Accidentally Demonic (19 page)

Rich, available men.

Boy howdy.

Wait. Whoa. Since when had she placed a price tag on a man? She’d never, in all the time she’d worked for the Castalanos, ever abused the kind of wealth and privilege she was exposed to on a daily basis. She met all sorts of mega-bucks in her line of work. Bankers, lawyers, celebrities, and it had never occurred to her to entertain the idea that one of these men could be hers.

Until tonight. Until this very second.

As the mob of men began to cheer, she teetered over to the edge of the stage and set her drink down. Looking over her shoulder, she placed a coy finger between her red, pouty lips and winked, eliciting a roar of thunderous approval.

And if she were to be honest with herself, it had a certain bangin’ adrenaline rush to it.

Each step she took back toward the pole, each swish of her ass, was a sure sign she was a step closer to imminent disaster. The problem was, this place she was in was a place where she didn’t give a Flying Wolenda.

And fleetingly, she then thought, that—yes,
that
—was a bad, bad thing.

But that was just two seconds prior to her launching herself at the pole.

Suddenly, she was one with the steel, twirling around it like she was fingers on a swizzle stick. Speaking of fingers, they’d latched onto the pole as though they’d come home again. Each digit worked its way along the cool silver, climbing higher with expertise, all while stretching her free leg out to swirl downward. This from a woman who had been booted out of ballet class because she couldn’t get her feet into something as simple as first position without falling over—and that was while she held on to the ballet bar.

Heh.

Eyes closed, head thrown back, Casey relished the swell of cries from the audience she’d gathered at her feet, opting to ignore the ones littered with screeching panic from a wide-eyed Wanda.

Well, until she hit bottom and landed on something hard and pointy, that is.

Stretching her neck upward, her eyes took in Clay.

Oh. He was pissed.

“Rethinking your career path?”

Her eyes scanned the floor beneath her, now littered with a sea of dollar bills. Casey’s hand slid along the floor, scooping up a handful of cash with a demure pout. “Are you here to poop on my party?”

His face was hard in the flash of the strobe light. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to be the poop in this equation. But if I were you, I’d get up now. You know, before any more, how should I say this, uh, unflattering pictures are taken of you. Though, the lighting is very flattering to your coloring.”

Lightbulbs flashed everywhere, raining the glaring reality of what she’d been doing down on her parade.

With the grace of a cat, she swung her legs around behind her and pulled herself up, using the pole for leverage, giving the crowd a broad smile and a quick curtsy before grabbing Clay’s hand and dragging him down the back exit stairs.

He halted her just as they came to a long, dimly lit hallway, whirling her around to press her to the wall with a not-so-gentle shove. Lips a thin line, sultry dark eyes narrowed, Clay bore down on her. “What the hell is wrong with you? Jesus Christ, Casey—do you have any idea how bad that looked?”

Her grin was mischievous. Holding up her hand, she crinkled the wad of cash she’d gathered. “I’d say it must’ve looked pretty good.”

Clay’s hand yanked the money from her fist and threw it on the ground, where it fell with an echoing rustle of paper against concrete floor. “Listen up, little girl. Making a spectacle of yourself at a high-profile rapper’s party isn’t exactly showing a whole lot of self-control, now, is it? Not only will you lose your job, but if I can’t get my hands on everyone with a camera, you’ll be splashed all over the front of some ragmag. You’d better goddamn well hope the three of us can get ahold of those photographers, Casey. They ate your raunch up like it was an ice cream sundae.”

His anger sent a wave of shivers from the tips of her heeled toes to the top of her teased head.

While momentarily she thought about how insane provoking him and being turned on by it was, she also wasn’t able to stop herself from wondering what it would be like if he ate
her
up like an ice cream sundae.

“You know,” she drawled, slow, sensuous, accentuating each word, “you’re spankin’ hot when you’re angry.”

His jaw lifted, revealing the sharp edge to it—a hard line of flesh she wanted to nip at. “You know, you’re not when you’re behaving like you’re vying for the top spot in a ‘Paranormals Gone Wild’ video.”

