Devil's Redemption (Devil's Pawn Duet 2)

I step toward my wife and watch my own shadow fall over her. I clear my throat, close my hand around the back of her neck.

“I’m Isabelle’s husband. Jericho St. James.”

“Jericho,” Isabelle starts but stops when I draw her away from Paul and closer to me.

Paul clears his throat, pastes a smile on his face. “I just heard you’d gotten married,” he says, half to her, half to me. “Congratulations. You’re a lucky man.” He extends his hand and I look at it, at the long fingers, the soft skin of a violinist. The frayed edge of a cashmere sweater. I’m pretty sure he’s never punched another man.

“You’re her teacher,” I say, squeezing his hand harder than I need to.

“The one and only.” He turns to her. “As far as I know.” He winks. And I want to break his face.

“Did you lose weight recently, Paul?” I ask.

He clears his throat again, that warm smile he seems to reserve for my wife faltering.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Paul,” Isabelle says, apologizing for me. Unbelievable.

“What? It’s a fair question,” I defend.

“No, it’s fine. I did, actually,” says Paul. “With surgery and the support of my family and some of the best doctors and nurses in the city, I lost over two-hundred pounds.”

“He has a will of iron because he’s even able to resist my treats,” Megs says and comes between us to hug Paul. I notice the smile he gives her is different than the one he had for my wife. Their hug shorter.

“This way,” Catherine says, and the group follows her to the library.

Isabelle turns to me, slipping from my grasp. “What the hell? That was so rude.”

I drag my gaze from the back of Paul Hayes’s head with its stylishly messy blond hair to Isabelle. “He wants to fuck you.”

“What?”

“He,” I say, pointing in the direction they went. “Wants to fuck you.” I point to her.

“And you could gauge that all from the thirty seconds you spent with him?”

“I know men, Isabelle. You should have told me.”

“Told you what exactly?”

My eye twitches. “That he isn’t three-hundred-and-fifty pounds.”

“What is wrong with you?” she asks and shakes her head. “I’m going.” She steps away. Tries to. But I grab her arm and tug her back. She looks up at me. “What?” she snaps.

“Is there something between you two?”

“Me and Paul? He’s my teacher. That’s all. Seriously. What is wrong with you?”

“That’s not all. Is there anything I should know? Because you’re my wife now. That means something.”

“You forced me to be your wife, remember?”

I tighten my grip when she tries to pull free. “You are my wife. You are carrying my child but pregnant or not, I don’t share.”

“Not true when it came to Kimberly,” she snaps, and she knows she’s wrong to say it the moment the words are out of her mouth. I see it on her face. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

I blink, draw in a tight breath. Truth is I haven’t thought of Kimberly in days. Not like I used to anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, thinking it’s her comment that upset me.

“It’s fine. You’re right.” I walk her backward, trapping her between the wall and myself. I let my gaze roam her face. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup and she’s so beautiful. More now that she’s pregnant even with the shadows under her eyes after our long night. “You’re mine. You know that don’t you?”

She blinks, eyebrows coming together like she’s confused. Something tender passes through her eyes but it’s gone in the next instant, replaced by a hardness. “I’m yours because you want something.”

“You’re mine because I want you.”

“And you’re used to taking anything you want. Getting anything you want, aren’t you?”

I slide my hands down her arms to her wrists and drag them over her head, pinning them to the wall. Her eyes darken as she licks her lips, her body preparing itself as if in anticipation.

“I am,” I say darkly. “And pregnant or not, Bishop or not, vengeance or not, you’re what I want. Remember what I told you. Any man touches you, I will cut off their hands. That includes my brother. That includes Paul Hayes. Any. Man.”

Her throat works to swallow and the pulse at her neck throbs.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

Her mouth opens, closes.

“Say it, Isabelle.”

“I’m yours.”

“Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

I kiss her hard, releasing one of her wrists to cup the back of her head and pull her to me. The fingers of my other hand intertwine with the fingers of hers. And I realize how much what I said is true. She’s mine. Pregnant or not. Bishop or not. Vengeance or not.

Isabelle is mine.

Only mine.

She will only ever be mine.

12

Isabelle

I’m flushed when I walk into the lesson. I apologize to Paul again for Jericho but am distracted throughout the two hour lesson. I’m embarrassed by how Jericho behaved toward Paul but that’s not what has me distracted. It’s our conversation. What he said. What I said.