Satan

by Jianne Carlo

  He liked that her lips were swollen and a deeper ruby than when she’d worn lipstick earlier. Unable to resist, he traced the outline of her pouty mouth. “I heard your stomach grumble. When was the last time you ate?”

  She grimaced. “I was hoping that you hadn’t heard that. A while back. I had something on the plane. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like a man who cooks.”

  He chuckled. “On the nose. But I have a freezer full of donated home-cooked food.”

  “Donated?”

  “Let’s head to the kitchen, and I’ll explain on the way.” He flicked her cheek, set his palm to the small of her back, and urged her into motion.

  “One of my buddies has a wife whose hobby is cooking. She’s made it her business to stock my freezer with gourmet meals.” Fuck, she smelled and felt fantastic, and moved with a ballerina’s gracefulness. Barefoot, she stood a mere four inches shorter than him.

  “Lucky you. I’m a horrible cook, but I do know all the ‘healthy’ take-out and delivery restaurants close to my condo. Even got half a dozen Christmas cards from the places I frequent most.” She rolled her eyes. “A Suzy homemaker, I’m not.”

  “In some ways, Destiny is. She’s the wife I referred to before.” They arrived at the kitchen, and Satan led her over to the commercial double door freezer. He opened the appliance and gestured to the stacked freezer bags and boxes on the shelves. “They’re all labeled. What’re you in the mood for?”

  She ducked under his arm, studied the labels, and glanced up at him, her eyes wide. “You weren’t kidding. Gourmet is right. Duck L’Orange, Beef Bourguignon, Escargots in parsley-garlic-lemon butter—this is amazing.”

  “What’s your fancy?”

  “Hmmm.” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “The beef.”

  “Actually the bourguignon is one of Destiny’s specialties.” Satan retrieved the labeled gallon bag from the shelf. “I’ve had it often. And the good news is that all we have to do is place this bag in a pot of boiling water, and it’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

  “I can make a salad if you have the ingredients. While I’m dangerous near any kind of heat, I do raw excellently.” She blew her fingernails and winked. “Gotta know what you’re good at, right?”

  The temptation proved too great. “I know one thing you’re very, very good at.”

  To his delight, she blushed. “I wasn’t trolling for compliments.”

  “A woman who looks like you do doesn’t have to. Can’t imagine any sane male not fawning.” Satan opened a deep drawer, retrieved a stainless steel soup pot, and set it on the stove. He dropped the freezer bag in the pot, swung the water spigot above the gas range over the pot, and turned the tap on.

  “For someone who doesn’t cook, you sure have an amazing kitchen. Omigod, you have a Miele Direct Sensor coffee maker. I looked at those. Way out of my price line.” She propped one foot on top of the other and braced her rear on a cabinet. “Just who are you, Lorcan McGuillycuddy? And how do you know Jess?”

  “Jess’s husband and I work together. How do you know her?” Satan did not allow strangers to interrogate him. Regret and irritation had him backpedaling and contemplating how to get out of their tentative agreement to spend four days fucking.

  “I work for a foundation that targets ISIS activists who try to recruit teenagers. Jess agreed to do our PR. Aside from my colleagues, she’s the only friend I’ve made since moving to the U.S.”

  Satan’s jaw sagged. He’d never expected Angelica’s declaration. With her looks and astounding body, he figured her for a model or an aspiring actress. “How’d you get involved with the foundation?”

  Her rosy cheeks paled and a muscle in her cheek twitched. All her vigor evaporated. “My brother is—was an ISIS recruit.”

  Fuck. He turned off the spigot, switched on the burner, marched over to her, and hauled her into his arms. “That’s horrible, Angelica.”

  “It is.” Her voice was muffled because she buried her face in his chest. “It’s terribly horrible.”

  He tipped her chin up to assess her state of mind. Anger glinted from her powder blues. “Is that why you’re in the U.S.? Because of this foundation?”

