The Devil’s Contract
Published by Claire Contreras, 2014
Cover Photo by Najla Qamber
Photo Rights: Tomasz Zienkiewicz
Formatting by Hayson Book Formatting
Edited by Tracey Buckalew
Copyright © 2014 by Claire Contreras
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems-except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from its publisher, Claire Contreras.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s awesome imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons.
Find other titles by Claire Contreras on Amazon.
DEDICATION
QUOTE
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
NOTE TO READERS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
SNEAK PEEK OF TAINT
TAINT
TAINT - INTRODUCTION
To C,
My constant in this fluctuant universe.
I think you would watch this one.
A CHAIR SCREECHED against the kitchen floor, and Amara knew Philip was finally leaving. Her hands shook as she stood, holding tightly to the table beside her. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she thought about what she’d overheard—about her mother... the gambling... life as she knew it.
Her entire body trembled as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said.
“Amara!” her father shouted.
Philip was gleeful, throwing his head back in laughter. When he straightened, he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was anything but humor. Amara’s stomach coiled in disgust—in fear.
“It’s done then,” he said. “I will come back for you.”
That was the first promise Philip Batiste made to her.
AMARA LET OUT a long sigh as she cleaned the last table. It had been a long workday at Anna’s, the little restaurant her uncle owned and had named after her mom. The days were long and her feet always hurt, but the pay was good, and it helped her stay independent. That was important to her—the independence. Her parents had a lot going on in their lives. She didn’t want to add to the burden, and she liked being able to pay for her own things. Paying for her own things meant that her parents wouldn’t meddle in her business, which they often did. She was an only child, only daughter, at that, and often felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Amara couldn’t even fathom what it would have been like to be a boy and an only child to her parents.
As it was, the idea of the only daughter of two wealthy individuals working at a restaurant was unheard of in their community, as were a lot of other things, which was why all of her neighbors’ houses contained more secrets than a confessional. All of Amara’s friends were inheritance babies, and she was no different in most aspects. In fact, the main thing that set her family apart from others in their Westchester, New York neighborhood was that her family’s secrets were a little darker than most. Or so she assumed. They were, she thought bitterly, complicated at best. Either way, working part-time with her Uncle Vlady was the last thing her parents needed to worry about.
Amara slid in the booth, taking a moment to close her eyes as she rested her head on her arm. The restaurant was closed and mostly quiet, save for the chatter and pans clinking in the back. Genevieve was probably in the alley taking her smoke break, or busy nagging Kyle—one of the cooks in the kitchen. The circular motions she was making with her cleaning hand slowed to a halt as she fell into a light slumber. A loud bang on the now-locked door of the restaurant startled Amara awake, her knee hitting the underside of the table. Letting out a string of curses, she rubbed her knee before getting up to walk to the door. Using the rag in her hand, she wiped the condensation from the glass and looked into a familiar pair of brown eyes. Dark brown with tiny specks of gold that seemed to flicker in the light, they always made her feel like she was looking into a kaleidoscope. Amara turned the lock as Colin flashed his megawatt smile at her.
“You’re early,” she said, holding the door open for him.
In one swift motion, he stepped in, closed the door with his foot, and grabbed both sides of her face, placing a hard kiss on her lips.
“I missed you,” he said, still holding her face in his hands. He looked at her as if she was a priceless work of art, always managing to sizzle her with a level of passion that made shocks run through her body when he was near.
“It’s only been... seven hours,” she said, looking at the clock behind him, as she ran a hand through his soft, wavy hair. She ruffled it, massaging his scalp when he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.
“Seven hours too long. It felt like a lifetime,” he murmured, opening his eyes and meeting hers once more. His eyes were always so direct, so intense, that she felt speared by them. Her knees always weakened and her blood thundered inside of her when he looked at her that way. Amara rolled her eyes and drew her hand away, turning around to wipe the counter of the bar.
“You exaggerate.”
“Maybe,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her backward so she was flush against the hard plains of his chest. Amara’s breath caught at the contact, quickly fueling flames of memories made that morning. For the thousandth time during her shift, thoughts of how he’d made love to her stole her attention.
“I did miss you, though. I just want you to finish up here,” he whispered against her ear, kissing the back of it.
She gulped for air as her breath quickened, her body ignited by his touch.
“So that I can take you home and get you naked again.” He licked the shell of her ear slowly.
She tried to shimmy away from him, but he held her tighter.
