SWNOVELS Devil’s Lily: Chapter 3
The expensive Gucci bag sent to me as a birthday gift fades from my mind as I lose myself in each heavenly bite of my meal brought to me by the chef himself—a strong, stocky man covered in tattoos who looks more like he belongs in a fight club than a kitchen. If I saw him in a dark alleyway at night, I’d run the other way screaming at the top of my lungs.
I’ll admit, when he first introduced himself all hesitantly as the chef, I was a bit skeptical. But oh, how wrong I was! Each meal he places in front of me is more delicious than the last, and soon I’m practically licking the plates clean, my manners be damned.
This is truly the best birthday ever.
I’m floating on a cloud of pure bliss, high above the mundane world below.
Stopping at this restaurant was a stroke of genius—or was it fate? I don’t know why it’s empty of patrons when the food is this good, but I’ve come to like the quiet private atmosphere. It should be eerie, but instead, it feels intimate, special—like I’ve stumbled into a secret world where scary-looking men sing birthday songs and mysterious strangers send gifts.
Speaking of strangers… I know it’s all because of him—the darkly handsome man who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I walked in. His gaze feels like a physical touch, making my skin tingle. But I soak up the attention nonetheless, loving every second of it even though I shouldn’t. Atë would have a conniption if he knew.
As I twirl the last strands of perfectly cooked spaghetti around my fork, another man starts approaching me. I let out a little sigh, but it’s tinged with an undeniable thrill of anticipation—he’s holding another gift bag! I pretend to be all nonchalant, but my fingers are already itching to open it. What’s it this time? Jewelry? Perfume? A tiara?
When he hands me the bag, I accept it just a bit too eagerly, barely containing my excitement. But then I frown as I peek inside—it’s a small, elegant box. I hesitate. Something in my gut tells me its contents will make the designer bag from earlier look like a bargain bin find. Part of me says I should just hand it back without looking. That would be the smart thing to do.
Still, curiosity wins. I snap the lid open and… oh wow. The gasp that leaves my lips is completely involuntary. The necklace inside practically shines, scattering little sparks of light that make me squint, nearly blinding me with the bling. It’s pure gold, delicately crafted with a two-step, almost bead-like design. It’s stunning. It’s perfect. I love it.
And I can’t keep it. I really can’t.
Regret floods through me as I run my fingers over the jewelry one last time. This insanely handsome man offering me expensive gifts is definitely not doing it out of the goodness of his heart. There are strings attached—there always are. And I’m in no position to get tangled up in anyone’s strings, no matter how attractive the puppeteer might be.
Besides, there’s this aura of danger around him that I didn’t notice at first, but the longer I study him, the more I realize I don’t want to be tangled with him. Even if part of me—the reckless, hungry part that’s been locked away for so many years—desperately wants to know what it would feel like to be consumed by that danger.
With a heavy heart, I snap the lid closed and hand the box back to the waiting man, who accepts it with a resigned sigh and returns to his boss.
The stranger takes the rejection with an intriguing mix of amusement and determination. He runs a powerful hand down his chin as he watches me. Then, to my disbelief, he glances down at the selection of bags on his table, and I slowly shake my head, silently pleading. Surely, he’s not going to choose something else?
But he does. His lips curl into a mischievous smirk that sends a jolt of electricity through my body as he hands another bag to the poor man who’s now become his personal courier.
“We need to leave.” Dren’s low voice behind me matches the growing unease in my gut. I nod absently, though excitement fizzes through my veins at the thought of what might be in the next bag. Yes, we need to leave. Soon. But… just one more peek.
The man drops the bag on my table unceremoniously, and I scoop it up. This time when I look inside, I nearly drop it like it’s full of live snakes.
No. Way.
Did I see that right?
Hesitating, I force myself to look again, just to confirm my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Nope. It’s real.
Nestled inside is the tiniest scrap of white lace I’ve ever seen—a thong that’s more suggestion than actual underwear, paired with an equally minuscule bra. The little triangle cups are so small my breasts would spill out of them indecently. My face flames as I realize that’s most likely the point. It’s lingerie, after all, designed to reveal, not conceal.
The heat spreads from my face throughout my body, my heart pounding erratically as that heat concentrates between my thighs. I jolt when I feel an answering trickle of wetness spill into my panties. My eyes widen, and I tense up, feeling as if everyone in the room can suddenly sense exactly what’s happening inside me. Oh gosh, can everyone tell? Can they see how this man’s audacious game is turning me on? Worse… can he?
I leap to my feet so fast my chair skitters back and the bag tumbles to the floor, but thankfully, the contents remain hidden. If Dren or anyone else saw what’s inside, I’d combust on the spot.
“Okay, okay, I’m ready to leave now,” I babble to my bodyguard, spinning around to give my mysterious stranger my back. But even with my eyes averted, I can feel his presence.
Dren’s brow furrows as he watches my flustered state, then his gaze moves to a point behind me, and his face transforms into a fierce scowl.
Oh no.
