by TJ Michaels
He looked up into the concerned face of both his father and the woman who worked out the details of the new contracts. Ms. Isaacs was her name. De’alla Isaacs, unusual name, unusual features. Just plain unusual, including both the aura he sensed around her and her strange reaction to his appearance here today.
He was a high-rolling celebrity in Japan, goddamn it. He wasn’t used to women looking at him with lips curled up in disgust, as if they’d just tasted dog shit and wanted to spit it at him for being the one to feed it to them. In fact, this woman was so obviously disgusted by his presence he wondered if they’d met before. After all, her company specialized in Japanese goods so he assumed she’d spent time there. There was no mistaking the perfect Japanese spilling from her mouth—and such a lovely mouth too—perhaps she was a disgruntled fan? Or she’d bought one of his CDs and thought it sucked or something?
He had no idea and right now he didn’t give a fuck.
He and his dad had only been here long enough to be escorted into her office, have her look at him like he was insane, only for her to leave as quickly as they’d come in. On her return, the woman walked in, said, “Thank you” to him for accompanying his father right before informing him that she wouldn’t require an interpreter.
Relief didn’t begin to describe Faison’s thoughts on that one. He didn’t want to be here anyway. His dad was always trying to recruit him into the family business, but Faison had no interest in the import-export trade of high-end electronic surveillance equipment.
No, he loved his music, was born for it and was damn good at it. He was back in Seattle for one reason—the beginning of his crossover tour that would officially announce his transition as a Japanese R&B powerhouse with over a million and a half albums sold into the mainstream pop scene here in the States. When he opened his mouth the melody that filled his soul came streaming out into words for all the world to hear and it completed him in a way that nothing else could. Nothing except the one thing he hadn’t allowed himself—a true lover. Oh he’d had sex aplenty, but never anything serious. He simply couldn’t afford to attach himself to the wrong woman, the wrong anyone.
Relieved she spoke fluent Japanese, Faison had just been about to excuse himself when the warmth of the crystal on his wrist lit up his fingertips.
“Are you okay, Mr. Dow?”
Faison had been ready to deliver a smart-assed comment regarding her original snotty reaction at his appearance. Her expression was less than welcoming, but she was a professional. De’alla’s demeanor said “pro”, her voice said “concerned” and her eyes said…hmmm. It could only be described as a subtle glimpse into the soul behind the most beautiful pair of honey browns he’d ever seen.
Taking a mental step back, Faison looked at her, really looked at her. He took in the classy knot of twists and curls set artfully atop her head. He knew that if he removed the pins the natural coils would tumble down into a soft mass of cotton that would welcome his fingers. Her skin was like milk chocolate with a hint of glowing bronze, healthy and dewy with barely a trace of makeup. And even with nothing but a hint of gloss her lips held a touch of pinkish-red just at the seam, the very spot he would nip when he kissed her.
He wondered if the succulent lower lips tucked between what seemed to be a fit pair of thighs would blush when he kissed her there.
The crystal blazed hotter as his imagination seemed to solidify before his eyes, like a waking dream, a vision of things to come, of things he yearned for. Craved.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! This was ridiculous. He didn’t even know this woman. And if first impressions were any indication De’alla didn’t think much of him, and he had no idea why he thought more than what he should of her. Him and his wayward cock.
Instead of blowing her off as he’d been tempted to do at first, now all he could do was bite his tongue and hope his cock didn’t break off from the tension that suddenly filled it.
“Uh, Mr. Dow?”
Damn it, he’d completely missed what she’d said.
“What?”
“I asked if you’re okay? You just turned an amazing shade of red and made an awkward noise,” Ms. Isaacs responded quietly.
“A noise?”
“Yes.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The space between her brows wrinkled with skepticism and a bit of confusion. Good, that made two of them.
“It sounded a bit like a yelp. Are you in pain?”
Great. The heat from the crystal had been so unexpected he must have released the sound and not even noticed. Just what he needed, for his dad to see him behave like an idiot in front of a woman so beautiful and classy he could tell she was out of his league by being in her presence for a mere three minutes.
