Million Dollar Devil

by Evans, Katy

  “But if they asked for the pepper, then they only want the pepper.”

  “Maybe, but it’s still proper to pass both.”

  “I see.” He looks bored. “What else?”

  “If you leave the table during the meal, quietly excuse yourself. Place the napkin to the left of your plate. Leave without announcing your reason.”

  We go over a few other tips, and James finally announces, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  He abruptly stands before I can move aside. He goes one way, and I go the same. He veers to the right. I veer to the left.

  We smile at each other. We’re locked in this tense, unspoken moment.

  “Now what, heiress?” He rests his hand on my waist. “The proper thing to do here is what?”

  “I, um . . .”

  He moistens his lip, and I can’t help but watch that naughty tongue, that slow and decadent swipe.

  Is he thinking about kissing me? Do I want him to think about kissing me?

  Hell no.

  I want him to kiss me.

  “I’ll move out of your way,” he says, stepping aside.

  “Thank you.”

  “After you.” He holds out his arm.

  I exhale, running a trembling hand down my sides as I step forward.

  Once we return to the kitchen, he stands out of the way and watches me as I fill the dishes in silence. “Do you mind taking the salad to the table?”

  “My pleasure.” He accepts the large serving bowl, and when our fingers touch, our gazes meet. “Lizzy . . . I . . .”

  “What?” My body is on fire. My hands are tingling. My breathing is sort of labored.

  He meets my gaze. Swallows. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nods and disappears into the dining room. And for the first time since we’ve started working together, I wonder what it would be like for him to hold my hand across a linen tablecloth during a candlelit dinner.

  What it would be like to date a guy like him, a guy who’s unique, not concerned about appearances but only about himself, what he wants, what’s fun and feels good.

  I take the daydreams a step further and imagine a quite forbidden fantasy, one that includes James taking me out on the town and kissing me good night.

  Unfortunately, my fantasy wouldn’t end with a kiss good night and a promise to call. This fantasy, this illicit dream of mine, would end up with a kiss goodbye, long after the deed ended and the forbidden had been thoroughly explored.

  James and I wouldn’t part ways until the wee hours of the morning. If we parted at all.

  BEHIND THE WHEEL

  Elizabeth

  The next three weeks, we work on everything.

  First, vocals. The ya definitely has to go.

  Next, more manners. Please and thank you and all the manners of a gentleman.

  Then, I teach him to dance. And get stepped on like crazy.

  And finally, I make him watch some etiquette videos while I organize the suits that we’ll be taking to our visits with the department store buyers.

  By the end of it all, I can sense James is restless and exhausted with all the things he’s had to learn, and so am I. A part of me wants to beg him to take me out again, but I dread what that could lead to. That he’ll feel it’s like a date. So I resist. But then it occurs to me that we definitely need to try this one thing. “Do you know how to drive?”

  Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen him drive an actual car in any of his stunts. Only motorcycles, Jet Skis, and other crazy engine things. James raises his brows at my question, which I take as a possible no.

  “Let’s go. I’ll teach you. Let me drive my car to the outskirts of the city so that you don’t hurt anyone. And for the well-being of my car,” I tease as I grab my stuff to leave.

  We drive in silence as the sun sets, and by the time I reach decently empty roads, it’s dark.

  “So.” I park on the side of the long stretch of road. “You can do this. Can’t you?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

  His whisper is gruff in the dark. He sounds a little amused. “Do you doubt me?”

  I hesitate, not certain I trust the guy not to do something crazy with my Audi.

  He shoots me a daring smile and opens the door, and before we know it, we’re switching seats. And Devil is settled behind the wheel of my car.

  “Okay. So this is an automatic, so it’s much easier than when I started learning on a manual—”

  I trail off when he leans over, the clothes rustling in the silence of the car as he slowly takes my seat belt and draws it across my chest with infinite slowness.

  I go breathless. The silence is a little deafening, when suddenly I hear the audible click of the belt—his hands lingering on my hip. Our eyes holding as firmly as the seat belt just latched on.

