One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1 (7 page)

She nodded again.

“Has the cat got your tongue, Lily?”

“I’m just not entirely sure I understand. You want me to do a photo shoot with you, in Vegas?”

“I want you to fly to Vegas with me tonight, and in the morning, you start shooting,” he said. “I assume you have your own cameras?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. She seemed to think it should quite literally be a day in my life, start with me in bed in the hotel and just shoot photos all day.”

“I’m not going to bed with you,” Lily blurted. “Not even to get a job with Luxury Lifestyles.”

He smiled. “Neither of those things is on the table,” he said. “I don’t believe they’re offering a position and honestly I think you should consider freelancing anyway, at least for a while. A job like this ought to pay your expenses for a month or so, I would think.”

“I don’t even know what —”

“She emailed me a copy of their standard pay scale and contract.” He handed Lily a sheet of paper; she almost needed resuscitation when she saw the amount typed on it.
 
A month or so
, she thought.
Looks like somebody doesn’t have the faintest idea what things actually cost. Try six months.

“And as for the other,” he said, “going to bed with me is not a requirement. I’m trying to make up for my part in what happened, Lily. Anything else — that’s up to you.”

It struck her that he looked pained to be saying it, but that wasn’t her problem. “I’m not sharing a room with you,” she said.

“You’ll share a suite with me,” he said, and his tone left no room for argument. “You’ll have your own room if you want it — though I’d be entirely thrilled if you chose not to use it — but I stay in the penthouse, and I’m not putting you in a different suite.”

“That’s fine,” she said, “as long as there’s a lock on the door.”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “If that’s what you want,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed her.

She opened her mouth to say, “That’s what I want,” but the thing was … that would have been a lie. So she said nothing, and sat by while he picked up the phone to arrange a car to take her home to pick up her equipment.

Chapter 9

THE FLIGHT HAD been relatively smooth, a fact for which Sebastian was grateful, as Lily had confided in him that she sometimes got motion sickness. She’d taken a pill for it, which knocked her out. He’d been watching her sleep, just enjoying being able to look at her as much as he liked.

She was seated about as far from him as she could get, which wasn’t far in a plane which only seated four people. He’d ordered the smaller of his private planes, a custom Dassault Falcon 2000S; the standard Falcon had eight seats, but he’d had four of them replaced with a small sleeping area located behind a pair of folding doors at the rear of the plane.

Not that he’d told her that — she’d gone weirdly skittish on him and might have bolted if he’d said the word
bed
.

And wasn’t that the craziest thing? He was turning out to be every bit as predictable as any human; show him something he couldn’t have, and he wanted it desperately. But who could blame him? For one thing, she was literally the first woman to ever tell him no, and for another she was … well, she was herself. And there was something in her odd mix of bravado and vulnerability that pulled at heartstrings he hadn’t realized he still had.

Maybe he’d been a little too ready to buy into Vivienne’s assertion that he was a monster. He was, after all, only
half
-monster. Maybe it was time to remember the other half mattered too.

He stood and walked past her to the galley, thinking he might make himself a cup of coffee. They still had a good hour before landing, and watching her sleep was making him drowsy as well.
 

He was so busy thinking about how much more pleasant this trip would be if they were curled up in the bed together, he nearly stepped on Pusboil, who was sprawled out on the floor of the galley, looking even grayer than usual.

“What the — get up!” he whispered, prodding the imp with his shoe. “What are you doing here?”

Pusboil opened one watery red eye and let out a piteous moan. “Watching the girl,” it rasped. “Kind of. In between heaves.”

“What do you mean,
heaves
?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m not supposed to travel this way,” Pusboil whined. “I’m sick.”

“You’re sick,” Sebastian said. “You’re motion sick? From the plane?”

“Yes, and I’ve been nice enough to go gack in the bathroom every time, so you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, thanks. Now get the hell out,” Sebastian said. “You’re not supposed to be here. My mother amended your contract.”

“Yeah, I’m not allowed to watch the two of you rutting or whatever,” Pusboil said with distaste. “Thanks for bringing it up, like I wasn’t already nauseous enough.”

“We’re not — the point is, you don’t need to watch her when I’m around.”

“And you’re gonna be with her 24 hours a day, every minute, no matter what she’s doing?” the imp challenged. “Look, you go behind a door with her, I’m staying on this side of it. I don’t care what you get up to. But I’m bound to watch her any time she’s not doing something …
private
with you and I am not going to breach contract with your mother — are you crazy?”

“You can’t be here. What if she wakes up?”

“She won’t be able to see me properly anyhow,” the imp said petulantly.

“And how am I going to explain to her why I let some mangy cat in here to puke all over the plane?” Sebastian asked. “For the love of all that’s unholy, get the hell out of sight, you idiot. She’ll have to walk right through here to get off the plane.”

“Go where? I’m not gonna go chum up to the pilot,” the imp said, wrapping its legs around its own head and rocking back and forth. “Can’t you tell your mother to release me? What do you need me to look after the girl for anyway? You already spend all your time looking at her yourself.”

It had a point.

“I will talk to my mother, yes, but for now can you just go in the back and hide?” Sebastian poked his head out to check on Lily; she was still sleeping soundly. “She’s asleep, just go and get under the bed.”

The imp gave him a look like he’d taken leave of his senses.

“
We’re
not going in there, okay? Just … go, hide. You can follow us to the hotel once we land.”

“Fine,” the imp said, “but if I get the heaves, someone’s gonna be cleaning under the bed. And they’re not going to like it.”

***

“Lily, wake up.”

She swatted away the hand the first time it touched her cheek, but the second time she was aware enough to crack her eyes open a little and look up at Sebastian, who was leaning over her where she had snuggled into the big comfy seat and fallen asleep.

