He Loves Me, He Loves Me Hot

by Stephanie Rowe

  Her neck tickled and she felt it creep around her throat, encircling her like a necklace.

  Or a garrote.

  Oh, lovely thought.

  Instantly, the itch turned to heat, then weight and then flesh.

  A human body. On top of hers. Fingers crushing her throat.

  Her eyes snapped open and she found herself looking at the face of a man, a man with the blackest eyes she’d ever seen.

  Anguish flashed over his face; his hands on her neck softened to a caress. She summoned a blue fireball and slammed it into his side.

  He cursed and jerked to the right. She shoved him against the wall with a fireball to the chest, and then scrambled to her feet.

  He was on his feet just as fast. She hurled another fireball at his face as he whirled to face her. He ducked, and the fireball slammed into the wall behind him, leaving a charred black hole through to the kitchen. Then he was on her again, his body slamming into hers.

  She plunged a fireball into his back as he tackled her onto the bed, and the smell of burned leather drifted up to her nose.

  He pinned her to the bed with his knees, slammed her palms together, and crushed them between his hands so she couldn’t pull them apart.

  So she couldn’t shoot a fireball.

  Damn. Disarmed just like that.

  Then again, he couldn’t choke her while his hands were occupied with hers.

  Impasse.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. They stared at each other, and Paige could make out the lines of his face in the shadowed light. His hair was dark, tousled and thick, and a scar on the left side of his jaw ran down his neck and disappeared under the collar of his black leather jacket. There was the faint twinkle of something next to the edge of his dark T-shirt. A gold chain, maybe? His shoulders were so wide he positively loomed over her, and she could feel darkness vibrating off him, saturating the air around him.

  He was dangerous. Deadly. And…she inhaled and caught a whiff of his scent. It was smoky and dark. Like a campfire. Like woods. Like man. She breathed deeper, drinking his essence into her. She’d never smelled anything like him before. He smelled…right. Like bone-deep, soul-shattering right.

  He leaned closer, his dark eyes searching hers with a desperation that was startling, his grip on her hands still tight. He was straddling her pelvis, and he was such a solid, immovable weight across her hips that she knew she’d never get him off.

  If he were going to kill her, he’d have to let go, and then she’d act.

  So she didn’t fight. She simply waited for him to make the next move.

  But then he dropped his head, pressed his face to her throat, and sniffed, his breath a warm tickle on her skin. His hair brushed across her cheek, a fragile caress that coaxed the tiniest sigh from her.

  He froze for a split second, then eased himself back ever so slowly past her face, watching her closely as he settled his weight on her hips again. He brought her hands back down to her chest, so that his own hands rested between her breasts, not quite touching them, but close. So close. His jaw worked…in frustration? “You’re not her.”

  “Her who?”

  “Becca Gibbs.”

  Paige frowned. “You came here to kill Becca?”

  His grip tightened on her hands, the tendons in his neck pulsing. “Where is she?”

  “Far, far, away in a place you’ll never find. Lucky for you.” Paige tested his grip on her hands, tugging slightly.

  His fingers squeezed hard, immobilizing her but not hurting her. Then he leaned forward, hovering like a big tower of manliness. “I have to find her. Tonight.” He ground the words out, each syllable precise and loaded with threat that wasn’t reflected in the bleakness of his eyes, eyes that were now violet. “Tell me where she is.”

  Paige stared into those eyes, into those depths of pain, and suddenly realized they weren’t the eyes of a killer. He wasn’t going to kill her. Now now. Not ever. Whatever evil she’d felt before he’d taken his human form was simply gone. No doubt he was dangerous, but not to her. She relaxed instantly, her body melting under his weight. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say please?”

  Surprise flickered over his face. “You want me to say please?”

