Dancing With the Devil (The Devil #2)

by Heather C. Myers

  Oh, who was she kidding, he was the devil for crying out loud. She was in Hell. Couldn’t she remember that? Didn’t that mean anything to her?

  The thing was, it simply didn’t feel like Hell. Everything she thought Hell was, it wasn’t. And the people here were nice and sweet, not cruel and unusual. And it should be noted she had yet to run into people she knew would end up here, like Hitler or Saddam Hussein. They couldn’t have possibly gone to Heaven, could they?

  Harleen shook her head. She didn’t want to get into it. She didn’t want to think about the fact that she was getting used to her new surroundings - Why wasn’t she mad? Why wasn’t she more upset with Andrew for stealing her away from her perfectly good home and then forcing her to marry him? It just didn’t make any sense to her and she didn’t know why.

  It wasn’t like you had a family to miss, a voice in her head reminded her. They died. And Edgar was a selfish asshole. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at Edgar. He sold your soul to Andrew for money. He’s the reason you’re here in the first place. Oh, and the reason you’re not that mad at Andrew is because he’s not as bad as you thought, and you know him. He’s not Satan to you, and he might never be. To you, he’s simply Andrew.

  Simply Andrew. A small smile touched her lips as she regarded the ceiling. That kind of made sense, though, of course, she highly doubted anyone else would possibly understand.

  Without warning, the bed shifted, and speaking of the devil… Harleen bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud and cocked her head in order to get a better look at Andrew. He was only in silky black pajama pants and a white wife beater which definitely revealed the broad shoulders he had, the big, toned chest, the biceps… Stop drooling Harleen. It’s not becoming.

  “What are you staring at?” he asked her, shifting his dark hazel eyes so they looked down at Harleen.

  “Haven’t you ever made shapes with your ceiling?’ she asked him. The question was rhetorical, and as a result, Andrew didn’t answer but smiled at it nonetheless. “Hey, I wanted to tell you something.” She paused, her voice serious. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today. I know it wasn’t the most popular thing to do or what you would have done had I not been there, but it really meant a lot.”

  “You’re wrong,” Andrew said, his voice soft. He flipped onto his stomach so he could get a better look at Harleen while reaching out to her, his fingers softly tracing an errant strand of hair so it was pulled back from her face. “I would have done the same thing.”

  Goose bumps littered her body, and Harleen highly doubted that it was because of what he said.

  “Either way,” she forced herself to say, hoping her voice didn’t reveal anything. “Um… this might seem like a silly question, but… are you worried about your reputation? I mean, being married to me and then me saying something to you. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful in any way… I just had to say something.”

  Andrew had yet to remove his skin from hers, and he smiled at her words, knowing that she was flustered because she was worried. “I am not worried about my reputation,” he told her, and made sure his tone conveyed his seriousness for her to believe it. “And you should know that I am proud to be married to you, Harleen. You’re beautiful…” He placed a chaste kiss on her bare shoulder. “And smart…” Another kiss on her collarbone. “And mine…”

  Before he could place another kiss on her body, Harleen shifted. Her heart beat incessantly against her chest and her pelvis responded to his sensual kisses in a way she never expected herself to. Especially not with Andrew.

  Speaking of which, her husband seemed to only find her behavior amusing, but didn’t push his luck. If anything, he was lucky to have gotten two kisses on her before she pulled away. Idly, she wondered if he could hear her heart hammering against her chest because it would be a miracle if he could not…

  Before she could ponder the thought any more, Andrew slid out of bed and turned to face Harleen. “Come here,” he murmured, offering his hand to her. “I want to show you something.” Harleen pushed her head up, eyeing him obvious suspiciousness, which caused Andrew to become even more amused with her than he already was. “Come on!” he exclaimed, holding back a chuckle. “I promise that it’s not as bad as you think.”

  For whatever reason, Harleen lifted her hand and placed it in Andrew’s. He was surprisingly warm, and when he felt her hand resting in his, he coiled his long fingers around her and lifted her up until her feet touched the floor. Instead of releasing his hold on her, he dropped his hand from hers and chose to wrap his arms around her chest, her back touching his chest.

  “I had no idea you were this affectionate,” Harleen murmured, though it should be noted that she had yet to push him off of her. “I feel such a thing is uncharacteristic for a man like you.”

  “Hmm,” Andrew said as he began to lead her out of the bedroom and down a long hallway. “Well, I might be a fighter, but I am one hell of a lover.”

  Harleen hid a smile. “That’s from the Rocky Horror Picture Show,” she said. Harleen loved that movie, and had seen it live a couple of times which was ridiculously fun.

  “It’s also based on fact,” he said, his voice having a slight growl to it.

  After another few minutes and descending one staircase, Andrew stopped in front of the door. “Open it,” he whispered so his warm breath caressed the nape of her neck. Oh, if only he could kiss her on the graceful column of her throat. But he knew that if he did that, she wouldn’t allow him to touch her the way he was right now, and he didn’t yet want to relinquish that.

