Dance with the Devil: Chapter 11

I take a nap after breakfast, falling asleep with wet hair and a full stomach. My alarm goes off at half eleven, and even though I only got a couple of hours of sleep, I feel well rested and content. My body, on the other hand…

Groaning with each step, I walk into the shared bathroom and take some ibuprofen. It feels like my vulva has been split in half, and everything from my neck to my legs is aching. Last night it felt good, but today…

There’s also a dark bruise around my neck.

I quickly cover it up with makeup. I didn’t bring a turtleneck, so it’s my only option.

Dressing myself in a cream-colored soft-knit pencil skirt, a white tank top, and a matching cardigan feels nice against my bruised and achy skin. I complete the outfit with tan-colored booties, and keep my hair down and wavy as well as my makeup minimal. Once I’m done, I walk back to my toiletry bag and pull out a new birth control ring.

I try and travel with an extra one in case it falls out—not that I was planning on having sex on this trip. But as I look at the foil packet, I don’t let myself overthink it.

He’s the one who took it out—against my will, mind you. Yes, he may have been asleep—but he’s a smart man. Once he discovers the ring in his pocket, he’ll know exactly what he’s done.

Time to pay for your consequences, Doctor Devil.

Two can play this game, and I’m not about to surrender.

Zipping the birth control ring back into my toiletry bag, I look at myself in the mirror and take a deep breath.

This could end so horribly.

But like earlier, I can’t find the energy to care. Or maybe I don’t actually care, as horrible as that is.

All I want is to win this war, and right now, I can’t think of what it might cost me or my future.

When I walk down to the luncheon, Dr. Kincaid is conversing with a few people I recognize from the conference. His demeanor is casual and relaxed, and as I study him, I can’t help but wonder how he manages to live with himself.

I underestimated him—I know that now.

I thought he’d confess if it happened again. One time was a mistake, but two times? It’s a pattern.

My eyes linger on his throat, on the way his facial muscles relax when he laughs good-naturedly. On the way his throat bobs every time he swallows.

He must feel my eyes on him, because a second later, he looks right at me.

Something darkens in his expression when our eyes meet, and goosebumps skirt down my arms and legs.

He looks away immediately without any kind of acknowledgement, but I see him soon dismissing himself from the conversation. Standing up taller, I wait for him to approach me. He walks over quickly with two hands in his pockets, and his scowl grows deeper with each step. His eyes bore into mine as he walks closer, and I swear I see them skirt over my throat—but he looks away too quickly for me to know for sure.

“Good morning, Francesca. How’d you sleep?”

This time, I really look for any clue that he knows what happened. A twitch of his lips. A tilt of his head. Something… anything in his green eyes… but there’s nothing. His face remains politely curious. His hands remain in his pockets. His stance does not waver.

I swallow as a trickle of fear works through me for the first time.

How far is he willing to go?

“I slept fine. And you?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice even.

“Same.” He gestures to our table. “Shall we sit?”

I nod without verbally answering him, and a second later he walks over to our seats and pulls my chair out for me.

Such a juxtaposition from the man who choked me eight hours ago.

Taking a seat, I wince when I sit down too hard, forgetting about how sore I am. Despite trying to disguise the sound, a hoarse squeak still escapes my lips. When I look up at Dr. Kincaid, his lips are puckered with annoyance but his eyes blaze with something hot and fiery. It sends a bolt of electricity through me, but I don’t give in. I know he expects me to, but I refuse. Instead, I sit back and tug my lips into a sardonic, little smile.

You think you can mess with me? Try harder, Doctor Devil.

His eyes flash. A swift shadow of anger sweeps across his expression before disappearing completely.

A second later, two more people join our table, and Dr. Kincaid makes every effort not to include me in the conversation. My appetite appears to have grown overnight, because I finish my lunch as well as dessert before everyone else. My stomach rumbles, and just as I’m about to take a sip of water, Dr. Kincaid slides his chocolate cake to me.

“You can have mine, since you seemed to enjoy yours so much.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m full.” My stomach grumbles again, and when I look over, Dr. Kincaid’s lips tug into a satisfied smirk.

“Eat, Francesca.” I glower at him as I take the plate and begin eating. It really is so fucking good, and before long, the entire piece is gone.

“I’m presenting at two, but you don’t need to be there. It’s been a long week, so why don’t you go back to the room and relax?”

“I’m already ready for the day. I can stay and take notes⁠—”

“You should relax,” he urges, and again, I swear his eyes flick to my throat.

“But you wanted me at the luncheon,” I retort.

Why did you ask me to be here only to ignore me and then send me back to the suite? I want to ask, but I press my lips together instead.

“Yes, well, I wanted to be sure you ate a full meal.”

“I ordered breakfast to the room four hours ago⁠—”

“You’ll need your energy.”

His words seep into my mind and morph into something he can’t possibly mean. He didn’t mean… that… did he? My shocked expression must show on my face because he sighs and continues speaking.

“I only mean we have a work dinner later and the restaurant gives out portions that should basically be rat food.”

I burst out laughing. “Rat food?”

His eyes sparkle but he doesn’t smile. “You know what I mean.”

“And it’s essential that I go to this work dinner?” I taunt, watching his face for any sign of weakness.

“No. But I’ve found that I enjoy your company,” he says, looking away.

I bet.

“Okay. What time should I be ready?”

“I’ll come back to the room to collect you at six.”

I nod once. “Fine. See you then.”

Turning and walking away, I wait for him to say something else. When I get to the edge of the dining room, I look over my shoulder, but he’s gone.

