Page 54 of Heart of a Devil

“That’s not a very Viking thing to say.” She pouts, her curly head popping out from the duvet.

“Well, I’m one of those Renaissance Vikings, aren’t I? Raping and pillaging one day, baking cookies the next.”

I use the time in the kitchen to catch my breath and calm myself down. It’s been a hell of a day—and night, I guess, seeing as how it’s almost four a.m. I feel like someone smashed me over the head with an anvil. I’m keeping it together for her sake, because she needs to feel safe and secure, but I’m a wreck. Coming so close to losing her shook me to my core, made me realize exactly how important she is to me. Torres is gone, but I’m not so naive as to assume that our lives from now on will be plain sailing. Neither of us is exactly conventional, and neither of us ever backs down from a fight or from doing what we think is right. That means that there will inevitably be trouble ahead. And I need to be ready for it.

I sprinkle the top of the chocolate with marshmallows and take the drinks through with a box of cookies. Her eyes light up, and she comes and joins me on the rug by the fire.

“So,” I say. “What did you want to talk to me about?” She sips her cocoa and sighs. “Aaah, that Viking dude sure knows how to make a girl happy. I don’t especiallywantto talk about it. I feel I have to. It’s about earlier.”

“Okay. But there was a whole lot of earlier, so you need to be more specific.”

“Earlier at your place, when you mentioned us having kids together.”

I nod and stay quiet. The way she reacted shocked me and later hurt me. Is it so repulsive a concept, the idea of starting a family with me? Is it too much of a commitment, something she’s not ready for? Or did I ambush her, catching her unaware?

“I don’t want you to think that I hate the idea. Or that my reaction reflected the way I feel about you. It’s actually nothing at all to do with you. I can’t have kids, Seb. Brad Schmidt and his pals did a number on me. I’m messed up, physically, and the doctors said it’s impossible to fix the damage. I’ll never be able to give you children.” She stares into the fire as she speaks, ablanket tucked around her shoulders and a chocolate mustache on her upper lip. The expression on her face is a heartbreaking blend of sad and nervous.

I ignore the rage that curls in my stomach at what those sick fucks did to her, what they took from her, because that won’t help. Instead, I slide my arm around her shoulders and hold her tight. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, sweetheart. And I’m sorry I blundered in and said what I said. That was insensitive of me.”

She smiles up at me, but her eyes are still tearful. “It was, yes, but it’s not like you’re the only one guilty of that. People assume they have every right to talk to a woman about this stuff—if you have kids, if you want them, when you might have them… Like it’s totally acceptable to ask about a deeply personal issue to do with their wishes and their reproductive health. Some women don’t want to be moms, and they shouldn’t have to explain that to the world. Some of us maybe do want to be moms, but it’s not possible for us. When you’re in your thirties, it becomes even more obvious. My own mother is constantly on my case about it. I don’t have the heart to explain why I’ll never make her a grandmother. It would break her; it would break all of them. Not even Alejandro knows what they did.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I can only imagine how hard it must be to be constantly asked those questions. I wish I hadn’t been one of the idiots who made assumptions. I remember asking you that first night in the cottage whether I needed to use a condom.”

“You did. And my answer was that you didn’t need to worry about me getting pregnant. I never said I was on birth control.”

It’s a subtle difference, and I’m not surprised I didn’t pick up on it at the time. I had other things on my mind that night, for sure. Now, though, I’m living in a different world. I don’t only want to fuck this woman—I want to treasure her. Cherish her.Make her happy for the rest of our lives together. I hate the fact that I played a part in upsetting her.

I kiss her curls and stare into the fire alongside her. “You do know, don’t you, sweetheart, that you are enough for me? What I said… I was being an idiot. It was a stupid fucking idea, and it only popped into my head because I had Max all day. I don’t need more children. Hell, I’m not sure Iwantmore children. What I am sure about is the way I feel when I’m with you. I feel alive. Loved. I’m excited about all the possibilities the world holds for us, and I feel lucky to have ever met a woman as incredible as you. You, Lauren Maria Montoya Hayes, are enough for me in every single way.”

The vulnerability in her eyes takes my breath away. “Is that true, Seb? Or are you saying all that to make me feel better?”

I place my palms on either side of her face and kiss her tenderly on the lips. “It’s true, babe, I promise. All I need is you.”

Chapter

Thirty

LAUREN

We end up staying in the cabin through the weekend until Monday. It means missing a day of work, but I decide I deserve it, and I have holiday time to use up anyway. A lot has happened, and I needed to process.

The first night we spent here was tender, gentle, and loving. Seb held me in his arms for hours, helping me fall asleep to the sound of the birds and the crackling logs on the fire. It was incredibly peaceful and did a lot to heal my soul—as did telling him about my situation. Until I shared it, I don’t think I had any idea how much of a burden it was, how heavy it was after carrying it around with me alone for so long.

Now I feel its weight lifted, and although I’ll always be sad about it, I at least don’t feel as isolated. Every secret we carry has the power to isolate us, I’ve found—and I’ve carried more than most. I let Carlos separate me from my own family; I let the pain and disappointment of my marriage separate me from pursuing relationships beyond sex. And I let Brad Schmidt and his croniesseparate me from myself. I’ve been so busy pretending that I’m okay that I forgot to ask myself if I actually am.

Now I’m with Seb, I’m genuinely happy, and the time before him seems like a different world. Everything feels so much more meaningful now. I find myself looking at him all the time, when he’s cooking or reading. When he’s chopping logs or doing something simple like trimming his beard, getting dressed, checking his phone. Whenever he catches me, he winks like he knows exactly what I’m doing. It’s almost embarrassing how much I enjoy looking at him. Or at least it would be if not for the fact that it’s mutual.

Yesterday, we went on a hike around the land, and Seb showed me a few quirks of the place. He doesn’t know much about the previous owner, but they were obviously into survivalist stuff. The cabin has an underground cellar that Seb filled with supplies, and the woods around it are dotted with small wooden structures called hides that can be used to watch wildlife from. Or, as Seb pointed out, are the perfect place to launch a sniper attack. I’m down with both. Seb being the kind of man he is, he also fortified parts of it “just for fun”—pits dug around the bases of trees, a carefully placed tripwire here and there.

When I asked him why, he shrugged and said, “Dunno. Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe I watched too many movies. Or maybe one day I’ll turn it into a corporate retreat for paintball wankers.”

The tour took a fun turn when Seb disappeared off into one of the hides and started counting. I didn’t need to be told what that meant, and I ran for my life. He gave me a decent head start, and I’d been paying attention during the tour, so it took him over an hour to track me. I’m fast and sneaky, and I have a lot more experience at this game now. The longer it takes him to catchme, the angrier he will be. And the angrier he is… Well, what can I say? I like it when he’s angry.

The more authentic the game feels, the more the blood thunders through my ears as he chases me, and the more my heart races as his strong hands tear away my clothes and take control of me. He fucked me up against a massive oak tree, my arms tied against the bark as he nailed me from behind and I screamed for help I knew wouldn’t come, help I didn’t want. It was absolutely glorious and worth every single scrape and scratch. If there’s a better way of cleansing myself of the memory of Diego Torres’s fingers on my flesh, I can’t picture it.

We came back to the cabin laughing and giggling, the hands that only moments before were manhandling me now showing me nothing but affection and respect. This is why it works so perfectly for me—Seb is a man who fulfills all my sexual fantasies but also treats me like a princess. Damn, I got lucky.

This is our last night here, and Seb is catching up on work in his office. It’s really more of a bunker—a basic room dominated by a bank of screens, all connected to cameras around the property, along with a computer he’s currently using.

---