The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(92)

She’d just asked what I remembered from last night when Six interrupted, and she had that glint in her eye, as if she already wanted to repeat it, no matter what she’d said this morning. I wish I’d gotten the chance to tell her. To step close enough for my breath to brush her ear as I described watching her on her knees in front of me, how my hand wound tight in her hair as I tried not to come. How it felt to slowly push inside her for the first time, how it took all my self-restraint to be careful with her, and when she whispered, “more” and dug her nails into my back, I gave in, and it was wilder and rougher than I’d ever been.

I’d have told her how fucking alive I felt during those hours, and that the desire to take care of her—unexpected, and something I’ve never felt for anyone else—still hasn’t left.

But he did interrupt, and he hasn’t left her side since, and the longer it goes on, the more I find myself drinking, and assuming I won’t get that lucky twice. She’s across from me now, at some club Drew’s brought us all to, and Six—again—is trying to look down her dress.

I’ve got to walk away.

I go to the bar and order another whiskey—God knows how many I’ve had at this point. My stepsister appears by my side a moment later and politely waits until I’ve slammed my drink before she speaks.

“You might want to slow down,” Noah says. “This isn’t like you.”

“Did you see how drunk Drew is? And Colin and Simon are over there lighting shots on fire. I’m not who you need to be concerned about.”

Her gaze goes back to the table. “The difference,” she replies, looking at my brothers, “is that they’re having the time of their lives while you look like you’re at a wake.”

I should have gotten on a flight to New York tonight. Hell, I should have left this morning, the minute she walked out my door. This situation is that fucking unbearable.

Except just as I think it, Keeley’s eyes meet mine. She’s been looking at me, on and off, the whole goddamn day, but this is the first moment where I know I didn’t imagine that look on her face this morning…the indecision there, as if she’d suddenly remembered what she saw in me.

She rises, holding my gaze as she walks to the dance floor. “You know what to do,” that gaze says. “Exactly what you did last night.” There’s a petulant voice inside my head saying, “she should be coming to me”, and I ignore it. This is the moment I’ve waited all day for and I’m not letting it slip past.

“Sorry, Noah,” I announce as I rise. “I need to take care of something.”

I push my way through the crowd on the dance floor. When I find her, she grins at me, and I want to stay mad about this morning but, somehow, I can’t. I grab her hand, tugging her deeper into the crowd—if Six sees us together he’ll be here in a moment’s time trying to stop me. I’d be thrilled to set him straight, but turning the situation violent can wait until she’s agreed to leave with me.

“State dependent memory,” she says as if answering a question I’d just asked. “You’re more likely to recall things when in a similar state of consciousness to the original incident. If you’re inebriated when an event takes place, then you’re more apt to remember it when you’re inebriated again. That’s why this is happening.”

My mouth softens. The funny thing about Keeley is that the more she drinks, the smarter she sounds. Right now, she sounds like she’s getting ready to lecture doctoral students at MIT. Six hours ago, sober, she was asking everyone who the “hottest” Spiderman was.

“Why what is happening?” I ask, fighting a smile. Once again, the world is in color.

“Why I’m remembering last night,” she says, reaching up to run a hand over my shirt. “I like this shirt. Where did you get it?”

“You don’t give a shit where I bought this shirt,” I say with a grin, stepping closer. I suddenly need to feel a lot more than her hand on my chest. “I didn’t realize you’d forgotten last night. You didn’t even seem drunk.”

“It’s my superpower,” she says. Before I can ask what the hell that means, she’s sliding her hand into my shirt and pulling my mouth down to hers.

It feels like falling, as if I have no sense of where we are, of where she ends and I begin. But it’s also like being found, and it’s a feeling I don’t want to lose.

“How am I going to keep you from forgetting again?” I ask against her mouth.

“I won’t.”

“Prove it,” I say, pulling her snug against me, my erection throbbing painfully now, and she groans when she feels it for herself.

She grabs my hand and turns for the exit. “Let’s go back to your room. I’ll prove anything you want me to prove.”

Yes.

No.

Yes, I’d very much like to see Keeley attempt to prove something, anything in my room.

No, because I don’t want to go through another day like today. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to have her rushing out of my bed, acting like I was a regrettable mistake.

I want more. I want more than one night. I want more than anything she’s planning to offer.

I take her in, her hair falling out of its careful updo, looking angelic but fragile in that goddamn dress…which is way too low cut. I rest my hands on her bare arms and they’re cold to the touch, so I pull off my jacket and drape it around her.