The chuckle she let go came from deep within while her finger traced a line down the lean length of his cheek. “I don’t think you mean that.” She followed her bold statement with a flutter of her overly mascara’d eyelashes, fleetingly grateful they didn’t stick together.

His teeth, white and clenched, allowed little room for words, but the words that followed were succinct and punctuated with an angry growl. “I think you’d be mistaken.”

Even before the words were out of her mouth, she knew she sounded like some kind of schizophrenic out on a day pass, but it didn’t stop her. “I think you think I’m just as hot as I think you are.”

If he was at all surprised by her blatant display, it didn’t show. The cocky look he gave her was cool and chock full of confidence. “I think you need to give a great deal of thought to the kind of fire you’re playing with before you open your mouth again, Casey.”

“Oh, Clay. I think you’re full of shit,” she replied with just as much confidence, drawing her calf along his tightly muscled ass, reveling in the silk of his trousers against her naked leg.

He reached a hand around his back, clamping it onto her leg to keep it still. “I think you’re going to be in deep shit if you keep this up.” Yet that wasn’t what the southerly parts of his body were saying, but whatever.

“Is this the part where I should be scared?”

“This is it.”

“Surely you know me better than that.” Her statement whizzed from between her lips before she could even comprehend how utterly ludicrous it was to ask such a thing of a man she’d known but a few days.

“But I don’t know you at all, Casey.”

Point. Though, right here, right now, she felt like she knew him. Like he knew her. In fact, it was a familiarity she experienced in her very core.

And that was some jacked-up shit.

Yet, that was when her breathing became shallow, and the continuation of his “you’ve been a bad girl” speech became nothing more than a garble of slo-mo words from Clay’s lips.

The tight bra she wore grew tighter when her breasts pressed against Clay’s chest. The heat between her thighs pulsed with a raging request to be sated. His lips moving enticed her until she could no longer bear to not have them on hers.

With a thrust of her hips, she captured him by wrapping her thigh more firmly around his waist, relishing the grunt of surprise he gave, the sculpted press of his torso to hers.

Casey’s lips moved in, hovering over Clay’s for but a second before capturing them, consuming them, locking them to hers. Her arms wound around his neck, her nostrils inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne, her tongue slid into his mouth, cool and silken, seeking, tasting.

For all his talk about not knowing her, and all the stank she’d be in if she kept up her cat-and-mouse shtick, reluctant wasn’t a word she’d apply to his lips. Lips that took total and full control, gliding over hers, demanding she submit. Clay’s arms curled around her, dragging her closer, pulling her flush to him. His hand splayed over her spine, bending her lower body to meld with his. His deliciously long fingers first cupped her jaw, tracing a pattern of exquisite circles before settling in her hair, gripping a handful of it, drawing her deeper into the kiss.

Their lips tangled, their tongues dueled, her eyes rolled to the back of her head from the exquisite stroke of his mouth. His hands were infuriating and exciting all at once, running along her ribs, yet skirting the undersides of her breasts.

A hot groan of longing whistled from her lips when he pulled her head back, exposing her throat, curling his large hand around it to caress the sensitive flesh with his thumb. Wet heat gathered between her thighs, making her lift her hips, seeking the hard pressure of his lower body against hers.

She couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t get enough of his lips consuming hers. Images of Clay naked, driving into her with hard abandon, made her squirm closer.

With every fiber in her body she wanted to rake her fingers down his naked back, dig them into his flesh as they both screamed for release.

“Casey. Louise. Schwartz!”

That scream. The one where her sister used her full given name, the one that had just emitted from lips Casey knew when she opened her eyes would be puckered, was not the scream she’d just been so desperately hoping for.

The release of their mouths resounded with a suctioning slurp throughout the corridor, making Casey cringe.

Frozen in place like two dieters caught hitting the fried chicken wings at Hungry Hal’s All U Can Eat, neither of them moved.

Wanda’s eyes pinned them to the wall, her ramrod-straight posture never faltered when she stomped toward them. “You know what, Miss? I’ve had just about enough of you tonight. First, I can’t find you anywhere. Then, I find you on a pole—a
stripper’s
pole, Casey, working it like you were a hired hootch earning her keep at a virgin’s convention! And to top everything else off, your charges, the ones you ditched us with for greener pastures, were better behaved than you!”

