Page 72 of The Devil in Her Bed
Her chin dipped toward her chest and she stole furtive, melancholy glances at him before her eyes darted away. It reminded him of the Francesca of his youth. A shy, repressible girl with a dainty smile and generous heart.
“I shouldn’t have waited to come find you,” he said, meaning it. “You’ve reminded me what I’m doing this for. I think, you’re making me believe in the one thing I’d thought I’d never recover. You give me—no—youforceme to hope. And in order to keep that hope, to do what must be done, I need you alive. I need you safe. You are a rare and incredible creature, you always have been. And Kenway sees this.”
He cupped her cheek, hating that behind the strength of her was flesh that could puncture and a skeleton that could be broken. She had the will of iron, but her bodywas still delicate. “He doesn’t just want you, Francesca, I know this. He wants to crush you. He’s done it before, and I couldn’t live with myself if… if anything happened to you.”
The smile she attempted was wobbly, as if she knew his words should please her, but they had the opposite effect.
“Francesca.” Her name escaped as a tender benediction. “Listen to me—”
“No,” she said, cutting at the air with the flat of her hand and jerking out of his reach as she backed toward the bed. Not a retreat, but a regroup.
“You listen,” she commanded, jabbing her finger at him before turning away, as if she couldn’t think and look at him at the same time. “You listen.Kenway is no longer the villain.” She paused. “Well, not theonlyvillain. Theyallare. If we cut Kenway down, we only succeed in chopping off the head of the hydra, and it’ll just grow another.” She whirled on him, composure reclaimed into those gem-hard eyes. “I think you know that. We have to do this, to go all the way into the Crimson Council so we may find the roots and rip it out of the earth. You and I.
“If you’d looked for me sooner, you’d have seen me become who I am now. You’d understand that the Francesca you knew doesn’t exist. She’s dead, Chandler, buried alongside Declan in the ashes of Mont Claire.Thisis what we are.” She held her hands out to the side. “This is what we must do: Take down the Crimson Council. Together.”
Instead of coming at him, as she’d done before, she held her hands out like a penitent to a priest, beckoninghim to close the gap. “Rather than fight me on this, join me. Joinwithme, and I will prove to you that I can do what it takes.”
Magnificent.
The word throbbed through him in perfect sync to the rhythm of his heart.
Mag.ni.fi.cent.
She’d been a pretty girl, sweet like spun sugar and fragile as a china cup. His young love for her had been excruciating, because her radiance had illuminated his darkness. He’d never felt as though he could touch her, because everyone would know. He’d leave imprints of shadows upon her perfection and they’d come for him in the night. And who would have blamed them?
And so he hadn’t dared to dream.
But now. Now? She was something else. She was no longer a saint; she was a sin. She wasn’t perfection, she was pleasure. She wasn’t forbidden, she was… fire.
She’d become the element that had taken everything from her.
And holy Christ did her flame tempt him like the proverbial moth. Her heat, it radiated from her like that of the very sun. How could she have become this unstoppable force, this marvel of energy and essence that put every other hero, mythic or otherwise, to shame?
Suddenly it didn’t matter how many men had had her before, because the answer was none.
She’d had them.
She’d been born a whisper, and now she was a scream. A demand. A fucking goddess in a pair of billowing silk trousers.
Her appetite rivaled that of Kali. Her desire wasworn naked and abashed on her face as she raked him over with rank challenge.
And to think, he’d once been afraid that she couldn’t handle him. His weight, his darkness, his need.
But for the first time, Chandler felt a pang of fear…of a girl. A woman. Of the hunger pulling her skin tight over those perfect bones. Of the honest promise in her eyes, and also of the secrets.
He’d thought it better to be a rock. To be hard and heavy and immobile, and yet… he realized he could still be ground to dust. Or even reshaped. If he was stone, then she was water. Nothing was so soft, pliant, and nourishing.
And yet, who could withstand the power of a rogue wave?
Or a rogue redhead.
The most incredible force on this earth, she was. She would claim him, pull him back to the sea from which he wouldn’t emerge again. At least, not the same man he’d been before. He would drown in her depths as she devoured him. Body and soul. She’d show him no mercy and offer him no excuses. She would leave him an empty husk and walk away strengthened by their encounter.
Because she was what he feared the most. Both fire and water.
In spite of himself, Chandler took a step forward, and her gaze sharpened. Then he took another, and her eyes flared.
Whatever intent she read on his features caused her to go utterly still. Then, as per usual, she did the exact opposite of what he’d expected her to. Instead ofmeeting him halfway, or waiting for him to reach for her, she grasped the hem of her kurta and pulled it over her head, uncovering the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen. She stood before him, her back arched and her hip kicked out to the side.
