Crimson stopped by Casa del Burrito, her favorite Tex-Mex restaurant, for a couple of bean burritos while she waited until Mike closed the restaurant, and then she marched her happy butt up the front steps of Honoré’s. Yanking on the doorknob, she found it locked—duh…the restaurant isn’t open—so she rapped her knuckles on the glass in the door.
“We’re closed.” Mike’s deep, sultry voice drifted through the wood, making her shiver.
She leaned toward the jamb and caught a glimpse of him through the window. “Unless you’re on the menu, I’m not here to eat.” Real smooth, Crim. If he ran off last night because she’d turned on too much heat, that was not the best way to gain entrance. “I was hoping we could talk.”
His eyes flashed red as he opened the door. “What if I am on the menu?”
“Then I’ll have a feast.” She fisted her hands. “God, why do I always blurt out this shit when I’m near you?”
He chuckled. “God has nothing to do with it.”
“Obviously.” She stepped into the restaurant, and he closed the door behind her.
“What did you want to talk about? Are you here to take me up on my offer of worship?” He grinned wickedly and slipped behind the bar to take a white pastry box from a mini fridge. When he bent over, she got a nice view of his backside, and as he grinned over his shoulder, her cheeks burned. “Like what you see?”
She should not have been this attracted to a demon, but everything about him—his muscular body, strong jaw, devilish eyes, and cocky personality—drew her in, making her want to say to hell with all her problems and just lose herself in his arms.
But she wasn’t here to get down and dirty with a demon, no matter how hot a flame he lit in her core. “Let’s get one thing straight: sex is not on the table.”
“You’re right. The bed would be more comfortable. I’ve got a rocking recliner upstairs that might be fun as well.” He wiggled his brows and set the box on the bar.
She opened her mouth to speak, but an image of him naked in said recliner, her straddling his lap, flashed behind her eyes, and the words got stuck in her throat.
He nodded. “The recliner it is.”
“No.” She shook her head, trying to shake away the image. “We’re not having sex.”
“Well, that’s no fun.”
“You’re a demon, Mike. I know you talk like this to all the women. It’s your nature.”
He opened the box and paused, his eyes narrowing. “I’m afraid you don’t know anything about me if that’s what you think of my nature.”
“So you don’t ignite a fire in every woman you touch, bringing all their carnal desires to the surface?” Because that’s what he did to her every goddamn time he looked at her.
Picking up a white pastry, he placed a piece in his mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing before answering, “People do like to tell me things, yes. The Devil deals in desire, but…” He took another bite of cake and leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the counter.
“I don’t create desire; it comes from within. So if what you’re feeling is carnal, and I do hope it is, that is entirely your own emotion. I just get the luxury of hearing about it. If I’m lucky, maybe you’ll show me too.”
“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “You’ve told me what you want. I can’t help it if it’s me. Would you like some angel food cake? It’s divine.”
“A demon eating angel food cake. That’s rich.”
“It’s light and fluffy, actually.” He offered her a piece, but she shook her head, so he returned the box to the fridge. “If you didn’t come to tell me how badly you want me to make you come, why are you here?”
“Last night, when I told you about the Supremacy Challenge, you said you might be able to help me. What did you mean? Do you have some kind of power that can fix my magic? What can you do?”
“Ah.” He strode around the bar to stand in front of her. “I simply meant to be chivalrous. I’m always game to help a damsel in distress.”
She stiffened, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “I don’t need chivalry, and don’t you dare call me that ever again. I may be in distress, but I’m a strong, confident woman, not a damsel.” She should have known the goddess wouldn’t guide her to a demon for help. What the hell was she thinking coming here? “I should go.”
“Stay, please.” He gently placed a hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean to offend. How can I make it up to you? Aside from help with your challenge, what do you want?”
“I want to know you.” The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. That was his magic talking. He somehow reached inside people and made them reveal their innermost desires, but there had to be more to it than that. “I want you to tell me about your magic. This getting people to tell you everything they want, does it have a purpose?”
“A recovering demon never reveals his magic.”
“Not even to people you’re close to?”
He tilted his head. “A few close friends know, but you’ll never get it out of them. A lot of trust must be built before I can discuss it.”
“So…” She opened her arms. “Let’s build some trust.”
“I’m intrigued.” He ran his gaze down her body and back up to her eyes. “How do you suggest we do that?”
Her stomach bubbled, but she couldn’t tell if it was in reaction to his heated gaze or the bean burritos she devoured on the way over. “By talking, and neither one of us runs out on the other if we say more than we mean to.”
“It’s a deal. Would you like to come upstairs for a drink? I promise to keep my hands to myself until you tell me otherwise.”
Oh, lord. What was she doing? Upstairs, into his home, was the last place she needed to go. The man was trouble with a capital T, but she couldn’t help herself. She did desire to know him. Maybe his magic wasn’t the thing that would help her with the challenge, but she had been compelled to paint him. Any time she felt compelled to create art, it was always the goddess talking to her. Who was she to ignore a deity?
“Do you have whiskey?” She needed something stiff—other than his dick—if she was going to see this through.
“I certainly do.” He took the pastry box from the fridge and motioned toward a staircase in the back.
