A Taste of Love and Evil

by Barbara Monajem

  “Stop it.” He lifted her and set her abruptly at the edge of the bed, then turned away. “It’s nothing to do with you.” Please. “It’s my problem, not yours.” Though he didn’t want to explain.

  Rose climbed right back on top, riding his hip. “It is my problem,” she said. She rubbed herself against him, blew on his throat, and nipped his shoulder.

  He shuddered again, but despair gave him strength. He made himself go still. Made himself fade…

  She shucked her T-shirt. “It’s my problem because you struggle to resist me. It’s my problem because you go through some weird internal agony when you should be letting go and enjoying yourself with me. I want you, and I want you badly—and I like it that way.”

  Her voice sucked at him, and her words made sense. But she didn’t understand. He couldn’t let himself think, either; he could only hold tight. Tight. He wouldn’t give in to the allure, to the power of their attraction and his addiction. He couldn’t afford to lose control ever again. He would prevail because he had no choice.

  “That’s what makes it so good,” Rose cajoled, sweet and insistent, honey and musk, nectar and wine.

  No, letting go meant helplessness, exposure, peril. Losing control brought failure and death.

  “Why not let yourself enjoy wanting me?” she coaxed.

  “Shit,” Jack said, and it was almost a sob, but he would not succumb. He armored himself in camouflage, wreathed himself in nothingness, blended, faded, sighed…Why must she keep on talking? Her voice, rational and kind, seductively calm, lulled him like the drug she was. The drug he had to avoid. Didn’t he?

  “It can’t be because I’m a vamp,” she went on. “It’s one thing to panic when you’ve been wounded and don’t know whether I’m trustworthy. It’s another entirely to misjudge a whole group of people because a few of them are rotten. You know you’re safe with me, Jack, but you’re still acting weird. Why?”

  Desperately, he whispered, “I can’t explain.” He didn’t want to explain.

  The nasty voice chimed in. You’ll lose her.

  No, please, the rest of him begged. He was almost invisible, almost there.

  She whammed him with allure, tugged him onto his back again. He was losing control, wavering again into view. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran hungry eyes over his naked torso. Oh God, oh God…He struggled to camouflage his chest, conceal his arms. Conceal his guilt.

  “Why not?” she repeated. She straddled him again and slid her hands up his half-visible chest. Her voice was beginning to sound desperate. “Come on. I can feel your arousal. I can smell it. What’s wrong with you?”

  What was wrong with him? He grabbed her wandering hands. His own hands were invisible—even he couldn’t see them—and his voice emerged thickly now, blurred. He was winning. He was.

  Losing, corrected the nasty voice. Losing Rose.

  A massive shudder racked him. “Rose. Stop this. Please.” She had to give him some time.

  “No.” She ground herself against him. “You’re being an ass. Tell me what’s bothering you, goddamn it.” She flooded him with allure, whammed, slammed, bammed him again. He gritted his teeth and erected a wall against the battery of seduction, barricaded himself against the assault of desire.

  Idiot, said one voice. Jerk. You’re not being rational.

  Oh, but I am, insisted another. Willpower, safety, control.

  She took off her bra and flung it across the room. She rubbed her breasts against his naked, invisible chest.

  No. He held himself rigid and unmoving beneath her, his whole body as stiff as his prick. “Stop it. Now.” His voice, grating with contained emotion, with controlled desire, with victory at last, withered as he dissolved completely from sight.

  “Leave. Me. Be.”

  When Jolene finally returned them to her agency office well after sunset, Juma already had her seat belt off and her backpack over her shoulder. She was sick and tired of looking at houses, and she’d jabbered herself hoarse trying to keep the woman’s attention.

  She had bagged the front seat, pissing Jolene off right from the start, and they’d almost run off the road more than once because the agent was ogling poor Gil. Jack’s friend had said little from the back, but Jolene quivered visibly whenever he spoke. Juma had done a little quivering of her own, which was sort of fun, but she knew better than to let it get to her.

