Pull away. Pull. Away.
But you know how when you’re watching one of those B-grade horror flicks and you’re screaming at the heroine not to go into the house? Because you know it will end in disaster? Well, just call me Jamie Lee Curtis.
I knew I needed to stop. Common sense told me to put on the brakes. Self-preservation told me to run like hell. This was so totally bad and there would be no coming back from it. No escape once I’d crossed the threshold.
But then he deepened the kiss and I opened the door and marched straight into the House of Lust. His tongue pushed inside and tangled with mine and it was like being struck by lightning. Fierce. Electric.
All rational thought faded as the hunger I’d been stashing down deep came welling up inside me like a tidal wave. Desire drenched every inch of my body.
He tasted like hot, potent male and forbidden secrets and a sweetness that drew me like the dessert tray at my favorite restaurant.
I drank him in, relishing the taste. My hands slid up his chest and my fingers caught the soft dark hair at the nape of his neck.
And surprisingly that’s all I focused on for those next few minutes. Not the very detailed fantasy I’d had last night or the fact that I wanted to strip off my clothes and add some full-on rubbing to the equation. For a succubus, it wasn’t so much about the journey as the destination. The orgasm. Every moment was a mad rush to get to the finish line because nothing—repeat, nothing—felt as good as an actual orgasm.
Except maybe this. Him.
The silky feel of his hair and the warm, strong column of his neck and the sweet, intoxicating scent of leather and male.
His arms closed around me. Strong hands pressed against the base of my spine, drawing me closer, until I felt every incredible inch of him flush against my body—the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscles of his thighs, the growing erection beneath his zipper.
Ugh. Who was the moron who invented zippers? What happened to the old days when drawstrings were king and access was merely a flick of the wrist away?
A flush spread from my cheeks, streaming south and stirring the naughty girl that lived and breathed inside me. The fierce burn traveled at the speed of sound, sweeping through and making my nipples throb. Wetness flooded between my legs, and I was so deliciously close to coming right then and there.
The truth registered and reality swept through me. I was about to explode and all because of a kiss. One measly kiss.
One thousand years and I’d never been that quick on the trigger.
Then again, I’d never met a man quite like Cutter.
Wait a second. Wait. Just. A. Friggin’. Second.
It wasn’t him. I’d been on the wagon for two years now, so any member of the opposite sex this close, this hot, would press my buttons.
Any man.
Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. “I…” I jerked away. “That is, we…” I shook my head and tried to get a grip. “This is wrong. I mean, you and I…” I shook my head again. “It can’t happen.” There. I’d done it. I’d put on the brakes like the controlled succubus that I was.
Had I just used controlled and succubus in the same sentence?
Before I could dwell on the thought, Cutter’s gaze caught and held mine and the air stalled in my already deprived lungs. If he touched his lips to mine again or said even one of the seductive things running through my mind, I was a goner, my reclaimed virginity history.
I want you.
I need you.
Let’s do it.
“You’re right.” His voice echoed in my head and lust pounded my senses.
I was right. We should just do it. Get it over with. Right now—
“This is all wrong.” He stepped back, as if he needed the breathing room as much as I did.
“It is? I mean, yeah, it is. Seriously, I’m a demon and you’re a slayer and, well, I’m sorta, kinda attached to my head.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Jess.”
Not unless he knew the truth.
But he didn’t and he wouldn’t because I wasn’t going to let him get that close. Even if he did reclaim his soul, it didn’t mean that he would stop slaying. Reclaiming his soul might make him that much more determined to annihilate all demons on behalf of the thousands of others who’d fallen victim to the dark side.
No, better to forget any foolish hope of a future with Cutter.
Rather, I was going to give him Azazel, sign up for an online dating service, find my real Mr. Right, and end my celibacy once and for all.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” I rushed on. “My cousin Monique will throw a fit if I don’t finish these brownies.” My gaze snagged on the empty bowl to my left. “For a baby shower. Tomorrow.”
“I didn’t mean wrong as in not happening.” He touched the curve of my cheek with his fingertip and a shiver went through me. “I meant wrong because I’ve got a new recruit on standby outside your front door.” Reluctantly his hand fell away. “I’d rather not have an audience when we do this.”
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “You mean if we do this.”
“I mean when, sugar.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d said it. “I don’t know what it is. There’s just something about you…” His green eyes glittered. “It’s hot between us and I like it. I like it a hell of a lot.”
“But doesn’t that violate about a million different rules of the Legion?”
“Probably.”
But it didn’t matter because he wanted me.
I knew anything long-term was out of the question, but I still couldn’t help entertaining the possibility of the two of us in the near future. Him. Me. Minus lots of clothing.
His lips crooked in a grin. “Besides, you’re about the sorriest excuse for a demon I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks a lot.” I scrunched up my nose. But truthfully, it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.
At that moment, his cell phone beeped and he glanced at the display. “I’ve got to go.” He returned the phone to his pocket and his gaze caught mine. “But I’m coming back. And next time, I’m not going to stop.”
Promises, promises.
The baby shower was exactly what I expected. A room full of hormonal demons trying to one-up each other.
