Million Dollar Devil

by Evans, Katy

  “So where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What can you possibly show me in Atlanta after dark?”

  “You might be surprised,” he says, shooting me that wicked smile again. “Are you game?”

  “Not really, but you seem determined, so I guess we’ll do things your way.”

  “Smart lady.” He winks. “Glad to see you’re paying attention.”

  “But only tonight.” I narrow my eyes. “Tomorrow, we’re up bright and early to fly to the West Coast show.”

  “Deal. Now, step out of your little ‘I’m special’ box, and hang on for the ride. You’ll love this.”

  He accelerates and weaves in between a couple of semis before taking off like a man who knows how to get what he wants.

  I can’t help but wonder if he wants to impress the girl or lay down the woman, but either way, I trust him. I just hope that trust doesn’t land me in a heap of trouble.

  It easily could.

  I feel comfortable with this guy, more comfortable than I feel with CEOs and millionaire types. I love that James doesn’t look at money as if dollar signs should be worshipped on the altar of success. It’s definitely part of his charm. Money is a means to pay his bills, and nothing more. I’ve never known anyone who didn’t care about managing and accumulating wealth.

  Then there’s Charlie. How many young men would take on their kid brother to raise? Not many.

  Men in my crowd would’ve hired a team of nannies or unloaded the kid on a family member. Not James.

  He’s such a good person. Maybe I’ve suspected as much from the start. I saw glimpses of his character even when he was fighting at Tim’s Bar.

  James is the kind of man who might go in for the kill, but he won’t take it. He might rough someone up, but only if few other options exist. He could’ve taken advantage of me that first night but didn’t.

  He’s rowdy, but he’s also honorable.

  All in all, he’s more upstanding than anyone I’ve ever known, so that’s something to build on. Right?

  I glance at him. He smiles at me.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  An hour later, security clears us at a checkpoint and waves us through.

  “What is this place?”

  “A studio.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, laughing.

  “I may be an amateur in your book, but some of my stunts happen at fifteen thousand feet.” He points to a building. “I’ve been up there many times.”

  “You work here?”

  “I do. Too much time between jobs, though, so my channel was born.”

  As soon as I see a guy leaping off a building, I panic. “But you can’t . . .”

  “I have and could again . . .” He parks the car. “But won’t while I’m on your payroll.”

  Suddenly, I don’t want him to risk stunt work again. A young guy with an everlasting death wish tumbles off the side of the building while a director waves his arms and shouts, “No. No. No. Not like that.”

  “Come on.” He takes my hand. “I want to show you a surprise.”

  Surprise? When did he go from “showing me something” to “surprise,” and what does this all mean?

  Calm down, Lizzy. He isn’t taking you to Disneyland or an X-rated couple’s retreat. I grin because I like the idea of the first, while James would probably enjoy the latter.

  What is it about opposites and attractions?

  I follow him until we reach a couple of golf carts and four-wheelers located at the edge of the parking lot. “Hop on.”

  “I’m not an adrenaline junkie.”

  “Ah, come on. Live a little.”

  “Look what I’m wearing. Would you?”

  “Sit sideways.” He grins. “Or just hike up your skirt and slide in behind me. I won’t look.”

  “Liar.”

  “Tease.”

  He boards the ATV and starts it with ease. “If you don’t get on, then I’ve wasted your time bringing you out here.” He shoots me a daring look. “You don’t strike me as a woman who likes to waste her time.”

  I stare into the night wondering what he could possibly want to show me out here. “My life is in your hands.” I climb aboard, straddling the seat behind him.

  “And I take that shit to heart,” he says, pulling my arms tighter around him. “Relax and enjoy the ride!”

  He guns it, and I feel like I’ve lost all control, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s his motive.

  We reach the top of the ridge, and he steers the ATV down a rugged terrain. To the left is a cabin, but to the right is what I’m sure he wants to show me . . . Atlanta at night.

  We stop, and his back stiffens when he glances over his shoulder. “Worth it?”

