As I looked at her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face, a new emotion slithered like a snake through my heart: guilt.
I'd never felt guilty. Never had a reason to. But now, some combination of awakened empathy and lingering desire alchemized to generate a more human response than I'd ever felt before.
Because of me, this beautiful young woman was in pain, and I wanted to make that pain stop.
I reached to help her with the crate, and she surprised me by pulling back and scowling. "I can do it, but thanks."
She didn't like me, and yet, she didn't know who I really was, so that meant she didn't like Blake. But he had one hell of a hard-on for her. Interesting.
"I'd like to help. It looks heavy." This time I didn't force my assistance upon her, but waited for her to accept.
The kennel fell to the ground, and she suppressed a sob. "Okay. Thank you."
I lifted it easily and waited for her to get the dog bed and bowl. "Where are we taking this?"
Her hazel eyes met mine, and I could feel the grief in them. "To the trash. It's time to say goodbye and accept that she's gone."
Her words seemed loaded with a double meaning I couldn't decipher, but I didn't press. Instead, I walked beside her, holding our silence like fragile spun glass in danger of breaking, and gave her the space to process her pain.
The metal of the kennel clanged loudly when it hit the bottom of the trash bin, shattering the moment. She tossed the bed and bowl in after, then turned and walked away.
I followed her back, not yet ready to say goodbye when we'd barely said hello.
She paused at her door, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again.
"Why don't you like me?" Might as well be direct.
She shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the question, clearly. "Honestly? You're a bit creepy, the way you stare at me all the time. And you lack a backbone. You let Mother walk all over you like a spineless jellyfish. It's not attractive. And you really suck at the nuances of communication."
Her hand shot up and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I mean, it's true, that's how I feel, but I should have been more… diplomatic. I had a rough day yesterday, and today I decided to clean out the cottage and remove Sandy's stuff, and it feels like losing her all over again."
I reached for her hand and ran my fingers over her smooth skin. In the back of my mind, I knew this was significant. She feared touch, and others feared her, even the dipshit whose body I had taken over.
Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull back, but this time I didn't let her call the shots. "I'm sorry that I've behaved badly in the past. Rest assured I'm not the man I was," to say the least. "I hope you'll give me a second chance to prove that I can be more than a mindless, spineless lapdog for your mother. Believe me, those days are over."
Her hand relaxed in mine, eyes wide in shock. I used her reaction to my advantage and stepped closer, letting pheromones do their job. "And Rose, I'm not scared of your touch, or you. You're brave and beautiful and incredibly smart, and I was a damn fool to treat you as I have."
With our bodies inches apart, I had to resist the temptation to lean down and taste her lips, so soft and pink. There was an art to seduction, a timing that couldn't be rushed.
Her body relaxed, our hands still touching, and she almost smiled, or at least stopped frowning so aggressively. "That's a surprising response from you. I must admit, I'm impressed. Everyone deserves a second chance, so consider this yours. And thank you for your help today, Blake. You made a difficult task lighter."
Unable to resist a moment more, I leaned in and gently kissed her forehead.
Her arousal and need flooded my senses, and I could have taken her then and there, but she would hate me, and herself, if I did. I would wait and let that heat build before stoking her fire.
The foreplay of seduction was, after all, the best part.
SIX
Love Looks Not With The Eyes
Rose
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
BY THE TIME Ocean returned home from the store, I'd completely rearranged the cottage. I told myself it was to fill the emptiness left by Sandy's missing belongings, and that was partly true. I couldn't bear to see those spots so barren, where only her ghostly memory lingered. Now, a love seat sat where once she did.
But it wasn't the only reason I had to stay busy. Blake's presence disturbed me, and not in the way it usually did. If I'd only ever seen a picture of him, I would have thought he was seriously hot—any woman would—but because I knew him for so long, his ick factor negated the surface sexiness.
Until today.
Something profound had changed in him. Like a magnet flipped around, instead of repulsing me, he pulled me in. I hated to admit this, even to myself, but I was actually, oh God… attracted to him.
Even thinking it made me feel disloyal to Derek, which made no sense since we were officially over and he wouldn't even speak to me.
But that was beside the point. This was Blake. How had he turned all sexy and charming and considerate and soulful overnight? That wasn't possible.
Ocean walked in carrying bags of groceries and stopped in her tracks. "We're redecorating?"
Her eyes landed on the spot Sandy had once claimed. "Ah, I see." She put down the bags and hugged me. "I'm proud of you. But I would've helped, if you'd waited."
We unloaded the food together as we talked. "I needed to do it alone, but funny thing, I ended up getting help from Blake."
I watched Ocean close for a reaction, and her cheeks turned red. I pointed at her. "Ah-ha! You noticed it too! What the hell is up with him?"
She held a cold bottle of water to her chest and fanned herself. "I don't know, but I would so do him. He practically drips sex. It's like he finally hit puberty or something."
I threw the bag of cotton balls at her and laughed. "Well, you can have him. I have enough man problems without adding him to the equation."
