Seduced by Pain (3 page)

Love can transpose to form and dignity.

—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

AS DAWN TORE
the night from the world in brilliant shards of oranges and yellows, I did the job expected of me and surveyed the land. In the prison from which I'd been temporarily freed, darkness reigned supreme and constant. We had no sun, no life, no warmth. We lived in the human version of hell, for all intents and purposes, though our condemnation was through no fault of mine. I'd been born there, raised by a society that had become more and more greedy for pain and agony, a vicious cycle begun by those who had cast us aside, and fed by the world they'd made for us.

What humans took for granted on their world, and in their bodies, I exalted in and squeezed every drop of joy from.

I may have been an incubus, feeding on the lust of women as I fucked them, but I knew how to also take in another kind of nourishment from life around me, which was more than I could say for most humans.

After I fixed a broken fence and trimmed a tree that had been damaged from the wind the night before, I locked up the tool shed and considered what I might do next.

I hadn't seen Rose since the time I'd caught her and Ocean snooping in Rainbow's room, but her scent hadn't given me a moment's peace since.

I also wondered, in a more idle way, what they'd discovered and what they were looking for. Deciding to show initiative, particularly as my hunger to feed grew, I walked down the dirt path toward her cottage.

Her rain gutters needed cleaning and the garden in her yard could use some tending. I made a mental note to come by later with supplies to spruce the place up. For now, I wanted to talk.

Before I could knock on her door, she shoved it open with her foot, while carrying a large kennel.

I rummaged through my host's memories for why she had a kennel but no dog and found the answer. Hers had died, and she'd loved it deeply. Her dog's puppies had been the sacrifice needed to bring me to this plane.

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.

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.