  “Yes. There are more families here with sons in ISIS than even in Trinidad. We have a large Muslim population.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to go down this road right now. I’ll dig in the fridge and see if I can find enough ingredients to fix a salad.”

  Satan studied her wan expression, nodded, and kissed her forehead. “Done. The fridge is all yours. I know I have bread, but there may be rolls too. The frozen kind.”

  “You’re a total fraud—you can cook.” Angelica had her head in the fridge and her pert rump in the air.

  “Correction, woman, I can assemble an already prepared meal.” Satan checked the microwave clock. “You do realize it’s near midnight. Are you going to get enough sleep for your ten o’clock meeting?”

  Armed with a head of Romaine lettuce, a container of cherry tomatoes, one red onion, and a bottle of olives, she flashed him a rueful grin. “These days I average maybe five hours of sleep a night. If I’m lucky. I operate fine on two or three.”

  Satan snorted. What were the odds? Of two insomniacs in a temporary fucking relationship? The good news was that when they couldn’t sleep, there were tons of sexual options.

  He rummaged in the bread box and discovered fresh rolls. Jess must have brought them earlier, acting on Destiny’s orders, of course. He threw the bread into a bowl, popped the dish into the microwave, and pressed Warm. “I don’t sleep much either. Is your move to New York temporary?”

  In the middle of situating her salad fixings for cutting, she didn’t glance his way, but he noticed the tight set of her mouth. “As of this moment, yes. I have dual citizenship, my mom was born here. My dad was the Trini.”

  Was. Her parents were dead. As was her brother. Did she have other family? Too much of a coincidence for the both of them to be all alone in the world.

  “It’s a ruggedly beautiful island.” Satan had visited the sixty by forty twin island nation of Trinidad and Tobago a couple of times. On the most recent occasion, one of his clients had given him a tour of the North Coast, and he’d been surprised by the mountains and the dense jungle forestation.

  “You’ve been to Trinidad?” He smiled at her quirked brows and obvious surprise. “When?”

  “Twice. First time was in the 90s, and I was there briefly last year.” Satan lifted the lid off the pot and checked the water. Rumbling but not at a full boil, so he set the stove’s timer for twenty-five minutes.

  “What did you think of my homeland?” She’d halved the cherry tomatoes, sliced the onion, and now worked on the lettuce.

  Their stares collided. “It’s beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. The people I met were charming, friendly, and gregarious. I’m in the security business, so naturally I researched Trinidad before going there. Your crime rate, for the size of the country—I’m including Tobago as well—is abnormally high. There were over 400 violent murders last year.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, her sultry mouth flattened, and her throat worked.

  In that instant, he knew. The careful way she held herself still, the intense concentration on inhaling and exhaling, and the lone tear running down one cheek.

  “Someone you cared about was part of that 400 statistic.” He moved over to stand beside her.

  “Besides our high murder rate, we also have an epidemic of kidnappings and home invasions. My parents’ home was invaded. They were butchered. And I chose that word deliberately. There’s—there was only me and my brother. I was in Europe on a hiking vacation. My brother had to identify Mom and Dad.” She scrunched the lettuce so hard the head snapped in two. For a second, she stared bleakly at the ravaged romaine and then dropped the halves onto the island counter. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

  He twirled her around and fr
amed her face. “Talk to me. Finish telling me this unspeakably tragic event. Get it out of your system.”

  “That’s what the shrinks keep telling me. That I have to talk about it. I’m tired of talking about it. Tired of thinking about it. Tired of imagining their last moments. Tired of not having had closure. Martin, my brother, told me I was lucky not to have seen what was left of them.” She fisted her hand and smacked the side of her head.

  “Hey, hey.” He captured both her wrists. “Look at me.”

  The command in his voice couldn’t be refused. She met his stare.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I’m acting like a hysterical idiot. You know, when you opened the door tonight, for the first time in forever, I felt like a normal woman. My first thought was I want to jump his bones. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even looked twice at a man?”

  Hell. They even had the same asexual crap going on. “Since you got the news about your parents. It’s part of the grieving process.”

