Page 35 of Claimed By the Villain

“Yeah. Partially,” I reply.

“Partially?”

I nod.

“I still don’t understand what I’m doing here.”

“I told you. We needed to talk.”

“That doesn’t explain much. What is it you need to say to me?”

“We’re getting married. And I hope you don’t mind skipping the wedding party.”

Chapter 19

I smile at him like the fool I feel like right now, as if he’d just told a hilarious joke, though I know, with every drop of blood in my body, that Lucifer doesn’t joke.

And then, when I realize this is real, not another one of my wild, impossible dreams, I start backing away, still staring at him, like he might attack me. Which is ridiculous, I know.

I spent my entire adult life chasing him in the shadows, and now that he’s right here, I’m running?

Yes, I am.

Because what’s at stake isn’t just my heart. It’s my sanity, too.

In silence, I calculate how long it would take me to bolt into the bathroom before he could catch me. And yes, judging by the look in his eyes, he would chase me if I tried to run.

I suck in a breath, but it gets stuck. I need space to think. I need a few minutes—or maybe a few years—to put my thoughts in order.

“I thought I heard you say we’re getting married,” I finally manage, saying it out loud, even though it sounds ridiculous even to me.

Imagining Lucifer married is like imagining me becoming a nun. Simply incompatible.

“Let’s eat, Jackie,” he says, ignoring what I just said.

I retreat a few more steps until I feel the wall at my back. I’ve got nowhere left to go.

Somehow, I know he likes this—cornering me. Lucifer is a predator by nature.

His face remains unreadable as he closes the distance between us, trapping me against the wall with his body. One palm on either side of me.

He leans in, like a man about to breathe in the scent of the woman he wants.

Right now, this lethally beautiful man is pure seduction.

It’s like all my secret fantasies coming true in a single day.

Lucifer in full seduction mode, that perfect body pressed against mine… and a marriage proposal.

The problem is, everything’s out of order.

He doesn’t want to marry me.

Until that night at the club, I don’t even know if he ever thought of me as someone who had a vagina.

“You said you didn’t like alcohol,” I blurt, and he frowns.

“What are you talking about?”