Page 2 of Devil's Claim

I was in bare feet and had promised myself I’d polish my toes.

I’d lied.

My hair was in a haphazard ponytail.

And the worst thing ever?

Since I’d hit the ground running after my alarm had failed to go off, I’d selected mismatched underwear.

Yep. My life sucked.

I slowly tipped my head so he wouldn’t blow it off and so I could bask in what should be his obvious glory before lying in a pool of blood. The icing paddle was still in my hand, likely dripping the way I was certain my pussy was doing.

And holy hell in a handbasket, the man was built for sin, the perfect alpha male.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t cut it.

“Put the weapon down,” he commanded, the same husky voice yet laced with more… danger.

“You mean this?” I stuck the small paddle out further. Icing a cake was all about expertise and precision. “I doubt this will do you any harm.”

Seeing him was not to believe, unless I was living in every woman’s fantasy.

Okay, perhaps a nightmare, but he was without a doubt the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. And in Miami, Florida, half the men looked as if they’d just walked off a runway or had climbed off a powerful and very manly Harley.

In my defense, I wasn’t normally the kind of girl to try to antagonize a man holding a gun at me, but my nerves were raw.

He walked closer, his actions predatory.

I sucked in my breath.

He narrowed his eyes while sweeping his gaze back and forth across my cramped apartment.

I finally started to tremble.

He now stood within a few feet, allowing me to bask in his sculpted glory.

I could no longer feel my legs.

“Who are you and what do you want?” I croaked.

His silence was strangely alluring.

“I think it’s fairly obvious by the shabby yet chic look of my living room and kitchen that I don’t have anything to pay you with. Unless you like buttercream frosting, which I do have a ton of. That’s because I suck at baking but was stupid enough to agree to make an engagement cake.”

He didn’t respond or even grunt, instead continuing his cursory look around my apartment.

“No one else is here.” I hated the slight sound of sadness in my voice. Even though the apartment was small, I’d never felt so lonely in my life. When he headed toward the hallway leading to two bedrooms, I almost threw myself at him, coming within a few inches of his massive form. With my icing-covered paddle within inches of his deeply cobalt blue, mesmerizing eyes, I briefly felt like a badass. “My bedroom is off limits, buster. I don’t know who you are, but you can’t just come into my apartment and invade my privacy.”

His upper lip curled, those gorgeous eyes reflecting immediate rage.

Oh, good, Christine. Just taunt the man with the gun.

The man was going to kill me.

And I wouldn’t even die in decent underwear.

Very slowly he dropped his gaze, his nostrils flaring. When he lowered his head and reached out with his free hand, I bit my lip. Not only was he somewhere around six and a half feet tall, his shoulders likely to fill any doorway, but the glint of steel was a good reminder he was holding a dangerous-looking weapon.