Heart of a Devil

by Morgan James

  I glanced at my watch. Just after three. Goddamn it. By the time I got home it would be almost four, and I’d have to be up in a couple hours anyway. Resigning myself to staying here for the night, I grimaced as I glanced down at my boots and puke-splattered jeans. I’d definitely experienced worse, but I sure as hell couldn’t sleep like that on Gemma’s couch.

  I peeked out of the bathroom, relieved that she’d crawled into bed. Turning off the light, I cut across the house to the laundry room and toed out of my boots—no saving those suckers—then tossed my shirt and jeans in the washing machine. I’d crash out for awhile then dry them in the morning.

  Moving through the dark house, I reset the house alarm, used the key fob to lock my truck, then headed back to Gemma’s room to check on her. A soft snuffling sound greeted me, and I approached the side of the bed, listening intently to her breathing. By the time she’d left the bathroom, she’d seemed, if not fully coherent, at least slightly less drunk than when we’d left the bar. She made the soft gurgling sound again, and I rolled my eyes. Fucking great. Just what I needed, for her to choke on her own vomit and die in her sleep.

  She let out a grumble as I rolled her to her side, then she snuggled back into her pillow and dropped off again with a little snore. I scrubbed one hand over my face before I reluctantly strode around the bed and climbed in the other side. At least this close, I’d be able to know if something was wrong.

  I tucked my arms behind my head and closed my eyes, already dreading the morning to come.

  Chapter Two

  Jana

  Before I even opened my eyes, I was aware of a bitter taste in my mouth, the cottony feeling like I’d had too much to drink. I cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright sunlight spilling through the window, and warily glanced around. My eyes swept over the familiar walls of my bedroom. Thank God. I was home. I was also... I peeked under the blanket. Yep. I was bare ass naked. What the hell had happened last night?

  I scrunched up my nose and tried to swallow down the taste clinging to my tongue. My eyes felt tired, my body sluggish, and I rolled to my back, stretching my arms wide as I did so. My hand collided with something hard and warm, and I whipped my head toward the right side of the bed.

  A huge body occupied the normally empty space next to me, and from a quick glance at the man’s face and the dark artwork decorating his skin, I recognized Vince. His torso was bare, his arms tucked beneath the pillow. I waited a moment to see if he was awake, but he didn’t stir. I used that to my advantage and unabashedly allowed my gaze to rove over his muscular body.

  I knew from our initial introduction that his full name was Vince Incarnato, but most everyone called him Ink. Even so, I’d always thought of him as just Vince. Looking at him, though, I had to admit that the nickname was incredibly apt. Tattoos decorated nearly every inch of skin from his wrists up to his shoulders, then down his back. Twin dimples just above his ass winked up at me, and my fingers itched to pull the sheet down and see if he was just as naked as I was.

  Holy shit. Did we have sex last night? God, wouldn’t that be just my luck—to finally sleep with him and then have no memory of it?

  “Is it time to get up yet?” I jumped at the sound of Vince’s raspy morning voice.

  “Um...”

  He cracked one eye open to look at me, then pulled his hand from under the pillow and checked his watch. “We’ve got about another hour. Go back to sleep.”

  I stared at him. He seriously expected me to go back to sleep when we were both naked in my bed? At least, I was naked, and I needed answers. “Did we have sex last night?”

  This time, both eyes popped open, hitting me with a hard stare. “Negative.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Then why am I naked?”

  “Because I wasn’t gonna dig around in your shit to try to find something for you to wear.”

  “What was wrong with the clothes I had on?”

  With a huff, he rolled over and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he changed positions, I saw that he was wearing a pair of tight-fitting black boxers. Shame.

  “Because yours were soaked.”

  What was soaked? Besides... I ripped my mind out of the gutter and tried to focus. Oh, right. My clothes. I stared at his back, the intricate artwork dancing over his muscles as he stretched. “So we didn’t have sex last night?”

