“He’s a demon, V. I can’t be with him.”
“Well, Madame Eve thinks you can. And she’s never wrong.”
“It’s against my code,” Genny protested. “Against everything I stand for.”
Veronica frowned. “I never really got that. Your code. Lily, Dagney and Zena are succubi. That makes them demons. You’re okay with them, right? I know you like them. And don’t forget, I’ve met Max and Bhyrne Raines. We’re practically in-laws.”
Well, not exactly. Sean’s brother, Campbell, had reunited with Lily, the great love of his life, courtesy of 1Night Stand. And Lily’s two sexy and sultry succubi sisters, Dagney and Zena, were mated to the Raines cousins, both fire-sex demons, also thanks to 1Night Stand.
“There’s nothing evil about them,” Veronica went on. “Unless you consider gorgeousness a vice. They’re both hotter than sin and if Spook turns out to be anything like his family—”
“Oh, he’s damn hot all right.”
Veronica did a lousy job of hiding her grin. “Then you’re in for one helluva steamy night.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Genny recalled how his kiss had nearly incinerated her in that Paris hotel room, the scent of him enthralling her, binding her to him with invisible chains of passion, putting her under his compelling sexual spell. A whole night of that? She’d never survive it. Even if she did die with a happy and satisfied smile on her face.
She sighed. “You may as well know, V, I fight demons. I hunt them. Kill them. I belong to a secret cadre of demon hunters. I’m a Protector of the Legion of Shadows. I’m off on POLOS missions most of the time, when you’ve thought I was trysting with some handsome rogue in the romantic cities of the world.”
“Like Paris?”
“Uh-huh. Like that. Spook was an assignment.”
“So, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip, remembering his sizzling kiss, his smoldering embrace. “Nothing I’ve ever encountered.”
“I think you were meant to be. Madame Eve always knows.” Veronica paused. “What happened to you, anyway? I mean, you live here in Sleepy Hollow. You know there are demons here. Why do you have such antipathy toward them?”
Why? Even after all these years the “why” stabbed her like a rusty knife, twisting into her so raw and painfully she could barely speak.
“My parents froze to death one harsh winter when they’d been caught outside,” she whispered, her voice aching and unsteady. “Temperatures fell far below zero and there was ice everywhere. They got stranded in their car and their glow began to fade, the shimmer of their lights started flickering out. When they banged on the doors of the demon stronghold in Duyvil Tand, seeking even the smallest of embers for a spark of life, the gatekeepers laughed at them and refused to let them in.”
“Oh, Gen, I’m so very sorry.” Veronica curled an arm around her shoulders, and met her gaze, her eyes soft and sympathetic, then uttered the one truth she’d always tried so hard to ignore. “But, Genny. If your parents were demons…then you must be, too.”
***
Before meeting Max and Bhyrne in Sleepy Hollow, Spook quickly had gotten rid of the purloined computer chip, dumping it and his letter of resignation into a diplomatic courier pouch, along with any remaining ties he had to the secret government agency he worked for. So far, there hadn’t been any lethal repercussions. Not that he expected his letter would be the end of it. If they didn’t ice him, they’d at least have to debrief him. But right now, he was taking some “me” time, as the female Raines mates might say.
The meeting with the Raines males had floored him. No question in his mind Max was his cousin and Bhyrne, his brother. Possibly even his twin brother. They looked that much alike. Bhyrne didn’t know much about his family history, having grown up on the street, and even Max was vague. But it seemed likely they’d been separated at birth. Even their personalities seemed similar and compatible. Bhyrne’s fledgling security agency piqued Spook’s interest. Bhyrne had squirreled away enough salary and hazardous duty pay over the years to make that work. But it seemed to be Spook’s mad skills the former enforcer really wanted as an asset.