  The real-estate agent didn’t shut off the car. Instead, she smiled at Gil and said brightly, “I’ve got an idea? We’ll drop Juma at the library to do homework, and go have a drink. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Juma had had enough, and so had Gil. “Don’t waste your time. He’s not going to sleep with you or anyone else while he has me.” That shut the bitch up. Belately, however, Juma realized Gil might take her seriously. She turned to wink reassuringly at him. That was when she saw the pink Lincoln in front of the shoe store at the other end of the strip mall.

  “Traitor!” she shrieked. “I can’t believe I trusted you!” Cramming her poetry book into her pocket, she jumped out the other side of the car.

  She took off running as a dog yapped—oh, crap, not Poopsie!—and yapped again. The door of the shoe store opened, and Grandma, in velvet sweats to match her pink hair, stalked out. Poopsie scrabbled at the half-open window of the Lincoln and yapped harder than ever. Grandma waved her cane and screeched, “Juma!”

  No way, no way in hell she’s getting me back. But there was nowhere to go, no houses or yards, just commercial buildings, and far down the empty road, another mall. Some woods rose up a long way off across an open field. No cover anywhere. Even in the dark of evening, she’d be easy to find.

  Grandma’s hysterical quavers—such bullshit—receded behind her, along with the dog’s whimper as Grandma shut him up. There was the sound of a car door opening, and of Jolene’s startled questions. Gil’s frazzled but still gorgeous voice came next, “Thank you, I really must run,” followed by more exclamations. Grandma’s now strident bellow ensued, and the slamming of a car door.

  Knowing her grandmother wouldn’t give chase on foot, Juma scurried up a driveway and behind a clump of warehouses. Maybe one was still open; she could duck inside a back door and come out through the front once Gil and Grandma both drove away. But after tugging at one door and then another, she found them both locked.

  A Dumpster? Too obvious. There seemed no good place to hide. It was chilly and horribly dark all around. In the whole area only one lonely light shone, above another locked door.

  A gap at the bottom of a loading-dock door beckoned, seemingly her only hope. She climbed onto the dock and pushed her backpack under the door, then lay on her back on the cold concrete to squish sideways through the opening. Her tie caught on a metal snag. She wrenched it away, ripping the orange fabric. Oh, well, Rose didn’t like that one as much. She’d refused to wear the one Rose had given her because she was mad at Rose for leaving, but now she wished desperately that Rose were around, because Rose wouldn’t betray her.

  Who was she kidding? Everyone betrayed her.

  Juma wriggled farther into the gap, squishing her breasts, and turned her head frantically to the side just as Gil’s SUV rounded the corner and its headlamps caught her like a mesmerized deer. Gil cut the lights and jumped out.

  “That lady with the pink hair was your grandma?”

  “Gil,” Juma sobbed, “please go. Please don’t make me go back to her. She’ll lock me up again and burn my books, and I don’t think I can bear it anymore.” She squeezed farther into the warehouse, and the door creaked heavily, ominously above. “Just go. Please just go.”

  “You can’t stay here. Your grandma’s ordering the real-estate people around and calling the cops.” Jack’s partner stuck his shoulder under the door and heaved it up a couple of inches. “This is the first place they’ll look for you. Come on, let’s go.”

  “You didn’t know she would be there?” Juma accused. She slipped out, clinging to her ba
ckpack. “This real-estate crap wasn’t just to keep me busy until she showed up? You swear?”

  “Of course it wasn’t, of course I swear, now get in the car and let’s go!” Gil picked her up bodily, dumped her into the backseat of the SUV, and stuffed the backpack in behind her.

  “My book!” Juma shrieked, and Gil swooped down to pick up the book of poems, which had fallen to the pavement. He tossed it in, slammed the door, and got into the driver’s seat.

  Juma couldn’t stop herself. She leaned forward and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thank you!”

  Gil shrank away, letting go of the seat belt so that it whicked back into its slot. “You meant what you said to Jolene?” He goggled at her.

  Oh, crap. “About you being with me?” Juma shook her head. “Of course not. I was saving you from a fate worse than death—and it worked, right? Totally freaked the woman out.”

  Gil didn’t move.

  “That was just a thank-you kiss,” Juma promised. “Let’s go.”

  Grim faced, Gil put his seat belt on. “This is why I don’t like runaways. How old are you?”

  “Eight—” No. “Sixteen.”

