Page 55 of Auctioned to the Devil

“You see her?”

“Couple times a year.”

“I bet you’re an absolute pushover with her kids.”

He scowls.

I grin. “Oh my God. You are.”

“No.”

“They climb all over you, don’t they?”

“Emily.”

“You buy them ridiculous presents.”

“Stop.”

“Uncle Devil.”

“Don’t ever call me that.”

I laugh. And this time, he does too. Low. Brief. Real.

The sound catches me off guard.

So does the way he’s looking at me when the laughter fades.

I’m standing between his legs now.

I hadn’t noticed how close I moved.

He did.

His hands rest on the counter beside his hips.

He doesn’t touch me.

Somehow that’s worse.

“So that’s why,” I whisper.

“Why what?”

“You’re so controlling.”

His eyebrow lifts. “Careful.”

“You’re not trying to control people.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“You’re trying to control what happens to them.”

His expression stills.

Because if he notices everything, plans everything, checks every lock twice, maybe nobody gets hurt.