Page 52 of Devil's Azalea

“Start talking, Emilia. Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t have all night. I have a meeting in–” He glances at his watch. “–about thirty minutes.”

He really wants to know? Suffering from selective amnesia, is he?Fine.I’ll give him the reminder he deserves.

“You want to fucking know why I hate your guts and everything you stand for, Rafael?” I take an angry step towards him. “Because even though I betrayed you in a misguided attempt to prove your innocence, you went out of your way to destroy me. And no matter how many times you try to redeem yourself by ‘saving’ me, I’llneverforget—and I’llneverforgive you.”I won’t.

His brows pinch together as his chrome eyes flit across my face. “Stop speaking in riddles. What do you think I did to destroy you?”

“You fucking killed my father!” I scream into his face. “Was his death so meaningless to you that you justforgot? You fucking killed my dad!” My voice breaks on the last word, and to my horror, hot tears spill down my cheeks as I recall the painand shock and betrayal that thrummed through my bloodstream when I was told what he did. I sniff, wiping the tears away furiously.I will not show weakness. Not in front of him.

“What? What are you talking about?” He looks… genuinely stunned, like this is news to him. The bastard should win an Oscar.

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” I surge forward, close enough to hit him now, so I do. My fists pound his chest, his stupidly hard stomach—anywhere I can reach.

But I don’t touch his injured arm. Not even once.

Because even in my rage, I apparently still give a shit. And I fuckinghatethat.

Hate that I still care. Hate that I still feel anything at all when it comes to him.

Always this maddening mix of?—

Rage and Lust.

Hate and love.

Always tangled.

Always war.

Fuck him for doing this to me!

“What?” He grabs my wrists, stopping my futile attempts to hurt him, his own eyes sparking with an anger that mirrors my own. “So now it’s no longer my father who killed yours—it’s me? Do you hear yourself, Emilia?” His grip tightens on my wrists, not enough to hurt but enough to keep me still.

I glare at him. “Pretending doesn’t suit you, Rafael. I know that the night Ibetrayedyou, you discovered my father was still alive—and you killed him.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then his face goes completely blank. All emotion just… disappears. “I did not kill your father, Emilia.” His voice is grave in a way I’ve never heard before. “No matter how mad at you I am, I would never hurt you that way.I did not kill him.”

He drops my wrists and grabs my shoulders, giving me asmall shake. “Think about it. Have Ievermade any real attempts to hurt you? Youknowif I really wanted to hurt you, it would be too easy for me. How many times did I find your location over the years while you were on missions? I didn’t show up every single time, but trust me, I always knew exactly where you were.”

A thick arrow of doubt pierces through my fog of anger and pain.He means it. The realization seeps into my consciousness like water into parched soil. Somewhere deep down, I’ve always known he couldn’t have done it—not really.

But Stacey was so confident about what she saw. And I trust her with my life.

I stand there, a little dumbfounded, at a crossroads between the hatred I’ve nurtured for a decade and the truth that now demands recognition. But ten years of animosity can’t just evaporate with one carefully curated speech from my enemy… nemesis…ex-lover.

“How can I trust you? How can—” My words cut off with a gasp as Rafael moves in a flash. One moment he’s a breath away, and the next, his lips crash against mine in a rough, punishing kiss.

My brain short-circuits instantly. My belly twists with heat, heart racing a million miles per minute as I melt into the kiss. Into his embrace. It’s like coming home after years wandering in the wilderness.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is go up on my tiptoes, sink my fingers into his silky hair, and hold on for dear life as I kiss him back with all the emotions surging through me at that moment—the anger, the hatred, the confusion, the lust that never really went away.

He releases a deep groan that vibrates straight to my core, settling as a warm, pulsing weight between my thighs. His hands slide to my ass, yanking me against his hard body. I sway, breathless, eyelids heavy.

One hand goes up to cradle the back of my head, anchoring me as he sucks on my tongue, drawing it into his mouth. I moan helplessly, my fingers clenching his hair so tightly I must be hurting him, though he doesn’t seem to care. He drags his teeth over my top lip—a delicious scrape that sends shivers cascading down my spine—then plunges back in for another wet, devastating kiss.

Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out everything but the erratic pounding of my heart. The drugging thump-thump-thump pulses through my veins, igniting my lust, kindling it like gasoline to flame.

More. I need more.