forty one

The amber glow of The Meridian’s windows cast long shadows across the rain-slicked pavement as Henry Wynthorne sat in his car, engine idling, watching. He told himself he wasn’t following her—not really. He’d simply been driving past when he’d spotted her silhouette through the glass, and something had compelled him to park, to wait, to observe like some pathetic stalker in the night. Lavinia Hartwell sat at the bar, her dark hair catching the warm light, and beside her—Malcolm. The sight of them together sent something sharp and ugly twisting through Henry’s chest. Malcolm leaned closer, his hand hovering near her shoulder, and Henry’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. This is madness, he thought, yet he remained frozen, watching the scene unfold like a car accident he couldn’t look away from. Through the rain-streaked windshield, he could see Lavinia’s profile—the elegant curve of her neck, the way she tilted her head when she listened. She was laughing at something

forty two

“I can get myself home perfectly well, thank you.” But even as she protested, she was swaying slightly on her stool, and when she tried to stand, she had to grip the bar for balance.“Clearly.” Henry’s tone was dry as he left money for both their drinks. “My car’s outside.”Something shifted in the car then, the air growing thick with tension and unspoken questions. Henry could feel it building between them like pressure before a storm, dangerous and electric.They pulled up outside her townhouse, and for a moment neither of them moved. The rain continued its relentless assault on the windshield, cocooning them in their own private world.“Henry.” His name on her lips was soft, confused, and when he turned to look at her, she was studying him with those glassy, unfocused eyes.Before he could respond, she was moving toward him, her arms wrapping around his neck in an embrace that was pure, drunken affection. She pressed against him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, and Henry

forty three

The dream clung to Henry Wynthorne like morning mist—Lavinia’s lips soft beneath his fingertips, her body arching into his touch, her breath catching his name. He woke with a gasp, sheets twisted around his legs, his body betraying him with want that felt like a curse. The phantom taste of her skin lingered on his tongue, and he pressed his palms against his eyes until stars burst behind his lids.Damn her. The thought came sharp and bitter. Damn her for haunting me when she won’t even look at me.He’d dreamed of the stars once—of floating weightless among distant galaxies, of discovering new worlds beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Those dreams had died the day his father’s health began failing, the day Uncle Peter made it clear that Wynthorne Enterprises needed its heir present, not chasing cosmic dust in some laboratory. Henry had been at his father’s bedside when the old man’s grip tightened on his hand one final time.“The company needs you now, son. Build it into something greater.”No

All Chapters of The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss : Chapter 41 - Chapter 43

forty one

forty two

forty three