“Or I can bend you over right here and lift up that dress you’re wearing. Tell me, are you wet, Mara?” he asked, in a low, seductive voice. “Are my words turning you on? I know you love it when I talk dirty.”
“Colin,” she said breathlessly, shaking her shoulders to move away.
He pinned her stomach to the counter and unwrapped his arms, placing his hands on either side of her as he ground his hips against her bottom.
“Colin,” she warned, looking around to make sure nobody could see them. “People can see us... outside... if anybody walks over here...” Her mind played out all the different scenarios—none of them ending well. He ignored her, dropping his hand to trail it upward along her inner thigh, gently pulling her legs open. He traced circles on her soft skin as her breath quickened in anti
cipation. Amara pushed her bottom back against his hips and stifled a moan, as Colin began to massage her through her thin panties.
“Hmmm,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. “Silk... you wore these for me?”
“Who else would I wear them for?” She inhaled sharply as two of his fingers pushed inside her.
“Have you been wet all day? Thinking about me?” he murmured. “Have you been thinking about me pounding into you from this position again?”
Amara couldn’t answer; she could only circle her hips in response.
“Answer me, Amara,” Colin said as he withdrew from her.
She gasped. “Yes, dammit. Yes,” she answered, pushing his hand back under her dress.
He chuckled from behind her, and damn if his laugh permeating through her didn’t turn her on more. “Uh-uh,” Colin tsked, shaking his head slowly. “You need to finish your work.”
He stepped away from her so suddenly, she had to grab on to the counter in order to stay upright.
“What?” She pivoted her body toward him. “Seriously?” she seethed, and then groaned loudly when she saw the amusement painted on his face. “I hate you,” she said as she began to walk away from him, snatching up the dirty rag.
Colin’s hand shot out and latched onto her arm, stopping her forward momentum. She didn’t want to turn around; she wanted to continue walking to the back of the diner so that she could clock out and go, but she turned around, nevertheless.
“You don’t hate me, baby,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. His eyes were soft as he looked at her, and she knew she couldn’t stay mad.
She exhaled. “I kind of hate you.” She looked at the floor between them.
Colin laughed softly and lifted her chin, stepping in and kissing her slowly and thoroughly, until she was weak in the knees.
“You so don’t hate me,” he said, his voice husky and full of desire. “Now hurry up so I can finish what I started.”
She smiled as she followed Colin toward the back exit, switching off lights as she passed them. Everyone else had gone by the time she’d finished wiping down all of the counters and setting the tables with tomorrow’s special menus. Amara paused when she reached the back room, where Colin stood among the rows of extra plates and silverware. She switched off the lights, figuring he would follow her, but he pulled her into his chest instead.
“What are you—?” she started to ask, but was cut off by his kiss. The way his mouth claimed hers always made her stomach drop. He was always so passionate, so enthralled with her, that it almost made her feel uncomfortable. They were too young to feel that intensely about one another, and it was overwhelming sometimes. Or maybe it was just hormones. Either way, he always swept her up in the force that was his adoration.
“I was dying for you to finish,” he said. It was a pant against her lips.
She laughed and shook her head. It really hadn’t been that long since they’d seen each other. He wasn’t normally that crazed over being with her, but Amara had to admit she was turned on. Colin placed his warm lips on her neck and drew his kisses downward as he scooped her up behind her knees and deposited her on the edge of the sink. It was a sink that was rarely used, and Amara wondered absently if it was sturdy enough to hold her.
“I thought you wanted to go home?” she whispered.
“I did, but I wanted you more.” Lick. “And more.” Suck. “And the longer I waited for you—watching you move your hips the way you do—and those legs... you know what your legs do to me.” The hands massaging her calves worked their way up the insides of her legs. Amara was proud of her legs. They were the payoff of years of cheerleading and dance she’d been in. The short denim dress she wore showed off every curve of her defined legs, and gave her just enough room to open them a little wider for Colin’s eager hands.
“Show me,” she said, throwing her head back.
“Show you what?” he teased.
“Show me what my hips do to you—what my legs do to... oh God.” It was the last coherent thought she had before he hooked his long fingers inside of her. His fingers were an oxymoron, callused and soft, depending on what side he let you feel.
“Feels good, right?”
She nodded rapidly.
“Tell me how good it feels, Mara,” he rasped, his mouth against her ear.
“It’s good... it feels good... oh God, just don’t stop.”
“I’m not.” He said, as he withdrew his hand. Before she could even think to complain, Colin pulled his boxers down and pushed his length into her with such force that Amara’s head hit the wall behind them with a thump.
