“I’ll kill him.”
Casey made a face at him. “If you would have just left me alone, I could have done that myself. So how is it you’re helping me?”
“No,” Wanda intervened, shaking her finger at Clay. “You won’t. I don’t need the both of you as a tag team to deal with, okay? He’s gone now. Casey knows what he looks like, and if she ever encounters him again, she can turn the other cheek—or cool her fingertips in a bucket of ice—whatever it takes.”
“That’s part of the problem, Wanda. He could show up in another form and Casey’d never know. It’s pretty important she begin to learn to smell another demon—and soon. That’s why you shouldn’t go anywhere without at least one of us, because we can smell a demon.” Clay yawned on his last words, making Casey feel enormous guilt that he wasn’t getting the kind of vampire beauty sleep he claimed he so needed.
“What are you doing here anyway? Last I saw you, you were sound asleep on the floor in my closet. I think I even bumped into you when I was trying to find my loafers, and you didn’t budge.” The eerie sleep Clay fell into was almost comatose. There was no breathing involved to begin with, but to see him immobile like that was too much like dead for her. Of course, he was technically dead, and she couldn’t dwell on that or she’d probably never come back from the place called crazy.
Wide shoulders, thickly muscled, rippled beneath his shirt when he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just woke up and had a sense you needed me. So I came. But it’s a good thing I wasn’t alseep more than an hour or so, or there’d be no waking me and you’d have ended up making a morning coffee run an affair to remember for these people.”
On tippy toe, Casey rose to whisper in his ear so no one around them would hear her. His incredibly sexy, dreamy ear that was right near his thick fall of hair, hair she wanted to grab between her fingers and tug hard at while he . . . whoa, Nellie. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Is it that vampire GPS thing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Casey.You’re not vampire. Clay can’t sense you the way he can another of his kind.” Wanda said it with a cluck of her tongue like Casey should know all the paranormal rules and edicts just because she’d been inducted into demonicness.
“Is there some kind of rule book you two might want to loan me? So I can maybe study all these magical powers you have, and I won’t always feel like odd man out?”
Wanda’s blue eyes rolled up into her head. “No. You just learn as you go, and I learned a vampire can’t track anyone else unless the other person’s a vampire, or their mate. Neither of which you are.”
Casey couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but she felt Clay’s body stiffen. Which was a lovely event that she should stop thinking about right now. “No. Wanda’s right. It wasn’t GPS because you’re not a vampire, but it did disturb a perfectly good sleep. I’m old. Really old. I need eight or I’m just not the same vampire,” was all he offered before he ushered Casey to the counter where she placed her order, fighting to keep her words clear with his hand at her back.
Coffee ordered, the trio left to head back to the apartment. Clay’s cell disturbed her deep train of thought. She watched him flip open the phone and it was obvious he recognized the caller. His face softened in a much different way than she’d seen so far, and the smallest smile touched the corner of his lips. “Can’t talk right now, but I promise to call you later, okay?” He smiled again, like he was sharing some secret with someone special.
The green-eyed monster’s hand gathered up her gut and twisted her intestines. What she’d seen of Clay thus far had been anything but soft and cuddly—funny, quick to crack wise, yes. A gooey inside? It just didn’t compute. That he shared that secret tone of voice and that good- natured smile so easily with whoever was on the other end of the phone made her want to scream. Ridiculous, no doubt. They hardly knew each other.
But still . . .
When they made it back to the apartment, Clay and Wanda took the service elevator up while Casey made like everything was as normal as normal could be so as not to raise suspicion. “Morning, Roosevelt.” She waved one hand cheerfully while juggling the carrier of coffee and heading for the door he held open.
Roosevelt tipped his hat in her direction, tucking his free hand between the folds of his uniform jacket. “Mornin’, Miss Schwartz. You catch your early- mornin’ visitor? I told her I wasn’t sure if you was up yet.”
“Visitor?” There hadn’t been any scheduled interviews for today that she could recall. She’d checked her day planner the night before to be sure. No one came in or out of the building for the Castalanos who wasn’t authorized unless she was aware of it. “Was it someone for the girls?”
