The Sexorcist (13 page)

A grin tugged at his lips at her deliberate use of his last name. She was trying so hard to be stealthy. It was damn cute. “I figured I’d probably stay in.”
Tie you to the bed, screw you until you scream, and then start all over again.

“No big family event you have to… Oh, crud.” Her face fell and the act dropped away. “I forgot I’m supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight.”

The vibrant vision in his mind’s eye of his weekend plans dimmed somewhat. Brittany grabbed her purse and he held the door for her before following her out into the parking lot. Most of the cars were gone already. Rodriguez walked her toward hers. “Why don’t you come over after your dinner?”

Brittany wrinkled her nose, scrunching up her freckles. “They’ll notice if I leave the house after dinner. I won’t be able to slip away without drawing attention.”

Something about the way she phrased that sparked a twinge of unease in the corner of his mind. “Why would you have to sneak out? You’re an adult.”

“They wouldn’t understand. They’re…protective.”

“Right.”

In other words, they wouldn’t want their precious daughter anywhere near some working-class Mexican immigrant. He wasn’t a complete moron. He’d figured out that Brittany came from the kind of money that made people into fawning idiots. He just hadn’t expected her to come right out and say her parents wouldn’t think he was good enough for her.

Suddenly the sneaking they’d been doing around the Karmic Consultants office didn’t seem quite so playfully illicit. Was she ashamed to be seen with him?

The secrecy had added spice to their encounters, but they soured in his memory when he considered she might just be hiding him. Using him. Just like those goddamn bored housewives.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” she asked, oblivious to his irritation. “I want to check out a few possible reception sites. Wanna keep me company?”

It wasn’t like he had a choice. Karma would kill him if he let anything happen to her pet secretary-slash-wedding-planner. But the hell of it was, he did want to keep her company. Even knowing she was probably using him, he still wanted to be near her.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning,” he said, feeling the last of his self-respect drain away into a puddle at his feet. He was officially whipped. Now, his only hope was to keep her from realizing the power she had over him.

“Perfect.” She bounced up and gave him a quick, fierce kiss.

Then she slipped into her car and was gone before he could recover from the instant flash of lust she ignited in him.

Damn. He was so screwed.

Chapter Twenty-One—A Nice, Warm Straitjacket

Brittany wondered, as she walked quickly toward the formal dining room to meet her parents, if her happiness was visible. Would they take one look at her and know something was different? Or would it just blend in with her usual patina of good cheer?

Part of her hoped they would see the difference in her, that they would ask what had caused this wonderful change. Then she could tell them about Rodriguez and Karmic Consultants and they would know they didn’t have to be afraid for her. They would be happy for her and her bright new life.

They were seated at the table talking when she walked into the room, but as soon as she crossed the threshold, the conversation suddenly ceased.

“Good evening,” she called as she crossed the room to join them at the heavy mahogany table. They returned her greeting, her mother’s voice sounding a little too high and her father’s unusually grave.

She bussed her mother’s cheek, gave her father a hug so gentle they barely touched, and dropped onto the chair in front of the third place setting. Brittany hadn’t really expected them to see the difference in her, but they were both definitely looking at her oddly. Studying her, almost. She smiled brilliantly for their benefit—and for her own.

Her parents were going to relax. She was going to have the man of her dreams, the job of her dreams, and her parents were going to treat her like a daughter rather than a beloved invalid. Excitement burbled inside her like a fountain.

The first course was served and Brittany picked up her fork. How long would it take them to comment on her happiness? Would they do it right away or wait until dessert so they could observe her all through dinner? Would they want to meet Rodriguez this weekend? She could bring him to dinner tomorrow.

They would like him, of course. He was so practical and protective—two things they would definitely value in someone taking their daughter off their hands.

Brittany’s fork stilled in midair.

Taking their daughter off their hands? Was she really thinking of marriage? Luis hadn’t said a word about it. She was definitely getting ahead of herself, but the idea was too tempting to dismiss. She couldn’t get it out of her mind now that it had wriggled its way in there.

The fantasy spun out wildly, in vivid detail. How would he propose?
When
would he propose? Tomorrow night? When she brought him to dinner with her parents? That was a bit sudden, but she was too impatient to set her fantasy any farther in the future.

She could see him now, down on one knee beside the heavy mahogany table, his dark eyes bright with emotion. Would he ask her in Spanish then translate the request into English, like he sometimes did in the bedroom? She felt her face flush. Perhaps he would ask her in bed. Would she wake up to him holding a ring? She’d say yes, of course, and throw herself into his arms, showering him with kisses. He would slide the ring onto her finger, then slide—

“Brittany!”

She started. From the tone in her father’s voice, this was not even close to the first time he’d said her name. She felt her face turning purple and hoped she hadn’t mumbled any of her fantasy proposal planning aloud.