  As soon as Harleen gripped the door handle, Andrew moved his hands up in order to cup her eyes, preventing her from seeing what was inside the room. This time, Harleen couldn’t help the smile that littered her face and found herself chuckling as Andrew led her inside the room.

  “Can I open my eyes now?” she asked, trying to feign annoyance but failing at it quite miserably.

  “Patience, my dear,” Andrew said. “Oh, I’m sorry, let me rephrase. Patience, my Harley.” He grinned in his crooked way at that, leading her into the center of the room. Finally, he released his hold on her and whispered next to her ear, “You may open them.”

  Harleen’s eyes fluttered open, and her mouth dropped. It was like a scene straight out of Beauty and the Beast. They were in the grandest library Harleen had ever come across. After a long moment, her eyes returned to Andrew’s and he nodded at her silent question.

  “This,” he said, waving his arm around. “It’s yours.”

  Harleen released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, and a shaky smile touched her lips. She couldn’t believe it. “You know,” she said, finally speaking when she thought her voice was strong enough, “for the devil, you’re not all that evil.”

  Andrew looked at her, his eyes sparkling. Though he didn’t show it, the words from her lips meant more to him than he would say. “Yes, well,” he said, shrugging his shoulder as nonchalantly as he could, “I am used to being misperceived.”

  Chapter 7

  Another few days went by and Harleen felt herself begin to get used to her new place here in Hell. She accompanied Andrew to Court as well, and only said something when she believed Andrew’s court wanted the wrong punishment or made the wrong decision based on little to no evidence. This, of course, probably garnered her more enemies than friends, and there were times when she wondered if she embarrassed Andrew in any way by her outspokenness. He never mentioned anything and she didn’t want to bring up something if it didn’t exactly matter.

  Currently, she sat in the backyard of the castle; a beautiful meadow filled with flowers and greenery. She was certain that if someone took a picture and proclaimed it was indeed Hell, people would certainly laugh at such a ridiculous notion. If anything, it might remind people of the Garden of Eden rather than a fiery torture chamber. She was in a loose, comfortable gown, her hair free from any restraints, and a book from her library in her lap. She had
always wanted to read literature classics from Shakespeare to Sherlock Holmes but never seemed to find any time. But now…

  However, before she could flip through Homer’s Odyssey, an image of Rosco slid into her mind and her heart suddenly clenched together with guilt. How could she possibly be enjoying herself when she had left him behind? How could she revel in her time spent with Andrew when she had never broken up with Rosco in the first place? Did that make her a cheater? Yet, she couldn’t help but enjoy her time with Andrew. And it wasn’t as though she was doing anything wrong, exactly. Yes, she slept next to the man who was technically her new husband, but she never engaged in anything inappropriate with him regardless of Andrew’s intentions. So her body responded to such situations where his kisses were light yet sensual. Andrew always had a knack for giving her either butterflies or goose bumps, and sometimes even both. And yes, certainly she was tempted to give into her desire that was both craved and feared, but she hadn’t. At least not yet. Who knew if that would change?

  But was she and Rosco even together anymore since they had been separated? Were her ties to Andrew – her marriage – did that outweigh a high school relationship? Or was it the actual consummation of a relationship that made it official? Because if that was it, nothing was official between her and Andrew, or her and Rosco for that matter.

  “My, my, Your Highness,” a familiar silky lilt said. Harleen glanced up, surprised to see Nigel striding towards her, still in the same clothes as he had been in during Court that morning. “You certainly love to read, do you not? First a trip to the bookstore, and now…” His voice drifted off when he found himself standing directly in front of the Queen before him before squatting in a kneeling position so he was more level with her eyes. They left hers for a moment, descending so he could aptly read the title of her book. “What happened to The Art of Making Love, Your Highness? And here I thought that would be a most fascinating read…” Again, he let his voice trailed off, though now his eyes held a suggestive sparkle that, if one looked at closely, held an unmistakable darkness to it.

  Harleen felt her entire face set aflame, though she wisely chose not respond to his provocations. It wouldn’t matter what she would say anyways; her blush would have given her away.

  “Your Highness, might I say that I personally adore the way your face looks when you blush.”

  Harleen felt a shiver slide down her back, though it had nothing to do with her body’s response to his silky voice. There was just something uncertain, dark, about the way he spoke, and she did not like it. Her stomach churned, as though it warned her about something sinister.

  And in reality, it was.

  Before Harleen knew it, Nigel had her pinned on her back, his greedy fingers groping her body as his mouth tried to claim hers. At first, Harleen was too shocked to scream. Her body froze as her mind finally processed what was going on and what was happening to her. And then she started to react. Her arms started thrashing, her body started struggling, and every time her mouth had ample opportunity, she screamed – or at least attempted to scream. This seemed to amuse Nigel to no end, and he started chortling a laughter that was incapable of reaching his eyes. His fingers coiled around the silky material that made up her dress, and he pulled, causing the fragile dress to tear and her sleeve to rip.

  It was then that Harleen realized there was a great chance she might actually get raped by this man. No one was around; it was highly unlikely anyone could hear her screaming, either.