“Hey,” she said, and reached up to touch his hand where it rested on her face. Whatever else she had been about to say went right out of her head; the feel of his skin under her fingers and the feel of his fingers against her cheek sent a crackling bolt of something that felt a lot like electricity right through her.

He felt it too; she saw his eyes narrow and he kept his hand where it was just a moment longer. Then, with something that looked very much like reluctance in his eyes, he straightened up and stepped back. “We’re here,” he said.

She struggled a little to sit up; he reached out a hand but she ignored it, looking instead out the window. Outside, there was nothing but desert as far as she could see.

“Why aren’t we at the airport?” she asked, confused.

“We’re at a little airport just outside of Vegas, in the desert a bit,” he said.

“But why?”

“There wasn’t room for us to land,” he said, looking amused.

She looked around the plane, pointedly. It wasn’t that big.

“Too many planes already there,” he said. “Everyone’s in town for the fight, I guess.”

“There were too many planes at the airport?” she said. “I don’t think that’s even a thing.”

“Private planes,” he clarified. “There’s a limit to how much room they have to park private planes, so we had to come out here.”

She couldn’t help it; she started to laugh, and the look on his face only made her laugh harder.

“What?” he demanded, smiling and frowning at the same time, something that should have made him look ridiculous but of course didn’t.

“Hashtag —” she managed to choke out, then busted out laughing again.

“What?” he said again.

“Hashtag,” she said, getting herself under control, “richguyproblems.”

He laughed then, a genuine amused laugh, and she had to stop herself from preening under his attention. Somehow making him laugh was more flattering than making him want to jump her bones.

Maybe because it didn’t appear she had to do much for that. All they had to do was touch.

Unless Miri and Matthew were right.

She’d turned down his offer of a drink when they’d boarded the plane, and remembering that made her thirsty. “Is there any bottled water here?” she asked.

“There is,” he said, and stepped into the galley, came back quickly with a bottle of water.

She checked to see that it was unopened, then broke the seal and took a sip.

“Thanks,” she said, and looked up to find him looking at her very strangely. “What?”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. It wasn’t a lie, not with a question so vague; she was neurotic, not insane. Of course not
everything
was okay. She’d lost her job. The world was at war. People were starving. What a dumb thing to ask.

“The meds I took make me a little groggy,” she said, and that was the unvarnished truth. Her head would be slightly muzzy for hours.

Still beat spending the flight in the lavatory though.

“They let us bring the limo right onto the apron,” he said, “so it’s not far. Do you need help?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Then grab your purse and let’s go.”

The pilot was loading her equipment into the trunk of the limo as she came down the stairs, and she turned to Sebastian. “Should I be taking pictures, or —”

“Let’s leave it till morning,” he said. “I’ll try to look presentable.” And he smiled that smile, the one that warmed her all the way to her toes.

“Okay,” she said, weakly.

“Let’s head to the hotel. We can order room service, since you’re not feeling right?”

“That would be great,” she said, sincerely.

So that’s what they did. They were staying at the Venetian —
 
of course
, she thought — and Sebastian’s name made all the usual check-in rigamarole disappear. An express elevator whisked them up to their suite and a very earnest bellhop showed her around the suite while she tried not to goggle like a rube at things like the ridiculously large jetted tub or the piano in the formal living room. Or, for that matter, the fact that the suite had a “formal living room.”

When the bellhop finally left them to their own devices, Sebastian handed her a menu and then called to order their room service while she unpacked her things and put her clothes away in the dresser and closet. The cameras and other equipment she left packed for now, and shoved them under the bed.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked from the doorway.

“I’m unpacking,” she said, not sure how that was unclear.

“We’re only staying one night,” he said.

She turned and looked at him, couldn’t help grinning. “Such a guy,” she said. “All the money in the world doesn’t affect that Y chromosome, does it?”

“How so?” He didn’t look offended, only amused.

“What do you suppose the closet is for? The dresser? And look at this nice fancy bowl, for my keys and change and stuff.”

“It’s called a valet,” he said.

She flushed a little. “It’s called a
valet
when it’s all manly and made of leather.
This
is a fancy bowl.”

“Is that the technical term?”

“My point is, I’m putting my damn stuff away. You might not get it — because, again,
guy
— but clearly the staff at the Venetian knows. Civilized people unpack.”

He looked at the closet and she could see him nodding his head almost imperceptibly as he counted. “Do civilized people bring six dresses for an overnight stay, too?” he asked.

“Good thing you can’t see what’s in the drawers,” she replied. “How am I supposed to know what I’ll want to wear?”

“I’ll be damned if I know,” he said, but he was smiling, and she found she liked him like this. Easy, relaxed, and … across the room where he couldn’t scramble her senses.

Dinner was delicious, and while they ate they watched the sun go down on the other side of the enormous windows in the dining area. Sebastian talked about their plans for the next day: some touristy things, the fight, and of course gambling, which she said she couldn’t afford, but he assured her the hotel would supply them with some chips so she could at least try it out. She forgot for a little while about being unemployed and about how weird everything felt when she was around him, and just enjoyed herself.

Then she came back from the bathroom and found him refilling her water glass.

She barely flinched, hoped he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, sat down.

He sighed and put his napkin down beside his plate, leaned back in his chair. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“With what?” she asked, not at all liking where this was going, and trying desperately to think of a way to deflect a direct question.

“Everything has been quite nice, and then, just now, something made you just … shut off.” He tilted his head. “What did I do to upset you?”

Well, shit.
She looked away from him, tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be a lie. There was nothing. She could stand up and walk out without saying anything, but she literally could not tell him she wasn’t upset, or prevaricate about why.
I should have agreed when Dr. Nussbaum suggested we meet more than once a month
.

He said nothing, just waited for her answer.

“I didn’t want you pouring me a drink,” she said.