  “You invaded my bedroom, scared the shit out of me, disarmed me, tossed me on the bed, jumped on top of me, and tempted me with your most delicious scent, all without an invite. Not that I minded, of course. I like a man who takes charge and smells good while doing it.” She watched a confused expression cross his face. “But I have to object to being bossed around. A little politeness would be nice.” She breathed deeply, basking in his scent. Strangely, now that she knew he wasn’t going to kill her, she actually felt even more attracted to him. Was she a pathetic Rivka or what? Shouldn’t she like a man with death on his mind? “So anyway, I think I deserve a little respect, quite frankly.”

  She thought maybe she saw the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. Finally he said, “Tell me your name.”

  “Paige Darlington. You want my rank and serial number, too? My phone number? My birthstone? And you forgot to say please. You might have the broadest chest I’ve ever seen, but you still need to say please.”

  One eyebrow went up. “Why are you in Becca’s bed?” He paused. “Please tell me.” His voice was reluctant, as if he’d never said please in his life.

  “I think the more important question is why you’re here to kill Becca.” She shifted her hips slightly, and he sank more deeply onto her, crushing her into the mattress. It felt…snuggly.

  Yeah, sure, he was a deadly killer guy, but she was a deadly killer kind of girl, so she actually felt like she was home. In familiar territory.

  Annoyance sparked in his eyes, and suddenly his eyes went black again…but more than that, they were cold. Harsh. Empty.

  The eyes of a killer, after all.

  Well, who knew?

  She felt a shiver of excitement. “You’re one of those boys that doesn’t get brought home to meet the parents, aren’t you?”

  “Call Becca. Tell her to come home.”

  Paige snorted. “As if.” She wiggled her hips again to see if she could tempt him to press harder against her.

  He did. “Stop.”

  “No.” She wiggled again, and he shifted so his legs were twisted around hers, completely immobilizing her. His body covered hers from hip to toe. He let out a barely audible groan as he settled down on her, and he closed his eyes for a second before opening them back up and fastening them on her again. God, it felt good to have him doing the twisted pretzel thing with her. She’d felt so alone and…She froze, staring at their entwined hands. “Holy shit.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Your hands. Are they okay?”

  He glanced down at his hands, which were still wrapped around hers. “What are you talking about?”

  She stared at his face. “You’re not in pain? You’re not shriveling into a blackened pile of ash? Or exploding into dust?”

  He shot her a look of annoyance. “Do I look like I am?”

  “No, no you don’t. That’s the thing.” She tried to sit up, and he let her, still keeping her hands in his grip. She leaned forward and he didn’t back up, so her face bumped his. Skin to skin.

  And nothing happened to him.

  “Oh, God. I can touch you.” Her throat tightened up and she slumped forward, pressing her face into his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling the heat of his skin.

  She felt his alarm, and he jerked back.

  “No, no, don’t go. Let me do this for a second, please.” She was unable to keep the plea out of her voice, and she looked up at him. “Please.”

  He stilled, and for a minute she thought he was going to push her away. But then something changed in his face, something so subtle she wasn’t sure what it was, and she knew he was going to let her. Her heart tightened and she moved slowly, so as not to spook him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and drank i
n his humanity, his touch, his nearness. She could feel his pulse against her skin. It was so slow, so steady, so controlled. I need this. I need to be touched. “I thought I’d never feel this again.”

  He didn’t move away, but she could feel his rising tension as she breathed in his scent and his essence, basked in the roughness of his stubble against her forehead, until finally he spoke.

  “Enough.” His voice was a low growl that made chills run down her spine.

  Slowly, she lifted her face and looked up at him. He was staring down at her, the hard lines of his face drifting in shadow. His eyes were black, fathomless. Dark. Damned.

  He wasn’t a killer.

  He was damned.

  How interesting.

  She knew he’d reached his limit, so she collapsed back on the pillow, concentrating on the feel of his hands still holding hers together, imprinting the nuzzling moment in her memory so she would be able to recall it at will, in case she never got to touch anyone again. Don’t think like that, Paige. It’s just temporary. “So, you’re not from hell, because I’d know that.” She injected as much cheeriness into her voice as she could. “But you’re thoroughly tainted. Nothing redeemable left inside you anywhere. That’s why I can touch you without hurting you. How’d you get that dark?”