  “This is incredible.” I want to sit right here and drink in the view, the flickering beauty of Atlanta’s skyscrapers and awesome beauty without the noise so typical of our overcrowded city.

  “Wanna take a walk?”

  “Now? Here?”

  He chuckles. “I’ll protect you.”

  “Okay.” I slide back but don’t get off. I’m not sure what’s on either side of the ATV.

  “You’ll need to slide off first.”

  “I can’t.” I tremble a little. “I don’t know which way to go.”

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “It’s not exactly fear. I’m smart. I’m not about to get off this thing if I don’t know what I’ll find under my feet.”

  “Hang on to me.”

  “Get off first.”

  He snickers and then somehow manages to turn. We’re face to face. “How much fun would that be?”

  “I meant . . .”

  “I know what you meant.” He holds my chin in one hand while crawling his fingers up my bare thigh.

  I slap my hand over his wrist. “Don’t.”

  “I was going to help you pull down your skirt.” His eyes search mine.

  “Oh.” And I swallow, suck in a deep breath, and maybe even wish he’d had other ideas.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “I don’t tease, sweetheart.”

  Clearing my throat, I use his shoulder in hopes of leveraging my position so I can give him enough room to move freely.

  “This is so beautiful,” I say, very much aware that he’s not making an effort to leave the seat.

  “Best view in Atlanta.” He’s consuming me with his eyes, seemingly unconcerned with the city lights.

  “I bet you say that to all the women.”

  “I’ve never brought one up here.”

  For some reason, I believe him, and that makes me feel very vulnerable.

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  “I’ll see how this goes and decide from there.”

  “How what goes?”

  His gaze darkens, and he looks at me, his voice quieting. “This.” His lips devour mine as his hands cradle my hips. He quickly lifts me to him, forcing me to part my legs and straddle him.

  I’m undone. I wrap my hands around his neck. Wanton, aching, wanting him. This daredevil, the guy that does stunts for a living, my first stunt—the first risk I’ve ever taken in business and maybe even in life as well.

  I’m shivering when I pull back, meeting his gaze. Dreading getting attached to him, knowing that it would be only too easy to get attached to his cool, fun attitude and charming, blunt personality.

  “James, this isn’t a good idea.” I lick my lips, shaking my head.

  “Let me change your mind, Elizabeth.” He pulls me back slowly to him, then kisses me like he’s probably kissed plenty of women but in a way that feels like he will never kiss another. His mouth trails to my cheek and up to my ear, down to my neck, and across the low dip of my neckline. He groans as he’s tasting me. As if he’s as undone as me.

  I’m breathless, arching against him and wanting . . . needing . . . so much more than a kiss
that could lead everywhere. If I don’t stop him now, stop him with a kiss, a kiss that could lead . . . every . . . fucking . . . where . . .

  I gasp, realizing I’m squeezing his thighs with mine, spread wider by the breadth of his body.

  “That’s it,” he whispers on a hiss, rocking steadily against me.

  My hands are in his hair. His fingers. Oh my lord, yes. His fingers climb higher and higher.

  His thumb eases against my panties. He rubs the pad back and forth as he holds my head in the palm of his hand, kissing me until I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

  I don’t want to fucking think.

  I just want to feel. Need to feel his hands and lips all over me.

  He buries his mouth in my cleavage, rubbing his face against me as he works my shirt up and kisses my breasts, moaning then as he dips his finger under my panties and rubs my sex. He coaxes me with his kiss and compliments. Tells me how much he wants me, how much he wants to please me.

  I drink in the pleasure. I drink it in because when his fingers drive inside me, I’m so fucking ready for him and this.

  His fingers pump and stroke, in and out, back and forth.

  I. Am. Dying. Here.

  His hot breath is against my ear. “Let go, Lizzy. Let me watch you enjoy me.”

  My hands are on his shoulders. My head drops. My mouth opens.