Once I’m back in the suite, I kick off my shoes and pull my laptop onto the couch. I’m able to knock out a ton of work, and I forward several emails to Dr. Kincaid.

He emails me at three-thirty, just after sending him his updated appointment calendar for the next two months.

Christ, can you ever just relax? No more work. That’s an order.

I smile as I respond.

It’s not even 4 p.m.

He responds almost immediately—which means he must be emailing from his phone because his computer bag is sitting by the door. I shake my head in confusion, because he called me no less than five times last week asking for help to connect his email app to his phone. No matter what I tried, it wouldn’t work.

I see you finally got your email to work on your phone, and those phone calls paid off.

Again, his response comes not even thirty seconds later.

Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hear your voice.

I stare at his response for a full five minutes. Something heady snakes through me, because he’s never… flirted with me before. Not like this. Not ever. He’s always been the epitome of professionalism—except for the middle of the night these last two nights, that is. I forward the conversation to Ari with an ‘SOS’ subject, and my phone rings a minute later.

“He’s in love with you,” she tells me. “Obsessed, head over heels, in love with you.”

I laugh. “I don’t think so. But I’m confused. Is he flirting with me?”

“Flirting with a capital F, yes.”

I chew on my lower lip. “But why now? We’ve literally been corresponding for two years. We talk every day. Why now, on this trip, and not after one of our many Zoom calls?”

“Maybe he can’t get enough of how you smell. Or maybe he’s seen your tits in person and can’t fathom his life without y⁠—”

“Okay, you really need to stop reading those kinds of books. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life.”

“Did he fuck you again last night?”

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s such a crass way of putting it. But yes.”

She squeals. “Okay. Here’s what you do now. Tonight, ignore him. Don’t give him a chance to get it on. It’ll drive him crazy.”

I sit up a bit straighter. “You think that’ll work?”

“Trust me. Don’t give him the option tonight.”

“I couldn’t even if he wanted to. I’m so sore from the last two nights.”

“Girl…” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “That means you’ve been fucked properl⁠—”

“Okay, okay. I get it. So I should ignore him tonight?”

“Yes. Be polite but aloof.”

I nod. “I can’t believe I’m getting relationship advice from someone who just bought an alien dildo last week.”

She laughs. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Fine. Thanks for your advice. I’m a bit rusty, obviously. I mean, before Jake, I think I flirted maybe once with my science teacher.”

“Oh my god. I forgot about that. I had such secondhand embarrassment. He was forty-two years old and you were fifteen, you dirty slut.”

I chuckle. “I should go. I’ll update you tomorrow.”

“When are you home again?”

“Six days.”

“Fine,” she whines. “I suppose I’ll find a way to occupy myself with all of my free time while my bestie hooks up with her hot boss.”

“That’s what your dildo is for, Ar.”

She snorts. “Okay, go change into something hot. Remember: polite but aloof.”

“Polite but aloof.”

We hang up and my phone immediately goes back to the email from Dr. Kincaid. I decide not to respond, instead turning my phone off and walking into the large bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, I’m soaking in the bath reading a smutty romantic suspense novel with a glass of the most expensive champagne they allowed me to charge to the room. I’m buzzed but at least I’m content. The water is extra hot, too, which is helping to relax all the muscle aches.

I had to take another damn dose of ibuprofen.

In all the years of having regular sex, I’d never needed medicine afterward. It’s like a whole new world has opened up before me.

Sinking down deeper so that my neck is below the bubbles, I’m smiling at the part where the hero kills someone for flirting with the heroine when I hear the hotel door open.

I freeze. “Hello?” No one answers, and I set my book down as my heart begins to pound inside my chest. “Dr. Kincaid?”

“It’s me,” he answers from the other side of the bathroom door.

Relief washes through me. “I’m just in the bath. I’ll be out soon.”

“Take your time.”

I finish my champagne and then I drain the tub before standing up. Grabbing a fluffy white towel, I wrap it around my body and glance at myself in the mirror. I’d removed my makeup before getting in, and my cheeks are rosy. My skin is still wet, and it glistens on my fading tan. My hair is pulled up into a sloppy high bun, but wet tendrils fall down the back of my neck—speaking of which, the makeup there had been removed, and the bruises are much more evident now than earlier today.

Polite but aloof.

I open the door and walk out into the living room area in just a towel. Dr. Kincaid is sitting on the couch with his computer on his lap. When he notices me, his lips part and his computer starts to slide off his lap—but he reaches out and snaps it shut, discarding it off to the side. He stands up and crosses his arms.

“You weren’t answering your phone, so I came back to make sure you were okay.” His eyes rove over my shoulder to where the standing ice bucket sits with a finished bottle of Laurent-Perrier. “But I now realize you’re fine.”

“Was I supposed to be doing something else when you ordered me to take the rest of the day off?”

He cocks his head, and I see his right hand squeeze his left bicep. “No, I suppose not.” His eyes drop down to my neck, and they go dark just as his face pales slightly. “Fuck, what happened to your neck?”

He’s so earnest about his concern that I almost believe him. And if it weren’t for the way his eyes blaze with something dauntless, I might begin to question just how lucid he is when he wakes from these dreams.

I shrug. “No idea. Maybe it’s the bed? I’m sore in other places, too, so I’m probably just sleeping in a weird position.” His eyes narrow the tiniest bit, and before he can respond, I walk to the bedroom. “I’m going to get ready. See you at six?” I ask, not waiting for an answer.

When I close my door, I smile and let out a heavy sigh.

Only one person can win this game, and it’s not going to be him.