Page 2 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Ariel

I peek around, trying not to feel intimidated by the other applicants. The woman sitting beside me, I saw her on my way in.

She’s tall and elegant, the kind of person who turns heads without trying. If looks are part of the selection criteria, she’s already halfway there.

Another applicant sits across from me, dressed in a sharp, expensive-looking suit. From her appearance alone, she seems like someone who belongs here, confident, polished, powerful.

I glance back down at my phone and reread the message. Then a third time. My fingers tremble around the cracked edges of the screen. Surely, this has to be a mistake. Me? Interviewing at Falcone Financial?

I don’t have the qualifications. Hell, I don’t even have a degree, unless juggling several part-time jobs counts as one. I had to drop out of college the day I found out I was pregnant. And just like that, every plan I had unraveled.

Noah came into the world screaming and perfect. My family walked out quietly and cruelly.

Since then, it’s been me against everything—rising rent, mounting bills, cheap food that never filled the fridge. I worked any job I could get. Waitressing. Cleaning.

One night I even considered dancing, until the manager looked at me like I was meat. Now, I serve drinks at Eden’s Club.

It’s not glamorous—hell, it’s anything but. But the tips are decent, and they pay more than minimum wage. I take what I can get because I have a son who needs medicine more than I need pride.

If I land this job, maybe just maybe I can stop working the late-night shifts at the club. The paycheck would keep the lights on, help with Noah’s treatment… and perhaps I could be at the hospital in time to kiss him goodnight.

Let’s not jinx it, I whisper under my breath, crossing my middle finger over my forefinger like some desperate prayer.

“Ms. Lane.”

A shrill voice yanked me out of my thoughts. I turned towards her. A red hair in six-inch heels and a dress the size of a napkin gave me a pointed look.

“Mr. Falcone will see you now.”

Mr. Falcone.

The name made my stomach twist. It was common enough. But something about it about this job feels off. Familiar in a way I can’t explain.

I smooth my hands down my black pencil skirt, tugging the hem even though it’s already perfectly in place. The blazer suddenly feels too tight across my shoulders, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything riding on this moment.

Click. Click. Click.

My heels echo across the marble floor with every step toward the private elevator. The interior is large and mirrored; I can see myself standing there in my three-piece outfit. Strands of hair have come loose from my messy bun.

I smooth them back and tuck some behind my ears. My palm is sweaty, so I rub it on my jacket.

My pulse won’t slow down. It’s hammering so hard it might crack my ribs. I keep telling myself it’s just an interview. Just a job. But it feels like I’m walking straight into the lion’s den.

The elevator pings. The doors slide open, and I step into a silence so thick; I can’t breathe through it.

“Mr. Falcone.” My lips shape the words like a secret prayer.

He doesn’t turn. Just stands there, his broad back to me, a thick cigar between his fingers. Smoke curls around his head like a halo—if the devil wore one.

Since he seems in no hurry to acknowledge me, I decide to study, him instead. He’s fucking hot in a black three-piece suit, tailored perfectly to his large, chiseled frame. His ass looks yummy in those pants.

I shake my head, as if trying to break the spell is masculine presence cast over me. I really shouldn’t be ogling my potential boss.

He lifts the cigar to his mouth and takes a slow drag, filling the space with rich smoke and unspoken threats.

The cigar hits the edge of a crystal tray with a soft clink, and it left to smolder. He turns to face me, his gaze locking onto mine—those eyes, the same shade of blue as Noah’s. The face… an exact replica. I gasp, eyes wide, as realization crashes over me.

Luca .

The last person I ever expected to see again. Older now. Harder. The soft edges I remember are gone, replaced by a chiseled jaw, a broad chest straining beneath an expensive grey suit.

His brown hair is shorter than I remember, shaved close at the sides and slicked back, but it doesn’t make him any less sinful. He looks like alpha male perfection. The kind of man who knows exactly how to corrupt you.

He looks like a man who chews nails for candy. Lust and power radiate from him as his eyes slowly travel down my body. Desires I thought were long buried shot through my spine.

My breathing hitches, my nipples tighten, poking against my bra, and I swallow down my distress along with my treacherous body.

I blame it on my dry spell. I haven't had sex with anyone since Noah. In fact, he’s the only one I’ve ever been with.

His mouth curves not into a smile, but something darker. My hand tightens around the straps of my bag, and I pray—

I pray he doesn’t recognize me. I’m no longer the girl full of life and dreams. I must look worn, with dark circles under my eyes from countless sleepless nights by Noah’s hospital bed. But I’m wrong.

“Kitten,” he murmurs, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.

“You came crawling back.”

I swallow thickly and try to speak. There’s no point in lying or pretending he’s mistaken me for someone else. The look in his eyes says it all.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know this was your company,” I manage, my voice a ghost of sound. My knees go weak and not just from the heels. I hate how breathless I sound. His lips curve into something dangerous.

“How convenient.”

He closes the distance in two slow steps, the scent of spice, smoke, and something darker wrapping around me. His hand lifts. Not rough, but there’s no gentleness either. Two fingers tilt my chin up.

My breath catches as our eyes lock. Those piercing blue eyes burn through me like they see everything. Every lie. Every scar. Every secret.

“I’ll leave,” I whisper, trying to step back. “And you’ll never hear from me again.”

His laugh is low, mean.

“You don’t get to give me orders, kitten.”

He leans in, his mouth grazing my ear, breath hot and furious.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Right now, if I wanted to bend you over this desk and fuck the brains out of your pretty little head, I could.”

I shudder, I feel warmth drench my panties, o god, I can’t be horny from his crude words, what is wrong with me.

“You can scream if you like,” he adds, with cruel amusement in his voice. “It will only get your mouth stuff and your throat sore.”

My chest rises and falls with panic. “What… What do you want with me?”

“What do you think happens when a kitten wanders into a lion’s den?”

His mouth brushed my ear again; the feeling sent another jolt of longing through my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag as I swallow the lump in my throat, thick and dry like cotton.

I just want to get the hell out of here.

“She gets fucking devoured.”