  It’s all I can do to keep from coming, to stop myself from riding out the pleasure, that earth-shattering orgasm that I somehow manage to resist. But resistance is only a mere stepping-stone in the wrong direction because I’m still a short breath away from the most tantalizing and reckless pleasure that I’ve ever known.

  When I scream out in pleasure, it’s like the night awakens with the energy passing between us. Our shadows rock back and forth as he stays with me, holding me against him as he thrusts his hand against my body, bringing me pleasure and wreaking havoc on my brain.

  This man could destroy everything I’ve ever worked for.

  He could take my heart, walk all over my spirit, dampen my dreams, and yet all I can do now is ride out the pleasure, scream into the night, and enjoy this moment because while that’s all it is . . . just a moment . . . it’s the first time in my life that I’ve felt unabashedly free.

  I’m gasping as I recover, my fingers clutching his shirt, his scent all over my nostrils. Even the scent of me, on his fingers, as he eases back and uses his thumb to tuck my hair behind my ear.

  “You okay, Lizzy?” He’s wearing the most gorgeous smile.

  My vision is blurry.

  Emotions overcoming me from the release of all my pent-up frustrations.

  I nod. My windpipe feels a little funny. Closed and tight.

  I see him shove his fingers into his mouth and lick me off him, still smiling, his blue eyes brilliant in the darkness. “You need to let me do that again very soon,” he says, and I briskly turn my head away to silently stare at the city just to keep him from noticing the tears in my eyes.

  I don’t know what it is about this guy that affects me so much. Maybe it’s because he’s daring, unique, and not afraid to be himself. Or maybe because my whole life I’ve tried to be perfect and never really bought into the act. And yet when I’m with him, I don’t feel like I have to play at anything at all. I can simply be me.

  He makes me feel like Lizzy, young and carefree, the girl that doesn’t need to be perfect . . . that is perfect just as she is.

  James slips his arm around my waist and looks out at the city with me, and I set my cheek on his shoulder while I try to summon myself back from whatever parts of the universe he and his hot kisses and irresistible charms just scattered me.

  And I whisper, “Very soon, Devil,” in answer to the provocative proposal that he made just minutes ago, and turn to meet his devilish smile with one of my own.

  We get back to his house really late, when all the windows are dark. “Is Charlie home?” I ask.

  He nods. “Maria’s staying over in the guest bedroom.”

  That’s my cue to drop him off and leave. I’ve overstayed my time with James, and now I’m just traveling farther and farther into dangerous territory.

  Still, when he says, “Come in for a minute,” I’m powerless to do anything but that.

  When we creep inside, he goes down the hall and checks on Charlie. It makes my heart feel soft and warm to see the way he looks in on his little brother. “What?” he asks when he sees me staring.

  I shake my head.

  He takes me to the overstuffed couch in his living room, in front of a television covered in video game boxes. I sink down next to him and lower my head onto his shoulder.

  “Charlie’s a good kid,” James says after a moment. “He just wants to be liked. He wants to be accepted. My aim is to get him into a better school. Give him a kick-ass education. Get him out of the slums.”

  I smile, my heart reaching out within my chest with greedy, grabby hands toward him. “You’re raising a good kid, James.”

  “I think about that. All the time. What my parents would say.” He presses his lips together. “Because when they were alive, this wasn’t the way my life was headed. We lived in the suburbs. I was thinking of college but not too keen on that. Maybe military. But I was a kid. I had time to figure things out. Fuck up all I wanted. My dad kept saying that to me. ‘You’re young, kid. You’ll get it all figured out.’ And then we left for vacation one week, and it all changed.”

  “Car accident?” I ask gently.

