Diavolo

Abigail continued to make a fool of herself, unable to keep her ankles from wobbling on the sky-high heels.

"Too much to drink?" the bass player's deep voice questioned.

Up close, Abigail tried to be polite and not stare at the man. He had long black hair that formed a riot of curls around his head and shoulders. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were because it was dark, but his gaze was intense. Strong bone structure and a squared chin might have made him handsome if he didn't have a jagged scar running down one side of his face. His lips were thin and a tad cruel looking and he had to measure well over six and a half feet.

"What'd I tell you," Angelo muttered under his breath, giving Abigail a little nudge to let her know he was talking to her."

Ariel looked curiously at his band mate before scowling. "What did you tell her?"

Angelo gave Ariel innocent eyes. "I just told her that you're a depressing fuck."

Ariel's scowl fell from his face. He just stared at Angelo before turning on his heel and walking away.

Abigail actually felt bad for the man.

"You stupid fucker," Mikayla snapped at Angelo. "Look what you did! Now how am I going to get her laid? Come-one, Abs."

If Abigail had wanted to die of mortification before, now she just wanted the ground to open up beneath her. A sinkhole would be a blessing right now.

Angelo's eyes widened as he gestured to himself. "Hellooo! I've got a cock and am eagerly volunteering for the job."

"Please. Mikayla. I want to leave. Think of Daniel. We shouldn't be doing this. If he finds out He'll be devastated."

"I can't hear you, Mikayla shouted above the noise. We'll get you something to drink and then I need to go find Gabe."

Abigail accidentally bumped into a guy that had so many piercings on his face he looked mutilated.

"S-sorry," she said hunching her shoulder in fear when he wiggled his forked tongue at her."

"Good-lord! Did you see that, Mikayla?" Abigail exclaimed.

"Come-on. Just a little further. I think I see Ariel over there."

Abigail tripped and wobbled her way behind her sister, trying to get her to listen to reason, but the girl was like a freight train, dragging her in her wake.

Mikayla managed to haul her halfway through the mansion before giving up and propping her up against one of the columns in the ballroom.

"Stay there. I'll be right back. I really need to find Gabe before some other skank picks him up."

Abigail looked at her in shock. About to demand she listen to what she was saying, she only managed to sputter as Mikayla sprinted away.

Oh-no. Hadn't her mother warned her not to let her out of her sight? That she'd disappear?

Abigail looked around, yanking at her dress. A few of the males were giving her appreciative stares, but some were laughing at her too.

"Hey look at that drunk broad," one of them pointed.

A group of about seven men stared intently at her. They looked scary and ready to pounce.

Abigail needed to find Mikayla. They needed to leave at once.

Reaching down, she removed her heels to the tune of whistles and male howling.

"Yeah! Take it all off, baby!"

She disappointed them by sprinting out the back balcony doors.

Mistake.

It was pitch dark out here. There were a few torches lit here and there, but for the most part, it was pitch black.

She wasn't used to being out at his time of night so her night vision really sucked, plus, she forgot her glasses back at the Montoya estate.

Carefully stepping out onto a terrace of sorts, she could smell the scent of the ocean.

She shuddered not daring to venture past the edge of the terrace fearing she might walk right off a cliff to her death.

A soft breeze blew right up her dress making her shiver hard.

Angrily, she dropped the shoes she carried and tugged at the dress viciously.

"I think you're supposed to pull it the other way," a very deep, silky voice purred behind her.

Startled, she let out a little yelp of surprise and spun back to confront her possible attacker.

Her foot stepped on the sharp point of the high heels she'd dropped and she cried out in pain as the it cut the bottom of her foot. As if that weren't enough, she lost her balance, trying to hop on one foot to avoid further damaging her left foot and fell back toward the unforgiving stone floor.

Strong arms encircled her, as the sound of glass shattering at her feet sounded. One second she was flailing, the next she was swept up into the strongest arms she'd ever felt around her. Her feet left the ground and her breasts were smashed against a wall of sculpted masculinity.

One arm under her knees, the other encircling her back, Abigail had no choice but to grip her mysterious savior. If hadn't caught her, she'd most likely be out cold on the floor with a concussion.

"You're supposed to run out at midnight and leave one shoe, not break your neck four hours before by tripping on them, Pop Tart."

Indignant, she began to reply heatedly, "I'm not Cinder—wait...what did you call me?"

His chuckle slid through her body like no man's ever had...and she'd loved hearing Daniel's laughter. It had given her butterflies. Her dark savior's laughter had made her whole body feel flushed and tight...and she still hadn't seen his face clearly.

His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he wore an extremely expensive silk shirt. She could tell from how luxurious it felt beneath her fingers. The heat of him radiated through the soft material and she could feel his muscles bunch and relax with his every step as he led her...

"Where are you taking me?" she exclaimed wiggling in his grip.

"Easy, baby," he said in a soothing tone that gave her chills.

"Don't baby me! Let me go this instant or I'll scream my head off," she threatened loudly.

He laughed, that sexy sound that had her throbbing in places she'd never throbbed before.

Weird. What the hell was with that?

"Look, Pop Tart, I'm just taking you over to the bar over there."