“Whiskey and cake? Is that a good combo?” She followed him to the steps.
“I’m afraid I can’t live without it.”
* * *
Mike shoved another mini angel food cake into his mouth on the way up the stairs, and the tingling in his palm subsided. He gestured to the couch for Crimson to sit and placed the nearly empty box on an end table. Hopefully he’d ingested enough angel magic to keep his demon side at bay, but he’d polish off the rest if need be. Satan could rot in his own circle of hell. This witch would be Mike’s.
Crimson sank onto a cushion and ran her hand over the plush chocolate fabric. “For some reason I expected your house to be decorated in red.”
He offered her a whiskey and sat next to her. “That’s the Devil’s signature color, not mine. I prefer earthier tones.”
“I see that.” She sipped the drink and glanced around the room. The blank screen of the television mounted to the wall cast a distorted reflection of them on the couch, and a potted succulent sat on a table near the window. “Everything looks so normal.”
“Were you expecting fire and brimstone?”
“I suppose I was.”
He tossed a spark toward the fireplace, setting the log ablaze. “Better?”
“Impressive.” Heat flashed in her eyes as her gaze landed on the beige rocking recliner adjacent to the sofa, and she sipped her drink, glancing at him as if expecting him to make a racy comment.
He’d made a promise, though. She said sex was off the table, so he’d be a good boy…until she wanted him to be bad.
The painting on the wall behind him caught her gaze, and she gasped. “That’s mine.”
“Technically, I bought it, so it’s mine.”
“You bought one of my paintings?” Her eyes widened in awe.
He nodded. “At a sidewalk sale in front of your coffee shop. You’re an amazing artist, by the way.” He turned to take in the work of art, a rendering of the Mississippi River done in rich hues of green, gold, and blue. “Your work is divine.”
“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I channel the goddess when I paint. She speaks through me, expressing the beauty of nature and her love of New Orleans.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
She shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Channeling is my inborn power. I’m supposed to be able to channel the goddess to cast spells too, but something went wrong when my mother unbound my magic. A glitch, so to speak, because of how young I was.” She took another sip of her drink. “So the only goddess channeling I can do is through my painting.”
He looked at the beautiful piece of art and then at the gorgeous woman sitting next to him, and his chest tightened. “That makes me love my purchase even more. What was the last thing you painted?”
“Oh, I’m sure it was another landscape or something.” She finished off the drink and set the glass on the coffee table. “What about you? Tell me something about Mike the demon. How did you come to live in New Orleans?”
“I bought this restaurant and moved into the apartment above.” He set his glass next to hers, scooting closer until their knees bumped.
She glanced at the spot where they now touched. “And the Devil just let you go? Seems like Earth would be crawling with demons if it were that easy.”
“I won my freedom in a poker game.” He rested his arm on the back of the sofa.
“Seriously?”
“Five Card Draw. I called his bluff and won the game. Satan loves to gamble.”
“I bet.”
He chuckled. “The Devil did, and he lost. Now I get to live topside as long as…” Gazing into her dark eyes, he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
“As long as what?” She drifted closer to him, and the warm, spicy scent of her magic tickled his senses.
“As long as I keep my powers in check.” He almost slipped and told her about the monthly payments he made in exchange for his freedom. Something about her made him want to open up and share everything about himself. Maybe this was what people felt like when they talked to him. The difference was, she wasn’t using any type of hocus pocus to make him feel this way.
“When a demon wins his freedom, he keeps his magic? It seems like the Devil would strip you of your powers when he set you free.”
“Satan prefers us to keep our demonic tendencies. He likes us to struggle. Being a recovering demon isn’t easy.”
“Which is why you go to AA meetings?”
“HA. We’re hellions, not alcoholics. Well, most of us aren’t alcoholics.”
“We’re friends now, right?” This time, she didn’t just drift toward him. She lifted her butt off the couch and scooted until her hip pressed against his.
“I sure hope so.” Holy Hades, the woman smelled heavenly, and the heat radiating from her skin sent all the blood from his head straight to his groin.
“Then you can tell me what other kind of magic you have.” Her breath against his ear sent a shiver down his spine.
“That’s a tricky subject, I’m afraid.” He turned his face toward hers.
“How so?” She leaned toward him, her nose a scant two inches from his, and paused.
He nearly went cross-eyed trying to meet her gaze as he fought the urge to take her mouth with his. Damn him for making such an ill-conceived promise to keep his hands to himself. He had no willpower around her. “When you’re a demon, people automatically judge you if they know your magic. I’m half human, yet no one can see past the demon side. I’d like you to get to know me before you judge me.”
She rested a hand on his thigh. “I’d like to get to know you too.”
Oh, damn it all to hell. He promised to keep his hands to himself, but he didn’t say anything about his lips. He moved closer, tilting his head and gently brushing his lips to hers. When her breath hitched, he couldn’t help himself, and he took her mouth with his.
Her lips were soft as velvet, and as she tightened her grip on his thigh, a shudder ran through his body. She tasted like whiskey, his favorite flavor, and her kiss was so hot, a ground fissure could have opened up with a blast of hellfire beneath him because he was about to go up in flames.
