Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

I’d wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me to my room.

He was winning, and here I was again, playing his game.

I made my way for the refrigerator to get another bottle of water, but three quick knocks hit the front door

, and I halted, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

It’s okay. If it were Damon—or Trevor—the door was locked, and no one could get in.

Walking slowly for the door, I tightened my fist around the handle of my foil and leaned in, peering through the peephole.

Nothing but black. The lapels of his jacket, a shirt, and then there was a sliver of smooth, tanned neck. I couldn’t see his face, six-foot-four as he was, but I’d know Michael anywhere.

“Who is it?” I asked playfully.

“Who do you think?” he snapped. “Open the damn door.”

I shook my head, laughing to myself. Any opportunity to aggravate him was a small victory.

Opening the door a few inches, I stood there, fixing him with a defiant stare.

“A little early, aren’t you?” I challenged. “You usually like your ass around ten.”

He hooded his eyes, not the least bit amused. “Let me in.”

But I shook my head, keeping him at bay. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not interested tonight.”

“Not interested?” He scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you can’t keep me locked up to be at your service whenever you’re in the mood.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” He pushed open the door and walked in, forcing me to back away. “You think I’m hiding you?”

He took another step toward me, but I immediately raised my pathetic sword between us, stopping him. Its flat tip pressed into his torso while the hilt nearly pressed into mine, keeping forty-three inches between us.

He let out a bitter laugh, looking down at my weapon. “My games are more fun.”

But I wasn’t playing. “You took Alex out,” I reminded him. “My first night at Delcour, she was in a dress, you were in a suit, and you both had just gotten back here from wherever you were at. You haven’t taken me anywhere.”

He swiped the sword away and walked into me, backing me up against a wall. Leaning his hand above my head, he dipped down, holding my eyes.

“So what do you want?” he sneered. “Flowers? A nice, polite dinner in a pretty dress, and a nice, polite fuck in a hotel room? Then I’ll see you to your door at the end of the night? Come on, Rika. You’re disappointing me. That isn’t us.”

“Us?” I argued. “There is no ‘us.’ You have no idea what makes me happy, and you don’t care.”

“Really?” He nodded with a sarcastic lift to his eyebrows. “So sneaking into Hunter-Bailey for their open bouting event tonight wouldn’t make you happy? Because that’s what I was coming to get you for.”

My eyes rounded, and my mouth fell open.

“But if you’d rather dinner and movie, hey.” He shrugged. “I can go buy some boring fucking flowers, too.”

I broke out a wide smile, squealing as I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him.

He tried to stay stiff and aggravated, but I could see the smile trying to break out.

“You suck,” I teased.

“So do you,” he retorted, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Don’t tell me how to treat you, okay? I know exactly what you like.”