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I freeze. He folds his arms across his chest, his smug expression practically screaming check and mate.
It feels like the wind has been knocked out of my sails, and the reality of the situation is growing heavier on my shoulders, forcing my head under the water.
Oh, god.
I stagger into the center of the room, blood rushing around my ears. What the hell am I doing?
What the hell have Idone?
I don’t realize I’m falling until the Devil steps forward to catch me. “There, there, sweetheart,” he murmurs into the crown of my hair. His hard chest stops me from plowing face-first into the marble. “You’re a young girl, early twenties, I suppose? With good behavior, you’ll be out in your fifties. You’ll still have some life to live.”
“No,” I croak.
His voice lowers into a syrupy drawl. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
This wasn’t how it was meant to go. Any of it. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The police… they’ll dig. They’ll find out what really happened. Who I am and who…
This is bigger than me. Bigger than my ego and my stubbornness and my temper.
But goddammit, the last thing I want to do is ask for help from the Devil, especially not while on my knees.
What choice do I have?
“Help. Me,” I say through gritted teeth. My nose brushes against the luxurious fabric of his shirt.
He winds his fingers into the strands of my matted hair and tugs, forcing me to look at him. From this angle, I can see how truly haunting he is. How his high cheekbones cast shadows over his jawline. How his strong Roman nose splits his perfectly symmetrical face. Those lips… pillowy and plump. A delicious curve shaping his Cupid’s bow.
His nose barely connects with mine, but it scorches my skin like a flame. His eyes grow darker, his voice drops deeper. Behind him, the sirens scream.
“Then beg.”
He untangles his hand from my hair and steps back. I suck in a lungful of thick air and exhale my dignity.
Let’s get this over with.
I sink to my knees and clasp my bloodied hands in my lap. No doubt my cheeks are just as red. When I look up, I fluster even more, realizing that I’m at eye level with his crotch. Jesus Christ. A thick imprint bulges against the fabric of his suit, and I lose what I’m about to say. Are my eyes deceiving me, or did I just see it twitch?
The Devil interrupts my fucked-up thoughts by placing two fingers under my chin and tilting my head up. His eyes are brimming with amusement and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Something darker. Something that would rattle the bones of a normal person. But I am anything but normal.
My throat is dry, but I swallow anyway. “Help me.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Please.”
The word lingers on my lips. But he wipes it off by slowly running his thumb pad along my bottom lip. It’s unexpected, and so is the jolt of electricity it sends between my thighs. In any other circumstance—if it was anybody else—I’d clamp my teeth down and bite that fucking finger off. But instead, I let out a hiss of air and drop my gaze back to his crotch.
I’m not imagining that it’s grown twice in size, straining against the zipper of his slacks. I’m so close, I could reach out and—
“Very well.” The Devil snatches his hand away from me and claps. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
From my position on the floor, I watch, dazed, as he strides across the room toward the telephone and plucks up the receiver.
“Bill?” he says calmly into the mouthpiece. “I’ve asked my men to seal off the thirtieth floor. Get in touch with every guest on this floor and tell them they can’t leave their room until they hear otherwise. If the guests are out, then stop them in the lobby.” There’s a pause. Then he scowls. “I don’t fucking know what to tell them, Bill. You’re the manager, so think of something. Now, send up…” His eyes sweep the chaos. “Five of your best cleaners. But not before having them sign nondisclosure agreements. My own cleaning team will be joining them in”—he glances at his watch—“precisely twelve minutes. They’ll enter through the back door.” He pauses. His eyes graze over me, then he cups his hand to his mouth and lowers his voice. “Is Lorcan and his guest still here?” He waits for a reply. “No? Good. In that case, have Jon and Aiden turn off all cameras on the thirtieth floor, in elevator two, and in the parking lot. Understood?” Thunder flashes across his face. “Safety risk?” He growls down the line with venom that makes my clit tingle. “I’ll be a risk to your safety if you don’t do what’s asked of you.”
He slots the receiver back on its cradle and turns to me. His laid-back swagger returns, punctuated with a ruffle of his hair and that fucking smirk.
“You’re catching flies.”
