Page 26 of Devil’s Promise

Angel doesn’t put me down, just shifts my weight to fish keys from his pocket.

“Arms around my neck,” he grunts.

I do as he commands, and he drops my legs, tightening his grip around my waist so he’s holding me up, while my feet dangle a foot from the floor.

He could set me down.

But something in me softens a little when he doesn’t. No one is watching, this isn’t some show.

He’s just keeping my bare feet off the cold floor.

Then again, I shouldn’t get too mushy. He did also insist that I wax my bits today and then demanded I show him the results.

He unlocks the door and carries me in, flicking on the lights.

The place is gorgeous. Not traditional like my father’s house at all. This is all modern, but still warm with its giant windows, exposed brick, and refinished but still worn wide plank hardwood floors. I wiggle in his arms just because I want to explore.

“Bed,” he rumbles. “It’s been a long fucking day.”

I frown. Apparently if he’s in bed, I’m in bed. But I spent most of the evening lounging and then sleeping, and now I’m wide awake.

Which leads me to a question. Other than sex, what is my job here?

With my father, I had a purpose. Granted, it was to stand at his side looking both attractive and adoring. But it was a job.

Angel is still carrying me, I’ve barely even walked, so I wiggle again. Just a little, just testing. He tightens his grip, crushing me to his chest.

No one has ever mentioned that large, tattooed criminals feel amazing. I guess it makes sense that the conversation wouldn’t come up. One, I’ve never thought to ask, but two, even if I had, this seems like the sort of information people don’t tell a future governor’s daughter.

We pass through the kitchen, down a small hall, and into a bedroom.

It’s not large, the bed a queen size, the bedding plain white. Is this the guest room?

My guess is that this man sleeps in a king-sized bed.

He finally sets me down, my toes curling against the cold of the hardwood.

Still, I step back, out of his grasp.

I’m not supposed to like it. Him. And for all I know, he’s dangerous. He’s told me so. Much as I think seduction is my best option, I’m neither skilled, nor do I have any clue, even if I was, whether it would have any effect on this man.

I blow out a breath as I move to take another step back. His hand shoots out, catching my hip.

I freeze, fear skittering down my spine.

His hand only tightens. “Tomorrow, or really today, we’ve got an appointment to see the wedding venue.”

I cock my head.

“A bag will arrive with all the necessities you’ll need to prepare yourself. Your father will have the press there so be camera-ready.”

I frown, my chin notching. I can see how marrying me off will help his campaign, but my father can’t mean to make a PR thing out of me marrying a sex club owner, can he?

I heard what was happening when Angel carried me down the stairs. His club is far more than just a strip club.

He doesn’t even ask. This time, he just hands me his phone. I quickly type:

Why does he want to sell our marriage to the press?