When she felt like her legs could carry her, Amara got up again, taking the bag with her. Maurice was still standing by the door.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Amara told him absently as she handed him the bag and walked outside. She stood downstairs, watching Colin and his fiancée, even though they were no longer paying attention to one other. She couldn’t hear what Molly was saying to him, but could tell that she was vying for Colin’s attention. When Colin lowered his newspaper again, his gaze wandered to the street and caught Amara’s. He blanched as if he’d seen a ghost. His mouth dropped and he stood quickly.
“Amara?” he called out.
Amara could only stare. She’d fantasized about seeing him again—countless times—but none of the scenarios she’d imagined were close to what she felt when it finally happened. Molly turned and looked down, affording Amara a good view of her competition. She would have glared if she could have mustered it, but her face remained frozen, as did her legs. When Colin disappeared inside, Amara finally moved. She began walking the opposite way, but stopped. What was the point?
“Amara?” Colin called out as he ran to her.
She turned around and faced him. She thought she would break just from looking at his handsome face. Tears began to well in her eyes, but she kept them at bay. She refused to cry in front of him, especially after seeing him with another woman.
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Paris?” he asked. His coffee-colored eyes scanned her face and down her body.
“I’m... working. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice was a whisper.
“I’m...” Colin’s voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and looked upstairs. Amara’s eyes followed his gaze to see Molly sitting, looking confused. She smiled and waved at Amara, nonetheless.
Amara didn’t wave back.
“Molly’s parents live here,” Colin said.
“Oh. Congratulations,” Amara said.
He frowned. He wasn’t expecting that. “Can we talk?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she said. Her throat was beginning to hurt from the knot that had formed there.
Colin looked at her for a long moment, trying to figure her out before he grabbed her forearm and signaled at Molly, telling her he’d be right back. He led Amara to the corner of the building, where they were hidden from Molly’s view. His eyes scanned her face again. His hands touched her slender shoulders, her arms, and her hands. His gaze dropped to her breasts, her legs, her feet, and went back to her face.
“Won’t your fiancée come looking for you?” Amara asked. She tried to keep her voice steady, betraying the pain that ran through her veins.
Colin’s eyes softened as he looked at her. He ignored her question. “I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me.” His words were a whisper.
“I hate you,” she whispered, as tears beckoned.
His jaw clenched. It was a look she’d loved seeing in the past. He held his emotions in his jaw. His anger, his fears—they all became tangible there. Colin’s eyes flickered between each of hers for one moment longer before he crushed his lips to hers without warning. Amara held her hands up to his chest in a futile effort to get him off of her, but her lips began to move against his. Her tongue slid against his in slow, sensual motions. Her hands, instead of pushing, pulled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped into him, seeking more until Colin broke the kiss and looked at Amara through narrowed eyes.
“I hate you more, Amara Maloof,” he said. It was a pant against her lips.
“No, I do,” she said breathlessly. It was childish, but neither cared.
Their lips met again, colliding against the other so roughly that their teeth clattered. Colin pushed Amara against the brick building and gripped her hair, pulling her head back as his tongue swept hers. Amara finally broke away and pushed him off, even though it pained her to do it.
“Are you working here now?” Colin asked.
“No, just here for a quick trip.”
“How long will you be here?”
“I leave tomorrow.”
Colin gripped her hips as his eyes bored into hers. Amara couldn’t remember a time when he’d looked at her with more intensity.
“Where are you staying?”
“Hotel Monteleone.“
“What room?”
Amara’s insides flipped. She swallowed. “You’re here with your fiancée.”
“What room, Amara?”
She couldn’t answer, as she held on to the breath she’d been trying to catch.
“Amara,” Colin grounded out as he pressed his hard body flush against hers, so that she could feel how much he needed her—how much he wanted to take her that very moment against the hard, brick wall. “What room are you in?” His voice was rough in her ear. She felt her heart beat frantically.
“1405,” she whispered.
“Leave a key for me at the front desk.”
“Colin—“
“Do it.”
Amara stood there, mouth agape, as she watched him walk away.
AMARA’S HEART WAS hammering in her chest, and it had nothing to do with the bag of explosives that she held on her lap. She wondered what Colin would tell his fiancée. Amara’s right leg began to bounce, but she stopped it when she heard clinking sounds inside the bag she held. She was going to die, she thought. And if she didn’t, she would be in jail for the rest of her life. Amara took her phone out and called Philip. She couldn’t stand to be left in the dark about something this serious. He hadn’t told her that she would have to transport something back, let alone explosives!
“Hello,” Philip answered. His accent seemed to be getting thicker by the day.