  That stopped her stat. She raked his features. “You lost someone too.”

  “Yeah. So, where do we go from here?” Satan knew the answer he wanted with a fervid desperation.

  “Let’s have monkey sex for the next four days. Monkey sex and fun.”

  “It’s your first Christmas without your family, isn’t it?” He hurt for her.

  Satan had voluntarily enlisted and knew when he earned his trident that he would face atrocities of the lowest kind. Angelica didn’t deserve this level of heartache and pain. She wanted monkey sex and fun. Damned, but he’d give her both.

  “Yes. And I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You won’t be. Monkey sex and fun. Done deal, darlin’.” He slanted his mouth over hers and took them to that place where nothing mattered but their tongues and fused lips slipping and sliding over one another’s and searing them with passion.

  She snatched his T-shirt and went up on tiptoes to better devour him, licking and swirling into his mouth. His cock leaked precum when she bit the tip of his tongue. He shuddered, cupped her backside, and ground his boner against her mound.

  She moaned his name and grabbed his ass.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  Sometime later the beep actually registered in Satan’s ears. He forced his mouth away from hers, held her close until she lifted her lids, and just about drowned in her lust-glazed eyes. She blinked, grinned, and shot a glance at the stove. “How long’s that timer been going off?”

  Chapter Four

  Satan shrugged and looked at the stove’s digital display. “About five minutes. While I admit to being food hungry, my mouth’s watering at the mere notion of licking your pussy, and once I start, I’m not stopping until you beg for mercy. So, let’s attack the Beef Bourguignon.”

  Her cheeks went hot. The thought of his incredibly talented tongue, lips, and teeth eating at her sex had her drenched. She tried to harness her mushy brain into some sort of logic, but could only focus on his mouth.

  “Fuck. We’re never going to get to the food if you continue to look at me like that. You have a meeting at ten. You need food and sleep. In that order. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”

  Lorcan’s dark eyes glinted sparks of amber under the track lighting. He nudged her chin, spun her around, and slapped her backside. “Salad bowl’s under the island.”

  She danced her way to the island, but couldn’t resist sneaking quick over-the-shoulder peeks at him. The man oozed a smoldering sexuality that had her wishing her ten o’clock meeting to the fires of hell.

  Not five minutes later, Lorcan deposited two huge soup bowls full of steaming winey stew on the table and a bowl of warm rolls. “I’ll get the wine from the library.”

  “Okay. You good with Annie’s Shitake Sesame dressing for the salad?” She read the label on the container on a shelf in the fridge.

  “Whatever you want’s fine.”

  Angelica plucked up the bottle, closed the refrigerator, and dressed the tossed salad. She took the wooden bowl to the pub-style table by a huge picture window with an astounding view of the sea. Arrested by the brilliant full moon hanging low over a dark horizon, she didn’t hear Lorcan return, and nearly dropped the entire shebang when he kissed her neck.

  He hugged the bowl and her and eased the salad onto the polished mahogany surface. “My bad. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She puffed out a long breath. “It’s partly me. I’ve been jumpy for a while.”

  “Sit.” He pulled out a chair, helped her onto the high seat, and took his place right by her side. “What do you mean by jumpy?”

  The sharp note to his tone made her connect with his stare, she rolled a shoulder. “I keep catching people staring at me.”

  He chortled. “You’re a stunning redhead with incredible baby blues, the legs of a Vegas chorus girl, a centerfold rack, and you’re over six feet in your heels. Of course people gawk at you. I bet if you walked by a construction crew, you’d cause a riot.”

  “That’s blunt.” She nabbed a paper napkin from a holder.

  “Why did that tick you off?” He imitated her action with the napkin.

  “I’ve been judged by my looks all my life. I was thin and gangly, and my hair was basically an afro until I went to college. My childhood and adolescence were miserable. Kids teased me without mercy. The ‘pretty’ girls in class bullied me. I got to college. One of the girls in my residence, who was a model, gives me a makeover and introduces me to keratin hair straightening. I go on the pill and develop these puppies. All of a sudden I’m beautiful.” She grabbed a roll from the basket on the table and tore it in half.

