Page 32 of Dancing with the Devil

“What are you doing in my fridge?”

I immediately grabbed my knife strapped to my thigh and pointed it at the person behind me, aiming straight for their throat.

“Seriously?” I whispered as I held the knife towards him.

He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that I could’ve easily slit his throat—by accident, of course. He simply stood there, hands behind his back.Wait… was he in here the entire time?

“And why aren’t you wearing any pants?” he suddenly questioned, drawing me out of my head.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, shoving me out of the way and I stumbled, almost falling.

“Cause yours wouldn’t fit,” I replied, trying to shove him back—with my shoulder—but he didn’t budge.

He was like a huge mountain. I only ended up hurting my shoulder. He raised a brow at me as he grabbed a water bottle.

“I think your ass is too fat,” I grinned, looking him up and down. “Gimme a little twirl, let me see,” I nudged him on and he stared down at me—appalled.

“You just—” he cut himself off with a little head tilt. “You’re a troubled little girl, aren’t you?” he mused, twisting the cap of his bottle of water.

I smiled. “So I’ve heard.”

I grabbed some strawberries, grapes, diced pineapples and an apple from his fridge and headed over to the kitchen island with my hands and arms full.

I plopped down onto one of the kitchen bar stools, setting the fruit down. My feet were freezing, so I lifted them and placed them on the metal footrest—as if that would be any better. “Hey,” I slowly said in thought as I picked up a strawberry and he twisted the bottle cap back on. “I just realized that I still don’t know your name, yet, you know mine.”

“You know my last name.”

“No, I don’t…” I trailed off.

He nodded. “Yes you do.”

I paused in thought for a second. “Oh yeah, De Luca,” I smiled. “But, I still want to know your name.”

“And why is that?” he asked taking slow steps towards me.

“So that I can address you, obviously.”

“Mr. De Luca will suffice.”

“I’m not on your payroll so I don’t have to ‘mister’, you anything.”

“You know my last name and I don’t even know yours.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do.” Now, he stood in front of me.

“Fine.” I nodded in agreement.

“Antonio,” he finally said, his deep voice laced with something unfamiliar. “Your last name?” he tilted his head to the right. I quickly grabbed both of his hands, examining them.Perfect.

“It could’ve been De Luca if you weren’t such a pain in my ass,” I shook my head, and the corner of his mouth lifted into somewhat of a smile. “But now I’m stuck with Valentino,” I said with the most Spanish pronunciation.

“NirahJoyValentino,” he said and butterflies spread throughout my stomach.

“I know right. Who names their—what?” I suddenly froze. My brows drew together as I looked up at him. “How do you know my middle name?”

He looked down at me as though he had been waiting for me to ask that question. Something inside of me shifted, and my danger signals went haywire.No, just breath, Nirah.