  He threw a look over his shoulder at me. “No.”

  He said the word like it was practically three syllables, and it pissed me off. “So what the hell happened?”

  “You got drunk, and I brought you home.”

  “Then why the hell are you in my bed?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with no small amount of sarcasm. “Maybe so I could make sure you didn’t choke on your own puke.”

  I winced internally, then mentally batted the thought away. “I don’t get sick when I drink.”

  He let out a mirthless laugh. “Really? Because my clothes say otherwise.”

  Oh, God. Every inch of my body went hot, and I felt heat climbing into my cheeks. “I threw up on you?”

  He turned and met my eyes, studying me for several long seconds. “Do you not remember anything?”

  I tried desperately to draw back on the events of the last twelve hours or so. There was the show, then we hit up Louie’s to celebrate the end of the tour. I had a couple drinks, a couple shots. I remembered riding the bull and Vince telling me it was time to leave. After that... It was like a blank void.

  “No...” I drew the word out long and slow, and he let out a little sigh.

  He cleared his throat. “Never mind, just forget about it.”

  “No, no.” I tried to scramble from the bed then remembered that I was naked, and I grabbed up the sheet to cover myself. “Tell me.”

  Now I needed to know. I’d never gotten so drunk before that I didn’t remember what I was doing, and the way Vince looked at me worried me immensely. God, why was I always making a fool of myself in front of this man? I hated the way he made me feel sometimes. It wasn’t his fault—it was just his personality that made him seem more worldly and mature than I would ever be.

  I’d been absolutely infatuated with him from the moment he stepped foot into my living room—and, really, what woman wouldn’t be? Vince was huge, standing over six feet tall and built like a brick wall, all muscles and dark tattoos. Icy blue eyes stood out from olive-toned skin, his strong, square jaw lightly stubbled. His dark hair was slightly longer on top than on the sides, and it stood up slightly where it’d been pressed against the pillow. Instead of appearing bedraggled and unkempt, the dishevelment made him look dangerous and capable of anything. Coupled with the sex appeal he oozed, I wanted to throw myself into his strong, tattooed arms.

  I’d smiled and teased him a bit during our first couple of days together, testing the waters, but he’d taken one look down his nose at me—the one that looked like it’d been broken once or twice, and strangely only added to his handsomeness—and immediately dismissed me as if I were no more interesting than some annoying insect flying by. I didn’t know why his refusal bothered me so much. Maybe because it wasn’t a refusal so much as a dismissal. He obviously didn’t find me attractive, so I’d built up the walls around my heart, cursing my terrible taste in men once more. I always went for the men I couldn’t have, the ones who were emotionally unavailable or had no desire to settle down. Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to cross gorgeous, tattooed bodyguards off my list, too.

  Vince scrubbed one hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. “Just saying, maybe you shouldn’t have had that last shot of whiskey.”

  “So, it obviously made me sick.” My cheeks burned with humiliation just thinking about it. I couldn’t believe I’d thrown up all over him. That was definitely a first for me. It had probably gotten all over me too, which explained why I was naked. He probably just stripped us both and put me to bed.

  “Thank you,” I said softly. “I’
ll grab your clothes and put them in the laundry.”

  “Already taken care of,” he replied. “Your clothes are in the sink. They were soaked, and I didn’t want to carry them through the house.”

  I gave a little nod, confused. “Did you wash them in there?”

  “Um... no,” he said, his shoulders tightening with tension. “You decided to climb in the shower when we got home, so I just tossed your clothes in the sink to drain.”

  Lord, take me now. This just kept getting worse. He literally had to undress me like a toddler. “Did I... do anything else?”

  I swore I saw a hint of red creep over his face before he turned away. “No.”

  He looked uncomfortable as shit, and I had a terrible feeling I knew what that meant. I’d been drunk and naked, and I’d probably thrown myself at him. I couldn’t bear to torture either of us with any more questions, so I clutched the sheet more tightly around me and strode into my closet. Five minutes later, dressed in an armor of leggings and a tank top, I headed to the bathroom.