The small hairs on my nape stand up, and goosebumps ripple over my body as a dark, rich, masculine cologne fills my nostrils. My belly does a series of Olympic-worthy gymnastics, and I know without looking back that he is behind me. I gulp and slowly turn around. Still, I’m startled by how close he is. Closer than I expected. Too close.
“Leaving so soon, mia piccola rossa?”
His voice is deeply masculine and rumbles through me, sending fire skittering across my skin. Italian. Of course he speaks Italian. Because being dangerously handsome wasn’t enough. I clap my hands to my burning cheeks, hating how easily my face gives me away while his expression remains so frustratingly unreadable. Does anything faze this man?
Before I can think of something clever to say, he reaches for my hands, and my heart does this ridiculous flutter. I see Dren take a step forward, all protective, but this man, this dangerous, beautiful stranger barely even spares him a glance—like Dren’s no threat to him at all.
“I was enjoying your company. Won’t you stay for dessert?” he continues, dropping my hands from my face, only to settle on adjusting my leather jacket with a familiarity that makes my head spin.
His closeness is overwhelming, like he’s everywhere all at once, and my brain is scrambling to catch up. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, my tongue too heavy. Why can’t I say anything? Is this what being tongue-tied feels like? Because if so, it sucks.
“You don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Just tell me your name, bella.”
His question finally triggers my survival instinct as Roan’s warning rings through my brain. “You can’t fathom the power someone knowing your name holds over you, El. Never give someone you know you can’t trust your name.”
I shake my head, forcing the words past my dry throat. “I–I can’t.”
With every ounce of willpower I possess, I take a step back. Then another. And suddenly, I’m running, fleeing the restaurant with my father’s men hot on my heels. The Range Rover beeps as Dren unlocks it with the key fob behind me, and I throw myself inside, pressing a hand to my galloping heart.
What was that? Never… never have I been so affected by a man before. Crap, he’s a very dangerous one, isn’t he? The kind of man who could ruin a girl with just a look. The kind who could make her forget every warning she’s ever been given.
“Are you okay?” Dren asks, slipping into the passenger seat, while Anton takes the wheel. I nod wordlessly as the car purrs to life and we pull away from the restaurant.
The drive passes in a haze of conflicting emotions. I don’t even protest when I realize Anton’s taking us back home instead of continuing my tour of the city. Some birthday this turned out to be—I finally get a taste of freedom, only to end up running from the first interesting man I meet.
The moment the car stops, I’m out of there, up the front steps and past the foyer, barely registering the bewildered look from Adriel, our housekeeper, as I make a beeline for my bedroom.
Once inside, I close the door and lock it for good measure. Then I rest my back against the door and slowly slide down to the floor, sinking my hands into my curls as I try to get myself under control. But the sticky wetness between my legs only sends shots of pleasure through me as my thighs rub together, so I quickly get back on my feet.
With a frustrated groan, I kick off my boots and unbutton my jeans, pushing them down my legs. As I shrug off my jacket, I notice a strange heaviness in the pocket. Frowning, I reach inside and pull out a hard, rectangular object.
It’s a black flip phone. Definitely not mine. My mind immediately jumps back to the restaurant, to the moment when the stranger adjusted my jacket. He must have slipped it in then, that sneaky son of a—
I was so lost in his presence I didn’t even notice. But more importantly, how did Dren miss that? He’s so sharp-sighted, he notices everything, down to when I change my nail polish color.
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I flip the phone open. No password. Figures. I go straight to the contacts, but there’s only one number saved: M.L. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that belongs to.
Pacing my room, I chew my lip raw as I debate what to do. The logical side of me knows I should tell Dren. Have him look into it. But… I don’t want to.
I can’t shake the thrill I felt earlier as the stranger flirted with me from across the room. Because that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? I might be sheltered and more innocent than other girls my age, but I’m not completely clueless. I know what flirting looks like—I’ve just never experienced it firsthand.
How could I? My whole life, I’ve only been surrounded by my father, my brother, and their men. And those men wouldn’t dare look at me the wrong way unless they wanted to face the wrath of Atë or Roan. So this is the first time a man has seen me as… well, a woman. Not just someone’s daughter or sister.
What’s the harm in letting this little flirtation play out for a bit longer?
It’s not like anything can actually happen. After today, I’ll be locked back inside my gilded cage, and he’ll be out there somewhere in the city. Far away. This is something I can have for myself.
Besides, if I don’t like where our chats are going, I can just tell Dren about the phone and have him handle it. Right?
I nod to myself, decision made. I’ll talk to the guy, find out what he wants, maybe flirt with him a little. Then I’ll give Dren the phone. It’s the perfect plan.
I nod again, more firmly this time, flipping the phone shut and tucking it away in my nightstand drawer. With that settled, I finish peeling off my clothes and head for my ensuite to take a shower.
As the steam fills the bathroom, my mind races with possibilities. What will I say to him? What kind of messages does a man like that send? And… what kind of girl am I for wanting to find out?
The shower might wash away the lingering scent of his cologne, but it does nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach or the anticipation building in my chest.
For the first time in my life, I’m about to do something truly rebellious.