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“You just lack adequate willpower.”
“Okay, dick. Maybe I have reason to be stressed. Ever think about that?”
Sliding my gaze to her, my heart pounds against my ribcage. My palm slips against my glass, and I return it to the table before it falls from my grasp.What the fuck could she have to be stressed about?
“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked up smoking in the first place.”
She scoffs, flipping me the bird with one long, manicured middle finger. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, you know. If all of us could go back andnotmake mistakes, we’d be in much better shape. But we don’t exactly get that option.”
Ignoring her, I scan the room for the billionth time, looking for the golden blonde hair that seems to be exclusive to the Harrison sisters. I’ve already spotted the pregnant one, attached to her husband’s side, but the younger spitfire has yet to be seen.
I know she’s here, though. Her darkness permeates this room, the stain of what she does in the cemetery—with complete disregard for how she might not be alone during it—a beacon to my lost soul. Light trying to call me home, to find something to cloak in the evil following me like storm clouds.
As if she’s a magnet I’m drawn to, I find her tucked away between the doorway to the bathrooms. The silky, black gown she has on clings to each and every supple curve, her skin glowing tan against the material, making my mouth water with a desire I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.
Her blue eyes, the only identifying asset through her black mask, coast over the crowd of people, searching for something. There’s a hollowness present in those cerulean orbs that cuts to my bone. Such raw, unencumbered sadness, but when our eyes meet, something in her snaps.
She blinks, and it’s like an ocean dries up, emotion washing down the drain. It knocks the breath from my lungs, a kick to my chest I don’t see coming.
Can’t defend against.
Instead of looking away, like any decent person would, I watch her spine straighten, her breasts straining against the thin fabric of her dress, and her chin tilt up in defiance. As if she doesn’t like knowing what I saw a moment ago.
Like she thinks she can hide from the Devil.
But the thing about the fallen angel of light is that he’s connected to the whims of the people; he sees our deepest desires, our secrets, our sins. And right now I see a million different acts flashing across her vision, all worthy of repentance.
I want to know why she goes to the cemetery; if the ghost of her father follows her around the way Murphy’s does me, as if he has some kind of claim on my life since I took his.
I want to know why she had sex on her father’s grave. Want to know if it’s the same reason I visit my brother so often, as if it’s possible to absolve myself of the guilt. To curse him, even in the afterlife.
I want to know if she knows I’m the one who killed Dominic Harrison, damned him to a fiery eternity in her sister’s name.
Swallowing, I watch, a hunger awakening in me that would terrify even the most depraved mind, as she finally tears her gaze away, slipping dutifully into the seat beside a beefy man I assume to be a bodyguard. She speaks to him, but he doesn’t even seem to register her presence; he stares straight ahead, on high alert, as if there are dangers here.
He’s right.
Juliet’s aura seems to flatten, her body sagging against her table as she picks up her wine glass and downs the entire drink in one swig. She doesn’t look up again, instead focusing on the dinner plate in front of her, and my dick hardens at the blatant agony ebbing off of her in waves.
Boyd leans into me, jutting his chin in Juliet’s direction. “Christ, mate, if you stare at her any harder, she’s gonna wind up pregnant.”
Flattening my mouth, I reach for my drink, bringing it to my lips for a quick sip. Trying to sate the fire in my blood, brought on by this magnificent specimen. And to distract from the enticing image of burying my cock inside what I suspect is a glorious, tight little cunt and pumping myself dry.
Emptying my seed and soul into her body, like she might be able to carry the weight of it all better than me.
Desire pools in my gut, making my dick throb in my slacks. I need release, need some fucking reprieve from being out in public for the first time in months. For agreeing to pretend for one night that my family isn’t completely bonkers, that my mom isn’t losing her memory and ability to function with each passing day.
That I’m not a complete monster.
“Tell me you’re not about to slink off and fuck her.” Boyd frowns, tossing his napkin on the table and sitting back, looking at me. The tattoos I know line every inch of his skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt and his cufflinks, flickers of color against his tan skin, and they seem to move when he does.
“I’m not.” My eyes flicker to Mel, who’s watching the two of us intently. A smile curves over my lips; she practically purrs, and Boyd shakes his head. Like he wasn’t expecting this.
Excusing myself from the table at the exact moment Melanie stands to go to the bathroom, I walk briskly to the back of the room and slip through the open doorway. There’s no line for either restroom, and Mel presses her back into the door, gripping one side of my suit jacket and pulling me in with her.
She’s not exactly who I’m aching for tonight, but it’s better than nothing.
Chapter 2
