Rose had been standing in front of Lucifer for what felt like an eternity, her legs now beyond hurting—no, they were in full rebellion. And for what?
To watch a ridiculously handsome immortal read in dead silence? She nearly let out a frustrated sigh but caught herself. No way was she giving him the satisfaction of knowing she was suffering.
Instead, she tried to distract herself, though it wasn't easy when the man in question was sculpted like sin itself.
Her eyes betrayed her judgmental resolve and wandered to his fiery red hair, which fell in casual waves that somehow still looked perfect. His toned arms rested on the table, muscles flexing slightly as he flipped a page.
And then there were the tattoos—long, intricate lines starting at his neck and disappearing under his shirt. She frowned, her imagination shamelessly running wild as she wondered where those tattoos ended.