The Devil's in the Details (14 page)

I’d been wrong.

The front door of my duplex trembled and my flight mechanism kicked in. I debated my two options—shift the car into reverse and hightail it out of there or kill the engine, fling open the car door, and race toward the black Land Rover parked a half block down the street.

I’d throw myself into Cutter’s arms and he would hold me close. Then I’d kiss him and he’d kiss me. I’d slip my hands under his shirt and he’d slip his hands under my shirt. I’d touch him and he’d touch me. I’d lick his nipple and he’d lick mine.

If
I managed to find Azazel.

Otherwise, I’d be just another kill on his résumé.

My hand tightened on the gearshift and my foot poised over the gas. Just as I slid into reverse, my front door opened and I let out a huge sigh of relief at the mega-hot cowboy framed in the doorway: black
Cowboy Up
T-shirt, worn jeans, fringed leather chaps, and boots. A black Stetson sat low on his head.

Gio gave me a look that said
what the fuck are you sitting out there for?

I slipped the car back into park, killed the engine, and climbed from behind the wheel.

“Don’t tell me Syra has a Roy Rogers thing going on.”

“Ty Murray. She flew to Vegas after New York and caught the pro bull riding finals. It was lust at first sight.”

“Where is she now?”

“Dinner party with the groom-to-be and his parents. I’m meeting her later for a little after-hours fun. I had some time to kill, so I thought I’d stop by.”

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

What he was always thinking.

“I can’t. I mean, I would, of course. If I didn’t have to save my energy for later. I’ve got a hot date. I’ve got the libido of a demon, but it’s all wrapped up in a human package.”

“I know what you mean. Syra’s insatiable, and it gets a little exhausting.” A smile touched his lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a demon herself.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you really like this girl.”

Longing glimmered in his gaze before diving deep into the bright-blue depths. “Yeah, right. She’s my assignment. That’s it.” At least that’s what he was telling himself.

Sheesh. I really was tired, otherwise I wouldn’t be thinking such crazy thoughts. Gio falling for a woman? Nah.

“I’m hungry,” he announced. “For food,” he added when I summoned a yawn.

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “Something sweet.”

Now here was a man after my own heart. Cutter was parked out front, watching, waiting, and the knowledge was playing havoc with my self-control. My own stomach grumbled. “I’ve got Twinkies,” I told Gio.

“That’ll work.”

“Where’s Mom?” I asked Cheryl the next morning when I walked into one of Houston’s top bridal salons and found her flying solo.

“Foot massage.”

“But I thought she was meeting me this morning.”

“She was, but then she had an emergency.”

“A foot massage emergency?”

“Bunions,” Cheryl mouthed because, apparently, even Satan wasn’t immune to icky feet.

I had a quick mental image of myself huddled inside a ridiculously cold igloo after fleeing for my existence. “But she’s the bride,” I said, doing my best to keep the shriek out of my voice. It crept in anyway. “And this is a fitting for the bridal gown. She
has
to be here.” I touched Cheryl’s hand. “Please.”

Cheryl gave me an odd look, as if she couldn’t quite believe I was related to her boss. I didn’t blame her. Demons weren’t the sort to appear so openly rattled. Rather, they did the rattling. They were cool, calm, collected, vicious.

I glanced down at my fingers clasping the woman’s arm. Everything about me screamed desperate.

Cheryl seemed hesitant, but then she caved. “I could call her and tell her we really need her.” She pulled out her cell. “Of course, the last time I bothered her during a bunion extraction, she zapped me and gave me hemorrhoids.” She gathered her courage and punched a button. “Pebbles has obedience class tomorrow night. We’re learning how to sit and I really don’t want to use one of those doughnut pillows—” Her voice cut off as my mom picked up the line. “Miss Lillith?” She drew a deep breath and summoned her courage. “We have a little bit of a prob—”

“You have to get over here,” I blurted, snatching the phone from Cheryl’s hand. What? She couldn’t very well teach her dog to sit if she couldn’t take a load off herself.

“Jezebel?” my mother demanded. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“You’re the bride. You have to pick the dress.”

“But that’s what I hired you for.”

“You hired me to plan the wedding. This is different. This is the
dress
. Time is of the essence. We have to choose something today. Now.”

“So choose one.”

“I can’t choose your wedding dress. That’s something special. Personal.” What was I saying? Lillith wasn’t the typical blushing bride. This wasn’t a declaration of love. It was a show. A statement. A coup to overtake the big H, which my mother had made perfectly clear. And even if she hadn’t made it perfectly clear, I was supposed to be in business to spoil big days. I should have welcomed the chance to pick someone’s dress. Talk about a prime opportunity to throw a wrench into what should have been the most wonderful day of a girl’s life. I was a spoiler. A deceiver.

At least that’s what my ma was supposed to think.

“What I mean is,” I rushed on, “I would so love to pick the dress if this were any of my other weddings. But it’s yours, so I want things to be perfect, and I’m not a stylist. I don’t know what looks good on you.”

“I look good in everything.” So sayeth the most vain woman in the universe.

