Page 93 of The Devil of Downtown

“To be with you.”

My eyes flick over him in confusion. “To be with me?”

A half-smirk kicks up at the corner of his mouth. “Are you gonna repeat every damn thing I say?”

“Why would you need an excuse?” I whisper, throat suddenly tight.

“Because in London, when I came at you straight,” he says, “you practically ran for the damn hills. And when I got back, I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

He looks away briefly, then looks back, taking a deep breath.

“I wanted you, and I didn’t have the balls to admit to myself that I didn’t care whether you’d deceived me, what lies you told, or how many excuses I could stack up to pretend it mattered. All I cared about was making sure I got you.”

I search his face for a crack, for a lie, but all I see is honesty.

“So you didn’t actually care about the deceit,” I say slowly. “You cared that it gave you leverage.”

His mouth curves, faint and unapologetic. “I cared that it kept you where I could reach you.”

“Oh.” I lift a brow, letting a slow smile creep in. “So you used shady tactics to get what you wanted. That doesn’t sound like something Dane Black would do.”

His eyes darken, heat sliding in where the fury had been, his gaze dropping to my mouth before lifting again.

“You know as well as I do,” he says, voice roughening, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get what I want.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “And somewhere along the line that became you.” His chin tips down, proximity turning the air thick between us.

“You think I don’t know how crazy I looked blowing up your phone today, sending you text after text like some unhinged idiot. I was losing my goddamn mind.”

“Yeah, come to think of it,” I say, fighting a smirk. “Youarea bit unhinged.” My breath stumbles as his hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him. The contact sends a shiver down my spine.

“Up until now,” he murmurs, stepping close enough for his breath to brush my lips, “you never told me to stop.” One hand cradles my face, the pad of his thumb working its way between my lips.

“Give me a chance,” he breathes.

My voice barely works. “A chance for what?”

“To date you.” His forehead rests against mine. “No deal. No conditions. Just... us.” His eyes search my face, and it’s the first time he’s shown me a hint of vulnerability.

“There isn’t anyone else, Ivy. Last night, the only person I thought about was you. Leandra is in my past. She’s just having difficulty accepting it, that’s all.”

Heat pours through me so fast I forget why I’m mad.

He leans in, his lips feathering mine, and I close my eyes, feeling that energy that zips between us.

“I need you,” he rasps, his fingers sliding beneath my chin, tilting my face up. His mouth meets mine gently at first, a slow, coaxing kiss that makes my skin tingle. I lean into him as the tip of his tongue glides against mine—a slick, heated caress that pulls a soft, desperate sound from the back of my throat.

As the kiss deepens, my fingers curl into his shirt, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my knuckles. He lets out a low groan that shoots straight through me as his hands slide under my ass, lifting me with ease, drawing my legs around his hips.

The shift is instant, urgency flooding in. My hands cup his face, sliding up to tangle in his hair. He devours my mouth with growing hunger, his tongue stroking harder, faster, as if he’s done pretending he has control. We cling to each other, breaths breaking, chasing that closeness like letting go would be impossible now.

A cluster of club-goers stumbles past, their drunk laughter cutting through the haze.

“Jesus—get a room!” someone shouts.

We break apart on a shared breath, foreheads brushing as a rough laugh rumbles out of him. He lowers me slowly until my toes find the sidewalk, my pulse still racing like it hasn’t caught up yet.

“We should go,” Dane murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my lips that contrasts so painfully with the heat still burning between us.

“Go where?” I ask, breathless.