“Are you sure you don’t have this effect on all women?” she whispered against his lips.
“The self-preservation instinct keeps most women away.” He kissed her jaw before gliding his lips down to her neck.
She laughed. “I guess that’s another part of me that’s not working right, then.” Cupping his cheek in her hand, she pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him again.
Devil have mercy, this woman was alluring. He slid a hand behind her neck, pulling her closer, the man in him completely in control. The angel cake had done its job subduing his demon. In fact, the urge to make a deal with this witch completely vanished from his mind.
A deep rumble sounded from her stomach, and she pulled away, clutching her abdomen. “Uh oh.”
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes tightened, her gaze cutting between him and the exit. “I think…” Her stomach whined and groaned as if she’d swallowed a hell cat. “Can I use your restroom?”
“Sure. It’s through the bedroom to the left.” He pointed toward the door, and she shot to her feet, darting through and slamming it behind her.
* * *
Holy charro beans, that was a close one. Crimson barely made it to the bathroom before her protesting dinner reached its grand finale, and damn, did it end with a bang. And speaking of beans, what the hell did Casa del Burrito put in those things? Jet fuel? Hellfire? That shit burned. Literally.
She had tried to ignore the churning in her gut as she made out with Mike. His lips were soft and his body firm, and while her brain had attempted to tell her it was wrong to want a demon, every other fiber of her being had screamed at her to go for it. It had been hard to tell if the heat building in her lower abdomen was from desire or dinner, until it hit critical mass and she had to make a run for it. And not a moment too soon.
The second her butt hit the seat, the bomb dropped. She turned on the water and faked a few coughs to cover up the sound, and thank the goddess the plumbing worked properly. But now, she stood at the sink in a cloud of funk that smelled worse than a Bourbon Street dumpster on Mardi Gras.
What the hell was she thinking eating Tex-Mex before going to see a hot guy?
She rummaged through the cabinet beneath the sink, but all she found were a few spare rolls of toilet paper. Leave it to a man to not keep a bottle of Poo-pourri, or any type of air freshener, on hand.
The linen closet only contained linens, and in the medicine cabinet sat a single jar of face cream. Demons needed to moisturize?
She opened the jar and sniffed. Unscented, of course. Not that she could have used a cream to neutralize the stench she’d created. What would she do? Smear it on the walls?
Think, Crim. Think. She could cast a spell. A simple incantation to freshen a room. Her mom used to do one every morning in the coffee shop to enhance the aroma of the brew. People loved the smell of coffee. Now, how did that spell go?
She ran the verse through her mind a few times to make certain she’d get it right. Then she straightened her spine—confidence was key—and recited the words: “Aroma rich, scent pure. Enhance the fragrance, increase it sure.”
Her stomach burned—with magic rather than digesting food this time—and as the warmth spread, rolling down her arms, she cast it into the air.
Oh, shit.
That spell didn’t cover up odor, it magnified it. Damn it, she knew that. She knew the spell intensified the scent of coffee, so why did she think it would have the opposite effect on this problem?
Because being near Mike short-circuited her brain. That’s why.
She shook her hands and paced the small space. Pine. The scent of pine or fir…any conifer…would help to cover this up. She took a deep breath, immediately regretting that action, and spoke another incantation. “Fragrant pine, cypress, fir, enhance this space with conifer.”
The smell of Christmas trees filled the room, but it did nothing to mask the other odor tainting the air. Crap. Now it smelled like someone ripped a massive fart in the woods.
Mike tapped on the door. “Are you okay in there?”
“Fine.” Aside from the fact she was choking on the stench. If she opened the door now, the smell would knock him over. It was probably seeping through the cracks already. Oh, please, Mother Earth, open the ground and swallow me whole. “Be out in a minute,” she said in her most cheerful voice.
“Take your time.”
As his footsteps receded, she yanked aside the shower curtain, desperately searching for something…anything to squelch the stench.
A window!
Thank the goddess. Stepping into the tub, she worked the pane open and fanned the air outward. But the night was stagnant, and with the door closed, no cross breeze encouraged the air in the bathroom to escape.
She peered through the window, down to the grassy courtyard below. It wouldn’t be that far of a fall if she hung onto the ledge and lowered herself all the way before letting go.
Two bathroom window escapes in as many nights didn’t say much for her dignity, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t open the door and face Mike when his entire apartment would soon reek of Casa del Burrito discharge. She could never face him again.
This was what she got for trying to interpret a message from the goddess that wasn’t there. She’d come here for her own selfish reasons, and this was her punishment.
So much for getting it on with the hottest demon in town. He was probably a beast in the sheets too.
The toxic fumes stung her eyes as she cast one last glance at the door, grabbed her purse, and climbed out the window. Luckily she’d worn flat shoes, so she didn’t twist an ankle on the fall, but the impact jarred her joints, and she bit her tongue.
She swallowed the coppery taste from her mouth and trudged through the side yard to the street, leaving her dignity in the dirt where it belonged this time. It wouldn’t be that hard to avoid Mike for the rest of her life, especially if she lost the challenge and had to move away. Even sadder…she needed to find a new favorite Tex-Mex restaurant.