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

Really?” Her eyes were now glittering with rising excitement, what he imagined a child on Christmas morning would look like, as she leaned forward.
    “Yes, but don’t be excited. I’m not that interesting.”
    Her face stiffened, and her eyes went flat again.
    “D’yavol, you just told me a lie.”
    “What?” he said, concerned at the turn in her expression.
    The smile she unleashed put him at ease.
    “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met,” she said, and he could tell she believed it.
    A crease marked her furrowed brow, and he reached up to trace the spot.
    “Tell me,” he said, “what you’re thinking. What has made you frown?”
    “Nope,” she said, waving as if to dismiss the question. “I refuse to waste time on me when I have you in my greedy little palms.” She rubbed her hands together with glee, the earlier tension broken, and the Julie that had woven herself into the fabric of his being returned.
    “I very much enjoy being in your greedy little palms,” he said with solemn seriousness, gaze boring into hers.
    He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw the way her tongue darted nervously at the corner of her mouth as she broke eye contact, flicking a quick glance over him, feminine appreciation clear in her eyes. But just as quickly, she looked back up, smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
    “We agreed, none of that, sir. Besides, asking questions is much more exciting!”
    “I need to do a better job,” he said and smiled, her enthusiasm infectious.
    “Okay, down to business. It’s a dumb question, but do you have a last name?”
    “Are you going to Google me, Julie?” He couldn’t help but tease, and he also couldn’t deny what this meant any longer. He was about to make himself real.
    And she might very well reject him, recoil in disgust, and shut him out of her life forever.
    “DiCosta.”
    “Hmm. D’yavol DiCosta.” She rolled the words on her tongue, and he tried to squelch the warm glow in his gut at the sound. “I like it. Not what I was expecting.” She continued at his questioning glance. “Well, between your accent, your coloring, and some of the words you say, I figured you were Eastern European.”
    “I have no accent.”
    She laughed and patted his cheek. “Of course you don’t.”
    “No one has ever told me that before.”
    “Duh, they’re probably scared. Besides, it’s very light, and I mostly only hear it when we’re...” Her little titter and the blush that burned deep red under her brown cheeks was adorable. “Fucking.”
    The word was grating to his ear. What he and Julie did was so much more than that, but he couldn’t put it to words, so he let the curse stand.
    “My mother was Russian, but I was born here. Don’t know where DiCosta came from. I assume my father, but I never met the man, so I can’t say for sure.”
    “I never met my father either.”
    The offhand statement confirmed that she, like he, had long ago gotten over the absence.
    “I’ve never heard your name before. Does it mean something?”
    “Yes, the rough translation is devil.”
    “Why would your mother name you that?” Her tone was cautious, worried, and he could understand the reaction, though in this case it was misplaced.
    “Don’t worry, nebesa , it’s nothing mean. She said when she was pregnant it felt like a tornado inside that like old cartoon, the Tasmanian Devil, so she named me Devil.”
    Memories of those earlier years with his mother flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile.
    “You said ‘was’ earlier. Did she pass away?”
    He felt his smile falter. “Yes.”
    “And you were in the system at some point, right?”
    “Yes.”
    Could she see something in him, tell what he really was?
    “It’s okay, D’yavol. I just know the look. It’s hard to tell foster home or juvie, but we all wear it, even when we’re grown.”
    “You, too?” he asked.
    “Yeah, foster homes, but this isn’t about me.”
    He supposed he’d