Page 35 of Georgie (Sons of Hell MC #10)
Devlyn
The night of the reception...
Moaning, I rolled over when something tickled my nose. Swatting it away, I faintly heard a chuckle as the annoying tickle bugged me again.
“ ?a va, mon chèr ?”
And that’s when I froze and prayed to every deity I knew, hoping and begging that I hadn’t imagined his voice.
It couldn’t be.
Seriously, the universe had a truly sick sense of humor.
I refused to believe it. Like, I’d rather believe the pigeons outside were plotting world domination than accept this reality.
“I’ve missed you,” his thick Cajun voice declared, a low rumble that somehow managed to be both seductive and disgusting, like a perfectly good chocolate bar with a tiny, crunchy cockroach hidden inside.
“Fuck,” I whispered, mostly to myself, attempting to maintain a dignified level of shock. But when he chuckled—that deep, throaty chuckle that could melt glaciers—I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
My worst nightmare had arrived, wearing a ridiculously charming smirk and smelling faintly of sandalwood and impending doom.
“Happy to see me, Bébé ?”
“About as happy as I am to learn I have an STD,” I grumbled, because honestly, that’s pretty much how I felt.
“I’ve missed you, Bébé . It’s time to come home.”
“I am home.”
My apartment, albeit cluttered with questionable stuffed gators and a half-finished model of the Eiffel Tower made entirely of spaghetti, was definitely my home.
What? It isn’t like I have a vibrant social life. I have to do something to occupy my mind!
“ Non, Chèr . Home is wit’ me.” He said with an infuriating confidence. It was like he expected me to just pack a suitcase full of artisanal cheeses and follow him to... well, I had no clue where ‘ wit’ me ’ was. Possibly a secluded island populated entirely by alligators and French bulldogs.
I turned and looked at the big bohunk.
God damn it to hell! He was still handsome enough to make a Greek statue blush.
Thick black locks, the kind that would probably attract stray birds looking for nesting material, and eyes the color of a summer sky just before a hurricane.
It actually hurt my eyes to look at something so beautiful, mostly because the contrast with the rest of my life was so stark.
Regardless of his awesomeness, I blurted out, “I am not going anywhere with you.”
“ Pauvre ti bête .” He smiled, leaning closer with a predatory grace that was both terrifying and weirdly alluring. He boxed me in, his presence radiating a potent blend of charm and menace. It was like being trapped in a romantic thriller written by a particularly sadistic librarian.
Fuck me. I almost swooned. The man had the power of suggestion down to an art form.
Fucker knew I enjoyed hearing him speak those French sweet nothings.
Had no fucking clue what he was saying half the time, but they sure sounded purdy coming from those lips.
It’s like he was speaking the language of pure, unadulterated temptation.
Wait a damn minute and hold the front fucking door!
What did he just say?
“Hold on,” I said, inching away, only slightly because, damn it all, he still had that aura of delicious danger about him.
“If you’ve missed me so much, why are you wearing that ridiculous suit?
” The bold yellow and purple plaid number was something only a crazy person or a fashion icon would wear, and I knew for a fact he was neither.
Okay, maybe he was the first, ’cause only a crazy person would wear that gawd awful thing.
His smile widened, showing off a set of perfectly straight, suspiciously white teeth.
“You always did have an eye for fashion, Bébé . I knew you’d notice.”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion growing. “Notice what? That you’re dressed like an extra from a bad disco movie? Or that you’re standing there, spouting nonsense about me going home with you when you know damn well I’m not leaving my spaghetti Eiffel Tower unfinished?”
“Ah, but, Bébé , you know you can’t resist me. And deep down, you know it’s time to come home.” His voice dropped to a low purr and damn if my knees didn’t weaken just a little.
“I—” I began, but then I caught myself. I refused to be swayed by his good looks and that damn accent.
“I will not be charmed by you, you manipulative—” I paused, searching for the right word.
Something that conveyed the full extent of his manipulative, charming, infuriating ways. “—Cajun guttersnipe!”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound filled the room and made my heart do an embarrassing little flip. “Oh, Bébé . I love it when you spout sweet nothings. You can run, but you can’t hide from me forever.”
As he leaned forward, I took leaned back, my heart pounding.
“I can try,” I muttered, already knowing it was a losing battle.
“Oh, but I think you will, ma chérie ,” he purred, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
I wanted to scoff, to laugh in his face and tell him exactly where he could stick his ridiculous plaid suit and his overinflated ego.
But the words lodged in my throat as his gaze held mine, those summer sky eyes boring into my soul.
Damn this man and his infuriating ability to get under my skin.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded, crossing my arms and willing my heart to stop its ridiculous fluttering. “You think this is a game? Well, I’m not playing.” I gestured to the half-built tower of spaghetti behind me. “I have important work to do here. My Eiffel Tower needs me.”
Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded ridiculous, but I was past the point of caring. He took a step forward, his movements fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking its prey.
“Your tower can wait, Bébé . I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to come home, to the life you were always meant to have.” His voice, thick with promise and a hint of something dangerously seductive, washed over me, and I felt my resolve waver just a little. “You know you can’t resist me forever.”
I gulped. “I can try.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he purred, yanked me toward him, and planted a toe-curling kiss on my lips that evaporated everything around us as my body betrayed me.
It was at that moment I knew I was up a Cajun creek without a paddle!
Dev & Wade’s story will continue in...
Gator (book one of the Bourbon Kings MC)