“It’s about control.” His hand was still on her waist, thumb brushing the beading. “I feel it slipping whenever we’re together.”
Heat rushed through her. “Maybe that’s not so bad.”
“Last time I let it slip, you fled to the guest room.”
“Last time we had no rules.” She turned to face him fully, the dress rustling. “Practice kiss. Sixty seconds. No hands below the waist.”
Victor’s mouth twitched. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve thought about a lot of things.”
His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “For practice.”
The kiss started soft. Controlled.
She pressed closer, hands sliding to his shoulders. Victor made a sound low in his throat and deepened the kiss, tongue tracing her lips until she opened for him. His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Her mark burned. His other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head, and she forgot about rules and boundaries and the fact that Vivienne could return at any moment. Forgot about Lilith and Peterson Holdings and the retreat. There was only this—his mouth, his hands, the desperate wanting that had been building for days.
A sharp bark from the hallway. Someone’s purse dog expressing displeasure.
Victor pulled back, breathing hard. His usually perfect hair was mussed where her fingers had threaded through it.
“That was…”
“More than sixty seconds.”
“Your hand almost went below my waist.”
“I know.”
“We’re terrible at rules.”
“I know.” He stepped back, putting necessary distance between them. “Get changed. We still need shoes.”
They finished shopping in a haze:casual wear for “team building,” pajamas she tried not to think about Victor seeing her in. The boxes and bags filled the town car’s trunk.
Ava watched the city pass outside the window. She now owned more designer clothing than she’d seen in her entire life. And somewhere in the contracts binding her parents’ restaurant, Lilith’s name was probably written in fine print.
Derek intercepted them in the lobby.
“Conference Room Three. Now.”
Victor frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Lilith.” Derek glanced around, lowered his voice. “She just convinced the partners to implement new protocols for the retreat.”
The conference room’s afternoon light cast long shadows that seemed to move independently. Derek pulled up his tablet while Victor paced.
“She reminded them about liability issues. If a claimed human gets hurt at a firm event, the demon who claimed them is responsible. Unless…” Derek hesitated. “Unless the claim is fraudulent. Then the firm’s liable.”
“Malphas would hate that,” Victor said.
“Exactly. So now all couples need to provide ‘verification’ at the retreat.” Derek shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two and Lilith, but she’s determined to make this hell for you both.”
“We can handle Lilith.” Victor stopped pacing. “Derek, book Le Bernardin for tomorrow night. Make sure word gets to Lilith that I’m taking Ava there.”
“Le Bernardin?” Derek’s eyes widened. “But you never… Oh. OH. That’s big.”