“Yes, Father?”

His jaw locked and he looked down at his plate then forced himself to meet her eyes, like he used to do when he was going to tell her the latest treatment wasn’t working and they were going to have to try something new. But she wasn’t sick anymore.

“We’re very concerned about you, Brittany,” he began.

Brittany sighed gustily. They evidently
hadn’t
been able to see her blissful happiness. It was such a shame. Why couldn’t they see the good in things the way she did?

“What your father means to say is we would never blame you, we know it isn’t your fault, dear, but neither can we ignore it.”

“Huh?” What the heck was
it
? The way her mother was talking,
it
was definitely her fault.

“Don’t say
huh
, dear. It’s ill bred.”

Brittany sighed again. She liked
huh
. She liked saying it. Jo said it all the time and Jo was one of the most alive people she’d ever seen. Unstifled. If that was even a word, it was the word for Jo.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Brittany said with precise, stifled enunciation.

Her parents exchanged a somber glance and then her mother carefully set down her fork. She folded her hands in her lap and said with deliberate calm, “We know this new medication has been causing erratic behavior. You’ve been out until all hours, coming home looking quite disheveled and now… We just want you to know we would never hold you responsible for something the medication made you do.”

Brittany shook her head, her confusion accented by the first hint of irritation. “My medication isn’t making me do anything. I’m perfectly fine.”

Her mother made a sound that was almost a sob and her father took over. “Brittany. A friend of your mother’s was informed by her landscape architect that you destroyed the growers’ market last week.”

Oh, that
. Brittany smiled. “I know, but that wasn’t the meds. And I’m paying for it, so I don’t see what your friend’s landscape architect’s problem is.”

“We are aware that you are reimbursing those who lost stock. We likely would have heard about this sooner if anyone had recognized you, but no one knew who you were until you came forward to pay for the damages.” Her father cleared his throat gruffly. “But this isn’t about money or flowers. It’s about your health.”

“My health is fabulous,” she insisted. “I’ve never felt better.”

“Your
mental
health,” her father repeated and her mother made that awful half-sob noise again.

Brittany rolled her eyes—another thing she’d picked up from Jo. “My
mental
health is fine. Everything about me is fine. Better than fine. I’m
happy
.”

“You know you could never do anything we wouldn’t forgive you for, dear,” her mother said in a wavering voice. “You can tell us when things like this happen.”

“Why would I tell you? So you can accuse me of being nuts and try to adjust my medications?” As soon as the words jumped out of her mouth, she regretted them. Her parents gaped at her in shock. “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean that. But can’t you at least ask me what happened before jumping to the conclusion that my medications are faulty and need to be altered. I was being chased by a demon—”

Her mother’s sob had grown to full-sized now.

“You would have run away too if he was after you. So I knocked over a few flowers. So what? I’m paying for them. And I’m
fine
.”

Her father met her mother’s eyes. Brittany had a feeling if they were sitting closer together, they would be clinging to one another’s hands right about now. “It will be all right, Claudia,” he said calmly, then turned back to face his daughter and took a bracing breath. “There is no such thing as demons, Brittany.”

“Yes, there are!” Why couldn’t her parents be people who believed? “They possessed my car and one of them is trying to stop Lucy’s wedding. He gave me his name so he always knows where I am and Luis is trying to banish him and it’s
all real
.”

“Who’s Lucy?” her mother asked in a small voice, but her husband gave a small shake of his head, as if to say she shouldn’t bother trying to make sense of Brittany’s babbling.

“I am not crazy!” she shouted. “Call Karma. Everyone at Karmic Consultants knows the truth about demons and ghosts. I
saw
them in the hospital when I was young. I can’t see them anymore, but I know there is more to life than what you can see. There are things to believe in, Mom. There is magic and joy in this world and you can’t make me stop believing it’s there.”

“We understand,” her father said, his voice and face both so guarded, they made the words a bald-faced lie. “But just to be on the safe side, let us take you to Dr. Meckner tomorrow. At least consider—”

“No.”

Her parents both jolted at the icy steel in her tone. Her mother sniffled wetly.

“No,” she repeated. “I’m not changing my drug regimen. I’m finally on one that isn’t making me vomit constantly or have memory blackouts. I’m as close to normal as I have ever been and I’m not going to let you mess with that. I’m
healthy
and I’m
happy
. Why can’t you see that?”

Her father sat stoically. Tears began sliding down her mother’s face. She turned her face away and pressed a napkin to her eyes.

Guilt and frustration rose up in the back of Brittany’s throat like bile. She was making her mother cry and she hated it, but she just couldn’t do this anymore. She had given ten years of her life to their constant worries after giving fifteen years to a disease.

It was past time she took her life back.