“No, ma’am. Said she was here for you.”
“Me?” Maybe Nina or Marty had shown up? They’d both promised Wanda they’d come take her away from her Casey-sitting duties for lunch and shopping.
“Yes, ma’am. Said she wanted to talk to you—that she was a friend. I didn’t let her up ’cause you didn’t give me the okay, but she said she’d call you.”
Nina was closer to Manhattan than Marty was. “Was she tall with long, dark hair—really, really pretty in a scary, sort of thug way?”
His eyes crinkled when he smiled, almost swallowed whole by his puffy, pinchable cheeks. “Oh, no, ma’am. She was a blonde, but not like those blondes who ain’t really blondes, if you know what I mean. She was so blonde, it was almost white, real pretty and tall, a sturdy-lookin’ gal.”
Definitely not Nina, or even Marty. “Did she leave her name?”
He pulled a slip of paper out of his coat with gloved fingers and read the word on it. “Yes, ma’am. Hildegard, no last name. Funny name, huh? If she comes back around again, you want I should send her up?”
Hildegard. What an odd name, but saying it in her head set her gut on fire with an odd intuition. Keeping her face as serene as possible so as not to alert the doorman, she nodded. “Please do, and thanks, Roosevelt. I can always count on you.” Casey gave him a pat on the arm.
“You okay, Miss Schwartz?” His eyes cast downward to his shiny, black shoes as though he were embarrassed. “I know you had some trouble the other night, and I been meanin’ to ask if you was okay. But I know you, Miss Schwartz, and I know you was only lookin’ out for those two wild ones. I’m just about as sorry as anybody can be it landed you in the pokey.”
Yeah. Sorry. Everyone was sorry for poor Casey. She shot him a grateful smile. “I’m fine, Roosevelt. It’s all okay.”
His head dipped low and he frowned. “I hope you don’t mind me sayin’, and I almost don’t care if you do, but it ain’t okay if you got a po-lice record because a those two. Bad enough you ain’t got no life to call your own, a nice, pretty young girl like you, but to go to the pokey for them without even havin’ some fun before ya did is just plain wrong.”
His sympathy touched her. She hadn’t been aware anyone noticed how little she did without the twins—or for that matter, cared. “Really, Roosevelt, it’s okay. I was just doing my job. It’s over for now, and I absolutely have to get these up to the girls before they wake up, but thanks for your concern.” Smiling again, she headed for the elevators. She had bigger fish to fry than Lola and Lita. And the fish had a name.
Hildegard.
Pressing the button for the penthouse, Casey gnawed on her lower lip. She just knew this Hildegard had to do with Clay. Why, she had no explanation. No one ever showed up here for her—especially not sturdy, blond gals. Forgetting about delivering the girls’ coffee, Casey headed straight for her quarters the moment the elevator doors swished open. Rushing into the living room, she dropped the coffee on her kitchen table and cornered Wanda, snuggled on the couch with one of her romance novels. “Where’s the vampire?”
“Vampire napping.”
Turning on her loafer-clad heel, Casey headed for her walk- in closet, a surprising luxury in what was termed the “servants’ quarters,” where Clay chose to sleep because
it was almost big enough for him to lie completely flat on the floor, and dark enough for a vampire to get some shut-eye. She didn’t knock before she pushed open the door, letting the light from her bedroom spill over him.
Fuckall if, even though she absolutely knew he had something to do with this Hildegard, she couldn’t catch her breath when she found him fast asleep, using her duffle bag for a pillow. He lay with his arms straight out at his sides. Strong arms that gave way to hands she wanted all over her out-of-whack body. Navy blue boxer-briefs were all that was between her and him—naked. His chest didn’t rise or fall, but his pecs begged for a tired head to rest on them. His chest was hairless but for the patch of dark, wiry curls that narrowed to a frustrating point on his belly and slipped beneath his underwear.
Damn his night-dwelling ass for being so beef-cakey.