  “Just what I needed. The age for statutory rape in Louisiana is seventeen.”

  Juma was close to having a fit. “Gil, I don’t want to sleep with you! You’re old enough to be my father, for God’s sake. Anyway, sex is boring. I’m not interested. At all.” She punched him hard on the shoulder. “Grandma will get me if we stay here. Now, go.”

  Gil took off without headlights and hit the road just as the pink Lincoln turned out of the real-estate parking lot. Juma ducked down.

  Gil put the pedal to the metal and sped like a lunatic toward town, but Grandma followed them even more crazily through two red lights while talking on her cell phone. She jumped the Lincoln onto the wrong side of the road when Gil made a sudden turn, and Juma cheered as horns blared behind them. Gil stomped on the gas again, and finally lost their pursuer in a maze of neighborhoods before heading into downtown Bayou Gavotte.

  “We’re not likely to see her down here,” Juma said. She huddled low in the car, peering at the neon signs and busy streets of the club district as it began to stir for the evening. “Grandma disapproves of clubs, because that’s where my dad got started on drugs. What should we do now?”

  “Talk to Jack,” Gil said. He pulled out his cell phone. But Jack didn’t answer, so he left an urgent message before confessing, “In New Orleans, I would have had someplace safe for you. Here nothing’s been set up.”

  “Jack’s apartment?” Juma suggested. Not a superappealing idea, but what else was there?

  “Too close to my place. Your grandma’s almost certainly got my license number, probably my name, too, from Jolene, and the cops can get that anyway. It’ll have to be Violet. I can’t think of anything else.”

  He turned off the main drag, took a few more corners, and drove slowly down a residential street lined with massive live oaks and huge Victorian houses. “It should be down here, by what I’ve heard.”

  “You don’t even know where she lives?” Juma asked.

  “Behind Blood and Velvet. In a purple house.”

  “It should be near the end of this block, then. Keep going, keep going…Oh, no!” She ducked as low as she could and still see out the window. “Gil, if this is another trap—”

  They were passing the big purple Victorian just as a cop descended the walk, clipping his radio back on his belt. Juma stared, frozen, as the cop glanced up, sharpened his stance, and ran for his vehicle.

  Gil cursed, rounded the corner, and doused his lights again. He headed fast down the dimly lit alley between Violet’s street and the clubs. “I won’t be able to outrun him. We’re downtown, the traffic’s heavy, and he can get backup in no time. Your only chance is to run and hide.” As Juma crammed the book of poems into her pocket and put her backpack over her shoulders, Gil handed his cell phone over the seat. “Downtown is pretty safe at night. Find someplace warm to wait. Keep calling Jack. Tell him what happened.” He passed her his wallet. “Take some money in case you need to go eat.”

  Trembling now, Juma opened the wallet. Only a twenty. “That’s all you have.”

  “Take it,” Gil said. “And the charger, too, just in case you need it. In the glove box.” Far behind them, the cop’s brights and flashers appeared, approaching at terrifying speed. Gil forced the SUV even faster down the gravel of the alley.

  Juma scrounged for the charger. “Got it. But they’ll catch you.”

  “Better me than you. See the bend up ahead? Just past there I’ll stop. You jump out on the left, shut the door, and get out of sight. His lights will be pointing right as he enters the turn, so any cover should do. I’ll gun it and get the cop to follow me. Take off that orange tie, because it’ll reflect everything. That suit jacket’s too unusual, makes you easy to spot. Ready to go?”

  Juma tore off the orange tie. “Grandma will say you kidnapped me. She did that once before to some guy who gave me a ride.”

  Gil shrugged. “They can’t arrest me for kidnapping if you’re not in the car.”

  “Grandma will make sure they arrest you. She’ll say I’m underage and that you had sex with me, and Jolene will back her up. Oh, Gil, I’ve never even had sex! I just pretend for the hell of it. I’m so sorry!”

  “I’ll be fine.” They whipped round the curve. The alley ended in a crowded street only fifty yards ahead. There wouldn’t be another chance. “Ready? See the bushes by the corner?”

  “You’ll be stuck in a cell, or the underworld might kill you. Gil, please!”

  He skidded to a stop and roared, “Go!”

