He cared about her.
But he’d never love her. He knew the limitations, understood just how far he could go. He’d never subject a woman to what his mother had gone through.
And he didn’t trust himself enough. He wasn’t confident enough to say he wouldn’t end up just like his father.
He owed Angie more than that. She deserved more than that.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going, or are we going to continue driving aimlessly around the coast?” she asked.
He smiled. That’s exactly what he’d been doing. Trying to get his bearings and stay one step ahead of the demons until he figured out a game plan. “You’re too damn perceptive. You’re not psychic like Shay, are you?”
She rolled off him and sat up, a satisfied smile gracing her face. “Hardly. So what are we going to do?”
He pushed the pillow up against the headboard again. “I’m going to contact Lou, then Dalton. We’ll figure out the next step. What the hell time is it, anyway?”
“About five in the morning.”
He shrugged. “A little early.”
“We could get breakfast first.”
“We could. But right now I’m going to take a shower. Care to join me?”
She looked down between his legs, then met his gaze again, her eyes going smoky. “Now that’s an invitation I can’t refuse.”
“You’re insatiable. You’re going to wear me out. I’ll be worthless.”
She slid off the bed and stretched, thrusting her breasts at him. Maybe she was a demon-a succubus sent to tempt him into selling his soul.
It was working.
“Somehow I think you can handle it, tough guy. I’ll go turn on the shower.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isabelle couldn’t breathe as Dalton held her mother’s diary in his hand. The secrets, the things he now knew about her. .
The pain was so raw it tore through her lungs, her heart. Embarrassment, rage, and utter terror burned within her. She could barely form words; she didn’t know where to start.
She’d been had. Dalton looked back at her, his face a mask revealing nothing. Tense seconds had ticked by and so far he hadn’t replied to her question, so she asked him again.
“Who are you?”
Anger was a shield, so much better than dissolving into tears and crumpling on the floor. She wanted to die. Or wanted to run into his arms and beg him to help her understand what he’d read in her mother’s diary.
He couldn’t help her, though. No one could.
He stood and picked up the diary but didn’t move toward her. She wanted to snatch her mother’s journal from his hand and jump off the boat, do anything she could to get away from him. But instead she stood her ground, firmly refusing to budge. She had to know.
“Isabelle, don’t panic. Don’t be angry.”
She let out a laugh, though the situation was anything but funny. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve telling me how to act or feel. You stole what was mine. Something private. You read my diary, Dalton! Is that even your name?”
“Yes.”
At least he had the decency to look ashamed, though it gave her little comfort. “Is that the only thing you told me that’s the truth?”
He leaned back against the desk. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Fighting back tears, she nodded and held out her hand. “Give me the diary. It belonged to my mother.”
He held firm to it. “Not until you listen to me.”
“There’s nothing you could tell me, no explanation you could make up, that I’m remotely interested in hearing. Now give me the diary.”
Determined to get the journal back from him, she started toward him.
“I hunt demons for a living, Isabelle.”
She stopped. “What?”
“Demons do exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve killed them.”
She felt dizzy, nauseous. Was he making this up? “What are you saying?”
“I’m here to protect you. Demons are looking for you. They want to use you, to hurt you.”
Her airway was closing; pinpricks of tiny lights danced in front of her eyes. Oh, God, she was losing it. She tried to suck in air, but she was doing it too fast. She hurried toward the bed and sat, doubling over. “I’m going to be sick.”
A cool hand swept her hair away from her neck and palmed her nape. “Breathe normally. Slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”
“Don’t. . touch me.” She tried to bat his hand away, but dammit, it felt good-calming. She was so pathetic. Angry and sick to her stomach. She felt both violated and needy, yet desperate to be held and comforted. She wanted this nightmare to go away. She wanted it not to have happened.
Once she got her breathing under control, she felt less like passing out, though the sick feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away. She sat upright, shouldering his arm away, refusing to acknowledge the tenderness of his touch.
She’d thought they had a connection, something that went deeper than anything she’d ever experienced with a man. He got her, understood her. Or so she’d thought.
You are so dumb, Izzy.
The mattress gave as he sat next to her. “Isabelle, let me explain this to you.”
“You violated my privacy,” she shot back. “You violated me. There’s nothing to explain.”
“You’re right. I did take what was yours. And I’m sorry. I had to know about you.”
She turned her head to glare at him. “Couldn’t you have asked?”
“Would you have told me what was in your mother’s journal?”
She looked away again. No. She wouldn’t have. No one needed to know what she was. She didn’t know what she was. Not really. Only that she wasn’t. . normal. If what her mother said was true.
Could it be true? She hadn’t even discussed it with Angelique, too afraid her sister would look at her with condemnation in her eyes. Hadn’t she always been less than Angelique? Hadn’t she been trying to prove herself equal to or better than her sister her entire life?
One good sister, one bad. How could that have happened? They were twins. Shouldn’t they be exactly alike? Why wasn’t Mother here so she could talk to her about it?
She blinked to fight the tears, needing distance and a place where she could be alone. “Go away, Dalton. Take me back to the dock. I want off this boat.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. I’m demanding you return me to the dock.”
“No.”
She stood, wobbling a little, cursing the alcohol she’d consumed earlier. Steadying herself, she faced him. “Are you kidnapping me?”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Bullshit.” She stared at the journal, trying to determine if it was worth trying to grab for it, then make a run. She was a good swimmer. Maybe she could get to the small boat anchored to the yacht.