The Devil's in the Details (6 page)

He had the whole romance-novel-cover-model thing going on, with long dark hair, tight black pants stuffed into knee-high black leather boots, and a flowing white shirt.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ahoy Matey was the male version of my kind: an incubus, with mucho sex appeal and enough charisma to make any woman rip off her clothes with nothing more than a glance. Like all demons, his name was something ancient and pompous and impossible to pronounce—Argagiorasmosisarath, for the record. But everybody in this realm called him Gio because, let’s face it, long-winded and older-than-dirt didn’t up his score on the lust-o-meter.

I’d known Gio since I was eighteen (that’s year number eighteen out of my whopping one thousand in existence). We’d both been wet-behind-the-ears virgins back then. Surprising as it might be, I wasn’t born knowing every position in the Kama Sutra. I’d had to learn it all like every other sexual demon in the universe. Enter Signorina Camellia and her academy of carnal delights. Gio and I had met on our first day of class. He’d had a fondness for scratching his butt, belching, and talking about his bug collection
every five seconds until Signorina Camellia had nixed his bad habits
and
taught him a zillion different ways to please the opposite sex. Ditto for me.

After graduation, Gio and I had joined forces (i.e., bodies) a time or two. Or three. Or more. In the spirit of continuing education, of course. We’d been study buddies. The proverbial friends with benefits.

Until my epiphany.

Since then I’d been avoiding him like the plague, which hadn’t been all that difficult because he’d been busy wooing and wowing an Italian socialite whose upcoming wedding was going to unite two nations and end a thousand-year-old feud. No feud, no fighting and killing. Hence my ma and aunties had sent Gio in to seduce the bride and stop the wedding.

I stepped down off the couch and set the cake server on my coffee table. “What are you doing here?”

“Syra’s winging it to New York via private jet to meet her mother for a week-long shopping trip. Her mother doesn’t know about me, so I needed to get lost for a little while.” He collapsed on the sofa. “I had Syra drop me off on her way to the Big Apple. Told her I was going to hang out with some old college friends.” Syra wasn’t privy to Gio’s demon status. “I’m staying at the Hilton.”

“Shouldn’t you be conserving your energy instead of popping in?”

“I couldn’t get a cab. There’s a dental convention going on downtown.”

“Syra still marrying the prince?” I sank down next to him.

“Technically, yes. But I’ve just about got her where I want her. She’s
this
close to calling it off.” A strange glimmer of unease flitted across his face, and I had the fleeting thought that he wasn’t half as sure as he wanted to be. “She just hasn’t figured out how to break the news. A few more nights like last night, however”—the
expression faded into a knowing grin—“and she’ll be updating her status on her Facebook page.”

“Don’t you think you should have changed before getting off the plane?” I blurted, desperately trying to divert his attention from the lavish wedding blazing across the screen and the fact that I was watching said wedding instead of the latest
Guys Gone Wild
video. “You look like Johnny Depp.”

He shrugged. “Syra wanted to play a mile-high version of
Pirates of the Caribbean
. Listen, I’m glad I caught you off duty. I really need to talk.”

Talk
was incubus code for
I want to jump your bones so that I can perfect my bone-jumping technique
.

A sexy vision rushed into my head and I saw myself stretched out on the sofa, a man leaning over me, touching me, wowing me. A man with short, dark hair and piercing green eyes.

A man who looked a lot more like Cutter Owens than like the hot demon standing in front of me.

Uh-oh.

“Off duty? Me?” I bolted to my feet. “I’m not off duty. I’m just getting started.” When his gaze swept me from head to toe, drinking in my sweats, I added, “He’s into Hello Kitty. My date, that is. He’s a huge collector. He’s got the Hello Kitty popcorn machine, the waffle maker, phone case, screen saver—you name it. And you know me, I aim to please. Speaking of which”—I did an exaggerated neck roll as if I were about to climb into a WWE ring—“I hate to cut our reunion short, but he’ll be here any minute and I’d like to get some stretching in first. He likes his women flexible.”

