Chapter 78
Aria's POV
Devon's gray eyes locked onto mine, that dangerous velvet tone sending familiar shivers down my spine.
I managed a composed smile, despite the electricity crackling between us. "One way to show gratitude would be giving me the opportunity to drive Miss Harper home," I replied, referring to myself in third person, sensing he had something else in mind.
Devon's lips quirked slightly, his eyes darkening as he nodded. "Consider it done."
I slid into the back seat of his waiting Bentley, expecting him to instruct his driver and leave. Instead, Devon himself climbed in beside me, his cologne filling the enclosed space. The leather seat creaked softly as he settled beside me, his thigh barely an inch from mine. The proximity made my skin prickle with awareness.
As the car pulled away from the curb, my phone suddenly erupted with notification sounds, shattering our silence. I stared down at my screen in disbelief: 25 unread messages from Ethan, 3 detailed emails, and 5 voice memos.
I'd unblocked Ethan's number after agreeing to our fake engagement, and now my phone was paying the price. The most recent voice memo caught my attention, timestamp from just ten minutes ago: "Aria, I have to explain," Ethan's voice trembled, sounding desperate and drunk. "It was Scarlett who seduced me, she planned the whole thing..."
My finger hovered over the play button, curiosity and old wounds battling within me. What new lies had he concocted? Would he blame everything on Scarlett to save himself?
Before I could decide, Devon's hand shot out, snatching my phone. I felt the brush of his fingers against mine, warm and electric. His expression remained neutral as his fingers moved with practiced efficiency across my screen, launching an app I'd never seen before.
"Kane Technology's proprietary software," he explained, voice clinical and detached. "It identifies and permanently blocks all forms of harassment—calls, texts, emails, social media—from the same source."
I watched in astonishment as my phone automatically flagged and blocked all of Ethan's contact attempts, categorizing them as spam.
Devon handed the phone back, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cold smile. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of something possessive. "Unless you'd prefer to keep them? Planning to rekindle your romance with Blake? Your taste is worse than I thought."
"I wasn't going to—" I started to protest, but stopped myself. Why was I explaining anything to Devon Kane? Still, the warmth lingering where his fingers had touched mine distracted me from my indignation.
The Bentley glided through Brooklyn's evening streets, city lights painting streaks across Devon's sharp profile. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm on his thigh—the only sign of his underlying tension. I noticed him shift in his seat, his shoulders tight beneath his perfectly tailored suit.
"Why were you at the hospital tonight?" I asked suddenly.
Devon kept his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. "Coincidence." The word was clipped, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Is there such a thing as coincidence in your world? You didn't look sick." My eyes traced the shadows beneath his eyes, more pronounced than I remembered.
He turned slightly, gray eyes catching the streetlights. Something vulnerable flickered across his face before disappearing. "Perhaps I have the ability to see the future."
Before I could press further, he instructed the driver: "Take Miss Harper to her apartment." His voice had resumed its usual commanding tone, but his fingers had stopped their rhythmic tapping, now curled into a loose fist on his thigh.
Throughout the drive, I noticed the dark circles under Devon's eyes seemed deeper than usual, his brow occasionally furrowing as if fighting discomfort. The usual composed mask slipped just enough to reveal something beneath—exhaustion, perhaps, or something more complicated. Twice I caught him stifling a yawn, his eyelids briefly drooping before he forced himself back to alertness.
When we arrived at my Brooklyn brownstone, Devon unexpectedly followed me out of the car. "Thank you for the ride, but you don't need to walk me up," I said politely, though my pulse quickened at the thought of him in my private space.
He was already striding toward the entrance. "Your apartment security system needs an upgrade." His voice was firm, but I detected an undercurrent of something else—a need rather than a command.
In the elevator, tension crackled between us like static electricity. Each time the elevator swayed, our shoulders brushed, and I found myself holding my breath. Devon's scent surrounded me, and I noticed his breathing had grown slightly uneven, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual.
Once inside my apartment, I leaned against the door, studying him. "Aren't we finished? The wedding scandal is out, revenge complete." My voice sounded steadier than I felt, with him standing in the middle of my living room, looking simultaneously out of place and eerily like he belonged.
Devon loosened his tie, gray eyes darkening. "Did I say we were finished?" The tie slid free with a soft hiss of silk against cotton.
He moved closer, his fingertip lightly tracing my jawline. I felt my skin heat under his touch, my breath catching audibly. "Our time in the car the other day... it was satisfactory." His voice dropped lower, intimate.
Heat rushed to my cheeks at the memory, spreading down my neck. "That was just... emotional distress." My protest sounded weak even to my own ears as my body unconsciously leaned into his touch.
"Then let's be distressed again," he murmured, voice dropping to that dangerous register that seemed to bypass my brain and speak directly to my body.
His lips found mine with unexpected urgency. Unlike our previous encounters, this kiss held something different—not just desire, but a hint of desperation. His hands gripped my waist, fingers pressing into my skin through my blouse, pulling me against him as he guided me toward my sofa. I gasped against his mouth, my hands clutching his shoulders for balance.
Devon broke the kiss long enough to lower me onto the cushions, moonlight streaming through my windows outlining his perfect silhouette as he began unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers worked quickly, revealing inch by inch of his toned chest.
"Be with me," he said, his voice unusually rough. "I can give you more than you imagine." There was an edge to his words—almost a plea beneath the demand.
Moonlight caressed his exposed chest as he hovered above me. His fingers traced my collarbone, pausing at my beauty mark. I shivered at the touch, unable to control my body's response. His eyes had taken on that hungry look I'd come to recognize, pupils dilated and intense.
"Tell me what you want. Harper Group shares? Decision-making power? Even that Hampton beach house?" Each offer was punctuated by his fingers trailing lower, testing boundaries.