“I’m fine, thanks.” Think fast, buddy, think fast. “I have an old sports injury. I guess I twirked my knee at an odd angle as I turned to leave. Sorry to startle you.” Twirked? Geesh, it wasn’t even a word.
“No problem. Are you sure you don’t wish to stay with your father? We won’t be long.”
Hell no he didn’t want to stay here. With each word this De’alla Isaacs woman spoke the heat of the stone hidden in the bracelet beneath the cuff of his shirt inched up a notch until he pictured it flying through his pores. In the end, it translated to some serious attraction. The crystal’s energy may have started around his wrist, but it traveled up his arm, down his chest, through his gut to dump into his cock. My god, he’d never experienced a crackling jolt to his junk before.
Faison glanced away and tried to concentrate on what was happening to his body but it didn’t do a damn lick of good. Every third thought strayed to the female as she graciously brought whatever papers they needed to discuss over to a small conference area rather than staring them down from her big, impressive desk.
Big, impressive desk? Geesh, Faison, get a grip. She’s an executive, not a snob. And why was he looking for a reason to dislike her, a woman who filled his mind, yet he didn’t know her from Adam? And who also happened to be insanely gorgeous. Not in a supermodel sense, though she was definitely good-looking, but something more, something deeper about her called to him, and surprisingly called to his gift—his elemental gift.
“Why don’t you stay, son? It does not make sense for you to sit in the lobby when the chairs here are just as comfortable.”
Goddammit. Good going, Dad. Faison loved his father fiercely but right now all he wanted was to toss his old man into the nearest body of water, any body of water. Hell, right now even a puddle would do. Because now there was no way he could leave, not after his father had asked him to stay. It would be rude. Faison could care less what the tabloids said about him being an ass but he cared what his father, a man he loved and respected, thought of him.
“If you’re sure I won’t be a distraction I’ll hang around, Dad. But I’ll go sit over there so you two can work,” he said, pointing at a chair furthest away from the woman tearing down his common sense.
Thirty minutes and at least a shirt full of sweat later, Faison Dow practically broke his thumb mashing the button for the elevator. Relief. Blessed relief. The further away he got from Ms. Isaacs’ office the more his crystal cooled and the hard-on from hell subsided. He bit the inside of his lip as the steel and glass door slid open and his father shuffled through. He knew what was coming. And the last thing he wanted was another lecture on how great he would be at running his father’s enterprise. Sigh.
“She is a smart and beautiful woman. I hope you have sense enough to see that, son.”
Surprise. Not what he expected his dad to say at all. But yeah, he saw it all right. Saw it. Smelled it. Heard it. All of his senses had been engaged, in tune with every move De’alla Isaacs had made from the subtle shifting in her seat to the slight quirk of the left side of her mouth when his father was trying to be charming to the way she sipped her tea.
It was fucking ridiculous.
And he decided right then that he wouldn’t go another day without it.
Shit.
Chapter Two
Damn doorbell. Why did the pizza guy always show up when she was getting into or out of the shower? He probably timed it perfectly each time just to get a glimpse of her in her skivvies…not that she actually wore any when she was lounging around the house.
Dee jammed her foot into her favorite fuzzy slippers of the moment and half-slid, half-stomped down the hall. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin through the floor-to-ceiling windows along this particular part of the hall. She almost stopped to enjoy it. Then the doorbell rang again.
Once at the front door she snatched it open then hopped back two steps in sheer surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Before the words were completely out of her mouth, her crystal went berserk, just as it had when this man and his very nice but very old father walked into her office the first time. Only Faison’s dad was nowhere around. Dee leaned sideways and stuck her head out the doorway just to check. No sign of the older Mr. Dow. That could only mean that…Faison? Faison Dow? No. No way in hell could he be her match. It was twelve kinds of wrong and from hell on top of that.