  It’s an effort to get my windpipe to start working normally again. “Anyway, as I was saying, you just need to press the ac—”

  He straightens, and as I’m explaining, he shoots me a questioning look—“Like this?”—and rams the car so hard and fast I hear a screech on asphalt as we roar onto the road.

  He sinks down into the pedal, sending the car tailspinning with a deep and joyous “whoo!”

  “What are you doing! Are you insane?”

  “A little bit. Hang on.”

  He winks, and I shouldn’t be flushed, or scared-laughing either. But I am.

  I sink my nails into the sides of my seat and can’t believe how . . . exciting this is. When have I driven my car LIKE THIS?

  Never, not in my dreams.

  But this guy is driving my car like he stole it, and my heart is pounding like he stole me right along with it, and I didn’t even need coaxing because I was only too willing to go.

  Damn this guy. He makes me want to dance. To unbutton the top buttons of my top. Take it all off. Strip to my undies, run down the highway, and laugh until I almost need to run to the ladies’ room to pee because I’m laughing so hard.

  I always thought that was ridiculous. That people who needed huge thrills and crazy things to make them happy were missing something. I realize it’s not about missing something; it’s about the experience of things. The way things make you feel—excited, or scared, or daring, or courageous. Being with Devil makes me feel all those things.

  We hit an area of the highway where it’s raining, and suddenly the rain is coming so hard that it’s difficult to see.

  “We should stop somewhere!” I yell through the sound of rain pounding on the windshield.

  “Yeah, I know where. I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry.” I groan, rolling my eyes and peering out through the pounding rain.

  Rain pounds into my windshield as he parks in front of a one-story, old-looking bar. Only half of the sign is lit, spelling out “WHERE BA” where it should read “NOWHERE BAR.”

  Devil raises his brows as he comes around the car to help me out, holding a folded arm above my head to shield me from the rain.

  Slamming the car door behind me, I duck under the protection and try to leap over the puddles toward the door, laughing when we reach it, and James shakes the rain off his hair.

  We hurry inside.

  There’s a pool table at the end. An old jukebox. A few high tables. And a bar.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to eat here,” I warn as I head to the bar, determined to get something into my stomach, even if only some olives or peanuts.

  James takes a seat next to me and holds out two fingers. “Tequilas.” And at my surprised, questioning look, he only grins.

  Jimmy

  “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth.”

  “You always go for truth.”

  “Because I’m afraid of your dares,” Lizzy shoots back at me.

  “Fair enough.” I narrow my eyes, letting her squirm as she wonders what I’ll ask. “First kiss. Where, when, and rate it from one to ten.”

  “Back of my
date’s car. Party at Sylvia Hollis’s place. I was fifteen. And one to ten? Zero.” She groans, and my eyes fly up in surprise.

  “That bad?”

  She nods. A perfect cherry-red flush on her cheeks. Damn, she’s so cute I can’t stop grinning. Somehow glad her first kiss wasn’t all that great. Thoughts of taking her to the back of her Audi and giving her a memorable one spin through my head as she cocks her head and sasses out, “Your turn. Same question.”

  I shift in my stool. I’m sitting legs splayed wide, facing her, one arm draped on the counter as I thoughtfully tap my fingers on the cracked wood. Memories of getting it on with a busty redhead much older than me in a dark alley flit through my mind. Not really one for Lizzy’s precious ears.

  “Can’t remember.”

  “Oh, you totally can,” she says, shaking her head and pushing a tequila shot my way.

  I laugh and toss it back, setting it down empty. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “You’re no gentleman,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Not yet.”

  I like this Elizabeth.

  I like her a lot.

  Her scarf’s all skewed on her throat, exposing that lovely neck. Her hair’s tangled; her makeup’s run from the rain. And she looks adorable.

  So loose I want to drill into her. Figure her out. Find out everything there is to know about her. I motion with a jerk of my jaw. “You’re up next. Truth or dare?”

  As if noticing the challenge in my gaze that dares her to go for the unexpected, she surprises me by blurting, “Dare.”

