want something that’s for me.Onlyfor me. And if that makes me selfish, so be it.

Nicholas guides me to a chair. I set down my mimosa and rest my linked hands on my thighs. He shares a few words with the bodyguards, then takes the seat across from me. His rich, chocolate eyes settle on my hazel ones, and I almost squirm under the intensity of his stare.

“Do I find out where we’re going now?” My question is as much to distract myself as it is curiosity regarding our destination. He’s ignored the two previous times I asked during the car ride to the private airfield where the De Vil family keep their fleet of private jets and helicopters. I hope it’s somewhere warm, or at least warmer than England as we hurtle toward winter.

---