Worse, my three aunts were front and center, Aunt Bella brazenly nursing a glass of AB negative. As if I hadn’t already gotten the message that she was guilty.
My sisters were there too. Tracey, Jill, and Camille. All older than me. All a million times more obnoxious. Tracey loved talking about herself. Jill loved talking about everyone else. And Camille encouraged both. Which explained why I spent my time hiding out in the kitchen, refilling the brownie platters and trying not to think about Cutter and the kiss and his parting words—darn it.
I scooped up the brownie that had fallen from my trembling fingers and tossed it at the nearest trash can.
I wasn’t going to think about him. Or what he said. Or what he did. Or what I wanted him to do. I wasn’t—
“What’s taking you so long? We need more brownies,” Monique called out when she ducked her head in the doorway. “Stat.”
Ugh. Demanding demons.
Speaking of which, I checked my phone for the twentieth time to find yet another text from my mother asking about some wedding detail or another. Not that I was complaining. I much preferred a text to a one-on-one, particularly after the run-in with Cutter the night before. My mother had a way of noticing things…rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes and why, oh, why did he have to kiss so good?
You’re deprived. You could have kissed a monkey and it would have been good.
That’s what I was telling myself.
I just wasn’t so sure I believed it.
I punched in a quick response about the menu—plenty of raw meat and lots of Bloody Marys (literally)—and slid the phone back into my purse. The only saving grace of the entire afternoon was that my mother had been too
busy doing a remodel on a wealthy banker’s condo to make the event. Instead she’d sent a six-foot basket overflowing with onesies and blankets. Pink onesies and blankets.
What can I say? My ma had never been much of an optimist.
I pushed all thoughts of Cutter from my head, or at least I tried, and finished piling the brownies.
I walked out with the mountain of chocolate goodies just as my cousin Devinah screamed, “Baby Bingo!” and waved a blue bingo card. “It’s me. I win!”
I hauled butt straight to the dessert table, careful to keep a low profile and avoid making eye contact with my sisters.
“She won again?” I heard my sister Jill say as I set out the overflowing platter and picked up several empty ones. “She probably cheated. You know, I heard she cheated last year on her significant other with a third-tier demon from Down Under…”
Jill rattled on while Monique spent the next ten seconds checking Devinah’s numbers to make sure she hadn’t fudged before handing over a baby bottle filled with powder-blue M&M’s.
“It’s time to move on.” Monique held up a stack of index cards and a handful of pencils, and I started for the kitchen. “Next we’re going to play a guessing game.”
I know what you’re thinking. Guess the number of M&M’s in the bottle. Guess the baby’s weight. Guess the number of stretch marks. Wrong.
We’re demons, remember? So it came as no surprise when Monique shouted, “Guess the number of limbs!”
Okay, here’s the down-low on demon procreation. Spirits can’t just multiply on their own. We need a human body for that. When a demon mates with a human, no problem. Human genes are dominant when it comes to physical traits, so the baby looks like any other adorable bundle of human joy. But when a possessed human—aka a demon—mates with another possessed human—aka a demon—the result is a pure demon child.
In other words, anything was possible. An eye in the middle of the forehead. A tail. A forked tongue. An overabundance of junk in the trunk.
You didn’t think Kim Kardashian came by that ass on her own, did you?
“I say three,” cousin Portia chimed in.
“Five.”
“Nineteen.”
“Great answers, people. But you have to write them down.” Monique started dealing out cards and pencils. “And when you’re done”—she waved an ultrasound pic—“I’ve got the proof right here. Everyone who guesses the right answer will go into a drawing for the big prize.” She beamed. “A yearly membership to the Cheesecake of the Month club!”
I paused an inch shy of the kitchen, slid into a nearby chair, and grabbed a card and pencil.
What? We’re talking cheesecake.
I didn’t win the membership. To make matters worse, I got stuck talking with Jill and Tracey and Camille. And I’d been forced to refill Aunt Bella’s glass of AB negative not once, but four times. And we ran out of brownies. And petits fours. And cupcakes. And truffles.
The latter thanks to Cutter Owens and his seductive promise that had me so worked up, so desperate for another kiss, that I’d been hell-bent on drowning my sorrow in lots and lots of sugar.
Unfortunately, instead of forgetting Cutter, I’d found myself replaying our encounter over and over every time one of my relatives asked me when I was going to squeeze out a little demon of my own. Needless to say, I was worked up and extremely turned on by the time I pulled into the driveway of my duplex later that evening.
It was already dark out and I damned myself for again forgetting to leave a light on. I gathered my purse and the empty platters I’d used for the brownies and climbed from behind the wheel. I was just about to mount the stairs when the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
Here we go again.
I smelled the overpowering scent of Chanel No. 5 and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a telltale sign that there was a demon on my heels.
Awareness skittered up the back of my neck, and my hands squeezed the platters.
Because this wasn’t just any demon.
No, this was the most evil, most vile demon to ever walk the face of the earth and ruin my one and only slumber party while growing up.
Yep, that’s right. We’re talking my oldest sister, Camille.
18
“Camille,” I said as I turned. “What a nice surprise.” Not.
