Page 80 of The Devil's Deceit
I place a finger over his lips and give him a truth he’s entitled to, even if it’s more to douse my own guilt than to soothe him. “I’m not done. If anything, I’m more attracted to you than ever.”
His gaze drops to my lips and lingers for a few seconds. “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I am fucking obsessed with you. I am a long way off from having my fill. When we’re apart, I fucking hate it. The bed is cold, my arms are empty, and my dick spends every second in mourning.”
I snicker. “Your poor dick.”
“Iknow.See, this is why you need to come with me.”
“And what would I do all alone in a foreign country while you were in meetings all day?”
He waggles his eyebrows, and his eyes shimmer with mischievous intent. “Have I ever told you one of my fantasies?”
“Considering the impish grin on your face, I should probably cut this conversation off at the knees. But go on, tell me your fantasy.”
“I’m hosting a meeting, and you’re underneath the desk sucking me off.”
Every muscle south of my belly button clenches at the same time. “Are you telling me you’ve never had one of your many women perform oral sex while you’re talking business?”
“No.” He rests his forehead against mine. “I was waiting for you, Grace.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the weight on my chest almost unbearable. He’s saying all the right things…to the wrong woman. “Christian?—”
“I mean it. I know we said this wasn’t forever, but what if it was? What if, through our own particular motivations, we stumbled upon the right person for us? What if you’re meant to be mine, and I’m meant to be yours?”
I am the smallest person in the world. I hate myself. I never should have started this stupid vendetta.
“There’s so much you don’t know about me.”
He chuckles “Believe me when I say there is plenty you don’t know about me, either, but we have our whole lives to learn each other’s secrets. Look, I didn’t mean to land all thisat your feet and then fuck off for three days. All I’m asking is for you to think about it, to search your heart and find your truth. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, and I still don’t. But that day you glided past me in that gold gown, with the mask hiding your beautiful face, something changed inside me. Call it fate, a higher power, instinct, I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that I have never been happier or felt more grounded in my life since the day you walked into it.”
How could a man who says such heartfelt things be responsible for the deaths of two people? It doesn’t add up. Yet if he wasn’t responsible, why did he meet with the Secretary of State that night? Why did the report that was eventually published stink of lies and coverups?
“I’m not perfect, but then who is? Just promise me you’ll apply for your passport, and that you’ll think about what I’ve said. When I get back in a few days’ time, we can talk then.”
I can’t promise him, so I don’t. Instead, I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him. The distraction tactic works. A low groan rumbles through his chest, and he shoves his hands into my hair and sinks into the kiss. Too soon, he breaks away.
“I’ll message you when I land, and I’ll call you tonight.”
He grabs his suitcase and, with a final longing look in my direction, disappears through the door. Once I’m confident he isn’t coming back, I sink onto the couch and bury my face in my hands.
This is a mess—one I hadn’t foreseen. Suddenly, the evidence I’m looking for is as much to prove Christian’s innocence as his guilt, and how fucked up is that?
Pulling myself together, I cross over to the window.Christian appears a minute later, and the first thing he does is look up at the window. The smile he gives me when he sees me standing there is another dagger to my chest. Regardless of his innocence or guilt, I’m going to hell for this. I wave, and he waves back, then climbs into the car and shuts the door.
Once the red taillights disappear, I spring into action. There’s no time to waste. At any moment, Imogen or Vicky could appear and ruin my plans. It doesn’t help that both of them work from Oakleigh. Vicky runs her own interior design business, and Imogen works for an architecture firm based out of the United States. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss working. It wasn’t like I had a big, important job, but I contributed to society. I wasn’t built to be a stay-at-home nothing, and writing music or practicing my piano scales on the ancient upright on the ground floor only takes up so much time.
I half expect to find Christian’s office locked, but when I turn the doorknob, it opens. I slip inside, closing the door behind me. The scent of his aftershave lingers in the air, and I breathe him in. My sole purpose in being here is to dig up dirt, then serve it to him on a dish named revenge. Yet the drive that kept me going from the moment we buried Mum and Dad is waning by the day, and I’m ashamed.
My parents deserve better.
This isn’t only about me and my ridiculous crush on a man I have nothing in common with, other than his part in the collapse of Nexus. It’s about Mum and Dad, and Arron, and yes, Uncle Daniel, too. It’s about how much I’ll miss not having them around for those key moments in life. That’s what I should focus on, not the longing for a man who isn’t mine to keep.
Unsurprisingly, Christian has taken his laptop and phone with him. I haven’t managed to get anywhere near either with that USB drive Arron gave me. Still, I live in hope there’s a paper trail or a discarded note that will give me a clue.
Keeping one eye on the door, I open the top drawer of Christian’s desk to find a pad of sticky notes, a few paperclips, a stapler, and a couple of magic markers. I close it and open the next. Inside is a notebook. I take it out and flip through. Only a few pages have anything on them, and it looks like it’s reminders of things to do or people to speak to. There’s nothing remotely incriminating here. I put it back where I found it and move on to the bottom drawer. It’s locked. My heart rate shoots up. People only lock drawers if they want to keep the contents private.
I check his desk for a key that would fit the lock, as though it will be that easy, but there’s no key that I can find. I check the bookshelves, running my hand along the tallest ones. Nothing. He must have it with him, and why wouldn’t he? When he gets back from his trip, I’ll wait for him to go to sleep, then scour his personal effects. The De Vils aren’t like normal people. They don’t have a bunch of keys for their house or their car. He could keep it in his wallet or his inside jacket pocket—all places I can search when he’s back.
Which means… more delays. I feel like I’m running on a treadmill, exhausted from the effort, yet getting absolutely nowhere. I am not built for the spy game. I’m not inventive enough or smart enough.
