The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(19)

He makes that noise again. I’m pretty sure it’s a laugh, but this time it also sounds an awful lot like a prolonged, weary sigh. “Yes, Keeley, you’ve nailed it. Anyway, I’ve spent the week thinking about this situation and, well, you didn’t want kids, and—”

“I didn’t,” I say, cutting him off. “But I want this one. And you didn’t want kids either.”

He looks at me for a long moment, and I get the oddest feeling that something just changed, and I have no idea what it was. “I didn’t. But I want this one,” he says softly. “So maybe I should move in, just until you give birth.”

I swallow the bread in my mouth so rapidly I nearly choke. “Move in,” I say blankly. “You mean…with me?”

“Yeah, I can work from LA for a while. At least until the baby comes. And it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“In what possible way does you moving into a stranger’s one-bedroom apartment make sense?”

“Keeley, you have a second bedroom and none of the shit in that ‘closet’ is going to fit you in a month anyway.”

Oh no he didn’t.

I draw myself up straight, politely returning the rest of my bread to my plate. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “You realize how pregnancy works, right? Your stomach is going to get bigger. All of you is going to get bigger. And I’ve seen how you dress. I’m guessing your closet doesn’t abound with loose clothing.”

Wow, just…wow. “Are you trying to say my clothes are slutty?”

His eyes graze over me before he looks away. “It wasn’t a complaint.” His voice is deeper than normal, gravelly. And I see a flash of something from our brief past—unapologetic hunger in his eyes, his hand sliding inside my dress, the sound of panties tearing.

That’s why I couldn’t find them the morning I left. He tore them. He tore them and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. I feel a tiny spark in my core, one I immediately extinguish.

But…huh. I would not have guessed he was the type.

He swallows. “Weren’t you going to have to clear that room out for the baby anyway?”

I suppose telling him I hadn’t thought that far ahead won’t especially help my case here.

“I was kind of hoping a Saudi prince would just buy me a house between now and the delivery, but I guess that window is closing.”

“Pretty sure that window already closed,” he says, with a glance at my stomach.

Unbelievable. In less than five minutes he’s said my clothes won’t fit and that no Saudi prince would be interested in buying me a house.

“Well, you’re certainly doing a stellar job of persuading me thus far,” I say dourly. “Why the fuck would I let you live with me?”

“Because I’ll pay your rent the whole time I’m here. I’ll buy everything you need for the baby and help you get it all set up. Think about all the shit you could buy with that much extra money.”

“You don’t even know what the rent is.”

Amusement flickers somewhere behind his unmoving mouth, his unreadable eyes. “I’ll manage.”

If I trusted him, I’d be willing to hear him out, but there’s got to be a catch, some mean little legal trick at play here—eminent domain or something that will mean I can’t kick him out when the time comes.

“Why? Because nothing about this offer makes sense to me.”

His tongue slides between his lips. “I guess saying I don’t trust you to make responsible decisions for our child wouldn’t be a compelling argument?”

My eyes narrow. “I hope you’re not in sales because you’re terrible at it.”

“Based on the sheer number of purses you own, I’m assuming I don’t have to sell it. You probably haven’t got a penny saved. Look, I want to be a part of my child’s life, even before he or she is born. I don’t want to miss this. And I’m worried I’ll always feel like I’m on the outside, given the situation, if I’m not invested from the start.”

Ugh. It’s the kind of appeal that’s impossible to say “no” to.

I move my bread plate out of the way so the waiter can place my steak there, and the sight of fries makes me lose my train of thought.

I spear a piece of steak into my mouth along with a single fry and let the flavor explode on my tongue. “Ohmygod, it’s so good,” I groan.

For a millisecond, his face is feral, all sharp bones and glittering eyes before he swallows. “You shouldn’t let yourself get that hungry.”

Already the lectures begin. “Sometimes my job means I don’t have time to get downstairs for lunch. The baby will survive. You think cavewomen had breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

His mouth opens to argue before it closes again. And that’s why it will never work. Because currently, he has to cooperate with me, but once this child is born, he’ll have no reason to be polite.

He’s not even all that polite right now.

“Your company is really just going to let you work from here all that time?” I ask. “It’s months.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “I think it’ll be okay.”

God. I’m going to have to put up with his smug face for four months. Four. And we will kill each other. How am I the only one seeing this?