Devil You Know(30)

“Do you have any washing you’d like done?”

My shoulders drop. I’m sure she notices. “No, thanks.” What did I think she was going to do? Come in here asking me to rock her in my arms? Kiss me?

Fuck. Wouldn’t that be sweet?

What does she taste like? I bet it’s fruity. She strikes me as a fruity kind of girl.

In an effort to busy my mind, I head over to the freezer, and pull out some meat for dinner. We need to go shopping if we plan on staying for a while. Ty keeps the place pretty well stocked, but I always intended to replace what we used.

Jane crosses through the kitchen on her way from the laundry, and I stall her by clearing my throat. “I need to go get some more groceries. Do you want to come?”

I want to come. You’re a sick fuck, Malice.

“Um . . .” The cogs in her head get to work. “I guess so. Can we stop by an ATM first?”

“I told you, Jane. You don’t need to worry. I’d rather you kept your cash for when you need it.”

She nods, but I can see the discomfort in it. Has nobody ever done a nice thing for her?

“I’ll wait until that washing you put on finishes.”

“Thanks.” She stares at me, and smiles. It’s small, but it’s a smile.

Parts of me that have no business noticing react.

“I’ll go check on Rocco.” I’m out the door before she can blink.

What the hell was that? One small smile about groceries, and I’m ready to strip her down on the kitchen floor.

I need my head read. Letting another person affect you to this level cannot be healthy—for anyone.



HE’S ALL over the place. One minute he’s damn near ignoring me, the next he’s initiating conversation, then he’s bolting out the door. What did I say? What did I do? Or not do?

I could have sworn with those small gestures he made the first time I spoke to him that he felt something between us, but now, it seems my suspicions about my overactive imagination have been proved right. He sure as hell makes a task out of avoiding me. Why does he stay, if that’s how he feels?

Like a spy on a mission I make my way through to the living room, and look out the French doors until I spot him. He’s pacing at the far end of the garden, talking to Rocco, who has his big head cocked to the side.

The thing I hate the most in this world is to feel like a burden. I’ve felt like one for long enough thanks to Dylan, and right now, Malice isn’t doing much to dispel my fears. Maybe it’s the recent success with my police visit, or maybe I’m truly coming into my own now I’m free, but whatever it is, I’m going to set this guy straight.

I open the door—my movement oblivious to him—and head across the patio, and down the lawn toward them. His mumbles grow louder until he lifts his head, and stops.

“Look,” I shout, still advancing. “You were the one who offered me this escape. You put me at risk by meeting me in the supermarket. I agreed to come here because quite frankly, I wondered if going home one more time would be signing my own death warrant.” He stares at me, wide-eyed as I rant. “Here’s what’s fucking me off.” My voice is rising in pitch as I go. “Now that you have me here, you’re treating me like a leper some moments, and like something fragile that needs protecting others. I can’t fucking read you. You’re confusing the hell out of me. Do you want me here? Or do you not?” Tears spill free somewhere along the way. “Whichever it is, can you. Make. Up. Your. Mind? I can’t handle anybody else screwing with my head, okay? Not right now.”

He advances so suddenly that Rocco prepares to lunge. Malice’s hands find my face as he takes the final step, and his lips crash onto mine with such force, I taste blood as my lip gets caught against my teeth. He pulls away, and swipes at the dot of red on his lips. His eyes fix to it, and he frowns.

“Jane, I . . . shit.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You made me bite my lip, is all.” I lick my ‘love-bite’, and show him that the bleeding has stopped. “It was barely anything.”

“I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I couldn’t hold back.”

All this time I was sure he resented his decision to help me, when in fact it was the entire opposite. He’s been struggling not to give me space. “Then don’t.”

His eyes find mine, and before I can draw my next breath, I’m sharing his. Our lips mesh, tongues tie, and we dance to our own breathy beat. The adoration in this moment is beyond amazing. I’ve been at the point of believing there’s no such thing as magnetism between a man and a woman for so long that his advance has taken me completely off-guard. Everything about his lips on mine, his tongue wrestling mine, is . . . magic.