  He let go of her so suddenly that she didn’t even see him move. One minute he was on top of her, his body wrapped heavily around hers, and the next he was on his feet at the end of the bed, his hands gripping the footboard so hard that it was creaking. “Where’s Becca?”

  She propped herself up on an elbow, her body screaming at the loss of human contact. I can’t let go yet. It wasn’t enough. “Touch me again.”

  His face grew harder. “What?”

  “Touch me. Anywhere.” She lifted her bare foot and pointed her toe at him, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I’ll answer your questions only while you’re touching me. Please?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then peeled one hand off the bed frame and wrapped it around her foot.

  The instant his fingers curved around the arch of her foot, she felt her body relax. “You know, sometimes you just don’t appreciate things until you lose them. Have you ever noticed that?”

  “Where’s Becca?”

  “Okay, so you have a one-track mind. Got it.” She flexed her foot, felt the roughness of his hand on her skin. “She’s out of town. With her new boyfriend. Who’s the leader of the Markku.” When he didn’t respond, she cocked her head at him. “You know, the Markku? The indestructible badasses that used to work for Satan before they broke free? So, really, between the two of them, you’re better off that she’s not here.”

  His thumb slid over the ball of her foot. “When’s she due back?”

  “A couple weeks.” Paige reached over to the bedside table and tossed her phone at him. He caught it easily with his free hand, not releasing her foot. Yeah, it was a caress, but she also suspected that she no longer owned her foot. He’d taken control of it…was he trying to manipulate her with a little footsie?

  She watched him more closely. “She’s on speed dial number two. Try it. She’s got her phone off. I can’t reach her, and trust me, if I could I would. I’ve got some issues going on.”

  He tightened his grip on her foot as he examined her phone, using his hand to make sure she didn’t go anywhere. As if. She hadn’t gotten her fix of human contact yet, and she wasn’t letting him bail until she was good and sated.

  He scrolled through the numbers, apparently found the one for Becca, hit the send button, and put the phone to his ear. After a moment he frowned and tossed the phone back at her.

  She caught it and let it drop on the bed next to her. “So, what’s your name?”

  He wrapped his other hand around her foot and began to massage it, his fingers kneading softly.

  “Oh, wow,” she groaned. “Do you have any idea how good that feels?”

  His thumb dug into the arch of her foot. “Do you work for Satan, too?” His voice was casual, with a hint of sensual allure that made her belly curl.

  She glanced at him, and her lower body clenched at the blatant sexual need on his face…but the calculating look in his eye instantly halted her descent into a languid pool of sexual mush. She yanked her foot out of his grasp and flared up a fireball. “You’re not that good at foot massage, buddy. It’ll take more than that to turn me into a simpering pile of female uselessness.”

  His jaw flexed with irritation, and she flung the fireball at him and ordered it to stop right in front of his throat. To her surprise, it stopped exactly where she’d wanted it to, hovering like the kiss of death.

  He shifted to the right, and it moved with him.

  “Wow. That’s the first time it’s actually worked. Do you have any idea how many things I’ve burned up while practicing that?” She jumped to her feet and bounded across the bed toward him, where he stood immobile with the fireball at his throat. “Tell me your name.”

  “Jed Buchanan.” There was a grudging respect in his voice that made her grin.

  “Jed, huh?” She set her chin on top of the fireball, so the tip of her nose pressed against his. Skin to skin. Sigh. “Well, Jed, why do you want to kill her? A little problem with Satan? Pissed off that she’s going to harvest you for hell when it’s your time? Because that’s definitely where you’re headed, you know.”

  And just like that, his hands whipped out again and hauled her against him, trapping her hands between his corded thighs, palm to palm once more. The fireball hovered between them, nearly brushing his throat.