  My brows fly up in surprise. I lean forward, unable to resist tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Dare you to take a snapshot of you right in this bar and text it to good ole Daddy.”

  Judging by the widening of her eyes and slightly hanging jaw, she’s not taking. “Damn you,” she hisses, the cherry-red color back in her cheeks as she shoots me a playful glare.

  “No?” I give her a moment to retract her cowardice, and when she can’t, I use the back of a curled finger to shimmy a tequila shot all the way up to her side of the bar. “Drink up, baby,” I croon.

  “Thanks a lot, Devil,” she mumbles, tipping the glass back and downing it in one gulp.

  Oh, I think to myself, grinning like a Cheshire cat in my mind. Don’t thank me yet.

  Elizabeth

  We’ve been playing truth or dare for a while. I can’t even remember how many shots I’ve had. And if James really did say that he’s slept with over fifty women. FIFTY! He couldn’t even remember the exact number. I’m woozy. And a little jealous. Maybe more than a little—more like a lot.

  I can’t help but swoon a little while I stare back at those devilish blue eyes as he asks truth after truth, dare after dare.

  I’m dizzy, and I’m not even standing, and he’s all to blame.

  Suddenly in the background, someone’s working the jukebox. And the song “Get outta My Dreams, Get into My Car,” by Billy Ocean, starts playing.

  “Oh! I love this song!” I cry, leaping to my feet and heading to any vacant place where I can dance to it.

  I raise my hands and lock them at the wrists above my head, twisting my head side to side, my hair flapping, my hips swaying, the song playing.

  We’re pretty drunk at this point, both of us.

  While I’m dancing, Devil is somewhere in the bar, with a thousand girls whooping as he twirls on his back on the floor like Michael Jackson.

  When I see him, I stop dancing altogether. Everyone is cheering and clapping. When he leaps to his feet, I’m genuinely feeling hurt that he’s never told me this about him.

  “I didn’t know you could dance like Michael Jackson.”

  “That makes two of us.” He smirks.

  “What?” I laugh, and he pulls me away from the crowd to shield me from the chaos. “Want to head home now?”

  I nod, grabbing a tequila shot from the counter as a memento. I guzzle it down.

  “Hey, bitch, that was my drink!” some burly dude calls out.

  Suddenly James is pushing me behind him and confrontationally pushing his chest out. “Who the fuck are you calling a bitch, motherfucker?” James pushes him.

  The guy stumbles back.

  “Apologize to my girlfriend. It’s a fucking honor to buy her a drink, buddy. Now thank her for letting you,” he growls, pulling him up by the shirt and forcing him to look at me.

  The guy blinks confusedly. “Heya, ah, thanks for letting me buy you a drink . . .”

  “See?” He slams a bill onto the counter. “But that one was actually on me.” He walks in my direction, taking me by the elbow as he leads me out of the bar.

  I’m laughing hysterically as he guides me to the car, blinking up at the dark skies and realizing it’s still raining, though much more lightly now.

  As James unlocks my Audi, I hear myself fumble behind me for the door and swing it open, falling into the back seat.

  I grab a bunch of his shirt and pull him close until our lips fuse. He pulls the door shut behind him and shifts us until he’s on his back, pulling me over him on the back seat. I straddle him, but since he’s lying down, I fold over and rub myself over him. Kissing him like I’ve never kissed in my whole life. Not drunk, not in high school, not in my wildest dreams have I kissed anyone like this.

  I feel young and perfect, like it doesn’t matter that I ripped my scarf while I was dancing. Doesn’t matter that my hair is a tangled mess behind me from the rain, and it definitely doesn’t matter that my lips are swollen and my lipstick smeared all over my face because of HIM.

  He shoves my skirt up and pulls off my top until a gust of air hits my skin.

  I catch my breath as he eases back—tossing the garment behind him. Eyes narrowing as he looks up at me. Partly dressed, swallowing nervously.

  “Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Elizabeth? It’s about to get rough for you, baby.”

  “Just kiss me.”

  I pull him up by the face, and his mouth crashes against mine, and he tastes sinfully good. My body buzzes as I press closer, my breasts squished against his hard chest as his tongue slips into me, over and over.

