Page 9 of Devil's Claim

Mr. Dangerous continued being his brooding self, but at least did what I asked.

“Thank you.” I eased the cake into my almost empty refrigerator. Another bright side. At least I’d been able to remove the shelf with no trouble or loss of food. Whatever my abductor did to me, at least I wouldn’t get blood on the precious cake.

Drama queen.

Maybe. Maybe not. The jury was still out.

I’d already endured the betrayal of my core in hungering for a man intent on bodily harm. Now my stomach revolted in solidarity by growling loudly.

“You have no food,” he stated as if it was something I didn’t already know.

“I have granola bars if you’re hungry. Maybe some moldy cheese. Oh, wait. I think I fed that to the pet rats.” I was outdoing myself, but exasperation was setting in.

He stared at me. The monstrous man who’d broken into my place unexpectedly honestly required an answer.

Sighing, I walked away, disgusted with myself from the truth. “I can’t afford food right now. Not until the tips get better during my next shift or my paycheck, which isn’t for five days. I spent all the money I earned on a dress and shoes for this glorious party so I wouldn’t be reminded how poor I was. On top of it all, I had to buy a present. That’s a requirement when attending an engagement party. Plus, I was tasked to make the cake, so I spent most of what I made today on supplies.”

The truth was as haunting as it was degrading.

As usual, he said nothing, but his movement caught my eye. He headed toward the refrigerator, staring at all the glossy flyers for different food delivery services I’d never been able to indulge in. Well, once. But that had been a special occasion. My heart ached from the thought.

He snatched off two, heading toward me with the flyers in his hand. “Here. Call for food.”

I didn’t need to take them from his hand to know he’d selected a Chinese takeout restaurant that happened to be my favorite and a food delivery service that didn’t come cheap.

“I just told you. I can’t afford any food. I’m sorry. Sue me.”

How fucking embarrassing.

Shame washed over me like a hot wave.

Grunting in disapproval, he yanked his phone into his hand, dialing the first number. I was in some crazy fog as he started ordering items, one after the other. He even pulled out a wallet and a credit card. I didn’t need to be up close and personal to notice it was black in color.

The man was handsome, dangerous, and wealthy.

Well, good for him.

What else did a man need?

While he was finishing, I topped off my wine, moving into the living room and flopping down on the couch. This was without a doubt the strangest thing that had ever happened to me and as of late, they’d occurred one after the other. My life was nothing but ugly chaos and this was the icing on the cake.

A laugh bubbled to the surface and only seconds later, I was entirely aware he was close. His incredibly intoxicating aftershave gave him away, the electricity crackling from his system only secondary at this point.

When he sat down on my couch like this was nothing more than a social call, I almost shifted into hysterics. If he was amused in the least, he certainly didn’t show it. His emotional level was flat, which was completely abstract from his physicality.

I found myself staring at his tattoos, maybe in some insane effort to ground myself and stop from releasing pent-up anger and frustration. Not only with him interrupting my perfectly boring night, but also with life. Our eyes met and I was drawn into them. But I quickly reminded myself that he was like a spider to a fly.

Sucking in my breath, I said a silent prayer I’d make it out of this alive. But for one reason only. One. And it had little to do with my hapless life.

Just the act of taking a sip of wine was painful. Meanwhile, he sank into the cushions, completely comfortable with his surroundings. Good for him. At least one of us was having a glorious evening.

“You’re Spanish,” I said almost casually.

“You’re astute.”

“Usually, I am. Although I’ve been known to be ridiculously irresponsible with my observation skills.”

“What do you do?”