  “Damn you’re good.” And well muscled. And, well…utterly tempting.

  “Thank you.” He almost smiled. “Call off the fireball.”

  “Or?”

  He simply raised his brow and tightened his grip on her, trapping her against his solid body.

  Her only defenses were rendered completely useless, and they both knew it. She couldn’t hurt him even if she wanted to. Which she totally didn’t. She would be so happy to be held against the heat of his body for the rest of the millennium, assuming, of course, that she didn’t have this little inner wraith to deal with. Oh, idea alert.

  He scowled. “What?”

  She leaned her head to the side so she could see around the fireball. “How much do you cost?”

  His scowl deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re a hired assassin, right? That’s why you’re after Becca.” When he didn’t answer, she decided that was his big, strong, manly way of agreeing with her. “So, I’ll pay you more. Work for me.”

  He was silent for a long moment.

  “Hello. Earth to Jed? You with me?”

  “What do you want to hire me for?”

  The curiosity was evident in his voice, and she grinned. “Two things. Protect me from myself, and touch me.”

  His body stiffened. “What?”

  She felt her cheeks heat up at his tone. “I’m not going to hire you as a male prostitute. Geez. I just meant touching. Casual touching. Arm around the shoulder. Friendly fistfights. Stuff like that. I mean, yeah, you’re totally hot and all, but merging with your black soul would send me over the edge for sure. It wouldn’t be worth it.” Besides, the one thing still pure about her was the fact that she hadn’t had time to have sex before she blew up her soul, and she wasn’t about to trade in her virginity when it was all she had left. “You can handle that, right? Just some casual friend touching?”

  His grip loosened slightly, and she responded by dimming the fireball and moving it to the side a bit, so he could actually lower his chin without singeing his whiskers. “Protect you from yourself? What’s that about?”

  “Ah, yes.” She sank more deeply against the heat that was him. See? Nonsexual touching was enough…yeah, this was so nonsexual. Give it up, Paige. You so want him. She made herself pull back slightly, and she cleared her throat. “See, I have these urges that are no good for me, and clearly, you�
��re strong enough to keep me from giving in to them, as evidenced by the fact that you’ve disarmed me twice tonight already. So, you touch me, and make sure I’m a good girl, and I’ll pay you twice what you’re getting to kill Becca. Deal?”

  “Urges?” There was a light in his eyes that made her lower regions flare up in blatant disregard for her nonsexual-touching plan.

  She rolled her eyes, unable to smack him in the chest since her hands were still anchored between his thighs. “Oh, for hell’s sake. Urges to kill and maim and stuff like that. Why do you keep taking everything sexually?”

  “Because you’re barely wearing anything and you’re pressing your body up against mine so tightly that I can feel your every curve.” His voice sounded a little harsh. “And your hands…have inched up.”

  “Oh.” She suddenly realized her breasts were smashed against his chest, and the T-shirt she’d worn to bed was hiked up over her hips, tangled in his arms where they were wrapped around her. And her thumbs were rubbing against the inseam of his jeans, right where…oh. “I…hadn’t noticed.”

  But she was noticing now. Hoo, boy…

  He looked down at her, his face so close to hers. “Are you Satan’s right hand?”

  “No, I am not. I no longer work for Satan in any form, though I am considering hiring myself out as a contractor once I get my personal issues resolved.” She cocked her head. “Is that why you want to kill Becca? Because she works for Satan? Because if that’s it, then you should know that she quit. She’s left the biz entirely and works full-time as vice president of Vic’s Pretzels. She’s out of town on a business trip, and her new hottie is with her visiting some of his subjects. Combining business with pleasure. A twofer.”

  He rubbed his hand over his forehead, suddenly looking so weary. So human. So…drained. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I am. I know these things.”

  He sighed with visible frustration. “If I let you go, promise no fireballs?”

  “Of course not. Well, if you try to kill me, I’ll fireball you. What kind of an idiot do you think I am?”