“I met with your guy, gave him the papers, and he gave me EXPLOSIVES,” Amara whisper-shouted. She figured Maurice knew what had gone down, but didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t know who to trust anymore.
Philip laughed loudly. “Is that what he told you?”
Amara frowned. “Yes,” she said. It was an unsure answer.
“You think I would ask you to travel with explosives on a commercial jet? So that if they caught you, you could rat me out? What kind of imbecile do you think I am?”
Amara sighed.
“I don’t know what to think, Philip. It’s not like you’re the most trustworthy person, and your line of business is obviously shady to say the least.”
“Shady... I like that word. Not black, not white, not gray, but shady... Hm.”
Amara shook her head with a frown. What? She blinked a couple of times.
“Okay... so I’m not carrying explosives. The bag has a lock on it and it sounds like wrenches are crashing together when I shake it.”
“Do not shake it!”
Amara rolled her eyes. “It’s being checked in. I’m sure it will shake a lot by the time it gets back to Paris.”
“You have not been in contact with anyone while you have been there, correct? Not your mother or any family or friends?”
Why was he asking her these questions? Did he know about Colin? Was this a trick that he was setting her up for?
“No.” Amara lied.
“Good. You can call your mother when you get back to Paris. Better that she thinks you are still here.”
Her jaw locked as she squeezed the phone in her hand. She hated that he told her what to do when it came to her mother.
“Okay.”
“I will pick you up personally at the airport when you land in Paris, as I will need you to take this bag somewhere.”
“Okay.”
“And Amara?”
She swallowed the lump beginning to form in her throat. “Yes?”
“You are Jasmine to everyone you encounter.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Amara was glad when she heard the line disconnect. When they reached the hotel and Amara stepped out of the car, she looked around to make sure that Colin hadn’t arrived. As hesitant as she was about giving h
im her room number, after her conversation with Philip, she was glad she had. She couldn’t be sure that Maurice hadn’t told Philip about her encounter with Colin, even if there was no way he could see them kissing in the alley. She brought her hand up to her lips and rubbed them lightly, remembering how good it felt to have Colin’s lips on hers after so long.
She ate lunch in her suite and skipped dinner. She showered twice and walked around the hotel—the lobby, the pool area, the bar, and the little tourist store. Not knowing what else to do with herself, she finally made it back up to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. Wringing her hands together, Amara looked out the window, jumping every time she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. She lay down and turned on the television to watch the news for a little while and as time elapsed, her eyes began to close.
Amara didn’t hear the door open—didn’t wake up when Colin approached her, and didn’t flinch when he stroked her hair. It wasn’t until he sat beside her on the bed that Amara sat up with a gasp, placing her hands over her racing heart. She turned to him with wide eyes, still trying to catch her breath.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Colin said. His eyes searched her face.
Amara swallowed and blinked at him before tearing her gaze away to check the time. The last time she’d looked at the clock on the nightstand was three hours before.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she whispered, clearing her throat and meeting his eyes again.
He cocked his head with a frown. “I told you I was.”
Amara nodded and tried to offer him a smile, but failed. Looking at him made her remember that he was no longer hers. He was someone else’s Colin now. Tears began to well in her eyes at the thought, so she blinked them away and turned her head to look at the television again.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, as he moved closer to her on the bed. Amara stared at his jeans beside hers. Their thighs were close enough to touch, but Colin kept a little space between them.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, looking at him again.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Amara’s eyes fluttered from his eyes, to the shadow of a beard that sprinkled over his jaw, to his messy, dark brown hair, and back to his deep brown eyes.
“I told you. Work.”
Colin nodded and looked away. He locked his jaw and Amara couldn’t tear her eyes away from the movement. She always loved his jaw, how defined and masculine it was. His forearms too, she looked at them in the rolled-up, flannel button down he wore, and she wished she could lean over and bite him.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked suddenly.
Amara brought her eyes to his again. “Nothing.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
Her breath hitched. “Somebody told me I was a good liar.”
He cocked his head, his eyes searching. “Whoever told you that is full of shit.” He exhaled. “Amara... I only have this amount of patience left,” he said as he showed her his two fingers with a small space in between. “So I’m going to ask you one more time: What are you doing here?” Colin enunciated the words slowly. He didn’t seem upset, but Amara could read him. She knew he was trying to keep his emotions locked down.
“I’m not lying to you, I’m here for work. I had to meet with a client this morning.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What client?”
Time stopped. It must have, for Amara to hold her breath as long as she did. Colin continued to stare at her until he finally let out a chuckle and shook his head.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter,” he said.
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. She was starting to feel upset over his stupid questions. They were ones he had no right asking her. “Where’s your fiancée?”