Sitting on her haunches, Casey poked his chest with a quick finger. Where Clay was concerned, it was best not to linger. When he didn’t stir, she leaned in farther, putting her lips as close to his ear as she could without touching it.
Whatever cologne he wore, it was an olfactory orgasm. Casey took a deep whiff before whispering, “Clay. Wake up. I need to talk to you.”
His lips tilted upward a fraction of an inch, but still he didn’t stir.
“Claaaaaayyyy,” she singsonged again, breathy and light.
Nothing.
Bracing her hands on the floor, she moved in closer, keeping the impulse to bury her nose in his hair to herself. “Hey! Vampire—get up!”
Clay bolted upright, smacking into her, knocking her flat on her back into a pile of dirty laundry. His eyes were instantly open and searching hers while he hovered above her. “What the hell?”
“We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Is that asshole back? I swear, I’ll kill him if he doesn’t leave you alone, goddamn it. Are you okay?”
Okay had so many variables when a man so fantastically gorgeous, rugged, and simply divine was hovering over top of you, your bodies just centimeters apart, as your hormones danced uncontrollably on steroid- injected feet. Casey gulped, restraining the impulse to wrap her thighs around his waist and body-slam him. “No, the asshole isn’t back. But I think I have a question you need to answer.”
His lip curled. His pouty lower one that she simply knew would be a sinful treat to run her tongue over. “Didn’t we just go over the sleep thing and me? This couldn’t wait?”
“No.”
“I was almost asleep.”
“Boo-hoo. I wasn’t. And quite frankly, I’m not sure I ever will be again after the past few days. So suck it up, pal.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “Fine. I’ll let you play the pity card. I owe you. Get to the point.”
“Hildegard.”
There was a peculiar, almost unnoticeable stiffening of his muscles. And she might not have noticed if his thighs weren’t pressed to hers. Like, really pressed to hers. So pressed to hers they rippled, casting currents of deliciousness along her skin. “The point,” he demanded.
“Who is she?”
“Why do you ask?” He was clearly hedging.
“Why don’t you answer?”
“There has to be a reason for the question.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Says who?”
Clay volleyed a cocked eyebrow back. “Says me.”
“I don’t care what you say,” Casey countered.
“She’s no one who should concern you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Aha! So you do know her. I saw your reaction to her name.”
“And if I do?”
Her eyes clouded with confusion. “Do what?”
“Know her, Casey.”
“It means something.” She felt it in her gut.
“Like?”
“Like, apparently Hildegard came calling.”
“Said who?”
“Roosevelt. The doorman. And she came calling for me.”
Clay’s silence was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.
Casey pointed a finger at him. “Aha, again!”
“Aha, what?”
“You know this Hildegard, don’t you?”
Clays lips thinned. “I do.”
“So who is she?”
“A woman.”
She pursed her lips. “Never would I have imagined.”
He smirked. “You’re funny.”
“You’re not.” Hot?Yes. Funny? Not. “Who is she?”
“Someone I know.”
Hugely helpful. “Then why isn’t she asking for you, Mr. Cloak and Dagger?”
“I don’t have an answer for that.”
“Then riddle me this—how do you know her?”
Clay shifted positions. “We socialize in the same circles.”
“So you’re friends?”
“No.”
The sigh she expelled was aggravated. “How long do you suppose we’ll keep circling the airport?”
Out of nowhere, Clay grinned down at her. “Probably not much longer. I’m pretty tired.”
“Answer the question and you can go back to your coma.”
“I did.”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, you’re being evasive and avoiding the question, but if you don’t answer it within the next two seconds, I’m going to be forced to light your fire, and while I realize being a vampire, you can self-heal, I take pleasure in the fact that it’ll at least be an inconvenience. So answer the question, Clay. Who is Hildegard to you, and what does she want with me?”
“She’s my life mate.”
Casey’s head swiveled at the gasp she heard from behind. One she knew all too well. Wanda’s.