Gio gave me a hurt look, and I fought down a pang of guilt. As much as I hated lying, I knew I had no choice. Friend or not, he was still a demon, and therefore unlikely to understand me wanting to find my One and Only. Even if he did, I still couldn’t risk him mentioning it to any of his incubus buddies. My mother was going
to find out the truth soon enough, and I was determined to get myself into her good graces before then. “If he sees you here, he’s liable to run the other way, and I can’t risk that. I’ve been working on this guy
forever
.” I motioned toward the door. “You should go.”

“But I really want to talk.”

Um, yeah.

“I’ll call you,” I heard myself say as I grabbed his arm and hauled him off the couch.

“But I want to talk face-to-face,” he protested as I pushed him toward the door.

“We’ll do it face-to-face.” I yanked open the door and nudged him out onto the front porch. “We’ll do it missionary and doggie and any other way you want to do it.”
Not.
While I didn’t want to mess up my karma with a lie, my back was flat against the wall. Better to tell a teeny tiny fib than rip off my clothes and screw things up in a major way. “We just can’t do it right now.” I slammed the door shut in his face.

I wasn’t going to sleep with Gio.

And I certainly wasn’t going to sleep with Cutter Owens. I wanted more than sex from a man.

My head knew that, but damned if my body had gotten the message just yet.

I waited, my heart beating a frantic rhythm, for the next few seconds until I heard the soft
poof!
The smell of sulfur faded, and as quickly as Gio had dropped in, he was gone.

I let out the breath I’d been holding and headed back to the living room and the forgotten remote control. I’d just upped the volume on the TV when my nose twitched with the familiar scent, although it was much more subtle this time.

Foreboding rippled through me, followed by a rush of relief when I turned my head to find Blythe standing behind me.

She was tall and voluptuous, her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail above a pair of double-D breasts barely contained in an itty-bitty pink tank top that read
Limos Are Luscious
. Tight jeans and strappy stilettos completed her party-girl ensemble.

“Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” I frowned at her. “I thought you were a bloodthirsty demon.”

“One out of two.” She whistled. “Not bad. And I would have knocked, but my hands were full.” She made a beeline for the kitchen and set her grocery bag down on the counter, then pulled a bottle of champagne from inside, followed by a carton of orange juice and three bags of peanut M&Ms. “I had a twenty-first B-day celebration that got cut short tonight because the birthday girl turned out to be preggos, which totally killed cocktail hour. She was craving all-you-can-eat pancakes, so I dropped them off at an IHOP and brought the party favors here. I figured you could use some cheering up, i.e., alcohol.” She popped a few candies into her mouth as her gaze dropped to my clenched hand. “What’s with the cake server?”

“Spiders and horny demons.” When she arched a brow, I gave her a quick rundown of my day, including the brief encounter with Cutter Owens.

“I’ve heard about him. He took out one of my second cousins a few years ago. Sliced his head clean off before he realized that Apopyr—that was his name—wasn’t the demon he was looking for.”

“Who was he after?”

“Azazel.”

“Why do I know that name?”

“Everyone knows that name.” She popped the champagne top and took a long swig of the bubbly. “He’s one of the oldest demons in existence,” she added when she finally came up for air.

“That’s right.” I’d heard stories about how smart and cunning and elusive he was. There were even a few who claimed he’d been the one to tempt Eve in that garden so long ago instead of my ma. Not that anyone said that to her face.

“Why does he want Azazel?” I handed her a champagne glass from a nearby cabinet. “I mean, I know why he wants him—he’s a demon slayer and Azazel’s a demon—but why this demon in particular?”

“He stole Cutter’s soul.” Blythe mixed the orange juice with the champagne and handed me a mimosa. “Azazel is a collector. He travels this realm, imprisoning as many souls as possible. He’s supposed to hand them over to your gramps, but rumor has it he’s been keeping some for himself.”

“Gramps would never allow that.”

