Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(18)

He waited a moment before replying, still looking at her, still assessing, still making her feel like a bug squashed beneath his shoe. “I’ll do that.”

She tried to read him, to see if he was mocking her, but she only sensed that he was being honest in his reply.

She gave a nod. “Thank you.”

Still clinging to the scraps of her dignity, she spun around on her bare feet, feeling the bun on top of her head start to slip.

She fled inside her house and slammed the door behind her before her hair took a complete tumble. She fell against the door, her back flat against its surface, her chest heaving as though she had just completed a marathon.

She finally got to meet him. They finally had a conversation. Unfortunately it went nothing as she had anticipated. She closed her eyes in a weary blink. A deep heaviness settled in her stomach and she knew this wasn’t over between them.

As if there were any doubts to that thought, something crashed next door that sounded suspiciously like a lamp, followed by Serena’s shrill, drunken laughter.

Faith strained to listen, stepping into her kitchen area and jerking as several thwacks hit the wall beside her table.

Stepping forward she pounded back on the wall. “Keep it down!” She was done playing nice. So what if she sounded like some old prude. She wasn’t in college anymore. She didn’t have to put up with loud neighbors anymore.

She heard the deep muted tones of North’s voice, his words a distinctive rumble. Great. Now she would hear their shenanigans all night. She winced at that idea. The notion of North having sex with an inebriated woman seemed wrong. She wanted to think better of him for some reason. Which was very strange. Serena clearly wanted some action. That was why she came here. She had said as much. Serena’s hands making a direct beeline for his junk left little doubt of that.

What was so disappointing was that North Callaghan was likely prepared to give it to her.

Snorting with disgust, Faith pushed away from the door and headed upstairs. She climbed into her bed and settled back on her pillow, hoping to fall back asleep so that she would not have to endure the sounds of marathon sex coming through the walls again.

For once, her wish came true, and she fell fast asleep, sparing herself the sounds of whatever was happening next door.



She had green shit all over her face. He had no idea what it was. Clearly some part of a beauty regime that women felt necessary. Women like her. Women not for him. Women who cared about skin care and had careers and dated men with careers. Not felons who worked in garages and fooled themselves into believing they were artists. She would never get her pristine hands dirty with someone like him.

He dropped his head back against the flat expanse of his front door and released a mirthless laugh at the memory of her green face. He still didn’t know what she looked like underneath that mask. Unbelievable. He was dying to know, dying to see her for himself. It was messed up. He lived next door to her. He knew it was as simple as knocking on her door and playing the role of nice neighbor. Introducing himself properly. Apologizing for whatever he had done. He grimaced. He could start with apologizing for his drunk friend showing up at her door in the middle of the night.

He could be charming if he decided to. There had been a time in his life when he had been a well-liked guy. Affable. Full of smiles. Teachers had loved him. Coaches had only ever praised him—not just for his athleticism but also his positive attitude. Parents had wanted their daughters to date him. North Callaghan had been a name that meant something, that held value. He’d been a prince in his corner of the world—Sweet Hill, Texas. Granted, it was a small corner of the world . . . but he’d been a prince nonetheless.

If he pretended to be that guy again, if he channeled him from the grave, he could probably smooth things over with Faith Walters.

She had stood toe-to-toe with him, her eyes flashing under the light of the porch, ready to take him on. Ready to let him know just how little she thought of him.

Crazy as it seemed, that just made him want to engage with her further. But as himself. As the guy he was now, not the ghost of the boy he had once been. Which was the complete opposite of what he had planned to do. Pretend she didn’t exist, pretend the house next door to his was still vacant. Locking horns with her was not the plan.

One thing for certain: she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He couldn’t remember conversing with another woman for any length of time without sex as the end result.

Not that he “met” many women. They weren’t exactly plentiful where he worked. Of course his sister-in-law had suggested setting him up on a few dates. He winced at that idea.

He glanced to where he had deposited Serena’s drunk ass on the couch. She was getting to be too much trouble. It was one thing to have a convenient f*ck every now and then, but when it stopped being convenient . . .

There was also the not-so-minor fact that when he stared at her, he felt nothing. Not the slightest arousal. Even a hot mess, she was undeniably attractive. Her skirt rode up to reveal an enticing view of her black-thong-clad backside. He knew that body. Had felt it under him, above him, countless times. She was a great lay. And he felt nothing.

Christ.

It couldn’t be any clearer. They were done. It was no longer fun. Sex with Serena—hell, with anyone lately—hardly took the edge off anymore. He didn’t know what could, but he had to find it. The idea of not finding anything to ease the pressure, to dull the pain, to distract . . . it was unthinkable.