Page 3 of Devil’s Candy

I shrug. “I suppose.” Because even I have the sense not to say more. What Angel is attempting to accomplish with his partnership to the Smith brothers is nobody’s business but his. On the plane, I heard plenty of details, but I’m not drunk enough to go spilling that kind of information, even to some random hot dude.

And he is so freakin’ hot. He’s turned up the temperature in my core. Even now, I can feel the heat radiating out of my cheeks…and between my legs.

He leans closer and I catch the scent of his cologne, rich and woodsy. “And you must be of such great value to him that he brought you here for his wedding.”

I give a light laugh as I look away. “You’re asking a lot of questions about my boss.”

Sver laughs too. “Sorry. I’m attempting to engage just how single you are.”

“Oh. It’s not like that. We’re just coworkers.” Angel and I have a fair exchange. I provide high-quality work, he keeps me safe.

He’s a ruthless businessman, which means he doesn’t pay me much, but he also never asks for more than our original bargain, which I really appreciate. In a world full of shitty men, he’s honest and fair. “I’m here by the bride’s request. I did her hair and makeup.”

His eyes light up as he continues stroking my skin. “Ah. I see.” And then he leans closer, whispering in my ear. “I’ve thought of another way you can get your revenge on your cheating ex.”

This time, my cheeks light on fire, because I know what’s coming, and honestly, I’m ready for it.

Is this another shit decision on my part? Probably. Do I care in this moment? Nope. Not a bit.

Because getting laid sounds way better than getting drunk.

Which is why I lean back to look him in the eye again. Drawing in a slow breath, I tilt my head to the side. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, there is only one question left.”

“What’s that?” He gives me a slow, sexy grin.

“My room or yours?”

CHAPTER TWO

Candy

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

He pulls back just long enough to furrow his brow, a small frown pulling at his lips. “You’re young enough to be my daughter.”

Shit. Did I misread this? I am pretty drunk. Now my cheeks heat for a completely different reason and I look down at my lap. But that’s when I see his hand still wrapped around my upper arm.

I draw in a breath. “So your fingers dancing over my arm…that was fatherly?”

He lets out another low chuckle. “You’ve got me there, milaya devushka. My touch was not fatherly.” Then he leans away, letting me go. “But you are young enough, and I am old enough, that I would not take advantage of your pain.”

Well, if my panties hadn’t already been melting, they are now. “Rest assured, you are not taking advantage, in fact”—I flip my hair again—“I’m pretty sure I offered.”

He turns his head to the side, assessing me. “How many drinks have you had?”

I scoff. I’m not as old as him, but I’m not sixteen either. “I don’t know, Dad, how many have you had?”

He laughs again, low and easy. “None. I don’t like alcohol. Dulls the mind.”

That makes me sit straighter. “Interesting.” I pick up my water and take another sip.

“I’ll make you a deal.” He taps on the bar as he talks. “We go up to your room, we talk for an hour. You still feel like hooking up, then I’m game.”

Is this guy for real? He wants to talk? What kind of one-night stand tries to sober the girl up first?

Is this how a guy with ethics acts? Or is it confidence? I have a history of misreading these situations.

He’s right about one thing. I ran away when I was sixteen and I’ve been on my own for almost ten years. I know when someone is playing a con game. But after three drinks, my brain is a little fuzzy as to what his agenda might be.