  “Hey.” He caught her chin, inspected her features, and said, the surprise evident in the tone and timbre of his voice, “You don’t think you’re beautiful. You really don’t.”

  “I look in the mirror, and I see the too-thin girl with a frizzy mop.” What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never admitted that to anyone.

  He frowned. “I’m trying to reconcile what you’re saying with the little black dress and no underwear.”

  “Jess had the dress delivered to me and instructed me to not show up if I wasn’t going to wear it. I hate strapless bras, and that was the only choice with that dress. Besides, the bodice was fitted and made of spandex and supported me fine. I tried panties, but the lines showed under the dress, so I decided not to wear anything. I did try panty hose, but it showed too and felt wrong.” A fire washed over her throat and face, but she was angry with him, and it served him right to know the truth.

  He burst into a fit of hoots.

  “That wasn’t funny.” Her lips twitched. He had the most infectious laugh, a real Santa Claus type of booming belly guffaw.

  She cuffed his bicep, winced when her knuckles met steel-hard muscles, and then grinned. “Okay. Maybe it’s funny now, but it sure wasn’t at the time. I cannot believe I’m telling you this. You are never, never, ever to even hint of this to anyone. Promise?”

  “Not even the tiniest hin—”

  She set her palm to his mouth. “Promise. On your military honor.”

  The man even smelled dangerous, a mixture of musky spice and ocean breeze. He should bottle the aroma and market it.

  “I promise. On my word as a SEAL.” He spoke the words in a solemn tone and even held his hand over his heart, but those black-as-sin eyes danced the devil at her.

  For a long pin-drop moment, they simply smiled at each other.

  He ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too.” The instantaneous declaration popped out of her mouth, flooring her. She never spoke without thinking. Had learned that lesson early on in her career after a disastrous interview with the Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago.

  Satan picked up one of the glasses of wine and held the crystal to her mouth. “Here, have a sip.”

  Their stares met over the sparkling goblet, and she couldn’t help but sigh. Hell, the man melted her insides. He made her
laugh, curled her toes, and said he wanted to eat her pussy until she begged for mercy.

  He held her gaze, turned the glass around, and sipped from the same exact spot she had. For the first time, she understood why the gesture was portrayed so often in movies and written about in books. Her bones liquefied. Thank goodness she was sitting.

  “Eat, woman.”

  Angel gave herself a mental headshake. She spooned the stew, blew on the hot chunks of beef and pearl onions, and took a mouthful. Her taste buds hit paradise. The rich, velvety sauce coated her tongue in ecstasy.

  Satan made a choking sound.

  Her gaze strayed to him, and her eyes went wide.

  He was looking at her with open sexual avarice. “I’m ready to come right now. Damn, woman. You turn me on.”

  With every word he uttered, her nipples hardened, and her clit throbbed. “Back atcha.”

  She scooped up more stew, held her hand under the spoon, and offered him a taste.

  He opened his mouth, swallowed, and she smirked when he, too, closed his eyes in sheer palate ecstasy.

  “This Destiny can really cook. She should be a chef.” She reached for a roll, tore the bread in half, and tossed the other half back into the bowl.

  “She’s a romance author. Says she’d never want to be a chef ’cause cooking’s her hobby, and she doesn’t want it to be work.” He snatched what remained of her torn roll.

  “A romance author? Wait a minute. Are you talking about Destiny Driven? Jess’s bestselling client? I’ve read a couple of her books. She’s excellent.” She dipped her bread into the stew and loaded the gravy-sogged crust with yummy beef chunks.

  “She is. We’re all proud of her. Feed me some.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “You have hands,” she teased, but batted her lashes at him.

  “But it tastes so much better coming from you.” He faked a pout.

  “You’re going to nag me until I do, aren’t you?” She loaded another spoonful of the bourguignon.

  “You bet.” He grasped her wrist, lifted the spoon, and slurped nosily.