Clay held a hand up to thwart Wanda’s tirade. “Wanda—”

But her finger under his nose was faster. “Do. Not.” She clamped her fingers together to signify he should shut up.

Casey placed a hand on his arm to keep him from defending her, and he apparently sensed her need to handle this by the thin line of his lips going silent.

And then Nina was in the mix. “Yeah, and you know what else, buttercup?” She rolled up the sleeves of her jacket before driving her hands into her pockets and pulling roll after roll of camera film out, letting them rest in her fist. “I had to use my powers of persuasion to get these, you walking hormone. I fucking hate using my powers of persuasion. It’s work. It makes me tired and cranky. I’d rather just beat the shit out of them to get what I want, but no, Wanda here told me I had to tread lightly, and where are you while I’m hunting down sleazy dawgs with cameras? In a hallway, shoving your tongue down Clayton’s throat like you’re at the eighth-grade dance. I want no part of that, sistah. I hear Clayton has a mate, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to some shunning because you can’t keep your panties on. You know, I might just beat the shit out of you for the fuck of it.”

Wherever she’d just been, she was back—big. Her saucy attitude and devil-may-care manner slunk back to the dark place inside her. Her arms fell to her sides, and her leg dropped from around Clay’s waist like it was made of lead. Casey hung her head, but before she did, she caught Wanda’s eyes. “So you’re mad?”

Arms crossed over her chest, eyes blazing, Wanda’s hair literally shook around her face when she spat, “Mad because you’re accosting a man who’s mated in a dark hallway at some party filled with drugs and booze, prancing about like you’re Belinda Bubbles? Noooooooooo, don’t be ridiculous.” She waved her hand for emphasis. “I’m in love with the idea. So in love, if Nina doesn’t get to you first,
I’m
going to beat the shit out of you!

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave my sight? Didn’t I?” Wanda’s eyes were full moon-sized and her face was an unflattering red. Casey decided
seething
wasn’t a word she’d rule out. “You were going to the bathroom, Casey. The next thing I know, you’re sliding up and down on a pole like you were born to grease it, and I’m fighting off some man-child with a gold tooth named Cherry-Ice—”

“I thought it was Rainbow-Ice?” Nina interjected.

“Whatever!” Wanda howled, clenching her fists. “How, in the name of all that’s holy, is what you’ve been up to even remotely like making an effort to get a grip on yourself? Did you even
try
some of the calming techniques we’ve practiced?”

Well . . . okay, no.

“Stop, Wanda.” Clay cut off any opportunity Casey might have taken to defend herself. His jaw set with a stern grind of teeth. “I was a part of this, too. Casey’s obviously not herself. It won’t happen again.”

On the inside again she was weeping. Because “it wouldn’t happen again.”

On the outside, she raised her eyes and gave Wanda a look of ashamed apology. “This was my fault. Clay didn’t . . . he didn’t . . . Look, I know I’ve said this before, but once it happens, I can’t seem to stop it. I don’t even know how I get where I end up. I just do, and I’m sorry.” Her eyes then went to Clayton, still standing far too close for her comfort. Each nerve in her body was rubbed raw with sexual tension, every bone teeming with embarrassment. “I—I—apologize. I was rude and forward and nothing like the person I am . . . was . . . used to be . . . really, really want to be again.” She found her favorite spot on the concrete floor once more, fastening her eyes to it like her life depended on it.

“Casey!”

She caught sight of two pairs of feet wearing expensive shoes. The clatter of their heels clacked around in her addled brain.

Shiny.

The twins had arrived.

They crowded into the hallway, forcing Clayton to press back against her very fragile, so raw and cagey she just might explode, body.

Drinks in hand, Lola planted her hand on her waiflike hip, taking a long sip from her straw before eyeballing Casey and Clay. “I can’t even believe this is you! I mean, you lecture us all the time about our inappropriate behavior, but hellloooo. You’re always nagging us to show some de—de—”