And so, yeah. Apparently the WOW was right. His relations were demons. Pretty much making him one, too. Away from the romantic lights of Paris, and beyond the zone of the slinky female who’d so sexually crazed him in the hotel, internal/external temperature had fallen. But his relatives were convinced he’d gone through some sort of false, premature breedspawn heat. The way they’d explained the male, fire-sex demon mating phase to him did not exactly thrill him, either. But there was no denying the burning love in his brother’s otherwise cool eyes when he gazed at his mate, or possessively patted her belly bump. Max had not yet gone through the phase, but Dagney assured them she couldn’t wait for the breeding flames to hit her lover.
“So if I go on this 1Night Stand date with this WOW,” he said, still having a hard time saying her name, “I could go into heat? Bond with her for life? Make babies?”
“Blazelets,” Zena corrected. “Demonlings.”
Demon. There it was again. He so couldn’t get his head around that one, either. His brother had laughed when he’d told them he’d whiffed back from Paris, one of the skills of his spook training.
“No, it’s one of the perks of being a certain kind of fire-sex demon,” Zena advised him. “Like breedspawn. Bhyrne can whiff, too.”
“And as far as breedspawn goes, it’s not likely it’ll hit just because you’re out on a date with Genny,” Dagney said.
Fuck. They knew her. He couldn’t decide whether that made it all better or so much worse. But he already liked his newly acquired relatives. Felt he’d known them all his life. Felt something missing had been found. And he wasn’t quite so alone in the world anymore.
“We don’t think breedspawn is triggered by a particular female,” Bhyrne said. “Or Dagney would have sent Max far over the edge by now.”
“She has sent me over the edge,” Max corrected with a grin. “But it’s more like a growth/maturation thing. When it’s your time, it’s your time. And when it does hit, you’d damn sure better have the female of your dreams within reach. Or you’re screwed.”
“So screwed.” Bhyrne nodded. “For life.”
His mate elbowed him in the ribs. “Watch that, buster.”
“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way, Z.” He wrapped her in his arms and nuzzled the side her neck.
“We like Genny,” Dagney told him. “You have to keep this date. Madame Eve is never wrong.”
For the next couple of hours, Dagney and Zena got busy convincing him and planning his evening. They called a witch named Veronica, apparently the WOW’s closest friend and another 1Night Stand success story, and got her in on the act. Then they phoned their sister, Lily.
Faced with so much estrogen aligned against him, he didn’t know what the fuck hit him. But then he found himself stepping onto the dock at the Tarrytown Marina, preparing to board a luxury yacht called The Lily Flower, overnight case in hand.
Chapter Five
Veronica and Sean drove Genny to the marina, pointed out the berth where Campbell’s luxury yacht was moored, and dumped her there before she could entertain any second or third or fiftieth thoughts. Even so, she would have gone into the nearby restaurant to phone for a cab, had she not spied Spook pacing the dock like a caged tiger waiting for dinner. He immediately turned toward her, noting her arrival with his ice-steel eyes.
“Come,” he growled, his voice grim but demanding, and held out a hand.
Again that weird compulsion. Her eyes locked on his. Her feet took her across the boardwalk until she stood by his side. He reached for her overnight bag and flung it into the stern of the small cruiser, where Campbell waited with an enormous grin to ferry them out to the yacht. Then Spook picked her up as if she weighed no more than dandelion fluff and deposited her on a wooden seat with less fanfare than he’d tossed her Louis Vuitton.
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“Ready for this, demon hunter?” Spook jumped into the boat and sat next to her on the wooden bench, so close their thighs touched. Without waiting for an invitation, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Oh, goddess. The scent of him. Not as strong as it had been in the Paris hotel room, and dissipated further by the smell of the river and the light spring rain that had fallen earlier. But enthralling and tantalizing nevertheless.
“If you are, demon.”
“As long as you’re not armed,” he muttered. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around that whole demon thing. And you can call me Spook.”
Campbell coughed into his fist, failing to completely hide his laugh, and nudged the boat away from the dock. They made the short trip in silence. And then he tossed Spook the keys.