  Juma jumped out, slammed the door, and dove past a line of bushes at the edge of the alley. Gil plunged the SUV into the middle of moving traffic and blaring horns, and two seconds later the cop flew by, wild with lights and sirens. Juma huddled behind the bushes, safe for the moment in the dark.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rose climbed off her invisible ex-lover and walked away. She heard him move but didn’t turn. She listened to his intake of breath, followed by a sharp exhalation. Relief, she supposed. Relief.

  Surprisingly, she wasn’t angry. She’d never been rejected like this before, but she felt astonishingly calm. A new experience; chalk it up. Obviously, she’d misjudged their connection. Outside, the music had faded and the crowd was dispersing. Constantine must have gone indoors again.

  In the living room, she shucked her sweatpants and underwear. Jack might or might not be watching, but obviously it didn’t matter. He didn’t want her anymore. Judging by the way he’d dismissed her while he had a raging hard-on, he must be completely disgusted with her. He should be, she supposed. She’d totally invaded his privacy. She’d thought herself a nurturer, a person who set aside her own needs for others. A woman who understood a man’s desires and fulfilled them. Instead, she’d tried to force him to have sex. It turned out she really was violent at heart. Jack had taught her a lot about herself, most of it unsavory. No wonder he hated vamps.

  She unzipped her suitcase and rummaged for something special. Clothing that impressed. Not to impress Jack, though. Jack was history. During the last hour he’d come to some decision she didn’t understand. So, why did her hands shake as she dug through her underwear?

  Whatever. She’d had setbacks before. Not this particular kind, but she could handle anything. She donned a new bra and undies, a delicate tea-rose shade, her special shade, and tall green leather boots.

  She didn’t need to turn to know he stood in the doorway. Did he think she would steal his precious Magic Flute teapot as she left? No, she was being petty. This was unlike her, shameful even. She wondered whether he was invisible at the moment, but she didn’t turn to look. She didn’t want to see the expression on his face.

  She unpacked her favorite dress, constructed of the homemade fabric that had garnered her several contest wins and a spread in Quilting Arts, and stuffed the sweats a
nd shoes into her suitcase. Since he wasn’t talking, she’d get this thing moving. “Call me a cab, please. Fortunately, Violet invited me to stay at her place. I’m sure she’ll welcome Juma as well, if your friend still isn’t available.”

  “I forgot a rescue.”

  “What?” Rose put her arms into a slip of the same lighthearted shade and let it slither over her breasts and drape gently onto her hips. It left her thighs bare. Guys loved her thighs.

  “I forgot a goddamned rescue, Rose.” There was a hitch in his voice. “I was expecting a call. I knew it could come at any time, and I was worried about the woman…but I got so wrapped up in sex with Titania that I forgot to check my phone and the rescue died.”

  Rose heard the words, but she was too intent on not caring about him to really listen. She shook out her dress, a confection of wool and silk fibers held together with wandering lines of stitching, with swirls and knots of silver thread. She always felt gorgeous wearing the dress.

  By the sound of his voice, Jack felt awful. What was he—?

  It finally sank in. He’d just told her a rescue had died. What would that mean for a man who lived his life accounting for everything as Jack did? “You mean, you didn’t hear the phone?” She risked a glance at him, suddenly appalled. He looked like shit. “You heard it and ignored it?”

  “No. Though for all I know, I might have ignored it if I had heard. Titania can…can be very charming if she chooses, and once she’d caught me, I was blind and deaf to everything but the sex. Even amongst my dad’s vampire girlfriends, I’d never met a woman with such…But that doesn’t excuse me.” He blew out a breath.

  Rose’s dress had large round buttons down the front, covered in the same fabulous fabric. She put it on, letting it float down over her slip and settle luxuriously into place. Jack’s eyes slid over her, and she supposed he must have noticed her outfit, but he said nothing. Why should he? So what if everyone in the whole damned world complimented her on this dress? She’d lost him 100 percent. She should have too much pride to crave his attention. Even worse, she should be ashamed to dwell on herself when he was so obviously overset. He looked simply awful, far too distraught over a death that must have happened a year ago, judging by what Violet had said about his time with Titania. It wasn’t directly his fault. She yearned to hug and comfort him.