Page 56 of Beautiful Revenge

His expression remains stoic other than the hike of a brow.

“Fine,” I amend. “Helpful, supportive, and intrusive.”

That wins me a twitch at the corner of his lips. It’s not even a full-on smirk, but it does put me at ease.

“I can’t forget demanding and grumpy. But since you delivered my breakup note and gave me second-hand flowers, I’ve decided to forgive the last two.”

“You’re really shit at interrogations. Maybe it’s the whole princess thing. Stick around, I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“There you go again.” I lean forward and rest my forearms on the table. There’s no need to lower my voice, we’re alone at the far end of the pier. In fact, I’m not sure dining lakeside is a normality. We’re the only table and no one has even strolled by. “You really have a knack for balancing yourarsehole tendencies,” I mimic his accent, “with sunsets, fine wine, and filet mignon.”

“I’m nothing if not well-rounded.”

“That’s not how I’d describe you,” I argue.

It’s his turn to lean forward. It cuts the small space between us in half. His normally bright blue eyes are darker with only the candle burning between us and the stars shining overhead.

I can count on one hand the number of times Devon has touched me. A firm touch at the small of my back. Trying to stop me from running away from him. Even taking my hand as if I needed help back to the car.

And there was that time I poked his wide, firm chest.

But this is different.

He drags his index finger over the top of my lefthand and doesn’t stop until he traces my ring finger. When he gets to the tip, he doesn’t break our connection.

A connection that’s deliberate.

But more significantly, intimate.

He continues to run the tip of his index finger up and down the length of mine that could have been sporting a wedding ring right now. “You’ve described me plenty. Make up your mind.”

My gaze drops to our connection that might as well be an electric current. Goosebumps run up the bare skin of my arms. Devon is heating me from the inside out with barely the tip of his finger. My heart speeds and my breath shallows as everything in my body is at war with the cool nip of the night air.

And it’s all I can do not to shift in my seat from the rush of wetness between my legs.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this way.

Lord, help me if he lays a full hand on me. I may orgasm on the spot.

“Honest,” I whisper on a shallow breath. “Good or bad, you’re honest—or at least I think you are. It feels like you are. I hope beyond measure that you are. More than anything, I need someone in my life to be sincere.”

He doesn’t hesitate or whisper. His tone is deep and resolute. “You can trust your instincts when it comes to me.”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew how badly I fucked up. I have no business trusting my instincts. They’re so off-kilter, I’m scared to death of them.”

Devon does what I was afraid he would. His light touch turns into a warm embrace when his hand envelops mine. It’s strong and warm and foreign. I haven’t experienced anything like it.

Instead of telling me I should blindly trust him, he does something else.

He opens up.

“That agent that was killed was a friend. Outside of my family, he was the closest person I had in my life. There was very little that wasn’t leaked to the press about the incident, but what wasn’t reported is that it was my case that went to hell. Hugh is dead because of me. You won’t tell me yoursecrets, but that’s mine. His blood will forever be on my hands. That’s what you won’t read about on Google.”

I grip his hand tighter across the small table, overcome with what he just shared when he didn’t need to. The urge within me to comfort him is strong. “It was an accident.”

He tips his head and gives me a lazy shrug. “Accidents, fuckups ... does it matter? He’s dead.”

He has a point.