Page 12 of Heart of a Devil

Alex hit the nail on the head when he said he thought I was working through some shit. Specifically, I’m working through some Lauren Hayes–shaped shit. The woman has messed with my head, and I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s ridiculous after one night, no matter how spectacular that night was, and I need to shake her off. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have the kind of job where I can afford to go pussy-blind and make mistakes. I’ve already been out to spend the night in my cabin in the woods, which is normally all it takes to clear my head.

I get into the sauna stark-bollock naked, because it’s my fucking sauna and I can, and pour water on the coals. The sizzle of warmth seeps into my skin, and I massage my quads as I settle down on the bench. Why the fuck am I so fucked up about this one? What’s so different about Lauren Hayes that she’s snuck under my skin like this? Is she really that special, or is it just that she walked out on me like she did?

Got to admit, I’m not used to that. No woman has walked out on me since Samantha’s mum, Alice, when I was only sixteen years old—and she didn’t so much walk as get scooped away by her parents. They hit the roof when they found out she was pregnant and whisked their daughter away from the bad boy who’d done the damage: yours truly.

Since then, I’ve been in and out love so many times I’ve lost count. I genuinely feel it at the time, but looking back now, I don’t think any of it was real. I’ve been engaged five times without ever making it up the aisle, last time to the perfectly lovely Kayleigh. I found out later that the lads in the office wererunning a cheeky sweepstake on how long it’d be between the engagement party and me dumping her. Sounds funny on the surface, but I don’t like what it says about me. I’m not a young man anymore, and I’m a fucking granddad—there’s no glory in being an eternal playboy. I’ve seen what Samantha and Gabriel have together, and who wouldn’t want that for themselves?

The problem is… Well, dammit, the problem is me. I grew up under the thumb of psychopaths until the age of twelve, and when things finally got bad enough for me to be taken off them, I was in the care system for years. After the first few foster parents showed signs of being even more mental and abusive than the biological set or sent me packing because I was too much trouble, I made up my mind that I wouldn’t give a shit anymore. If nobody wanted to love me, that was fine. I’d make myself even more unlovable, and the world could go fuck itself. I might have the heart of a devil, but nobody would ever get to break it.

Now, here I am—feeling my years and brooding over a slip of a girl I’ve only just met. It’s infatuation, I tell myself. No different from all the other times I’ve been here, wondering if I’ve finally met “the one.” Crap. I sound like a teenage girl. Worse actually, because there’s no way Sam would have talked like that when she was a teenager.

What the fuck has Lauren Hayes done to me? All I can think about is the way those soulful brown eyes of hers clouded over when she came, like she was having some kind of spiritual awakening. The way she cried my name when I was inside her. The way she submitted to me despite being ninety-nine percent spitfire—I could tell submission didn’t come naturally to her. The way her tight pussy walls squeezed my cock so well it felt like we’d been purpose built to fuck each other.

I groan and punch the wooden wall of the sauna as the cock in question springs to life. I stare it down, the traitor—why is it reacting like this at the mere memory of that woman? Of hersoft, golden-brown skin, her thick, dark curls, her taut nipples dancing beneath my fingers. My hand goes to my shaft, gripping hard. I don’t know if I want to jerk off or pull it off, I’m so messed up. I’ve shot my load thinking about her several times in the last few days, and I always feel annoyed with myself afterwards. She walked out. She hasn’t been in touch.

She’s made it pretty clear that it was a one-night-only deal, and she doesn’t want anything more from me. So why am I still rubbing my cock and hearing her voice in my head all the bloody time?

This is obviously more of an ice-bath situation. I march angrily out of the sauna and force myself to sink completely under and only emerge when I run out of breath, completely soaked and shivering at the subzero temperature. I glance down at my now far less enthusiastic cock. Well. That’s one problem taken care of, at least. All that’s left is for me to get through a full day of planning meetings, then take care of the bigger issue. I have to see Lauren and get some closure. Fuck. What am I turning into?

Chapter

Six

SEBASTIAN

Ichat to Beth, the receptionist at the Donovan, Cook, and Hayes office, as she prepares to leave for the day. She’s used to me dropping in like this and always flirts with me when I perch myself on the edge of her desk and ask how she’s doing. I don’t read anything into that. Beth is the kind of girl that flirts with everyone—it’s just her way of being nice. Besides, she really is too young for me. She drinks her coffee out of a One Direction mug, for fuck’s sake.

