She gasped, but the sound barely cracked through his haze. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the stinging smack she delivered to his right cheek.
The swirling stars started up again, and he winced. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes. You’re groping me, in case you didn’t notice.”
Like there was any chance every inch of his body wasn’t aware of the lush bounty of feminine flesh resting in his palms. With a mixture of relief and regret, he let go of her. “Shit, I must be drunker than I thought.”
Unmistakable hurt flashed in her eyes before she masked it. “Why? Because you made a pass at me?”
“Let’s get something clear. That was me copping a cheap feel, nothing more. Hell, you’re so far from my type we might as well be different species.” He offered a humorless laugh. “Oh yeah, we are.”
She rolled her lips tight. “You’re not exactly my type either.”
“Good. Glad we agree on the subject.” He dropped his scrutiny to the sewing basket she’d placed near his foot. “Now are you going to stitch up my damn wound or let me bleed out all over your floor?”
Her eyes narrowed, fire blazing in their depths. “Something tells me the second option would be wiser.”
He grunted. Imagine that. Another thing they agreed on.
Chapter Four
Good grief. Why in the world was she so attracted to such a miserable son of a bitch? Marabella scrubbed her palms beneath the running faucet, barely registering the pink-tinted suds swirling down the drain. Okay, there was definitely his mouthwatering physique to consider. Even the numerous scars patterning his bronzed flesh didn’t take away from his dark beauty. If anything, they only added to his ruggedness like badges of honor.
She halted in mid-rinse while she pondered that last thought. Did honor even belong in a demon’s vocabulary? Doubtful. More than likely those scars were courtesy of nefarious acts he’d committed. Regardless, getting her panties wet over him was a bad mistake—almost as boneheaded as her impulsive decision to bring him here. If the witches’ guild, or goddess forbid, her mom, ever caught wind of what’d gone down tonight, her ass would be in the ringer. Still, it wasn’t like she could leave him wounded and helpless in the park. She wouldn’t have been able to live with it if something happened to him.
With that realization firmly planted in her mind, she ripped two paper towels from the available roll and blotted her hands dry. She spun on her heel and blinked as she took in the empty chair where the demon had sat seconds ago. Her attention fell to the ground, and she noticed his shirt had disappeared too.
She crumpled the paper towels and shot them in the direction of the sink before rushing from the room. Her pace harried, she methodically checked the entire store and quickly came to the conclusion he’d ditched her.
She grunted, the irony of the situation epic. “Twice in one night. Has to be a record for me.”
She retraced her steps to the kitchen and flicked off the lights. After one final inspection to ensure the sneaky demon wasn’t hiding in the shadows somewhere, she freed the deadbolt that led to the rear vestibule and the stairway to her apartment. Once she secured the lock, she trudged upstairs. Tossing her purse on the couch, she wandered to the antique secretary and tugged the chain on the brass table lamp, splashing a warm circle of light on the monitor of her laptop. She punched the Power key and a few seconds later hopped online. The cursor blinked in the Search text box, taunting her. Fingers trembling, she shot a look over her shoulder and groaned at her ridiculous nerves.
For goddess’s sake, it wasn’t like her mom or any members of the guild would barge in on her the moment she began typing.
At least she hoped not.
Stiffening her spine, she tapped the word demon into the search field, followed by the name she’d heard Jasper use in the park—Gorasola. No useful results popped up. Certainly nothing that screamed this is the sinfully gorgeous and surly-as-hell demon you’re seeking.
She pillowed her cheek in her palm and blew out a breath. “It’s probably for the best.” She didn’t need to encourage any more of this stupid obsession with him. Or keep recounting the hot, intense look in his eyes when he’d felt her up. Her traitorous nipples immediately pebbled at the memory. Of course, his tune had changed real fast after she’d slapped him. Her ego wouldn’t let her forget that tiny, sad fact. Apparently demons weren’t immune to the weird curse hanging over her head. Isn’t that just my luck?
She frowned at the inappropriate and completely unhelpful thought. Strike that, she was blissfully happy there was no possibility of mattress mamboing with a demon in her future. Particularly Mr. Buff and Scowling Gorasola. From here on out, no more begrudging her circumstances. Fate had handed her a huge favor with this curse business. She saw that now.
Her mood lifting a fraction, she started to log off the internet, but as her finger hovered on the mouse she remembered the database the guild kept on the demons they considered especially dangerous. A flicker of guilt fluttered through her. She tamped it down with the assertion that she wasn’t digging for possible information on him. She’d already decided to thrust him out of her mind—as soon as she verified he wasn’t a threat that the guild was keeping tabs on.
Gnawing on her thumbnail, she pulled up the official website for the International Alliance of Witches and logged into the classified Members Only section. With a little surfing, she found the correct registry and scrolled through the archived listings. Her heart plummeted to her toes when she spotted the name Gorasola. She stared at the big, bold, red letters, willing them to mutate into something else.
They didn’t.
Her stomach shaky, she clicked on the link.
Samael Gorasola, age unknown, soul collector and former personal familiar to Antoinette Delacroix. Considered an extreme threat and danger to society. If encountered, proceed with care and caution.
There were a few more lines of text, but her vision had become too wonky to interpret any of it. She swallowed hard, trying to defeat a wave of nausea. This was a million times worse than anything she might have cooked up in her wildest imaginings. Bad enough she’d gotten hot and bothered over a demon. She’d lusted for a contract killer.
Chapter Five
“Oh yes, right there. Ahhhh, that thing you’re doing with your tongue…don’t you dare stop.” A throaty moan purred from his rescuer while his head bobbed between her thighs.
He murmured an incoherent reply into her slick flesh. Fuck, she tasted delicious. Intoxicating. The most forbidden sweet fruit with the distinct undertone of…fabric softener?
Sam jerked awake and spit out a mouthful of his pillowcase. For devil’s sake. He was so hard up he’d resorted to performing oral sex on his bedding.
Speaking of hard…
Moving gingerly, he flopped onto his back and willed away his erection. He’d certainly experienced plenty of low moments in his life, but this had to rank in the top ten. Crooking an arm over his eyes, he listened to the steady whir of the ceiling-fan blades. Just as he was beginning to drift off to sleep, the obnoxious shriek of the smoke alarm broke his bubble of relaxation. He jolted. His left eye twitching, he shoved aside the tangle of sheets and leapt off the mattress. At the last second, he remembered to tug on a pair of sweats. He hiked them in place and raced to the kitchen. Skidding to a halt in the entry, he spotted Nikki furiously beating the smoke detector with the handle of a broomstick. By the time she was done with it, the unit dangled limply from the ceiling by two wires like a defeated opponent who’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.