The Devil Inside

6: The Devil Works Hard...

Calla's phone buzzed—again.

Vincent glanced at her sideways. "You need to get that?"

"Nope." She rolled her eyes. "Steph's up in arms about the student council election. Hayley Singleton is trying to ruin her very tall ambitions, you know."

His answering grin took her breath away. "Oh. We all know."

She leaned across the center console, placing a strategic hand on his knee. "Where are we going?"

His eyes bounced from her hand to the road ahead. "I told you." He swallowed. "It's a surprise."

"Hmm." Her hand drifted to his thigh. "I don't like surprises."

"Calla," he warned, voice hoarse.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're being very stubborn, you know."

He shifted, frustration evident in the tense set to his jaw. "And you're being...being..." He struggled to find the right words. "Impatient."

Calla settled back into her seat and crossed her arms. Vincent visibly relaxed.

Impatient. He hadn't seen impatient yet.

Vincent and his damn morality complex. She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye—only to find he was doing the same. They both grinned. The atmosphere in the truck had been charged from the instant she'd climbed inside, and her little hand-on-the-knee stunt had only made it worse.

Just because you're not getting laid...

The memory of Cooper's taunt brought a scowl to her face. She looked to the window, her left leg jittering restlessly. In that moment, she despised Cooper Daniels.

Because he'd been right.

She wasn't getting laid. That fact was nothing short of a miracle, considering she and Vincent had been an item for nearly a year now. This surprise he had planned for her was in celebration of that first year. And it had been a good year, too.

Good—except for the fact that it had involved absolutely no sex.

I never should have told him about that promise, she thought acidly, inwardly recoiling at the memory of her mother bearing down on her in the kitchen, her face pinched as she warned Calla of the consequences of unprotected sex.

"Promise me," her mother had begged, "promise me you'll wait until graduation. I want you to be smart, honey. You need to focus on school. On college. Boys are a distraction."

Calla had been mortified by the entire conversation, and had quickly agreed to her mother's terms. She would wait until graduation—yes, of course. She could reassure her mother of that much.

Even if it was a lie.

But once Vincent caught wind of her mother's concerns, he'd put the brakes on their physical intimacy. Calla couldn't say for sure what had spooked him. After all, he still lavished her with affection—his charm knew no bounds. But he wouldn't touch her. Not the way he had touched her the night of the winter gala. And certainly not the way he had touched her that day in her bedroom, her fingers wound in his hair and his lips trailing lines of fire against her skin.

She yearned for it. She'd begged for it. But he'd rebuffed her each and every time, his expression pained—and nervous.

Calla was determined to put an end to their stalemate tonight. One way or the other.

Vincent turned off the main road, winding further and further from the heart of town, chasing backroads that hadn't seen fresh pavement in at least three decades. The sun kissed the treetops, bathing the world in hues of orange and gold. The sky would soon be a deep blue bruise, leaving behind nothing but shadows and the promise of nightfall.