I make my way through to the offices in back, pausing to check out the camera system as I go. As relatively recent events have shown us, you can’t be too careful when it comes to personal safety. Archangel security takes all its clients seriously, but this client is top of the list. These ordinary looking offices contain precious cargo, and I never want anyone to be able to hurt Samantha again. She insisted on no cameras inside the offices, for client privacy, but I did persuade her to accept the installation of panic buttons in every room.

If it was up to me and Gabriel, we’d probably wrap her up in cotton wool and lock her away in a padded room to keep her safe for the rest of her life, but she’s fiercely independent. Before Gabriel and the life she leads now, she spent years married toa psychopathic cunt who fooled the world into thinking he was a loving husband. He even fooled me, which I’ll never forgive myself for. What she went through would have broken other women, but Sam came out of it stronger than ever. She’s a fucking walking miracle, that kid of mine.

I smile at an unexpected but familiar sound from her office—baby Max letting us all know that he’s in the building. This was supposed to be one of Sam’s days off. She usually only comes in on Mondays while she’s phasing back in from maternity leave, and I suspect I’ll be in for a grilling now. Fuck. Might as well get it over with.

I find her trying to change a nappy while also talking on her mobile. The phone is tucked under her chin, and Max is on her desk, kicking his pudgy legs in the air and squalling.

“Yes, I do understand that the judge is a busy man,” she says, her businesslike tone not at all affected by the fact that she’s wrestling a baby. “And as you can tell, I’m a busy woman. And yes, again, I’m also aware that it’s almost six on a Friday—which means we’ve now been waiting all week to hear from him. I’ll expect a call back within the hour, or I’ll be taking this matter further. He might be a judge, but he’s not God, and rules apply to him as well. Goodbye.”

“Trouble?” I ask, taking over for her on the nappy front. I missed out on all of this with Sam—she only came back into my life when she was twelve and her mum died—and I find that I weirdly like it. I chuck Max under the chin and he gurgles at me. He looks innocent enough, but some sixth sense warns me that there’s trouble afoot, and sure enough, I manage to dodge out of the way just as he sends a spectacular arc of pee flying up into the air. Nice try, little fella.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks, Dad. Like you, I enjoy a good fight, just different kinds. What are you doing here anyway? Not that I don’t appreciate the help.” I finish thecleanup routine and fit Max snugly back into his little sleepsuit, then strap him into his seat and rock him gently. He’s tired but battling against it. Enjoying a fight must be in the genes. “Can’t a doting dad pay an impromptu visit to his favorite daughter every now and then?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m your only daughter, and yes, of course you can. Except I saw you yesterday for lunch, and you didn’t know I was here today because it was a last-minute thing. Channeling my inner Sherlock Holmes, I’d deduce that you’re not here to see me at all. Nick’s off sick and you two aren’t close, so that leaves… Oh, let me think—could it be Lauren?”

I shrug. I actually feel fucking embarrassed about it. When it comes to my love life, Samantha acts more like my disapproving mum than my kid. “I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation, ma’am. But if I was here to see Lauren, is she in?”

“Yes, but two things to mention—one, you’re out of luck because she has a hot date tonight with a cello player. And more importantly, she’s with a client, and it’s a difficult case, so don’t go barging around like a bull in a china shop. There’s a traumatized woman in there with her, one who is trying to find the courage to leave her abusive husband—and you don’t exactly give off a non-threatening vibe to anyone who doesn’t know you.”

She’s right. If I had my way, I’d beat the shit out of any man who raised a hand to a woman or child, break every bone in their worthless, cowardly bodies, and dump them in a landfill with the rest of the garbage. Men who abuse their families are scum of the lowest order, and if I ever retire from Archangel, I’ll make it my life’s mission to hunt them down for free. Vigilante granddad. But I understand that I don’t exactly look reassuring from the outside, what with my tattoos and intimidating size. “Fair enough, love.”

She pats my arm reassuringly. “You’re a big softie at heart, Dad, and one of the most protective people to ever walk the planet. Looks can be deceptive. But I have to say—this thing with Lauren, whatever it is?” I stay silent. I have no idea what it is either. “Please don’t fuck it up. She’s a friend, and she’s a great lawyer. A real asset to the firm. It’s your own business if you want to be a manwhore, but don’t drag me into it, okay?”

“That’s not fair, Sam. Do you know how many women have been in my life since Max was born? I’ll save you the effort—none.”

“Okay. Well, I didn’t know that.” She smiles up at me, and her big brown eyes melt away any hurt at her accusation, no matter how true it might be. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re finally growing up, Sebastian Donovan? Should I be calling the paramedics?”

“Cheeky madam. Still on for next Tuesday?”

“That depends. Are you still cooking that green Thai curry?”

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