Camille Damon looked like a life-size Barbie. She was taller than me, her blonde hair longer and silkier, her boobs bigger, her waist smaller, her smile brighter. Perfect.
And, of course, she had well-manicured nails to go with the rest of her perfection.
I balled my chewed nubs—shorter than ever thanks to my escalated anxiety level—and tried for a smile. “What brings you here?”
“I never got a chance to talk to you at the shower.” She pointed an accusing finger at me. “You snuck out right in the middle of the gifts.”
We’d run out of brownies and I’d wanted to miss the inevitable World War Three when everyone found out. That and I’d been really desperate for a candy bar. “I had a work emergency. I’ve got a vow renewal this weekend.”
“And here I thought you ran out early to miss the catfight when Charlotte and Hes threw down over the last brownie.”
Big Brother had nothing on Big Sister.
“They ran out of brownies? Why, I thought we had plenty. So, um, what is it that you need?”
“I wanted to know if you want to go in on the group gift for Mother. Everyone knows how much she loves Mexico, so Tracey, Jill, and I thought we’d give her a mariachi band for the wedding.”
“But I’ve already booked the music.” I’d gone with the gloomy organ despite my instincts, which screamed for a harpist. Dark and sinister, I reminded myself. Otherwise your mom is going to be pissed.
“No, silly, we’re not hiring them to perform, we’re giving her a mariachi band.” She held up a blue bound contract with several signatures in vivid red. “Five souls. Signed, sealed, and delivered. So should I add your name to the card?”
“I’m actually already getting her something for the reception. I do it for all my brides. But thanks for asking.”
“Have it your way.” She shrugged. “But don’t get all sulky when she likes our gift better.”
I thought of the ice sculpture that I’d had Agarth make for last week’s couple and the fierce heat in my ma’s eyes whenever she got really mad. “On second thought, I’m in.” I was this close to eternal damnation as it was. I needed all the help I could get.
Help with a capital H, I realized when Burke called an hour later while I was trying to relax despite Snooki and her barking.
“Promise you won’t freak,” he said the minute I picked up the phone.
This was so not good.
“I won’t freak.”
“Yes, you will. You’ll freak sideways when you hear this.”
“Then why are you making me promise?”
“Because I can’t just blurt it out without warning you first.”
“Just get it out.”
“Maybe you should mix up a margarita first.”
“I don’t need a margarita.” I had Oreos. ’Nuff said.
“What about a piña colada?”
“Tell,” I growled around a mouthful of cookie.
He paused as if trying to find the words, and then the dam broke and everything spilled over in a mad rush of frantic syllables. “The cooler went out at the florist and we lost the two hundred violets for Saturday’s reception, not to mention the centerpieces for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night and the bridesmaids’ bouquets and the bridal bouquet and—”
“Maybe a margarita wasn’t such a bad idea.”
“Told you so.” He paused to take a breath. “This is bad, isn’t it? Sort of like the first hit of the Titanic. It was all downhill from there.”
“This is not the Titanic. That was a lost cause. We can fix this.” While my ma wasn’t much in the optimism department, I kept coming back for more. “Maybe we’ll find a florist
with two hundred violets sitting in a cooler somewhere and it’ll turn into the best three days of our lives.”
“And Brad Pitt just knocked at my door. This is a disaster,” he moaned.
“Calm down. We can work it out if we stay calm, cool, and collected.”
“This sucks. My life sucks. I ate four doughnuts.”
“There, there. It’s not the end of the world. Just go an extra hour on the treadmill.”
“That was four doughnuts earlier before I got the news. I’ve had three more since.”
I made a mental note to make sure Burke wasn’t possessed by one of my fellow brethren. “So you do three or four hours on the treadmill. Or take a few extra spinning classes.”
“I should have seen this coming,” he wailed. “I knew when I opened that fortune cookie at lunch today that something was going to go wrong. I had the noodles, and Martin—he’s this cutie that lives in my apartment building—had the fried rice. His fortune was fabulous, but mine said that hard times were ahead. What kind of fortune cookie predicts hard times?”
“Eat another doughnut and call me in the morning.”
“You think that will help?”
“It can’t hurt.” Besides, I needed to get off the phone in the worst way. I killed the connection. I’d had enough pessimism for one night. I’d dealt with wedding calamities before and I could deal with this one.
Holding tight to the positive reinforcement, I prayed for a big hole to swallow Snooki, who barked madly from the next room.
“You’re just lucky I haven’t had time to take you to the shelter,” I told her when I saw her prancing behind the doggie door that separated the bathroom from my bedroom. “Just as soon as things calm down, you’re history.”
But with the next three days not looking so good and my mom’s wedding right on its heels, I had the uneasy feeling that I was the one who was going to be history. My career over. My dream of a happily-ever-after gone in a puff of smoke.
And my dream of kissing Cutter again?
Well, that wasn’t a dream so much as a fantasy that haunted me the rest of the night as I tossed and turned and tried to forget the intense attraction between us and the fact that I liked his smile and the sound of his voice almost as much as his magical lips.
The Devil's in the Details Page 14
