Page 55 of The Devil's Deceit

What am I doing?

Christian strides through the impressive lobby, with me tottering along beside him. Bypassing the reception desk, he beelines for the bank of lifts. I expect Marshall to get in with us, but he doesn’t. As the doors close, I turn to Christian.

“No bodyguard?”

He taps four numbers onto a keypad mounted on the wall, then looks into a camera. “No need. This place is assecure as Oakleigh. No one is getting up to the penthouse unless I grant them access.”

“The… the penthouse?”

“Mm-hmm.” He runs his tongue along his lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Only the best for you, Grace.”

The lift doors part, but instead of opening into a hallway, an expansive living room greets me. Along one wall is a bank of windows, the splendor of London on display. Christian strolls inside, whereas my feet are glued to the floor.

“Wow.”

He stops and pivots, then returns to where I’m standing. Taking my hand, he coaxes me inside. “Lovely, isn’t it?”

“It’s breathtaking.”

After leading me over to the windows, he moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Before we go any further, I want to make something clear.”

“Oh?” I sound breathy, like an over-actor in a porn film. “What’s that?”

“I brought you here to fuck you. It’s all I can think about, all I dream about. I’m crazy about you. I haven’t been this crazy for a woman in a long time. Maybe forever. But I want you to know something.” He turns me in his arms, his expression open, his eyes hiding nothing. “You’re in charge. You have all the power. If you decide this is going too fast or you’re uncomfortable… I don’t care if I’ve got the fucking tip in, you say no, it’s a no.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had doubts.”

“I understand that. Even so, this”—he sweeps his hand around the room—“this is my domain. There’s no one here but us. I thought that might make you… wary. I wanted to put your mind at ease, that’s all.”

That he’s considering my comfort, and clearly takes consent seriously, should make me happy, but it’s one more thing that’s too considerate about him. One more tick in the box of my perfect guy. I don’t want him to be my perfect guy. I need him to be the monster under my bed, but with every action, every word, every kiss, he’s ripping up my beliefs and setting them on fire.

Could it be that he’s just a brilliant actor? A man who can kill and move on as though he’s done nothing more serious than squashing a bug? An empty, soulless beast who preys on the grief of others? I don’t know, and that’s the issue.

“Are you real, Christian?”

A puzzled expression crosses his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean guys don’t say that. Not any I’ve come across, anyway. Guys don’t think that a woman might feel scared to be alone with a man she hasn’t known all that long, or think to put her at ease.”

A slow grin pulls at his lips, and my entire midsection clenches. He really is the whole package, except for one gigantic elephant taking up half the room. The elephant I can’t tell him about.

Resting his forehead against mine, he slides his arms around my waist. “You’ve been with the wrong men, Duchess.”

“And you’re the right one?”

“Right one for right now, yeah, I am.” His mouth closes over mine, but it isn’t a frantic kiss signaling a prelude to hot, sweaty sex. It’s gentle, exploratory, leisurely, as though he’s in no rush and is savoring every sweep of his tongue, every press of his lips against mine.

Tears fill my eyes; emotions I’ve done my best to suppress breaking through the barrier with a gigantic fuck you. Being someone I’m not is impossible. Sure, I can fake my name and background, but I can’t fake who I am. The crushing guilt weighing me down is washed away by the rush of desire. My skin’s on fire, my heart beating out of my chest.

I fist Christian’s jacket, yanking him closer to me. I can’t get close enough. I want to crawl inside his body and never leave. He pushes his knee between my legs, and I ride him shamelessly, chasing friction.

He breaks our kiss, his lips traveling along my jawline. “Grace, fuck. I’m trying to take it slow, but you’re not making it easy.”

“Who said I wanted slow?” I whisper.

“Are you hungry?”

I blink at the change in direction. “Not particularly.”