Page 21 of Devil's Azalea

His warm hand swallows mine whole, sending electric currents racing up my arm. The handshake is perfectly appropriate in pressure, but something in the way his fingers curl around mine suggests possession rather than greeting. If he decides to maintain his grip, there’s no way I could possibly get my hand out unless I want to make a scene. Which I don’t.

He watches me intently, his gaze all sharp curiosity and unsettling calm, like he’s cataloging every microexpression, every flutter of my pulse. My heart hammers so violently, I half expect it to punch right through my ribs—or just give up entirely and flatline from the overwork. Not to mention my skinbeing on fire, and not in the sexy way. I can already feel the sweat dripping down my back.

God, please don’t let my hand be sweaty too. Please, please.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice sounding unnervingly thin. I cough lightly as I try to pull my hand out of his.He doesn’t let go, and somehow my pulse spikes even higher.

Then, slowly, his thumb brushes across my knuckles. Once. Twice. The gentle stroke sends a jolt of electricity through me, and just when I think I’ll explode, he releases me with a smug, satisfied smile.

I swallow hard and quickly turn away, pretending I’m not rattled to my core—completely forgetting about Jason until he opens his damn mouth again.

“Say, how about Carol and I join you for the auction, Rafael? You’ve skipped out on my events the past few years, and now that you’re finally here, I’m eager to show you what you’ve been missing. Maybe convince you to come back next year.”

I freeze. Fuck. Fuck. Say no. Say no. SAY NO.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Rafael says, that amused note still coloring his voice.

My fists clench at my side as fury and panic rip through me.

Of course he said yes.

6

RAFAEL

Fucking hell.

My mind is a goddamn tornado as we make our way down the hallway to the event hall, where the auction will kick off after a short refreshment period. The low murmur of expensive conversation washes around us, but I barely hear it. All I can focus on isher—Emilia next to Jason Moore, holding his fucking arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

MyEmilia.

Anger surges through me, clashing with curiosity, then crashing back into pure, unadulterated rage.

The walk to the auction drags on forever, constantly interrupted by people stopping us to talk with Jason—and occasionally me—which delays any proper introductions until we finally make it into the hall.

But I’ve been watching her. Since the moment she stepped into that box with Jason. There was no damn way I wouldn’t recognize her, even with that blonde wig. Every curve, every movement, every breath she takes—all of it is branded into my memory.

My hot-as-fuck nemesis.

What the hell is Emilia doing here?

Throughout the performance, I tried not to fixate on her. Refused to grant her that kind of power over me. But my treacherous eyes didn’t get the memo and kept wandering back to her, again and again, like they had a will of their own.

And in all my effort to ignore her, I ended up completely tuning out Bethany—the woman I had specifically brought here to help me erase Emilia from my thoughts, the woman I had planned to take back to my hotel to help relieve some pressure.

But yeah. That plan blew up fast.

I mean, how the hell was I supposed to focus withthatsitting one box away? The wig, the mole, the fucking oversized sunglasses indoors like some movie star hiding from paparazzi. She’s so scorching hot. So mine.

And so dangerous to my position.

I was pissed as hell when Jason started pawing at her, nearly launched myself through that bulletproof glass when she leaned in to kiss the asshole on the cheek.

But I’m not a fool. I don’t let emotion cloud logic. She’s here in disguise, playing someone else. Carol Walker, complete with that sexy-as-sin British accent.

This is a mission. If she’s trying to seduce Jason, he’s clearly her target.

My eyes dip briefly to the lipstick stain on Jason’s jaw, and my teeth clench hard enough to crack enamel. Target or not, she had no business kissing him. And why the hell is she going after him now? Is this some new strategy to get at me through my network? Makes sense—Jason Moore is a politician I have firmly in my pockets, after all.