Page 51 of Devil's Thirst

Sante leans forward in his chair and speaks softly. “You and I both know if I want in your bed, that’s where I’ll be. The door stays open. That’s the deal.”

The epic stare down that follows is right out of a sitcom. I don’t even know why I’m engaging him. We both know I’ll cave, which I do with an exasperated wail. “Fine. You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

He slowly relaxes back in his chair as he takes a swig of water. “Don’t remember you feeling that way last night when I was licking your cum off my fingers.” The seductive caress of his words ignites a fire deep in my belly.

I take a big bite of my sandwich, recognizing that it’s time to keep my mouth shut.

Once we finish eating, Sante hangs his suits in the hall closet and sets his duffel by the wall.

“I guess if you need to grab anything else, it’s not like you have far to go,” I muse absently.

“No need. This is everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is all I have.”

“You have an entire apartment of stuff next door.”

He saunters closer, hands in his pockets. “No, I don’t. I paid Sorrell to use his place for a few months. I never actually bought the place.”

“You …what?” I stare at him wide-eyed.

How is it that this man can continue to pull the rug out from under me? It’s like his superpower.

“I arranged a convenient way to enable us to reunite.” His casual tone is mystifying, as though he has no concept of how insane he sounds.

“Why not just ask me out?” It seems crazy to go through all that trouble merely to keep his identity a secret. Talk about taking the scenic route.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted, including whether I wanted to tell my family that I was back from Sicily.”

I’m surprised to hear him say he was unsure when his intentions have seemed so unwavering since he walked back into my life. I start to wonder what changed when the word Sicily rings in my head.

“You were in Italy.”

“I was.”

The man stalking me spoke something that could have been Italian.

Or it could have been a number of other languages.

True, but how strange that—

Do you not remember Sante attacking the man? I know you’re paranoid, but try to keep it reasonable.

God, I’m losing it.

I rub my eyes. “You know what? I’m exhausted. I’m going to rest before I need to get to the theater. You have everything you need?”

The intensity in his prolonged stare winds me.

“Yeah, Mel. I think I do.”

Too overwhelmed to respond, I slip away to my bedroom and hope things make more sense with some sleep.

CHAPTER 25

SANTE