She swiveled her head to look behind her. Sure enough, there was an unlit area just a few paces away with barstools.

"I don't want you to cut your cute feet on the glass back there. I dropped my bottle of beer when I tried to keep you from hitting the ground. I've managed to get good at it since females are always fainting in front of me."

Abigail scowled at him. He was certainly smug about himself.

"Perhaps if you see a dentist about getting a good prophy for that problem. They might stop swooning."

He staggered to a halt. It was dark but she could tell he was gaping at her...for all of two seconds before he threw his head back and laughed.

"Shit. You're a fucking riot, Wasabi."

Abigail made a face at him. "Why do you keep calling me such strange nick names?"

He finally deposited her upon the edge of the marble-topped bar.

Abigail clutched the bottom of the dress as it rode up her thighs, barely covering her crotch now. Automatically, her shoulders hunched over and she pressed her fists tight against the juncture of her thighs, sure he'd be able to see the scrap of panties she wore.

"I don't know your name, so I call you whatever inspires me."

Okay?

Her face flamed and she was reluctant to gaze up at him now that the moon had come out from behind a few dark clouds, bathing everything around them in silver light.

"What is it with you and that dress?' he murmured, planting his hands on his hips.

"I don't dress this way—at all. My sister lent me this dress and...and I just hate it," she finished in a small defeated tone.

He swore softly under his breath. Next thing she knew, he was stripping out of his shirt.

Terror made her bolt off the top of the bar. To her dismay, sliding off the high bar top made the damned dress ride up her ass, and stepping on her foot made her realize belatedly that it was still damaged and hurt terribly.

He caught her around the waist when her legs faltered and she cried out, crossing her arms over her chest to protect herself. Frozen stiff, as he leaned against her now, bare-chested, she tried to get her galloping heart under control.

"Hey. What gives?" he asked softly. His head cocked to the side dipping down to look into her face, but she closed her eyes, refusing to look at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I was just going to give you my shirt so you could cover yourself. See?"

She opened one eye to see him holding out his dark grey shirt to her.

She just stared at it stupidly, trying to keep her eyes from glancing at all that exposed mass of sinewy muscle before her.

Tattoos. His body was a work of art and her eyes were drawn like moths to flame.

God-above...he was beyond beautiful. Michelangelo's David was a paltry wimp next to this majestic man-god.

He chuckled softly and this time she couldn't help the shudder that wracked through her.

Shaking out his shirt, he reached for her arms and, as if she were a helpless child, helped her slip into it.

Very nonchalantly, he pulled down the back of her dress, once again covering her goose-pimpled behind.

She still held her injured foot aloft. He noticed and bent to examine it.

Finally, Abigail had no choice but look upon him.

His hair was sleek and blacker than pitch. The thick mane was caught in a tie at the nape of his neck and the ends curled gently just between his shoulder blades. He had wings inked along his back, and with a gasp, she suddenly realized exactly who he was.

He looked up, and she gaped, mute, at the staggering beauty of his face.

"You're bleeding," he said with a little frown marring that angelic perfection.

No not angelic, she decided. His eyes were too shrewd, his nose arrow straight and pointed, his lips full and soft looking despite the squared jaw and enigmatic dimple in the center of it. He had a bit of a shadow, as if he'd needed to shave and hadn't bothered today. His eyes looked silver in the moonlight, fringed by lashes so long they looked like the false ones Mikayla had pasted on back at the mansion.

Mikayla.

Oh-god. This was the man she was having illicit relations with.

One inky brow arched. "Well, this is different," he muttered staring at her as intently as she stared at him.

It took a while for her lips to form words, and when they did, all she could croak out was a pathetic "w-what?"

He bit his cheeks as if trying not to smile. It didn't work. Those enigmatic eyes, fringed with ridiculously girly eyelashes, crinkled at the corners.

He rose to his full height over her, which must have been at least six-foot-two to her measly five-six.

"I'm going to pick you up."

Panic slammed into her again. "What? Why?"

He raised his hands. "Easy, mouse. I'm going to take you to the bathroom in the pool house and take a look at that foot. It's bleeding all over this ancient stone floor imported from Romania.""Ancient?" she repeated idiotically.

"Very ancient," he said shifting on his feet.

He'd called her mouse. At least he wasn't naming her after food items anymore. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

As she debated the pros and cons to that, he scattered her thoughts again by leaning down and wrapping his arms around her. He swung her up into his arms effortlessly and stalked farther into the dark gardens beyond the terrace.

His scent invaded her senses. He smelled delicious and she was almost tempted to bury her nose against his neck to sniff at its source.

Yeah, get a grip, Abigail—she mentally chastised herself.

Mentally wracking her brain for something to say to break the awkward silence, she looked around. "Why is it so dark around here?" she asked squinting.

"Trust me... you don't want to see what's going on around here."

Almost on cue, Abigail heard moaning a little off to her right, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

When she stiffened in Gabriel's arms, he laughed softly again, making her shiver some more.

"I'm going to have to get you one of my jackets. You keep shuddering from the cold," he drawled lazily.

Abigail flushed from her roots to her toes. His tone was so suggestive, she knew he knew it wasn't the cold making her shudder.