She shoved back her chair and stood, bracing her hands on the sturdy table. “I have a job now where I am valued. I am planning a wedding for a woman who has become my friend. I am in love with a wonderful man who looks at me like I am the sun and stars. I
deserve
this happiness.”

Her mother gave a strangled cry, weeping openly now.

“Stop crying!” Brittany heard herself shout, barely aware of her own anger. It seemed so distant, so foreign. “I am not delusional and I am sick and tired of being treated like a g-g-goddamn invalid.”

Her mother gasped at the profanity. It had stuck on her tongue, but she forced herself to use the word anyway. She was a new woman, and if a little mild cursing helped her mother realize it, well then goddamn, dammit, hell and
shit
, she was going to curse.

“Brittany,” her father rose from his chair as well, one hand extended cautiously, as if he was afraid to spook her, but needed to get close enough to tackle her. “It’s for your own good.”

She backpedaled quickly until she was well out of reach, checking behind her for a loyal family servant waiting with a strait jacket. “You don’t know what’s good for me anymore,” she told them. “I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me, but I need you to leave me alone. I have a life I love. Let me
live
it.”

Her mother muffled her sobs in a napkin. Her father took another step toward her, his eyes scuttling to the side as if looking for reinforcements.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany said around a sudden lump in her throat. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She ran from the room, ignoring her mother’s voice calling plaintively after her and her father’s shout for her to come back.

Not on your life
. She sprinted all the way to the garage, half expecting a member of the staff to leap out and tackle her at any moment, but no one appeared. She jumped into the Audi, slamming the door and cranking the engine in one movement. The tires squealed as she pressed the accelerator to the floor.

She was several miles down the road before she even realized she was shaking. It was starting to rain, but she didn’t slow the car. Her only thought was getting to Luis.

Chapter Twenty-Two—No Sex For You!

When the doorbell rang, Rodriguez opened the door, half-expecting to see one of his sisters extending the uncommon courtesy of actually knocking before barging right in. What he saw instead was Brittany. Dripping and shivering from the rain and looking like someone had just killed her puppy.

“Hey.”

She catapulted herself through the open doorway and flung herself against him. His arms closed automatically around her, holding her close. “Hey,” he said again, crooning it this time. “What happened? Was it the demon? You okay?”

Brittany buried her face against his chest and shook her head.

He ran a hand over her curls. They were barely damp, so at least she hadn’t been caught out in the rain long. It would help if she’d tell him what the hell was wrong. “Which question was that a no to? You aren’t okay or it wasn’t the demon?”

“No demon,” she mumbled against his shirt. “And I’m…” Her shoulders rose and fell with the force of her sigh. The tension coiling her body melted by degrees.

Rodriguez reached out one hand to flip the door closed, keeping the other wrapped tight around her.

She rested her cheek against his chest for a moment longer then pulled away to stand on her own. He let her go, even though the urge to pull her back and just hold her for the rest of his life was damn strong.

“I was just awful to my parents,” she said miserably. “They’ve only ever been wonderful to me and I just…” She waved a hand in a helpless gesture.

“We all say stupid things to people we love sometimes. They still know you love them.”

She just shrugged, leaning back to rest her head against the door behind her.

He was dying to know what they’d fought about. Was it him? Had she told them about him? They couldn’t have approved. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

She pressed her lips together. Her eyes were bright and for once he thought the cause of that brightness might be tears. He didn’t know what he would do if she cried. She might as well carve out his heart.

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice so low he had to lean forward to hear her.

He took her hand and gently tugged her away from the door. “Come on. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

She gave a wet laugh. “This is becoming a habit.”

On Saturday morning, Brittany woke with a warm arm draped across her chest and a heavy weight of guilt pressing on her heart. Last night, Luis had held her, comforted her and made love to her. They’d watched
Blue Hawaii
and he’d made her laugh with his Latin Elvis impersonation when she thought nothing in the world could accomplish that feat, but that hadn’t erased the fact that she needed to apologize to her parents.

She couldn’t stay in bed with him all day, hiding from the world in the warmth of his arms, no matter how much she might want to. Before the temptation to just close her eyes and melt back into sleep could overwhelm her, Brittany slipped out from under his arm and out of bed. She found one of his old T-shirts and a clean pair of boxers from a pile of laundry. She pulled on the clothes, taking a moment to press her nose to the T-shirt and inhale his scent.

She needed to apologize to her parents, but she couldn’t very well do it on an empty stomach. She knew she was procrastinating, but she had no idea what she was going to say. Maybe breakfast would inspire her.

Brittany was standing in Luis’s kitchen, trying not to burn toast, when a short, curvy woman with round cheeks and Luis’s dark eyes walked in. She froze in the doorway. Her slightly taller replica slammed into her back and the two of them stumbled into the room.

