Page 70 of Brutal Devil
Something brushes over my temple. A delicious warmth is seeping into me, when I didn’t even realize I was cold, and I burrow closer to it, pressing my face into something soft yet firm, slightly prickly. The scent of pine trees and citrus wraps around me, and it’s so wonderful and yet not quite right.
Because there’s a hint of cigarette smoke too.
That concerns me.
The smoke is wrong.
And I’m not floating. There’s a rhythmicthump,thump,thump,thump. Like someone is walking and I’m being carried. But that doesn’t make sense.
My eyes flutter open, and I see the underside of a granite jaw covered with five-o’clock shadow. It’s a jaw I’d recognize anywhere. A scent I’d recognize anywhere.
Priest is back.
And he’s carrying me in his arms.
“I’m awake,” I protest through a sleep-rasped voice. “You can put me down.”
In my still-half-asleep, just-woken-from-a-dream state, relief surges through me. Priest is alive. He went to meet with Amedeo tonight, and the fact that he’s carrying me to my bedroom is proof he left that meeting uninjured. Maybe my cousin’s not the monster I feared. Or maybe Priest is.
Did he kill Amedeo?
Oh God.
Did he kill him in cold blood, and now he’s holding me in his arms?
I start wriggling. “Priest, I said to put me down.”
“I heard you,” he says, not even bothering to spare me a glance as he stalks down the hall, carrying me like a child. “I just don’t want to do it.”
“You don’t want to put me down?”
“No.”
I make a sound, frustrated. “Well, I don’t want to be carried, so kindly consider that I’m one-half of this fucking equation, gangster.”
“I thought I told you to watch that mouth,” he growls, and then he cups my head and kisses me.
Kisses me like he’s starved for me. My body’s response is instant. Heat washes over me, my nipples tightening to hard points. I whimper and open for his tongue, the visceral memory of everything that happened between us in the observation room melting me from the inside out.
Emotions swirl inside me at the taste of him—whiskey and dark hunger. I realize I’m relieved. He’s safe. He’s here. My palm flattens against his hard chest, right over his heart, absorbing the steady thumps of its beat. I was worried about him, and not just for my own sake, but for his.
Somehow, I’ve come to rely on him. To—oh God—careabout him.
I’m vaguely aware of Priest elbowing through the door and slamming it behind us. We’re alone, in my bedroom, and he’s still feeding me deep, drugging, possessive kisses I could get addicted to.
His mouth lifts from mine, and suddenly, I’m falling.
I let out a squeak of surprise and land on the soft, welcoming mattress of our bed in the next instant.Ourbed. When did I start thinking of this piece of furniture that way? Now?
Priest’s jaw is hard, his blue eyes even harder, as he pulls at the black tie around his neck, loosening the knot. “Take everything off.”
I blink up at him, not understanding. Arousal licks through me, my clit pulsing. He looks so hot in his suit. Or what’s left of it. He’s wearing a white shirt, black tie, and matching slacks. His dark hair is damp. He’s not just hot. He’s beautiful.
“Off,” he repeats, yanking his tie and working on his buttons.
I’m mesmerized by his hands, those long fingers, the intricate ink on them. The way they felt inside me. My pussy clenches at the reminder. But just because we had sex earlier, it doesn’t mean he can come raging in here like a caveman and demand more from me. Even if I want it.
My chin goes up. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?”