But what if…? With an inward sigh Dee admitted three things. One, in spite of all the gossip that painted Faison in a bad light, something about the jerk called to her. Not just her crystal’s reaction but her elemental and sensual sides as well and she had no idea why. Two, she didn’t know for herself that he was really what the media claimed him to be. After all, she wasn’t quite what she seemed either, yet it served her purposes to let others believe she was a shrewish bitch that could outperform the savviest businessman. Perhaps Faison played a role just as she did? And three, when Miss Angela gave her the crystal and told her about Asmodeus and the part Dee and her mate would play in saving the world, there was no mention of her having to like her other half. Unfortunately.
Sigh. Regardless of what she thought of this guy, if he was “the one” she would do her duty. Responsibilities had never been something Dee blew off. Her sisters deserved to be protected, and Dee would do her part.
*De’alla, there is nothing wrong with this male,* She projected into her head.
“It’s just that he is so not my type.” Wasn’t that the truth? Or was it? Dee thought snarkily. “Faison is too full of himself, She.” Yeah, and too good-looking and sexy by half.
*You wish an ugly male?*
“Good grief, She, that’s not it at all. He’s too bold. Too out there. Too…male.” Dee knew he was a go-getter by the groundbreaking inroads he’d made in the music industry. Faison was one of very few Japanese vocalists who sang R&B with a successful crossover from Japan to the mainstream market in the States. The man sang soul music like a natural old-time Motown artist when he couldn’t have been more than eight when those old-timers set the world afire. “Why couldn’t he be a soft-spoken geek who was good with computers or something?”
*Stereotypes are beneath you, De’alla.*
“You know that’s not what I meant. It doesn’t matter that he’s Japanese and I’m black. I just want someone that isn’t so well-known. Nice. Quiet. Not interested in…”
*Fighting demons? Content to remain in the shadows and slobber on your shoes as he brings you the morning paper? You would be better off with a dog, De’alla, for such a man would not be up to the challenge of being Chosen.*
Yep. Exactly what Dee had been thinking. An unassuming guy wouldn’t go looking for a fight with a damn demon.
*But such a man would not keep the fight from coming to you.*
Fuck-a-duck.
*De’alla, you may tell me that I am correct now or put it off until later, but it will not change the outcome either way you choose to do it.*
Snarky-assed companion entity woman spirit thingy.
Yet thoughts of defeating Asmo brought with them Dee’s determination to see this through. If Faison was her mate it was a good thing, even if he wasn’t her type.
But how would she know? Perhaps Faison had a crystal like hers. That would be proof right?
In pursuit of hope Dee’s eyes instinctively dropped from the man’s angular, gorgeous, perfectly sculpted face down to the patch of skin at the vee of his tee shirt. No chain like she wore around her neck. No pendent. Nothing.
But it could be a longer chain and simply hidden beneath his shirt, right? But it didn’t appear as if he wore anything under that tight tee. No bumps or lumps in the area between his pecs. Dee almost wished Faison would take off the long-sleeved unzipped sweatshirt he wore so she could get a look at what those pecs were attached to. She obviously agreed if the longing that pressed through their connection was any indication.
Faison’s uncharacteristically stuttered words snapped her back to the real question at hand—what was he doing on her porch?
“I, uh. Well, my father… I’m here for my father.”
Now that didn’t sound anywhere close to a reason to be standing at her door on her only Friday off in gods knew how long. And since when was Faison Dow at a loss for words? He’d given enough interviews to the media to last a lifetime and he’d never appeared flustered during any of them.
“I mean, I was headed…I wondered if you might need me to bring anything to my father.”
“No, I’m fine. I do have some papers to deliver to him with the revisions to the contracts but I can have them delivered by a third party. No need to go out of your way.”
“It’s not out of my way.”
“Uh, Faison, it’s quite out of your way considering my office is clear on the other side of town. So just bring it to me real. Why are you at my house?” Well, she never had been one to mince words. Why start now? And if it scared him away, then that was proof enough that he didn’t have the constitution to fight old Asmo.