“Hello,” the taller one said, as they recovered from their graceful entry.

“Hellooooo,” drawled the shorter one. “Crazy demon-summoning girl, I presume?”

“Brittany,” she corrected, wondering what the heck Luis had been telling them about her. Her face flushed with embarrassment. “You must be Marisol and Adela.”

The taller, evidently somewhat saner one stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Adela. That obnoxious creature is Marisol. We try to ignore her as much as possible and I encourage you to do the same.”

“She must be the one I was telling you about!” Marisol exclaimed, clearly unoffended by Adela’s introduction. She bounced up to perch on a stool next to the counter. “The one Luis has been acting all woo-woo over.” Then her eyes raked over Brittany’s scanty, masculine attire and widened in horror. “Oh no! You can’t sleep with him! That’s rule number one. The Millionaire Matchmaker is very clear about the no-sex rule. Unless you’re in a committed, exclusive relationship. Are you in a committed, exclusive relationship?”

“
Madre de Dios
, Marisol. Try a little tact, for once in your life.” Adela leaned a hip against the counter beside her sister. “Sorry to barge in on you like this. Luis doesn’t normally have houseguests.”

Houseguests.
That was one way of putting it. Brittany felt her face flaming. She didn’t even know how to answer the committed, exclusive relationship question. She and Luis had never discussed it in so many words. In her fantasies, she might see him proposing, but in reality they were still in that cautious, feeling-their-way phase.

Could this moment get any more embarrassing?

Then the toast popped up and the little bing of the toaster pierced her pity party. The world seemed to click into place.

Luis’s sisters were being warm and friendly, not condemning like her mother would have been to find a strange man in her suite. They were both obviously curious about her, but the warmth they were giving off was nothing like the icy chill Claudia Hylton-VanDeere would project in a similar circumstance. Brittany was making herself nervous over
nothing
.

Marisol might joke about it, but neither of Luis’s sisters cared that she was sleeping with their brother. And even if they did, who really cared? There was no sense worrying about it.

It was harder to be worry-free on the important things—like making a good impression on the family of the man you were in love with—but worrying still didn’t help the situation. And she would end up just like her parents if she let worry cripple her.

Brittany put on her brightest smile and leaned across the counter toward her lover’s sisters. “I’m glad you dropped by. I’ve heard so much about you.”

A pair of identical smiles returned hers. She had a feeling she was going to like these two.

“So, how long have you known Luis?” Adela asked.

“Who cares? What I want to know is when you’re getting married.” Marisol winked at her and bounded off her chair. She plucked the toast Brittany had forgotten from the toaster, flipped it onto a plate and dropped in another two pieces.

“Are we on a deadline?” Brittany asked.

“Sort of.” Marisol opened the fridge and began handing items out to her sister. In a matter of moments, they had bacon sizzling and Adela was expertly scrambling eggs as Marisol adjusted knobs on the stovetop. “The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Mama’s been on Marisol’s back about grandbabies,” Adela explained. “She figures if Luis gets hitched, it’ll take the pressure off.”

A crash sounded from the direction of the bedroom.

“Brittany? Are you
cooking
?” Luis rushed into the room, wearing only a pair of jeans he must have yanked on in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to fasten all the way. Brittany’s heart began thudding at the sight. He stumbled to a stop and blinked sleepily, as if trying to make sense of his sisters puttering around the kitchen with his lover.

“Morning!” Marisol and Adela chimed in unison.

“Don’t worry,” Brittany said, a grin quirking her mouth at his adorably muddled state. “I wasn’t trying to burn your house down. The stove didn’t get turned on until the experts arrived.”

He muttered something in Spanish and his nearest sister smacked him. He padded to Brittany’s side. She held her breath.

This was a test, of sorts. He could introduce her as a work colleague or play it casual, as if they were nothing special. They had to keep things under wraps at Karmic and they hadn’t been out of the house much in the last week, so this would be her first chance to see how he behaved with her in public. And not just any public, but his family. Surely he wouldn’t be affectionate unless she really meant something to him. The “L” word hadn’t come up yet, but this would be a good indicator. Wouldn’t it?

Luis slid his hand across her back, the fabric of the T-shirt catching on his palm. He bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. “Good morning,” he said softly. His hand slid down and squeezed her hip once.

Then he crossed to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup, as casually as if he hadn’t just sent her flying straight to the moon on a rocket of euphoria.

Brittany saw his sisters exchange an arch look and a grin. She couldn’t help but smile herself.

It was still raining outside, but in the kitchen, she felt like sunshine radiated off every wall. This was the life.
Her
life.

Now all she had to do was get her parents to accept that. And catch a wedding demon. And find a reception venue.

Good thing she was optimistic. Real life sure didn’t come easy.