“He would if he’s too busy worrying about your ma and aunties. He doesn’t have the time to micromanage every ancient in existence. Sure, they bow down to your gramps because he led the way, but they don’t do it because they
have
to. It’s their choice. Your gramps knows that, so maybe he looks the other way on purpose. To keep the peace.”

“How do you know all of this?”

She shrugged. “My great-great-great-great-uncle is the chief demon of gossip, remember?”

Duh. I knew that. I’d just been too freaked out by recent events to remember that all-important fact. “So tell me more.”

“Well, it seems Cutter has been hunting Azazel forever. He’s pissed and he wants revenge.”

I didn’t blame him. I knew how much I loved my favorite pair of shoes. I could only imagine how it would be to have your very essence ripped away.

“He almost caught him.” Blythe sipped her drink. “Cutter actually narrowed down Azazel’s location to some ancient castle
in Rome a few years back. He goes there for the final showdown, only to get sidetracked by a bunch of lower-tier demons Azazel had gathered as a distraction. Cutter got busy slaying his way through the crowd, which gave Azazel a chance to slip away. Again.”

“So Cutter wants revenge against Azazel.” She nodded. “Then why is he after my mom?”

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “Maybe his priorities are changing. Maybe he’s given up on revenge and he’s more interested in prestige. Taking out your mother would push him all the way to the top of the Legion. Maybe even into Gabriel’s seat.”

“I doubt Cutter could go that high. Gabriel’s an archangel.”

“True, but even archangels retire. Look at your gramps.”

“Maybe.” Still, Cutter hadn’t struck me as a power-hungry kind of guy. I remembered the glimmer in his eyes. The longing.

Okay, so he was hungry. But not for fame.

For me.

Down, girl.

I took a huge gulp of the mimosa.

“Somebody’s thirsty.” Blythe eyed me as she mixed her own drink. “Tell me something. Is he as hot as everyone says?”

His image materialized in my mind and my nipples pebbled. I shrugged. “He’s all right.” When she raised a brow, I added, “Okay, so he’s more than all right. He’s kind of hot.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay, so he’s smoking hot. He’s the sexiest man I’ve seen in a long,
long
time. Not that it means diddly. He’s completely off-limits.” I took another drink and watched her watch me. “I’d be crazy to be interested under the circumstances, right?”

She nodded. “One hundred percent certifiable.”

“Seriously. It’s not like we’re talking about some regular guy. He kills demons for a living. And he has no soul.” Which made him the ultimate hard-ass. Cold. Unfeeling. Incapable of love.

Nix any happily-ever-after—which was all I was interested in. Even if my hormones were humming an entirely different tune.

“On top of that, he’s after my mom. I might not be the most loyal daughter, but I could never associate with someone who wants to off my very own mother.” I took my mimosa, grabbed a bag of candy, and headed into the living room. Blythe followed. “I mean, really,” I added as I settled on the couch. “What kind of daughter would I be if I consorted with the enemy?” I was already dealing with a steaming side of guilt served up by my conscience for turning my back on my birthright. I didn’t need another heaping spoonful on top of that. “Satan or not, I couldn’t do that to my ma.”

“Family first.” Blythe sank down next to me. “I hear ya.”

I popped a handful of candy into my mouth. “Damn straight,” I mumbled around a mouthful. “A girl’s got to have her priorities.”

“Amen.”

“No way am I actually going to call him.” I punched up the DVR and bypassed David Tutera in favor of a
Jersey Shore
episode. “Even if he did give me his card.”

No
effing
way, I reminded myself later that night after Blythe and I had fist-pumped our good-byes and I’d double-checked the locks on all the doors and windows. After looking at the crumpled business card about a trillion times, of course.

I wasn’t doing it. That’s what I told myself as I climbed into bed. No punching in his digits. No talking to him and betraying my ma. No reaching out and betraying myself.

I clamped my eyes shut and there he was. Teasing. Tempting. Tantalizing.

I’d made a vow. No mindless, meaningless sex.

As for a mindless, meaningless fantasy…

I smiled and snuggled into the pillow. What could be the harm in that?