Page 30 of Burn for the Devil
Samantha peered up at me in shock, pupils still blown wide. She glanced over her shoulder and shuddered, watching the archangel return to her side. Straightening my cuffs, I arched a brow at the man and turned on my heel, leaving the two of them alone. One with soaked panties, the other with a now-damp suit. Both outcomes filled me with satisfaction.
Pinpricks of awareness swirled around me, my love’s gaze tracking me as I walked away. Matthew would learn, and quickly. He now knew I’d claimed the woman. He’d committed similar acts against Alastair in the past. The asshole was confoundingly unable to find his own female for whatever reason and resorted to making attempts on other’s property.
Not able to help myself, I cast a glance back at the non-couple just to see the man’s arm curl around her waist. An unreadableexpression crossed Samantha’s face when she felt the pressure of my gaze and met my eyes. She didn’t brush him away. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, the skin breaking and my breath catching. The lights flickered and dimmed as my heart split in two.
We shared a moment—she wanted me. I’d felt it. I’d tasted it; our combined longing had shimmered in the ether surrounding us. What had changed? She’d suddenly closed off, shut down the connection, and chose the fucking archangel instead of me.
Adam was waiting outside with the car, the door held open. He then shut it behind me without uttering a sentence, beyond used to my devolving emotional state by now. I poured myself a drink, tossing it into the back of my throat without a taste, without the savoring a five-hundred-year-old whiskey required. The tumbler shattered against the dividing glass while I shook with rage. A quick message tapped onto the screen changed the direction of the car.
Not waiting for Adam’s assistance, I shoved the car door open and flicked my fingers at the front door. It popped open, awaiting my entrance. She’d bared her soul to me, and then promptly chose another man.
I entered her living room, snatching the roses out of the vase. I could’ve destroyed them with barely a glance, but this situation necessitated a more personal touch. Every fiber was ripped from every stem, every petal torn from every bud, every seed of my anger poured out into the destruction of the eighteen carefully cultivated and specifically chosen blossoms I had purchased for her.
Yes, purchased. I wasn’t a complete animal.
Exhaling, I admired the decimation of the bouquet with satisfaction, the organic matter spread across her once pristine flooring. Then I left, but not before an odd dampness once again interfered with my vision.
18
Samantha
Just as quickly as Matthew had appeared in my life, he left. I had to wonder if it had anything to do with the seeming tension between him and that man, Ramone. Had he sensed my attraction toward the ebony-haired stranger? The connection between us had been so strong I’d suspect it was visible if such a thing were possible. My skin sang when he’d touched me, electrified by a mere whisper of the touch of his flesh.
The scent of him clung to me whenever the memory rose in my mind, but I hadn’t seen him again despite his previous intention toward the books he’d been looking for. I solved that issue this morning, a couple of weeks after the opera, by arranging to have them delivered to the main offices of Fulgere Industries. Perhaps I’d been too forward in doing so, but he was the reason we’d ordered the material to begin with.
I told myself I wasn’t hoping he’d personally thank me. His unnecessary warning to stay away from Matthew echoed in my head. Matthew took care of that himself, becoming a ghost.
The night of the opera was an odd one for me, between Matthew’s imagined interest, my racing heart, the encounterbetween the two men, my divulging of personal information to a stranger, and then the creepily thorough decimation of my roses at home. Whoever had taken the time to turn the flowers into near dust had been remarkably dedicated. The untouched vase now sat in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, idly hoping for a fresh bouquet to fill the hollow in the crystal.
Stay away from rose quartz. Stay away from Matthew.The beautiful man was a bossy stranger. And yet, I’d listened to him. I hadn’t touched one of the pink crystals since his directive. Would I have stayed away from Matthew if he hadn’t disappeared on me? Probably, if I had to hazard a guess. But then again, maybe not. Ramone was already taking up too much space in my head and he hadn’t stated any intentions for me, just warnings.
Footsteps sounded across the entry foyer. “Samantha?”
Timothy entered the living room where I waited, staring at the wall. “Hi,” I greeted him, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt.
“Are you ready to go?” He looked me up and down, appraising my outfit and appearing to find it satisfactory.
I sighed. “Yes,” I muttered. His eyes flickered with irritation.My tone.
How did Timothy end up back in my life? The transition was seamless, my parents manipulating situations, gatherings, outings. The man was always there, lurking, finding his way to my side, inviting me to events in the presence of my mother and father, knowing full well I would acquiesce. My life truly was not my own. I was more than ready to scream, and loudly, just as I’d told the man I was irrevocably attracted to.
He held open the car door for me and I settled on my seat, the leathery new car smell wafting around my head in his new, full-size Mercedes Benz. He possessed an extra measure of confidence that hadn’t been present before, his shoulders alittle straighter, the seams of his clothes a little tighter, the watch gracing his wrist a bit shinier. He'd reached his goals, made partner, and owned a share of an elite law firm while I supposedly floundered adrift in candle wax, incense cones, and a sea of fragrant snake oil.
The new home wasn’t as fancy or pricey as my family’s, but it was nice, and I was happy for my ex-fiancé. He was still my ex, my old engagement ring biding its time in his pocket. I didn’t want to marry the man; the ring could stay where it was. We pulled into a parking space, and I let myself out of the car, scanning the yard and gardens.
He stood watching my face carefully after I followed him inside. Obligingly, I glanced around, taking it all in while he waited for my approval of his new home. The decor was classic New England with the neutral tones and hints of old-fashioned fabrics and fixtures so common in Massachusetts.
“This is nice, Timothy. Congratulations.” He beamed at my sincere words.
During a tour of the house, I noticed familiar products in the master bedroom’s attached bathroom. The brands I used sat alongside the products he’d always preferred for himself. A sinking feeling entered my belly, I was drowning in a rip tide and losing more of my autonomy every day.
Downstairs, Timothy retrieved a bottle of wine, and struggled with the cork before pouring the liquid into two long-stemmed glasses.Too dry, I thought, taking a first sip just as the lights flickered. Snapping sounds resonated throughout the home, plunging us into near darkness. The sun was almost fully set, long shadows covering the walls. Tim scowled and opened a drawer, turning around with a flashlight.
He grabbed his wineglass, taking a swallow. “I’m going to find the breakers.”
“That sounded like broken bulbs.”
His glass clinked against the marble counter. “You’re right,” he said, and disappeared for a minute, opening and closing a door in the distance.