He closed his eyes. “Her parent’s house.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually engaged.”
“How did you find out?” he asked, searing her with his deep brown eyes.
“A little birdy told me,” she whispered.
“Well, I am, so believe it,” he said.
Amara closed her eyes. Her heart felt like a glass vase someone had just pushed off a high table. It crashed loudly, clattering the pieces all over her insides. Everything felt like it was torn and bleeding.
She swallowed, trying not to focus on it. “Congratulations. Does she approve of you being here? On my bed?”
Before she could react, Colin was on top of her, his body pinning her to the mattress. He brought his face as close to hers as he could without letting their lips touch. His eyes were feral. Amara tried not to move or blink —she was afraid to feed the beast.
“Don’t ask me that,” he seethed.
“Why? Do you think she would approve of the kiss you gave me earlier, right under her nose?” Amara asked, pushing her nose to touch his. He dipped his head into her neck and breathed in before settling beside her ear.
“Do you think I give a fuck what she thinks?” Colin answered in a low growl.
“You should,” Amara said. Her voice wavered as she tried to steady herself from the feelings about to overpower her.
“And why is that?” he asked, licking the shell of her ear. Amara pushed his chest harder as she tried to shimmy her way from the cage he held her in.
“Because she’s your fucking fiancée! Because you proposed to her! Because soon, she will be your wife and have your kids!” Amara yelled, thrashing against his hold on her wrists and blinking rapidly so that her tears wouldn’t fall.
Colin let out a low chuckle. “It hurts, doesn’t it? You hate that it’s not you. You hate that she gets to wear that diamond ring on her finger and that she gets to call me whenever she wants, for whatever she wants.”
Amara continued to blink as her breathing increased until she was almost gasping as she struggled to rein in her feelings.
“You hate that she has what you want. You hate that she can touch me... don’t you?” There was a bite to the way he delivered the words. His voice was filled with stones strong enough to break her façade and glass sharp enough to cut her.
“I hate you so fucking much,” she whispered as tears ran down her face.
Colin shook his head above her, his mouth tilting into a smile that betrayed the pain in his eyes. “Not even your jealous hatred can break the love you feel for me, Amara. And that’s what kills you most of all, isn’t it? You know how I know? Because that’s how it is for me.”
A sob escaped her, finally, and she let it. She couldn’t have stopped it anyway. “Why did you have to propose to her?” she shouted. “Why!”
Colin pivoted his hips so that she stilled beneath him. She was torn between ripping off all of his clothes and pushing him away from her and asking him to leave. As if reading her mind, he pushed himself off the bed and gave her space to cry. He stood at the foot of the bed as she curled up into a ball, wiping away the tears as soon as they dripped from her eyes so that he didn’t have a chance to see all of them.
“I’m sick of crying for you.” She said quietly. “I’m sick of wanting you and wishing I still had you. I’m sick of thinking about you!”
Amara wiped her face and sat up before rushing to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her. She didn’t want to admit anything else. Sliding to the floor, she held her knees up to her chest and wrapped her hands around her legs. If the only thing he came to do was taunt and hurt her, he could just leave. He could go back to his fiancée and have his stupid happily-ever-after for all she cared. Why had he come to her anyway? Amara heard him growl on the other side of the door before hitting something, probably with his fist, and she took a deep breath.
“Amara?” he called out, seemingly more calm.
“You can leave,” she said.
“You know I won’t.”
She banged her head against the door and exhaled, waited a couple of beats and finally picked herself off the floor to wash her face. In the mirror, she looked like a ghost, her n
ormally olive skin, white as a sheet of paper, her amber eyes looked dull, and her hair was mussed. Amara didn’t care. Colin was standing between the bathroom and the bed, waiting for her to come back into the room. His eyes drank her in—all of her—in her tight blue jeans and small black tank top. She noticed that his muscles had filled out since she’d last seen him. His dark t-shirt hugged his wide shoulders and his waist to perfection. But his face—those eyes—were what made Amara’s knees weaken. The way he looked at her so intently as he tried to mask his emotions, but never quite succeeding. His pain, lust, love, the bubbling emotion that threatened to burst out of him, reflected her— own.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was low, uncertain.
Colin quickly closed the gap between them, and she took a step back, halted by the wall behind her. Colin lifted her chin, angling her face to meet his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat at the desire she saw there. Tiny fireworks of energy crackled between them, not leaving room for any doubt as to what either of them really wanted.
“You, Amara,” Colin said, his voice a whisper, a plea, as he lowered his head to align with hers.
“You can’t have me anymore,” she whispered back.
He hissed at the feel of her tongue brushing his lips as she wet her own. “Please don’t deny me.”
The Devil's Contract Page 17