  Then, just like that, Nigel was gone, off her body. At first, Harleen thought he had decided to cease in raping her because she was Queen, and no doubt, such an act would have terrible consequences. That wasn’t it at all. Once she had found the strength, she sat up, caught her breath, and made out Andrew, sitting on top of Nigel, punching him. Nigel certainly put up a good fight, and there were a few times Harleen winced when Nigel’s fist struck Andrew’s jaw. However, within moments that seemed to feel like forever, Andrew had him restrained. He wouldn’t let up until his guards came out, and then ordered that Nigel be placed in the dungeons.

  It was only then, when Andrew deemed that Harleen was truly safe, did he go over to her, check on her, make sure she was all right. His hands were shaky as he knelt down in front of her, his dark hazel eyes excruciatingly worried without any sort of knowledge on how to fix it. Andrew was the King of Hell, and he didn’t know how to make everything better. His lip bled due to Nigel’s punch, but the metallic taste of blood did nothing to deter him from his eyes sweeping over Harleen. When his eyes saw her broken sleeve, they narrowed, and he had to clench his jaw together to refrain from taking his anger out on the woman before him. It wasn’t her fault.

  “We’ll get you a new one,” he told her, his voice throaty, unsure of just how to begin this.

  Harleen smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew Andrew had no idea what to say to make it better, and to be completely honest, she highly doubted words could do that. But she felt safer now that he was around her.

  “You’re bleeding,” she murmured, reaching up and caressing his bottom lip, only stopping when she reached the red liquid. “Let’s clean you up, okay?” It didn’t appear as though Andrew was going until she quietly added, “Please?” This would give Harleen something to focus on.

  He nodded, and the two walked back to their room. Harleen managed to find some paper towels and grabbed a couple, before dampening one of them. Then she turned her attention back to Andrew’s lip. She had to stand slightly on her toes to get a better look at it, and the thought caused Andrew to smile.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been there and he had…” Andrew let his voice trail off, not even wanting to entertain the notion that Nigel was successful at doing what he intended when it came to her.

  “To be honest, I have no idea how you can care about me in such a short period of time,” she said, avoiding his eye as she dabbed the damp towel against his lip.

  That was what she was worried about? Really? After all she’d been through? “Yeah, well compassion cannot be rationalized,” he snapped, a bit harsher than he had originally intended. How could she be thinking about how he had felt about her when someone had just… He didn’t understand, and it was as simple as that.

  Without warning, he tilted his head forehead and gently placed a kiss on her own lips. Harleen did not expect anything of the kind, and as a result, couldn’t turn her head. A blush cascaded over her face, but something inside of her compelled her to kiss him back, softly, like a caress.

  “And you?” he asked, after breaking apart from her, unsure if that was the smartest move. He just had to kiss her. And his expectations, despite the kiss’s simplicity, were exceeded.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, avoiding his eyes as she now dried the wound with the plain paper towel.

  “You were nearly raped,” Andrew pointed out, his voice strained from trying to control it. She could frustrate him.

  Surprising him, Harleen placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him. “Please,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I don’t want to think about it or I’ll fall apart.”

  Andrew could think of nothing else to do than to wrap his arms around her and pull her close to him so her head rested on his chest and his head rested on her own. They fit together, like two jigsaw pieces. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you, Harleen,” he murmured in her hair. “I promise.”

  Harleen had never felt so safe in her life, and she closed her eyes, knowing, without a doubt, Andrew wouldn’t break his promise.

  Chapter 8

  It was only when Harleen told Andrew that she wanted to be alone for a little while did Andrew finally leave Harleen to herself. However, he made certain that there were two guards in front of her bedroom door to ensure her safety. He highly doubted anyone else in his Court would attempt a similar act of such violence against his Queen, but if such a thing were to happen, he would feel upset with himself if he simply sat back and a
llowed something like that to happen again. He wouldn’t – couldn’t.

  Andrew didn’t understand Nigel’s frame of mind whatsoever. Why would a respected member of Andrew’s Court do something like this? It was one thing to disagree with his choice of a Queen, but Nigel should have spoken to him about it, not punish her for something she couldn’t change, couldn’t help. In fact, if it wasn’t for Harleen’s uncle Edgar, she would still be at Newport Harbor High School, dating that tool Rosco, and eagerly anticipating the arrival of her college acceptance or rejection letters. But somehow – some would call it fate – everything fell into place. Now Andrew couldn’t imagine his Queen being anyone else but the woman he had.

  His feet led him down the south staircase and into the dungeons, where Nigel was kept. Andrew couldn’t help himself. He needed to attempt to interrogate Nigel. Maybe Nigel was so mad he would talk about it. At least, that’s what Andrew hoped. He squared his shoulders, standing tall, as Nigel’s cell came into view. Another two guards were in front of it, preventing any rescue attempts – whether they were from Nigel on the inside or any accomplice on the outside – from taking place. When they say Andrew, both guards tilted their head forward, giving him a proper brow without stepping out of line in any way. Andrew returned the bow, but his eyes were only focused on the pitiful prisoner currently in a sitting position, his back leaning against the cobblestoned wall.