Devil's Plaything (Playthings, #1) by Lydia Rowan Page A

to obsess, but she had ended up pressed for time, certain that D’yavol would arrive precisely at seven, as he had. She hurriedly clasped the round CZ—solid-silver post, though—earring, stepped into her four-inch, nude, peep-toe patent-leather pumps—Shayla had made her buy them first and forced her to wear them a-a-a-l-l-l day, but at least she wasn’t worried about falling over—and took one last look in the mirror.
    The dress had caught her eye as she and Shayla had walked down the main shopping drag, and, fortunately or unfortunately—she hadn’t yet decided which—Shayla had seen her not-at-all surreptitious glances and ushered her into the shop. Layer upon layer of pale rose chiffon made up the skirt, the hem jagged and irregular because of the overlapping fabric. The chiffon continued up across a fitted bodice with a sleeveless sweetheart neckline. Seeing it up close, the delicate fabric of the skirt, the unforgiving cut of the bodice, imagining the skin it would leave exposed, Julie had almost turned around and left. But General Rodgers wouldn’t allow it, and before Julie knew it, she was in the dressing room stepping into the dress. Shayla had pushed her bra straps off her shoulder to get the full effect, murmuring to herself as she took in Julie from every conceivable angle.
    “This is the one,” Shayla had finally said.
    Julie had been dubious. “I look like a cupcake.”
    “No, you look like a beautiful, curvy confection of a woman with cleavage that money can’t buy. He will want to eat when he sees you, but he won’t be thinking about cupcakes.” Her eyes had widened. “And twenty percent off. It’s fate!”
    A second knock had her scurrying across the room as fast as her shoes would take her. Hand on the knob, she smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
    He was devastating.
    She’d become accustomed to his standard attire, so she wasn’t prepared for the image that greeted her. His close-cropped hair was neat as always, but the stubble that generally adored his face was gone, smooth, golden skin left in its place. He wore a black suit, and the fine cut of the jacket showcased his broad shoulders perfectly, his tie matching the now-deep blue of his eyes, the color deepening still when he swept her with his gaze, the heat of his expression scorching her. Julie sent a silent thank-you to Shayla for pushing her to be daring. She still felt awkward in her heels and exposed in the frilly dress, but the heat in his gaze was worth any discomfort a million times over.
    “Hello, D’yavol.”
    She’d tested the name alone, tried to match his inflection, acclimate herself to rhythm of the word though it still felt strange on her tongue. His eyes flared and the corner of his mouth lifted at the sound, so she supposed she’d done an okay job.
    “Are you ready, nebesa ?”
    Oh, she was ready, all right. He chuckled and placed her hand on the crook of his elbow.
    “Maybe later, yes? We have reservations.”
    She laughed and hooked her arm tighter in his as they walked through her hallway and out to the front of the building. A late-model black SUV was parked on the curb, and D’yavol clicked a button, the beep-beep indicating the unlocked door, and escorted her to the passenger side and stayed there until she was settled. Then he walked to the driver’s side and got in, and they were off.
    Strong and sure was how he gripped the wheel, and she was struck again by the leashed power of his body, her mind straying to the way his hands felt as he skimmed and molded her curves, the way they commanded the steering wheel much like the way they commanded her body.
    “We won’t make it to dinner if you keep looking at me like that, Julie.”
    Blood rushing to her face, she laughed.
    “Busted, I guess. I’ll just look over here...”
    He joined her laughter, and they continued the ride in easy silence. Twenty minutes after they’d gotten into the