  He shakes his head. “My grandmother died that winter, and we were going to stay up at her old cottage on Lake Sinclair while we got it ready to sell. We were staying there, and Charlie was crying. My parents and Leanne—that’s my sister; she was thirteen—were tired from the drive. I was a typical eighteen-year-old and didn’t go to sleep until two in the morning most nights, so I took Charlie outside to play for a few hours and check out the area. He was barely going to turn four. When we got back, I tried to wake up my mom because I couldn’t find Charlie’s sippy cup in all the boxes we’d brought. But she wouldn’t. Then I tried my dad. I thought they were just really tired. Leanne . . . I checked in on her, and she was sleeping too. It took me a while to realize it was carbon monoxide.”

  “My god, James.”

  “My family . . . we don’t talk about the accident, Charlie and I. I don’t even know if he really remembers what happened. It’s been . . .” He scrunches his nose, his expression thoughtful. “Fuck. Almost a decade now? And we still don’t talk about it. I realized soon into mourning as you wait for the pain to go away that it never fades away, that distance from what happened is the only way you can bear to go on. It’s not that I don’t remember—it’s that I try to leave the past in the past and look at what I have. Charlie. My business. Some good friends. Maria. Luke.” He looks at me. “You.”

  The way Devil says you makes my whole body grip with longing.

  “I’m sorry for what happened. You were young, still.”

  “I can’t complain. Some people have it worse.”

  “Some could say that you can also view it like some have it better, and think of yourself as having it worse.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Now, baby, that’s not a winning attitude. Is it?”

  I laugh. “I know it’s not, which is why you’re so irresistible. Because of . . . you.”

  I pause, then push my chair back and head around the table. As if sensing my intentions, James pushes his chair back and makes room for me, seizing my hips and drawing me sideways on his lap. A nice little hard bulge greets my bottom as I sit. I walk my fingers up his chest, keeping my voice low so that Charlie doesn’t overhear. “You’re sort of . . . irresistible,” I admit, stroking my fingers down his clean-shaven jaw.

  He raises his hand and strokes his thumb down my cheek, the touch exquisitely tender, even though the gleam in his eyes is fierce.

  “Want to spend the night here?” he asks quietly.

  “Charlie . . .”


  “Charlie’s asleep.” He grins wickedly. “Maria’s probably binging on Netflix. And me . . . ?” A heavy silence before he starts to nod meaningfully. “I’m available. Very, very available for the likes of you, Miss Banks.” His voice drops.

  “James, I don’t know . . . ,” I hedge, my heart skipping.

  “You do know, Lizzy. And if you don’t, then I know. I know what you need. I think you need these.” He slides two fingers into his mouth and pulls them out with a pop. Then he wiggles them, slowly giving me a roguish grin. “Inside you.” The gleam in his eyes darkens as he looks into my eyes, then greedily surveys my mouth. “Three minutes with my fingers inside you and you’ll be screaming for mercy, and you know what . . . ?”

  He seizes my chin, holds my face still, and leans forward.

  “I’ll give you none.” His lips smother mine—take mine, possess mine. My arms wind around his neck, and his hands are covering my whole ass, squeezing my cheeks as his mouth claims mine.

  It takes every ounce of my power to pull away from him. “I can’t, James. I shouldn’t have let it go as far as it’s gone. Tomorrow . . .”

  “Tomorrow what?”

  Tomorrow, everything will be different. Tomorrow, he won’t be just mine. I look into his eyes, wanting him to calm my fears, but I can’t tell him this.

  “We just have a big day ahead of us,” I say, and it takes every ounce of my resolve to untangle myself from the heaven of his arms and push myself to my feet. I grab my keys. “Good night, James. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  WEST COAST

  Lizzy

  It’s the big day. The West Coast Fashion Week starts tonight, and James and I have seats together for the plane ride out to Los Angeles. I can’t remember being this excited about a trip before.

  James takes my handbag and shoves it into the compartment above our heads, then settles down next to me.

  The air shifts in temperature, or maybe it’s just me, warming because he’s so close.

  A whiff of the Tom Ford cologne I bought him reaches me. It’s a struggle not to lean closer and take another, deeper whiff. It’s my favorite cologne. But somehow, on him, it’s even more sexy and seductive.