Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(57)

“Thanks,” she said, her voice cold, distant. As though she were totally unaffected by him. “I appreciate you taking such good care of me. It must have been torture.”

She would never know the extent of his torment. Touching her, tasting her and then turning away practically killed him.

“No problem,” he reassured her as though he hadn’t caught her sarcasm.

“Don’t worry. I won’t trouble you again.”

He hesitated. She hardly seemed like a traumatized victim this morning. Even with the bruises marring her throat, she looked strong. Composed as she sat in the bed staring at him coolly.

He wanted to crawl between those sheets with her and finish what they started, wrecking that perfect composure. Except she was still the sheriff’s sister and a white-picket-fence kind of girl—exactly the type of trouble he had vowed to avoid—and he was still North Callaghan.

He would never say the right thing. Never do the right thing.

Never be the kind of guy she deserved.

Without a word, he turned and walked out of her house.



Three days later, Faith was finally having that second date with Brendan. She’d seen North once in the few days. Only from afar. When she’d been checking her mail, she watched him pull into the driveway and go inside the house.

So the sudden text from him caught her off guard. Why was he reaching out to her? Was he feeling guilty about the way he’d walked out on her?

Hey . . .



She stared down at that text on her phone. Just seeing that single word, knowing he was texting her, thinking about her, made her stomach pitch.

Sucking in a bracing breath, she replied. Hey. How are you?

Keeping busy. How are you? Everything ok?



Was this his way of alleviating his conscience and verifying that she was okay after Grimes’s attack? Or was he concerned that making out with her and then walking out on her had devastated her?

Honestly, he’d flipped a switch inside her, waking a part of her that had been long dormant. She dreamed of him, waking up panting, her sex aching and clenching.

Last night she had actually resorted to taking Mister Right out from her drawer. He’d gotten the job done, but just barely. Her O had been elusive. She’d finally gotten herself off by visualizing North. By remembering his mouth and hands on her. She channeled that memory and that had done it, brought her to shattering release.

Shaking off the thought, her fingers flew. I’m doing really well. Getting ready for a date.

With Fancy Pants?

His name is Brendan and he’s coming over to cook me dinner.

Wasting your time. You don’t want him.



Rage burned through her. Who was he to make that judgment? You don’t know that.

Faith didn’t even know that. Not yet. Maybe tonight would be the night that nice grew into stupendous.

I do. What happened between us wouldn’t have happened if you were hot for this guy.

We’ll see . . .

Try it. I dare you. See if he can get your rocks off.



He was daring her? She narrowed her gaze and marched upstairs. At her dresser, she opened the drawer and riffled through it until she found her matching black bra and panties. Not the most comfortable lingerie she owned but definitely the sexiest—and the most color coordinated.

She snatched up her phone again and typed: Challenge accepted. Happily.

Have fun.



She attacked the keys on her phone, stabbing them with her fingers. I will. I’m picking out my sexiest underwear now.

He didn’t reply to her goad.

She stared down at her phone for several moments, her temples pounding.

Her doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. Two minutes before the hour. Brendan was punctual, of course. She hurriedly stripped out of her clothes and swapped lingerie.

Dressed again, she smoothed a hand down the sleeveless blouse she wore, willing her stomach flutters into submission. Flutters, sadly, that were not a result of her impending date despite the avowal she had just made to see if Brendan could get her rocks off.

Touching up her lipstick, she nodded at her reflection one final time before heading downstairs.

Let the night begin.



North didn’t know what was worse. Faith being on a date with Fancy Pants or Faith entertaining him privately at her house.

Okay, at her house where they were alone with a bed in proximity was definitely the worse-case scenario. No doubt about it. And daring her to get intimate with the guy was about the dumbest thing he had ever done short of landing himself in prison.

He stared down at her texts, rereading the messages.

I’m picking out my sexiest underwear.



Fuck that.

He charged to the door and yanked it open, only to see the Audi already parked neatly in the driveway directly behind Faith’s car.

He was already here.

North shut his door. Hard.

He paced his living room, thinking about her next door with some guy that North had all but told her to go ahead and f*ck. What if she thought he didn’t care what she did? What if that made a difference for her?

What then?





TWENTY-TWO




“I don’t think anyone has ever cooked for me,” Faith ventured to say as Brendan sat across from her at her kitchen table. It was strange seeing him here. A man at her table. He wore a polo shirt tucked into starched slacks. She wondered what he looked like in a T-shirt and jeans—and then gave herself a mental shake. Who cared what he looked like in a T-shirt and jeans? She should be more interested in what he looked like naked. She sat there for a moment, letting herself think about that. Nope. The idea wasn’t very intriguing to her either. Damn.