The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(46)

Obviously, this isn’t about him. Pregnancy hormones are infamous for increasing sex drive, and I already had an unreasonable one before I got pregnant. But God, I wish I could remember the weekend in January with him a little better.

When dinner is over, everyone seems to barrel out of the house at once.

Graham’s mother hugs me. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. He seems so much happier with you than he did with Anna.”

Anna? Who the fuck is Anna?

My gaze darts from her to him. Graham is avoiding my eye and this isn’t the time to ask, but I bet Anna was the source of the Christmas gift his mom turned herself into a nervous wreck over.

And he married me two weeks after Christmas.





Anna…is Anna Tattelbaum, a financial analyst named “one to watch” by Forbes.

And she is the female Graham—tall, lean, intimidating.

There are very few photos of them together online, but enough for me to know she’s that Anna. Enough for me to hate her—she’s gorgeous, but she also looks like the kind of person who uses words like patriarchy and heteronormative in regular conversation. And I guarantee if I asked her opinion of Bridgerton, she’d manage to use both.

That probably explains why I hate her so much.

“So this is her,” I say, holding up my phone with a picture of them together at some swanky function.

He takes a quick glance at the photo and rolls his eyes before his gaze returns to the road. “It’s interesting the way you can’t figure out how to use the stove or washing machine but are able to find complete strangers on the internet with only a first name to go by. It’s almost like you’re feigning incompetence when you don’t want to do things.”

“Obviously I’m feigning incompetence. I wasn’t exactly subtle.” I scowl at the image on my phone. “So this is the mysterious Anna. I bet she’s fun in bed. She probably says, ‘increase intensity seventy percent’ when she wants you to fuck her harder.”

He smirks in a way that makes me want to punch him. “I don’t recall her needing to ask.”

Because he was already doing it. Already pistoning like a man possessed.

A disgusting thought, but my gut tenses in the most delicious way.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why did it end?”

He glances at me, suddenly wary. I’m not sure why he’s acting like this is all some dark secret. I’d happily discuss my former sex life if he asked. “It was always very casual, and it just wasn’t going anywhere.”

He’s being weird because it was recent, I realize. Really recent.

“When did it end? And who ended it, you or her?”

“A while ago, and what’s with all the questions, Oprah? It’s none of your business.”

I nod, smiling like the little brat I am. “Ah. She ended it.”

He heaves a sigh and pushes a hand through his hair. “No, as it happens, she didn’t. I just knew it wasn’t what I wanted.”

I wonder if he realizes he keeps answering after insisting he won’t. I wonder if he realizes my interest in this is wildly inappropriate for someone who isn’t even attracted to him.

And then a more sobering thought occurs to me: if this tall, elegant girl in the photo who looks like she was made for Graham wasn’t what he wanted, I can’t imagine who would be.

But it’s weirdly disappointing to realize it would never be me.





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27





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KEELEY





“We should probably go look at baby stuff,” Graham says when I walk out of my room the next morning. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, showered and shaved. Even from across the room I know exactly how his neck would smell if I pressed my nose to it. I know exactly how his arm would feel if I grasped it, how long those fingers of his would feel as I pulled them between my thighs.

That kiss was three seconds at most and I can’t shake it off. It’s like we opened Pandora’s Box, and a whole host of memories that should have stayed repressed have come spilling out: his hand on my stomach when he went down on me that first night; him knocking over a barstool to lift me onto a counter somewhere; his fingers sliding inside my panties, growling when he felt how wet I was.

I fake a yawn. “Your mom wanted to do that.”

“We probably should just figure it out on our own first.” His jaw shifts. “Believe me.”

I don’t know what’s up with his attitude toward his mom. He acts like she’s one step from the psych ward when she seems completely together to me.

I groggily fall into a chair at the counter. “Don’t you need to do your whole workout thing?”

It’s so unnecessary. Unless you’re Anna Fucking Tattelbaum. She probably appreciated all his superfluous muscles.

He laughs. “Keeley, it’s eleven. I worked out hours ago. Get dressed.”

“I need to feed Mark. And get my Sunday muffin.”

“I already brought him food. And that muffin is just candy swaddled in a paper lining.”

I’ll forgive him for maligning my muffin because he brought something to Mark.