“I could never stop,” he said. “Not when you feel this good.”
She moaned her agreement, wondering idly if it would always be that good. They’d been doing this: meeting in places, going home with each other, messing around in public for almost a year and still, every time they got together, it felt like they were weaving magic. They couldn’t get enough of one another.
They were frenzied, like mating rabbits. Any place, any time, they were always frantic to touch the other. Colin pushed inside of her slower, grasping for control, and she knew he was close. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaked an arm around her and another in between them. He hated finishing before her. He always made it a point to make her orgasm before his bellowed through him. As he pressed and circled his hips against hers, tiny, uncontrollable spasms worked their way through her frame. Amara bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out loudly and opened her eyes to find Colin looking right at her. Right into her soul.
She wanted to look away as he impaled her one last time, but couldn’t. His eyes were raw, honest, and way too wise for his age. She always thought she could see the truth in her own reflection when she looked at him. It was hard to keep feelings at bay when he looked at her that way, like they belonged to one another. She had to remind herself they didn’t. It wasn’t like that between them.
As if on cue, the hallway light flickered off just as Colin slid out of her and helped Amara to her feet. Everything was dark as they collected their scattered clothes. Using their cell phone lights to re-dress, they laughed as they bumped one another.
“Have you seen my other shoe?” she asked as she hopped on one foot and slipped on her right shoe.
“Nope. Have you seen the condom wrapper?”
She gasped. “That’s not good. We need to find that.”
They laughed as they stumbled around, cleaning up all evidence of their backroom romance. All items accounted for, Amara locked up the restaurant and Colin ushered her into the back seat of his SUV. His driver, Sean, was waiting to take them back to Colin’s place. Amara said hello and thanked him for waiting before she scooted across the seat. Colin sidled up next to her and tucked Amara into his chest as he ran his fingers down her arm.
“Jasmine,” he murmured, his face in her hair. “You always smell like Jasmine.”
“Lilies,” she murmured as her eyes closed. She was so exhausted.
“What?”
“I smell like lilies, not jasmine.”
“Yes, lilies. Lilies, jasmine. Same thing,” he said with a chuckle.
She felt him shift beside her and opened her eyes, noticing they were already in front of Colin’s building.
“We got here so fast.”
“You slept the entire way.”
“I needed that,” Amara said, smiling as she leaned up to kiss the stubble on his chin.
“You know how old I turn this year?”
“Twenty-five.”
Her lips twisted into a smile. She knew where he was going with this. He always found a way to bring up the magic age. To Amara, turning twenty-five would be just another birthday. For Colin, it meant taking on more responsibility in his dad’s company—something he was actually excited about.
Two years older than Amara, Colin was already settled in his job and working on his master’s degree in finance. During the day, he worked for his fat
her at Wolfe Investments Group, a huge company that represented equally large clients. If you had money, you were investing with Wolfe. Amara’s own parents consulted with Wolfe and used their services.
Their families had been neighbors for as long as she could remember, and they’d gone to the same school and even hung out with the same crowd. Attracted to each other for years, they flirted on and off before they’d decided to act on it. During their time together, which, if they had to label it, would have had a big “friends with benefits” sign over it, Colin had hinted at wanting more, but Amara had always hesitated.
As they stepped out of the car, Amara’s smile faltered and a shiver ran through her. The feeling of being watched prompted her to turn and scan her surroundings as she held on to Colin’s hand a little tighter.
“You okay?” he asked, searching her face. He placed one hand on the small of her back as he held the other.
“Yeah...” she said slowly, searching the shadows.
The neighborhood his apartment building was in was definitely safe, but in that moment, she felt anything but.
“You’re overworking yourself. I don’t understand why you won’t—“ Colin’s argument fell on deaf ears as Amara’s distraction and increasing anxiety tuned him out..
Her eyes wandered to the building beside them, where a group of people in dress clothes were getting into a limousine. That’s when she saw him. Philip.
“Okay, Amir, here is what we’ll do, I will pay all of your debt. You can keep your damn house and your luxurious cars, and in turn, you give me your daughter,” Philip said.
Amara’s mouth dropped open, but she covered it quickly to make sure no sound escaped that would give away her eavesdropping.
“My daughter?” her father asked, outraged. “We’re not exchanging cattle!”
“How old is Amara now? Seventeen?” Philip asked, ignoring her father.
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Too young... in American standards,” Philip said.
He spoke with a thick French accent that Amara had always thought was funny, until that day. This time, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
The Devil's Contract Page 1