“True, but I’m sure you want to look
really
good. To show up the aunts, of course. That’s why I wanted you to model a few dresses. To see what looks the best. An A-line? Empire cut? Mermaid svelte? Strapless or sleeves? Ruching or ruffles?”

“Yes.”

“To which one?”

“All of the above.”

“But it has to be fitted specifically to you.”

“Cheryl has my measurements.”

“But—”

“Just pick something that screams dark and powerful,” she snapped and then hung up.

I blinked back a rush of hot tears and put on my most professional face as Devon Diamond, owner of Designs by Devon, floated from the back room. She looked as pristine and professional as ever in a white fitted suit with a pink rose pinned to her lapel.

“Welcome!” The woman made a beeline straight for me and did the proverbial kiss-kiss on each cheek. “You must be our bride,” she said, turning to Cheryl and taking both of her hands.

“Actually, I’m—”

“Nervous,” I cut in. Devon was the most sought after bridal dress designer in the South. I’d had a hell of a time getting her on the phone yesterday, much less wrangling an appointment on such short notice.

Devon booked months in advance for her custom couture.

But after a lot of pleading and a little bribery, with a spur-of-the-moment rush fee and a promise to set her up with one of my seriously hot incubus friends—she was recently divorced and starting to date again—she’d finally agreed.

Since we were crunched for time, she’d also agreed to take a preexisting sample dress and do the unthinkable—alter to fit. To say she would feel extremely slighted that my demanding bride couldn’t find the time to make it to her own appointment would be an understatement. Devon was a prima donna when it came to her work. And a drama queen.

I sent up a silent prayer (our little secret) that the next two hours didn’t blow up in my face. “Why don’t we get started?” I steered Cheryl into a nearby chair and motioned to Devon. “Bring on the magic.”

Devon clapped her hands and motioned to the two clerks standing in the doorway. A model entered the room wearing a vision in white.

“What do you think?”

“Lillith, here, is more of a nontraditional bride.” I indicated Cheryl. “She really wants something a bit more, um, colorful.”

Devon seemed to think. “I can do color. What are we talking? Ivory? Champagne? Blush?” When I shook my head, she added, “Rose?”

“Deeper.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Purple?”

“Darker.” And sinister.

Disbelief fueled her expression. “Don’t tell me you want a navy dress.”

“Why, that’s crazy. Navy for a bride?” While dark, navy wasn’t even close to sinister. I summoned a laugh. “I don’t know anyone in their right mind who would order a navy wedding dress.”

“But you said darker than purple, and if navy is out, the only thing left is brown. Or black.” She said it as if she couldn’t possibly have heard me correctly.

I smiled. “Bingo.”

Finding a black sample wedding dress proved much more difficult than I’d imagined. So much so that I had a major migraine and a serious craving for cookies by the time the deed was done a whopping six hours later. Not that we’d actually found one. But I had managed to settle on a satin number that could be dyed.

Very, very carefully.

Talk about stress.

Not only that, but I’d had to persuade Devon that Lillith, aka Cheryl, was going to grow three inches and slim down by about twenty pounds in less than two weeks.

Needless to say, I’d had to dip into my demon bag of tricks. I’d hopped into the salon owner’s body for all of five seconds and
written down my mother’s correct measurements. Then I’d taken a hike, leaving her feeling hot and sexy and ready to pounce on the nearest man.

I know, I know. Movies and books would have you think possession is about as fun as a root canal, but it’s not the possession itself that’s bad. It’s the demon. Since I’m the demonic version of Aphrodite, I tend to leave my humans with a heightened sensual awareness and a boost of lust.

“When did you say I could meet your friend?” Devon had asked after assuring me the chosen dress would be altered in time. “Because I’m ready to get back in the game.”

What’d I tell ya?

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Cheryl asked me for the zillionth time as we walked out of the salon.

“Sure,” I said with more confidence than I felt because, hey, that was my job. I was the rock of assurance when it came to nervous brides. Then again, we were talking my mother. “But if I were you, I’d stock up on some Preparation H. Just in case.”

“Did you get lucky?” I asked Blythe later that night after a long afternoon at the office nailing down more of the endless wedding details for my mother. While I was making progress and crossing things off my list, I wasn’t one hundred percent confident in my choices. Instead of feeling relieved, I felt nervous.

“I most certainly did
not
get lucky.” Blythe’s voice stirred the anxiety already rolling in my stomach as I propped the phone against my shoulder and opened a can of dog food for Snooki. “But it wasn’t because Agarth didn’t try when he took me home. He told me how hot I was making him, and then he tried to throw me over his shoulder and tote me to my front door. And
then
he tried to kiss me. It wasn’t pretty. The only thing that didn’t suck about the whole going-home thing was when he punched my doorman for trying to cop a feel when I walked by him. Seriously, that guy is the sorriest excuse for a doorman. He’s always dropping my groceries when he brings them up and he always loses my mail, and just last week he tried to grab my ass. I even reported him, but apparently he’s related to the building manager. A nephew or cousin or something. Anyhow, when Agarth threw that punch, I was like
wow
. Not that I’m reevaluating my opinion of him. He’s still a total caveman and I’m not interested.”