"So, you're not interested at all? You know, it might not be a bad idea to give Derek some competition. Move on with your life. Date someone else. Let him see that you're not going to sit alone pining for him until you start collecting cats and china."
"Cats and china? Really?" I put the last of the produce in the refrigerator, recycled the bags, and sat down at our two-person kitchen table.
She sat across from me and picked at a bowl of grapes. "Yes, cats and china. It's a thing. Anyways, you shouldn't shun him. I can tell there's a spark."
"Just because there's a spark, doesn't mean I need to start a forest fire." I wasn't ready for that, not with him or anyone. All the problems I had with Derek, at least as far as the touching went, still applied. I could kill any man I lost control with.
It seemed Blake was determined to fan the flames of what might be, regardless of the consequences. Over the next several days he brought me a bouquet of wild flowers—my favorite, despite my name— sent me a box of caramel chocolates, and gave me a first edition copy of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, one of the best books ever.
I shoved the novel at Ocean. "'Fess up. How'd he know about this? No one would know to buy me this but you."
"What? So I answered a few questions for him. I can't believe you're not interested. Every single female, and some not-so-single females, on this property are throwing themselves at him and you're playing ice queen? You're the only one he has eyes for!"
Someone knocked on the door, and I frowned at her and turned to answer it.
Blake stood on the porch, another gift-wrapped box in hand. A small box, like one that might contain jewelry.
He smiled, and my knees buckled ever so slightly. I braced myself against the frame of the door and fought the urge to press my body against his and tear his clothes off.
Get a grip, girl! Sheesh. I was acting like a bitch in heat.
At this rate, I might as well turn my ass to him and rub against him until he took me from behind.
Blood rushed to my face, and his lips curled up, as if he could read my mind.
"Blake, I can't accept anymore gifts. I don't think this is a good idea."
He leaned into me, and I braced myself for a kiss, wanting it and resisting it all at once, but he slid a finger down my cheek, onto my neck and then whispered in my ear, "I'm a patient man. I can wait." He walked away, leaving the gift on the porch.
A fire had indeed blazed through my body, down the line he'd created with his finger, pooling into a desperate need at my center.
Ocean reached down to pick up the gift and opened it. She whistled. "You're doomed, Rose. He's got your number."
She handed me the box, and when I saw the contents, my breath left me in a whoosh.
I could not let myself near this man. He was far too dangerous for my body. And heart.
SEVEN
Cupid is a Knavish Lad
BLAKE
Cupid is a knavish lad,
Thus to make poor females mad.
—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
IT HAD NEVER mattered to me before, whether in human form or demon, if a woman was drawn to me because of my seductive nature, or because they genuinely appreciated my inner qualities.
With Rose, it mattered.
I knew her lust was an artificial reaction to the chemicals I secreted as an incubus, and for the first time, that bothered me. But I couldn't turn off that part of myself, so I had to make her fall in love with the real me, without actually telling her who the real me was.
This line of frustrating thought led to Jasmine sneaking up on me unaware while I soaked in the hot tub.
She slipped into the steaming water, and I turned in time to catch a glimpse of long legs and a skimpy purple bikini that matched her short hair.
My kind didn't have arbitrary rules about age. Puberty was puberty.
But while human, I had to abide by the laws of humans, which meant she was off limits for another two years.
And though that was all true, that wasn't the real reason I resisted the scent of her freshly scrubbed body as she moved closer to me.
Rose stole my attention.
She occupied prime real estate in my mind and heart, even in her continued rejection of my advances.
I hoped the last gift would show her that I truly cared about her. I'd scanned through hundreds of pictures looking for the perfect one of Sandy that would fit the white gold, antique locket. The quote I'd written myself, as an effigy for her departed friend.
Rest in the heart of those whose love you shared.
I knew how hard it had been for her to say goodbye and clear her house out of Sandy's belongings. Having a keepsake would help ease the grief and facilitate healing, or so I'd hoped.
Jasmine's hand slid around my waist, over the muscles of my abs. "You have an incredible body, Blake. I can't believe I never noticed before."
My cock stiffened, and my body reached for her, desperate for the food only a willing woman could provide, but my heart forced me back. "I can't, Jasmine. You're too young."
She flicked her hair. "A technicality." Biting her lower lip, she moved closer, pinning me to the side of the tub.
I couldn't remember a time I'd ever turned away a willing meal. I caught her wrists in my hands and pushed her back, slipping to the side to avoid her body. "We can't."
With a pout on her lips born of teenage hormones, she stepped back. "Is there someone else?"
I paused too long.
"I knew it. You're still into Rose, aren't you?" She pushed her breasts up as she crossed her arms. "She doesn't even like you. God, she's such a bitch. She gets everything, even the things she doesn't want."
Her anger reached deeper into pain and insecurity. I'd become an expert at reading humans, mostly so I could manipulate them. I'd never tried to use these abilities to help one out of selflessness. "I know it feels like that, and I can't imagine what it's been like for you to live in the shadow of your mother and Rose. But Jasmine, you are young, beautiful and bright. These feelings aren't permanent. High school isn't forever."