“Take care of my baby and don’t run her aground. The galley’s well stocked. Weather’s gonna be clear and you should have smooth sailing. At least nautically-speaking. But, in the unlikely event you decide you can’t stand the sight of each other and you’re willing to row, you’ll find a few lifeboats and dinghies on deck.” He winked. “Enjoy your one-night stand. And don’t forget to change the sheets.”
“Hunters first.” Spook indicated the ladder to the polished teakwood deck of The Lily Flower.
“How about you don’t call me hunter and I don’t call you demon? At least for the next couple of hours?”
“Couple? I think I can manage more staying power than that. But it’s a deal.”
“And could we…at least pretend this is a romantic getaway?”
“Romantic?” He growled, the sound so erotic, twinges of desire shot through her. She tingled all over, ached between her legs. His scent, the sound of his low, harsh voice, the sight of his big, gorgeous frame, the possessive and predatory look in silvery eyes fierce with lust made her slick and wet, ready to throw herself at him.
“All I can think about is how much I want to fuck you,” he said.
“Oh.” Her face flamed and she stole a glance at Campbell, apparently doing his best to be deaf. “Me, too,” she whispered.
She clambered up the ladder, Spook’s large hand on her ass as he followed, guiding, pushing, steadying and securing and, yes, definitely copping a free feel, as Campbell brought the cruiser around and headed back to shore.
This is it, then. No escape, unless she jumped into one of the dinghies and rowed herself. And upper arm strength was not one of her more exceptional abilities.
She’d never been on a luxury yacht before and sucked in a breath. The furnishings, every detail astounding and awesome, were polished and elegant, right down to the small pool and hot tub on the sundeck where they stood. Below deck, the design and décor amazed and impressed, tickling all her senses with their magnificence. Polished blond wood everywhere, posh, well-appointed leather couches and seats in subdued tropical colors, pale sea blues and greens built in or bolted down and grouped in conversation pits around glass and marble tables in the lounge area. A large wet bar and refrigerated wine rack was positioned against one wall, with a huge flat screen TV mounted on another. The dining area flowed out of the lounge, containing a long, formal table that could seat sixteen, as well as a more intimate alcove holding a small, round table for two. State-of-the-art appliances, worthy of a celebrity chef’s kitchen, filled the galley, clearly well-stocked, complete with another wine rack Campbell had mentioned on the way over.
Spook whistled. “Definitely the whole enchilada. With salsa and chips. The By Jones development business must be good.”
He still had his hand on her, though he’d made the transition from ass to waist as they’d strolled and explored. The familiarity of the gesture warmed her, natural and comfortable, as if their bodies had some kind of memory recognition, even if their conversation remained a little awkward.
“You can let me go now, Spook,” she murmured. “Not like I’m jumping into a life boat or swimming to shore.”
“Sorry.” His voice sounded low and gruff. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like I can’t stop touching you.” He began to remove his hand, but shook his head and left it there. “When I touch you, you glow, you know that?”
“Yes. It’s because—”
“And now you’re blushing, too. Because what?”
“Because….” She searched for words. “I’m a will-o’-the-wisp.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s something else, though. Different. More—”
More heat warmed her cheeks. “It’s because you’re exciting me,” she blurted. “You excite me just by standing there.”
He slid his fingers up the side of her ribs to caress her flushed throat. Waves of lust coursed through her. At the rate he was going, she’d probably be able to light up the entire New York metropolitan area soon. Maybe the tri-state region. Or the Eastern seaboard.
Cupping her chin, he tilted her head back. “Good.” His eyes gleamed, seeming to reflect back her radiance. “Because I’ve been under your spell since Paris. Even if you did try to kill me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Let’s not play games with each other, okay, Gen? The whole situation is strange enough.” Another coil of heat spiraled through her at his use of her nickname. First time he’d ever said her name at all. She liked the deep, rich sound of his voice, her name on his lips. Loved it, actually. And the thought of his lips—goddess help her.
“Agreed.”