  I feel his fingers grip my ass as he sits up and devours me. They tease up and down the crevice of my butt, and I moan against his mouth because I can’t get enough.

  I rub myself against his erection. Only my panties and his jeans separating us.

  He growls into my mouth, still busy caressing my bum, my back, my breasts. I think he wants me to rock against him.

  And so I do.

  He wants me to let my hair down.

  And so I have.

  I gasp and peel away as I look at him. His mouth spreads into a full-fledged naughty smile, the kind that makes me ache and burn, the kind that dares me to kiss him.

  And so I ease back down to him.

  And I do.

  PHONE CALL

  Elizabeth

  Saturday morning, I wake up fully dressed in my big king bed, with nothing but a pounding headache for company.

  I glance around in confusion, feeling for my clothes and then searching for Devil in my room. He’s not here. I click the remote of my drapes and as they open, squint against the sunlight, finding two aspirin and a bottle of water on my nightstand.

  My stomach knots up as I wonder if something happened last night.

  What’s the last thing I remember?

  I strain my mind, and like petals, the memories start falling on me.

  Dancing like a maniac in some seedy bar.

  Pulling James into the back seat of my car, kissing him like crazy.

  James kissing me like crazy. And then . . .

  Did I pass out?

  I feel between my legs, but I’m not sore at all. But then I touch my mouth, and I almost wince. So . . . looks like we didn’t have sex. I would REMEMBER that.

  Only kissing. Lots of yummy . . . out-of-this-world . . . kissing. Touching. And then . . . di
d I pass out . . . ? Then Devil drove me home, and probably . . . Devil tucked me . . . he tucked me in bed?

  I call Jeanine.

  “How’s it going, chipmunk?”

  “It’s, ah . . . it’s going well.”

  “He learning a lot? That sexy manbabe of yours?”

  “Yes, actually!” I say. “And so am I!”

  “Like what his manhood feels like buried deep in your nether regions?”

  “No,” I say, blushing. “I’m not. We’re not . . .”

  I can’t even begin to finish that. Because last night, we almost did. Maybe. What do I know? Things were heading in that definite direction before I . . .

  Ugh. Who knows what I did?

  “What are you waiting for, love? I hadn’t heard from you in a while but figured you’d be busy getting that man in line, and in your pants.”

  “Oomph,” I cry, settling back on the pillow with a sigh. “I’m not . . . it’s not like that, actually.”

  “How so?” She’s curious, and I dread telling her that James Rowan is not the piece of garbage she thinks he is. He’s complex and intelligent and funny and . . .

  She’ll never understand.

  I don’t even know how to put into words how James . . . gets to me.

  Every part of him gets to me.

  I skim into the future and realize that Jeanine will think I’m a complete crackpot. Then she’ll warn me that James is and can only be for a quick fuck, because my dad’ll never approve of anything more.

  Silence.

  “Elizabeth.” She sounds concerned now.

  More silence.

  Then, “Shit. I have just gotten my new opening statement for tomorrow. Let me call you back tonight?”

  “Yes, perfect.” Exhaling, I hang up.

  While I’m dropping back in bed, my cell phone rings again. And I don’t have to check the number because Jeanine is the only person I know who’ll be up this early. “Ah, so you couldn’t wait until tomorrow. You want to talk about HIM now. Okay, so here it is. Are you ready for it? Jeanine, yesterday . . . god, I almost screwed his brains out in the back of my Audi. He kissed me, a kiss to put all kisses to shame. And I wish I hadn’t been so drunk—me? Drunk, YES! I was so drunk, but I wish I hadn’t been so I could have just moved forward with this. Gah, all this time teaching him to be a gentleman, he left me here in bed with aspirin and a glass of water at my bedside when all I wish was to wake up to all six inches of him beside me. I swear next time I’m going to just go for it and ride him like an award-winning cowgirl at a damn rodeo. Just like you said I should do. Unfortunately . . . right now, all I have is my vibrator.” I sigh. “God, I’ve got it bad for this guy. Maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow.”