I can’t help but laugh at the thought of Damien Wells raising livestock in the countryside, and he seems pleased by my happy reaction, nipping at my earlobe playfully. “Not a very big house. Just big enough, with a pretty white picket fence around it. Rolling meadows in the back, covered with daisies. Kids, of course. At least four or five.”
“Kid goats, you mean?” I ask, trying to get into the spirit of his jokes.
But a moment later, I wonder if he really is joking. “Silly girl. Children, of course. I want a bunch. We’ll get married first, though. I’m traditional like that.”
He kisses me again, his hands fisting my hair. Then his eyes travel to my hand. “I see you’re not wearing my ring anymore.”
His gaze has turned hard again. When he speaks next, there’s the vague hint of a threat, but I can’t tell whether it’s directed at me. “Where is it?”
I swallow nervously. “They took it. When they undressed me, they took it, right before putting me in the ground.”
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes dark, then kisses me again, in such a deep, passionate way, that I feel myself falling even harder into his trap. If itisa trap.
“I’ll get you another ring,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “With an even bigger diamond.”
Then he grabs his cell phone from the nightstand.
“Yeah, Vincent?” he orders, when the call goes through. I hear a sleepy voice at the other end, and the light pink streaks outside the window tell me it must still be very early. “Did I wake you, you lazy bastard? It’s nearly five. Get the fuck up. Find me a house in the countryside. Big enough, not too big. Lots of acreage. Something in Vermont, I’d say. I’ve always liked Vermont. Oh, and a white picket fence. But we can always put that up later. Small budget, don’t go over two million. I don’t want anything ostentatious. Just a cute, quiet house in the countryside. Oh, and have my personal shopper call me about a Tiffany’s ring.”
He turns back to find me gaping at him, and he chuckles again.
“Were you serious?” I breathe.
“Of course I am.”
“But what about… what about Devil?”
“I’m retired.”
He flops down on the bed, his hand finding its way back into my hair. “Things are going to be different now. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, whether you want me to or not.” He finds my lower lip, and traps it between his teeth. Then he mumbles into my mouth, “I’m going to marry you and you’re going to make me a fuck load of kids, and we’ll all live happily ever after in a little cottage in Vermont.”
“In a two-million-dollar cottage,” I correct.
He lets go of my lip.
“Yes. I don’t want anything too big.” He grins, noticing my shocked expression. “What is it?”
“You can afford a two-million-dollar house?” I ask.
He laughs. “I can afford a lot more than that, my pet.”
He kisses me, and his hand drifts down toward my panties again, but we’re interrupted by a knock on the door.
Spewing a string of profanities, he calls, “Come in!”
Logan enters, glaring at Damien. Apparently, neither of them sleeps much.
“What’s all this I hear about a house in Vermont?”
“Fucking Vincent,” growls Damien. “Is he incapable of holding his tongue?”
“Allow me to remind you that you promoted him to Devil—”
“The company.”
“Yeah, whatever. The company. You told us you wanted out because you were going to obliterate whatever was left of Angel. That was already pretty messed up, but now, you’re saying you’re going to retire and go live in the country? Have you gone completely mad?”
“Should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” grunts Damien, lying back down on the bed and dragging me to him.