“I wanted to invite you to my concert.”
“Thanks but I can get my own tickets if I’m so inclined.”
“No, you’re not understanding me. I’d like you to come to my concert. With me. As one of my special guests.”
“I don’t do booty calls, Mr. Dow.” But I might be tempted if you weren’t known to be such a damn dog, Dee thought.
And just like that, Mr. Flustered disappeared and the bold, unrepentant Faison Dow she saw in magazines and on TV was back. And he was all alpha. Dee could have kicked herself. He was easier to deal with when he was stuttering all over himself. Easier to ignore. Easier to resist.
*Because you think of nothing but sex when he is “too male”, as you put it.*
“Oh shut up already. Go take a nap or something.” Dee almost released an audible sigh of relief when a chuckling She retreated to a small corner of her mind.
“Miss Isaacs, do you think I would risk my father’s honor or reputation by fucking up his business partnership by pissing you off? Excuse me, I apologize for cursing.” He ran his hand through his chocolate brown stylishly cut hair. Dee watched it stand on end like porcupine quills. With a deep breath, he launched into the deep once again. “Ms. Isaacs.”
“Dee.”
“Dee? Thank you for that.”
For what? She hadn’t done anything. They weren’t in Japan so the traditional formality commonly practiced in public wasn’t necessary on her front porch on Alki Beach near Seattle. But he already knew that considering this was his hometown, not Nagano or Tokyo.
Hmm. There was that same puzzled yet determined expression Faison had worn for most of the time he was in her office the other day watching her negotiate with Dow Sr. As if he worked through a puzzle or a really difficult math question on the SAT or something. His expression was one thing. But his words brought her up short.
“Look, Dee, I may play the self-absorbed, lightheaded, flittering celebrity to the media but trust me, I’m not stupid by any stretch. I know a good thing when I see it. And I know long-term material when I see it. And I’m not talking about the painted dolls I usually parade around.” He paused a second, then said, “They were simply…safe.”
Lord Jesus, he meant i
t! So he’d been playing the role all along. Even without She’s sideline commentary going on in her head, Dee knew Faison was sincere.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Honesty. It was so refreshing. But it wouldn’t do for this overconfident piece of fluff, or imitation of an overconfident piece of fluff, to think he’d actually gotten through to her so quickly. Even if he had.
What’s more, she knew what Faison meant by “safe”. Why? Because it was exactly the kind of men she’d dated before. The kind she’d talked herself into believing she desired. Men who weren’t Chosen, who had no Piece of Eight. Men perfectly content to allow her to lead them, to make all the decisions though inside she resented the fact that they had no scrotes. Those guys had seemed perfect because her heart was not at risk. She knew, knew going into it that they weren’t really the one for her. That alone made it easy to keep a part of herself detached.
In the end, all it had done was keep her open and available for her match. Her true match.
Sigh. Yet it looked like this man might not be the one, either. There was no crystal to be seen. Then again, it was obvious that things with Faison weren’t as they appeared on the surface.
“So, will you come to my concert or just keep staring at me as if you can’t decide whether to believe what I’m saying or tell me to go to hell?”
Dee’s gaze snapped away from his collar and up to meet his dark smoldering eyes. Damn. The man was blushing. She marveled at how his skin reminded her of a caramel covered red apple. And gods she wanted to take a bite. Admitting she wanted a man who’d obviously pretended to be the playboy of the century wasn’t easy. So she had to at least give him a hard time. For now.
Meanwhile, her crystal continued to heat. Sharp pulses of something indescribably delicious built in her blood until she felt each beat of her own heart just underneath the skin. Dee felt the flush clear down to her sex. A dull throb accompanied the slow slickening of flesh, creating an unusual sensitivity. Sensitivity and need—the need to be touched, to be stroked. The need for a personal waterproof toy with a day-and-night supply of rechargeable batteries as soon as she got rid of Faison. Or perhaps a toy attached to Faison. Oh gods, she was really losing it.