  I almost groaned out loud as I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair had obviously been soaked when I fell into bed, and now it was matted on one side and sticking up on the other, a rat’s nest of crazy, pale gold waves. Jesus. I wouldn’t have had sex with me either. I was a hot mess. Shoving down my humiliation, I pulled my hair up in a messy bun, then quickly washed my face. I needed to get into the studio this morning, but I didn’t really care whether I looked like a troll or not.

  Vince intercepted me as I came out of the bathroom, halting me in my tracks. My brain shorted out, and I froze like a deer in the headlights. He was still dressed in only the tight-fitting black boxers he’d worn to bed, and my gaze automatically strayed lower, eagerly drinking in the sculpted muscles and thick bulge in the front. “Uh...”

  He cleared his throat, but I could barely hear him over the blood pulsing in my ears. Holy shit. Somehow, I managed to drag my eyes back to his, heat sweeping up my neck and into my cheeks.

  He looked as uncomfortable as I felt as he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Change of plans. Maggie and Harvey are on their way over.”

  Inwardly, I groaned, and the lust clouding my brain dissipated as reality slammed into me. It wasn’t abnormal at all for my assistant, Maggie, to stop by. But Harvey was probably here to do damage control, which meant that last night must have been worse than I thought. I stared at Vince. “Did I make a complete ass of myself at the bar?”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up in an almost-smile. “No, you waited till we got to the truck for that.”

  I closed my eyes. Fuck. I was going to feel like shit if I puked all over the inside of his truck. I opened my eyes and met Vince’s gaze again. “Please tell me I didn’t...”

  He seemed to know where I was headed with the question, because he shook his head. “You threw up in the parking lot, then passed out for the ride home.”

  Well, thank God for small favors. “I need caffeine.”

  Pushing past him, I headed down the hallway into the kitchen. I’d never been a coffee person, and I’d just finished steeping my tea when the doorbell sounded. I took a step toward the hallway, but Vince was already there. “I got it.”

  My gaze swept over his muscular backside, now clad in his freshly washed clothes. Unfortunately. I smirked. I could only imagine my assistant’s reaction had Vince opened the door still half-naked.

  A moment later, Harvey and Maggie stepped inside wearing identical expressions of concern. Harvey didn’t bother to greet me, just stomped into the living room and took a seat on the couch. I rolled my eyes before meeting Maggie’s gaze. “What’s up his butt today?”

  Maggie bit her lip. “Do you—?”

  “Gemma!” Harvey’s obnoxious voice cut over whatever Maggie was about to say. “Come sit. We need to talk.”

  I hated that he refused to use my real name. I’d reminded him time and again to call me Jana, but I seriously doubted he listened or even cared. I bit my lip to keep him from seeing my irritation, then made my way into the living room where I sank into the corner of the loveseat. Maggie gingerly sat next to me, and Vince hovered nearby, a silent but powerful visual. Harvey’s eyes darted to him before meeting mine. “We received another note.”

  This time, I couldn’t help the outright eye roll. “So? This guy has been sending me stupid letters for months.”

  Every actor, athlete, and singer had groupies and obsessive fans. For whatever reason, this guy had latched on to me, sending strange love letters and poems to the studio in the hopes that I would receive them. I’d read the first couple, but they hadn’t made a damn bit of sense. The guy apparently had followed my journey over the past two years or so since I’d moved to Dallas. He’d spoken of how my music affected him, and how much he’d love to see me perform in person.

  I assumed from that tidbit that the guy had heard me on the radio, read about me in the tabloids, and had developed some kind of fascination with me. I really wasn’t that interesting, and he appeared to be more infatuated than dangerous. He was just an odd duck, probably some forty-year-old virgin living in his mother’s basement who wanted attention. For the past month and a half, I’d been content to just let Harvey deal with it.