“Good,” he said again. “Because there’s no use denying this attraction, right?” His mouth quirked upward. Holy cannoli, what a smile. “You’re brighter than the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. And I…I can’t stop thinking about how hungry I am.”
“Let’s see what we can whip up then,” she said, moving toward the galley.
He jerked her around to face him. “Not the kind of hungry I meant.” He tore off his shirt, as if the fabric burned him.
“Oh.” Gazing dumbly at the broad expanse of chiseled flesh, bronze and ripped with layers of toned muscle, she slung her arms around his neck. “Oh. Me, too.”
He had at least a foot on her and even when she stood on tiptoes in her four-inch platforms, it was still a helluva stretch to rub her cheek against his. No matter. When she leaned into his chest, his heat radiated into every part of her, his heartbeat pounding beneath her ear.
He grasped her waist and lifted her gently until her feet left the floor, bringing her so close they nestled together like silverware in a drawer. Her thoughts whirled as she inhaled his scent. Why had Madame Eve matched them? On paper, they didn’t seem to be a great fit. But with his hard body pressed to hers…goddess. Who cared why they’d hooked up? Who cared if he was a hated demon? His voice, his virile male essence, that lethally masculine, powerfully muscled frame spoke to her in ways no other lover had.
Spook lowered his head and kissed her then, his mouth firm and warm on hers, urging her to part her lips and groaning when she did, slipping his tongue inside to play against hers, the contact melting her, drowning her in passion, the sound of his groan erotic and wonderful.
Every one of her senses went berserk, her head spinning, her body on fire for him, going so soft and boneless, she draped around him like a blanket. He flicked open the buttons of her blouse, made even quicker work of the flimsy bra, until he’d bared her breasts, sucking in a harsh breath.
“You were made for me, Geneviève Mortimer,” he said. “You know that, right?” His fingers covered her, caressing lightly at first, then less gently, first one breast and then the other, sure and confident. Only the barest hint of a tremble in his hand betrayed his savage need, his eagerness. “Perfect fit.” He rubbed a thumb over each of her nipples in turn, until they jutted in blatant invitation. She wanted the sexy massage to go on forever.
But Spook had other ideas. She gasped when he closed his mouth hungrily over one of her breasts, and sucked the sensitive pebbled nipple between his lips, nibbling, his tongue firm and relentless as he swept over her sensitized skin. His scent overwhelmed h
er. He lifted his head and blew on the moistened skin. Between her legs, more desire pooled.
Oh, the erotic things he did to her. “So intense,” she murmured.
“Too much?”
“Hell, no.” Pleasure poured into every cell, every blood vessel and organ, until her desire for him swamped her. She curled her fingers into his hair, tugging, holding him against her, unable to get close enough, wanting to dissolve into him completely. Tremors shook her. “How are you doing?”
“Still hungry. Ravenous.”
The pacing tiger she’d seen on the dock came uncaged. He shifted upward, seizing her mouth again in another long, sizzling kiss, rougher and more demanding, his lips harder on hers, his tongue thrusting, poking, tasting her. Ready to devour her. Compelling her to return his urgency measure for measure.
She enjoyed sex as much as the next person, but she had never wanted a male, to be with a male, as much as this one. Wild monkey sex. Hot jungle sex. Mindless, brainless, rabid sex. That’s what she wanted. And…something more.
He groaned again, as if guessing her thoughts, and lifted her a little more until she wrapped her legs around his hips, crossed her ankles, and dug her heels into his ass. If he wanted to walk her back to the wall and take her standing up against the knotty pine paneling, she was A-OK with that.
I’m so ready to be fucked.
“I’m so ready to fuck you,” he said.
Goddess. Had she said that out loud? Or was he so attuned to her he sensed her thoughts, her needs, her hunger? Suddenly, she didn’t care.
“So there’s still one place on board we haven’t seen yet,” he growled, his voice hoarse and raspy, muscles tense, a demon clearly ensnared in the throes of torrid lust. “Want to?”
In From the Cold Page 3