If Wanda was gasping, and getting Clay to spit that bit of info out had been like her trying to get into a pair of size- four jeans—whatever this life mate thing was must have some drama and a side order of serious implications surrounding it.
“Life mate.”
“Yep.”
“Which means?”
“Exactly what it implies. We’re mated—for life,” he said between gritted teeth—like it hurt.
Wait. Hadn’t Wanda wondered why no woman had snatched Clay up when they’d been at Darnell’s? “I don’t get it.”
“It means,” Wanda drawled, her lips thin, her expression hard, “that Clay’s somehow managed to avoid ever letting on that he’s mated to someone none of us knew a thing about. It means he’s essentially married—for eternity.”
CHAPTER 8
Harsh.
These vampires didn’t fuck around. They took marriage like a cardiac patient should take a heart attack. Crazy serious.
For all the thoughts Casey had, there was one that pushed its way through her crowded brain to the forefront. And it wasn’t pure.
Clay was off the market. Unavailable. Hands off.
How goddamned irritating. How bloody inconvenient.
How dare he be so lust worthy and connubial?
Ah, but that definitely explained why Hildegard had come to call.
Yup.
She wanted to kill Casey for gettin’ up in her matrimonial business and monopolizing her hunky man’s time. He was, after all, sleeping in another woman’s closet—in another woman’s bedroom.
With all these rules for vampires and werewolves, would that mean she was in for a staking at dawn because she’d had inappropriate thoughts about Clay? Hopefully, they couldn’t keep a tally of just how many inappropriate thoughts she’d had about him. She could be brought up on at least a thousand charges of indecent thoughts with misdemeanors ranking in the double digits.
Did this GPS also include a mate alarm for when others had thoughts about your spouse that were erotic in nature?
Either way it didn’t change the fact that Clay was married, and Casey couldn’t remember ever being so disappointed about anything as she was that he wasn’t single.
Boo to the hoo.
“I think you’d better e
xplain, Clay.” Wanda stood above them, her tone demanding, her stance wide and stiff. The wide bow on her silk shirt trembling.
Yeah. He’d better explain.
To her libido—which was, at this very moment, preparing to sit Shiva.
Though she’d only known him but three days now, she felt as though she’d been slammed in the stomach with a Louisville slugger at this new bit of information, and that was ludicrous. So he was cute. There were boatloads of cute guys. It didn’t upset her one iota that they might be otherwise romantically entangled.
But it burned her knickers that Clay was.
Glancing up at Wanda, she saw that she had that “do not fuck around with me” look on her face, which, as of late, meant an answer better be in the offing. “So?”
Yeah, so?
Clay pushed himself off the floor with strong arms, rising to stare back at Wanda, and he did so with clear irritation, like he didn’t owe anyone anything. Crazier still, he did it in his boxer-briefs without any obvious embarrassment. And really, who would be ashamed to be half-naked when they had a body that was so hot-diggity? Thighs that were so—so thick and bulging with muscle? She’d grocery shop in her underwear if she looked that good in them. “I wasn’t aware I had to explain anything to you.”
Oooohhhh, indignation. Nice. Very nice—especially when you could pull it off in your underwear and with Wanda, who was bearing down on him with angry, flashing eyes. He was right. He didn’t have to tell Wanda anything. His personal life was his personal life. She just wished he’d given her libido a holla before she’d spent so many wasted hours fantasizing about him. Not that it would have made a difference. Someone like Clay would never be interested in someone like her, but at least, if her urges had gotten the better of her, and she’d made a complete ass of herself, she wouldn’t be labeled an infidel on top of being an ass.
Wanda’s neck stuck out and her finger began waving in various directions at Clay. “I think you do have to explain if you’re here in my sister’s apartment, sleeping in her closet, and you have a mate you have to atone to who won’t be too happy about you spending time with a young, attractive woman. Don’t get indignant with me, Clayton Gunnersson. The last thing Casey needs at this point is to have to deal with an angry, jealous mate. So spit it out or I’m going to Greg.”
Accidentally Demonic Page 12