  “Regardless,” my agent continued, “we’ve decided to increase your security. Beginning now, Mr. Incarnato will be with you 24/7.”

  Hot tea splashed all over my lap as I jerked up right. Maggie hopped up and ran to the kitchen for a towel, and my eyes jumped to Vince then back to Harvey as I struggled for words. “That’s—but—this is ridiculous!”

  I didn’t need the arrogant, overbearing bodyguard breathing down my neck every second of the day. Especially after last night. I opened my mouth to argue, but Harvey held up a hand. “The label isn’t willing to jeopardize your safety.”

  I sat back, disgruntled. What Harvey meant but didn’t say was that Magnolia Way records had too much money invested in me to risk me being hurt. God forbid should they lose their gold ticket.

  Harvey turned to Vince. “Mr. Quentin is aware of the situation, and he’ll be sending someone over temporarily so you can go get whatever you need.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vince replied. “I’ve already spoken with him.”

  I glared at Vince. The asshole had known but hadn’t said anything? “I don’t understand. Isn’t there some other way to—”

  “This is nonnegotiable.” Harvey pushed his wide girth to the edge of the couch, then stood. “I need to get going. I’ve got an appointment downtown at ten.”

  The doorbell rang, and Vince nodded at Harvey. “That’s my guy.”

  Swiftly moving toward the front of the house, he checked the peephole, then held the door for the other man to enter. I glared at him from across the room, but he ignored me completely.

  Harvey’s words snapped my attention back to him. “The police are looking into the issue, so it hopefully won’t be too long.” He tried for a smile, but it fell flat. Without another word, turn to leave, exiting just as the other man from QSG arrived.

  Vince closed and locked the door behind Harvey, then led the man toward me. “Miss Malone, this is Dane.”

  I lifted my chin in greeting. “Hi.”

  “Nice to meet you, miss.”

  Vince turned to Dane. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. She’s not allowed to go anywhere.”

  Dane nodded, and I jumped to my feet. “What the hell do you mean, I’m not allowed to go anywhere? All Harvey said was that someone had to be with me all the time.”

  “Too bad,” Vince said, his expression hard. “My game, my rules.”

  “Fuck your rules, you both suck.” I stomped toward the bathroom, my anger growing when I saw the still-wet clothes lying in the sink. I picked them up and hurled them toward the shower where they landed with a wet thwack, then slid to the ground. Seriously. Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter Three

  Vince

  Gemma stomped off toward her room, and I ground m
y teeth together before turning to Dane. She could act like a spoiled brat all she wanted, but it wasn’t going to stop either of us from doing our jobs. Dane lifted his eyebrows at me, and I bit back a sigh. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  I felt bad for saddling the new guy with her, but I didn’t have an option. I just prayed to God that he could follow directions. Gemma was sweet and charming when she wanted to be—ironically, she was nice to pretty much everyone but me—and I was more than a little worried that she would try to talk him into doing something she shouldn’t. Together, Dane and I walked toward the door. “She doesn’t go out, and no one comes in. Something happens, you call the police, then Con.”

  He gave me a tight nod. “You got it.”

  I stepped outside, listening for the tell-tale snick of the lock behind me. As soon as it snapped into place, I cut across the short, winding brick pathway to Gemma’s driveway, then climbed into my truck. I backed onto the street, then headed toward home, pulling my phone out as I went. I tapped Con’s number, and he answered on the first ring.

  “Everything go okay?”

  I didn’t mince words. “She’s pissed. She wants nothing to do with security, let alone having me around every minute of the day.”

  “Tough shit,” Con replied. “Her studio is the one footing the bill, and if they want 24/7 surveillance, that’s what they’re going to get.”

  “Fair enough,” I responded. “Dane’s with her right now, and I’m headed home to get my things. What do we know so far?”

  Though Con had texted me earlier to let me know there would be a change in plans, he hadn’t been able to go into detail. “Another note was delivered last night,” he replied. “This one is the worst of all.”