The Devil in Her Bed (Devil You Know #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,61

your whims. You select what you want, who you want, and tomorrow, you’ll have him, or them. There will be no depravity unavailable to you, and if you do not see what you desire here, it will be fetched for you. This is only the first of the—”

Without forethought, Francesca held up a hand to stop him.

And it worked.

It was so quiet in the room, the whisper of her robes across marble could be heard in the back.

Everything about this night was entirely, deeply wrong. These people did not understand the slightest thing about what it was to be human, their entire philosophy was skewed, but she had to do what she had to do.

And she’d known immediately who she would select.

Who she wanted.

There. Him. Two “stags” over from the left. He was the entity she could feel in a room full of people. He was the skitter of awareness up her spine.

He was not extraordinarily tall, like some, nor did he have an overabundance of bulk. No, he was the perfect specimen. The Vitruvian man. His body was sculpted of different clay than most, perhaps stolen from Mount Olympus rather than the pedestrian earth from which others were forged. When the masters painted gods and heroes of myths and legends, they might have studied his frame.

Testing a theory, Francesca touched a few of the men as she strode by, pretending to test the strength of a shoulder, the firmness of a jaw.

And each time her hand reached out, the stag that had caught her eye tensed even further. His knuckles whitened as his side. A flush stole over his skin, barely perceptible in such dim light.

Finally, she stopped in front of him. Almost certain her suspicions were correct.

As she stood before him, his breath increased perceptibly, and she knew.

She said nothing as she smoothed her hand down the swells and valleys of his powerful arm, stopping to pull his hand to her.

He allowed this, though she could sense hesitance in the rigidity of his every visible sinew.

Silently, as if they didn’t have an audience, she opened his palm.

Chandler.

She traced the scar with her nail and looked back up at him. He was good at being a spy. He’d found a way in, just as she had.

She’d known him to be spectacularly fit from when she’d sparred with him, but she hadn’t expected such exquisite beauty.

He was glaring down at her now through the slits in his mask covered with iridescent, paper-thin fabric. She wasn’t afraid, even when she couldn’t see his face.

They’d been wearing masks since they’d rediscovered each other.

She could never read his thoughts, and he never guessed her emotions.

She knew nothing about him really … Only that she wanted him. Desired him.

His skin responded to her touch, little bumps of gooseflesh rising to meet her palm. His muscles twitched and warmed wherever her fingertips ventured.

And when she looked down at where their hands were joined, it was impossible to miss another appendage of his. Thick and impressive, jutting toward her from narrow hips lined with lean muscle.

She’d selected him now … which meant tomorrow they must—

“Excellent.” Kenway stepped behind her, and Chandler wound impossibly tighter, his muscles bunching like a stallion ready to take a leap. Waves of menace rolled from him, emanating with such strength, she was astonished that Kenway wasn’t toppled over by the tidal force.

Even she had to stop herself from taking a step in retreat.

“The selection is made,” Kenway said with encouragement. “You will receive a summons and a map to the next meeting place.”

“We will not be here tomorrow?” Francesca dropped Chandler’s hand, and it seemed it would not return to his side for a hesitant moment as she turned to Kenway.

“No, my vixen, needs must that we conduct our rituals in several expedient places.”

She merely inclined her head, almost dizzy with relief to find that she’d be leaving this place tonight.

Alive.

Kenway seemed as if he would move on before he paused. “Feel free to take one home with you, if you’d like.” He motioned to Chandler with his chin. “Not him of course, but if I know you, you’ll want an amuse-bouche before the main course.” He leaned in. “Or, perhaps, you would stay here tonight. With me.”

Chandler almost stepped out of the circle, a low noise escaping his throat, and Francesca panicked. Her hand collided with his chest, but she softened the touch as she raked her fingers down the many corrugations of his ribs in a show of lust