Normally, I'd reach out and use contact to give weight to my words, but I didn't want to send her the wrong message, so I kept my hands to myself. "What do you love doing most?"
The question must have surprised her, because she forgot to scowl for a moment. When her face relaxed, she looked more her age. More innocent.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I like music, I guess."
"Do you sing? Play an instrument?"
"Both, kind of. I taught myself piano and guitar, but I've never had lessons. My friends at school say I sing pretty good, and I'm in the choir, even though it's lame and full of losers."
She tried so hard to project a badass rebel image, but I could tell she wanted to embrace her talents. "Pour yourself into that. Forget about your sister or your mother, or even about being popular. Give your music time and attention and it will open doors for you no one else can. You'll also be a lot happier."
"What if I suck?" She bit on her thumb's nail, no longer trying to be the seducer.
"Sing something for me."
She backed up, dropping her hand to her side. "What? No way. I'd be embarrassed."
"No one else is here. I won't tell anyone. Just sing. Close your eyes and pretend you're alone in your room."
I saw the struggle on her face. She craved validation and approval to pursue her dreams, but dreaded making a fool of herself in front of a guy.
Finally, the singer in her won out. She closed her eyes and began to sing. Her voice warbled at the first few notes, nerves getting in the way, but then confidence came and she belted out the lyrics to a popular song.
When she finished, she opened her eyes, waiting.
This time I did reach out to her, touching her hand. "You have an amazing voice. I'm not exaggerating, or telling you what you want to hear. Practice more. Stay in choir. Do whatever it takes to learn more instruments and take lessons. You'll go far."
Her face lit up when she smiled from real pleasure, when she showed her true self. "Really?"
"Really!"
Ocean rounded the corner and saw us, her face an unreadable mask.
I pushed myself out of the tub, legs hanging in. "Hey, Ocean, want to hop in? I was about to leave, but Jasmine would probably enjoy the company."
Lust swelled in Ocean, and my desire reciprocated. I could take her. She was of age, willing, beautiful. But she wasn't Rose.
Damn that woman and the hold she had over this body.
I blamed Blake, the man who mooned over her ineffectually for so many years. The man who blew his shot with her too many times to count.
I wanted him to be the reason I couldn't get her out of my mind, needed him to be the reason, but she hadn't just snared the man whose body I wore. She'd stolen the heart of the demon beneath.
With a nod of gratitude to Ocean, I left a happier Jasmine and sought solace in my own room, alone with my thoughts and worries.
I didn't have time to woo Rose. Soon, I'd be forced back to my prison if I didn't accomplish my mission here, but doing what I must to stay meant partnering with the woman ruining Rose's life.
EIGHT
Night and Silence
ROSE
Night and silence.—Who is here?
—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
THE SILVER LOCKET hung from my neck in a constant reminder that something between Blake and me had changed. I considered not wearing it, or returning it, but he'd put so much thought into this gift, and I loved it.
It had been the perfect way to honor the memory of Sandy. The horror of her and her puppies all dying was in no way diminished, but now she didn't feel so discarded or forgotten. She still had a place in the tapestry of my memories. This, and the knowledge that at least one of her puppies had been sold before the rest were slaughtered, ga
ve me some peace that Sandy would live on.
But, despite all of his generous gifts, and the undeniable and strangely compelling new attraction I felt for Blake, my heart still belonged to another.
I reached for my phone, but Ocean's voice stopped me. "You're not calling him again, are you?"
"What of it?"
"Move on, Rose. If he wants you, he needs to win you back. He's being a dick." She sat with a makeup bag full of cosmetics as she prepped for her date that night.
"I'm the enemy in this scenario, not him. I don't blame him for how he feels."
She puckered her shiny red lips and kissed a napkin to even out the lipstick she'd just applied. "I do. He knows you were acting in self-defense. He needs to grow a pair and forgive you, or he doesn't deserve you. You don't have to grovel anymore, Rose. You apologized. You didn't have all the information at the time. Not your fault."
I changed the subject, tired of this already. "Who's the lucky guy tonight?"
"Joe. But it's a group thing. We're going to a show in Seattle, want to come?"
"Nah, too kinky for me."
"Ha! Not that kind of group thing, though that could be fun, too. You should come. It'll be good for you to get out and have some fun."
The thought of performing for a group of strangers all night sounded exhausting. Making small talk. Pretending to be happy. No thanks. "I'm good here." I held up my book and my glass of red wine. "All set. You go have fun. And be safe."
She kissed my check. "Always. Oh, you weren't here when I got back, but something weird happened today."
"Weird how?" Ocean had some very lax ideas of weird, so if it hit her radar, then I was worried.
"You're not the only one with a new found lust for our faithful handyman. Your sister threw herself at him in the hot tub."
Seduced by Pain: A New Adult Paranormal Romance of Shifters & Witches (Rose's Trilogy, #2) (The Seduced Saga) Page 3
