Devilishly Sexy (18 page)

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Authors: Kathy Love

BOOK: Devilishly Sexy
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Chapter Twenty
B
y the time the drinks arrived and Liza had taken a few sips of her chardonnay, she had convinced herself she’d just imagined that Finola’s right-hand man, Tristan, had been standing at the bar, watching her and Michael.
And even if she had seen him, it could be coincidence. He could have just come here for a drink or dinner by chance. But even as she told herself that, she knew that nothing was coincidence with either Finola or Tristan.
She took another sip of her wine, and told herself to go with her original thought. She’d imagined him.
“How is the beet salad?” Michael asked, concern still in his golden eyes.
“It’s delicious,” she said, realizing it was true, even though she hadn’t really noticed the first couple of bites. She’d been too troubled by the idea that Tristan might be there. But even if he had been, he wasn’t now.
“Would you like to try some?” she asked, forcing herself to push aside the uneasy feeling that still made her chest tighten and her heart pound.
Michael glanced at her plate. “I’m good, but would you like to try this?”
Liza looked at his plate, noticing that he’d barely eaten any of his salad. She scooped up some of the pink tuna and bright green seaweed in her fork, then into her mouth.
“Mmm,” she said, enjoying the tartness and texture of the salad. “This is delicious.”
Michael nodded, but again, she didn’t get the feeling he was thrilled with his food.
“Not what you expected, huh?”
Michael stopped poking at the small chunks of tuna with his fork and looked at her.
“Not really,” he admitted with a rueful smile.
She smiled, more tension leaving her. That was until Michael asked, “Who did you think you saw over at the bar?”
She should have known he would notice her reaction earlier. She suspected he didn’t miss much.
For a moment, she debated whether to tell him the truth, then decided there wasn’t any reason not to tell him.
“I actually thought I saw Finola’s assistant editor.”
Michael nodded, glancing back in that direction.
“That seemed to have you upset,” he said after a moment. “Why?”
She thought about lying. After all, Tristan didn’t seem to be at the bar any longer, and she could be just blowing everything out of proportion anyway.
“Why would that have you so upset?”
Again she considered telling him it didn’t, but then decided yet again, he had the right to know. And frankly, she wanted his opinion.
“I didn’t want him to see us and tell Finola,” she explained, which was true. But the question was, would Tristan even know who Michael was and that he worked in the
HOT!
mailroom? Maybe or maybe not.
But surely Tristan wouldn’t follow her for that reason? To see who she was dating? Liza doubted it. If Tristan McIntyre was following her, it was for far more nefarious reasons. At least that’s what her gut told her.
But he isn’t following you, she told herself. He was just an image created by her nervous and overworked mind. Her tired mind.
She reached over to take another bite of Michael’s salad.
“I really like this,” she told him with a smile, even as she fought the urge to shoot a glance back to the bar.
“It’s all yours,” Michael said with a rueful smile. “Thank God, I have a steak coming.”
“A meat and potatoes kinda guy, huh?”
Michael smiled back, and again Liza’s chest tightened and her heart pattered wildly.
This time because of that amazing smile of his, she assured herself. She was actually relieved when the waiter arrived with their main courses, because she needed a moment to collect herself—and get her heart back to a normal rhythm.
After they’d taken a taste or two of their meals, Michael said, “Do you think he might be checking up on you?”
For a moment, Liza didn’t follow his line of thought, but then she realized he was referring to Tristan. “Oh, I—I doubt it.”
But that was exactly what she’d wondered. After all, recently she hadn’t been the good little worker bee she’d been for years. She was rebelling, and that could have Finola on her guard.
She already knew she had to be careful, and she intended to give Finola the work she always had—better even, just so she didn’t have to reveal that she was keeping the damned demon inside her continually sedated. Nor did she want Finola to realize she was seeing Michael. She truly didn’t believe he was involved, or even aware of who, or what, actually ran
HOT!
She wanted to keep it that way.
Maybe she had seen Tristan, maybe she was just being paranoid, but either way she had to play this all carefully until she figured out some way to finally free herself from her possession and ultimately from Finola White herself.
Liza believed she might be able to convince Finola she would be a better worker without Boris, but she had no idea how she would ever be free of Finola. Well, she’d just have to get rid of the first problem, then go from there.
“I think I just saw someone who looked like him. That’s all,” she said, waving her hand casually, then returning to her grilled salmon.
When she looked up again, Michael was regarding her closely, and she got the feeling he didn’t believe her, although she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t.
“How’s your steak?” she asked, hoping to drop the whole subject.
 
Michael could see that Liza was uncomfortable with this topic of conversation.
“It’s delicious,” he told her, offering her a smile that he hoped would calm her. He got the feeling from her reaction that she actually had seen Tristan. Did that mean the demon was following her?
But why?
His protective slayer guard came up instantly. Did Finola and Tristan have plans for Liza? Were they looking for something that would break her soul contract and allow them to gain yet another soul?
He sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen. Not even if it meant going against all of DIA’s new policies.
He glanced at the woman beside him. He realized that he hadn’t known her long, but he felt a tremendous connection to her. Intense feelings of concern and caring and protectiveness.
She was his woman.
The thought seemed so strange, so premature, but it didn’t matter. That was how he felt. Period.
And nothing was going to harm her, or change his feelings.
 
“I cannot believe within seconds of locating her, you allowed her to see you?”
Tristan glared down at Dippy, who was perched in the satchel he carried over his shoulder.
“You are supposed to blend in,” Dippy stated with annoyance.
“I’m supposed to blend in while carrying a man purse with a fluffy white dog in it?” Tristan pointed out wryly. “I think this plan was doomed from the start.”
Dippy rolled his doggy eyes and muttered, “Satan knows, you are metrosexual enough to pull off the look.”
Tristan didn’t acknowledge the comment, because he supposed it was rather true. “We just have to be more careful.”
Dippy growled. Tristan didn’t know if it was in agreement or not, and frankly he didn’t care.
“Who do you think was that man with her?”
Tristan had been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. I have a vague feeling I’ve seen him before, but I’m not sure where.”
“Well, I think we should find out who he is. He’s probably just some nobody, but you never know.”
Tristan agreed. He was willing to follow any lead that might get Finola worried about Liza McLane. Hell, he was willing to make up a lead. Whatever it took to get Finola to react badly.
Chapter Twenty-one
“W
here do you want to go now?” Michael asked once they stepped outside of the restaurant.
Feeling a bit like Cinderella with still more time before the clock struck midnight, or in Liza’s case, before the demon returned, she wasn’t ready to call it a night.
“Would you like to just come back to my place?”
Michael agreed immediately. “Sure.”
Raising a hand, he waved down a taxi. Once inside, he turned to her. “So you haven’t told me how you came to work for
HOT!
Was working for a fashion magazine always your dream job?”
Liza didn’t have to hesitate. “Yes, it always was.”
He nodded as if he’d expected her answer, but more than that, like it confirmed something to him. She wasn’t sure what, or really if she wasn’t just reading too much into a simple nod.
“I actually was an editor-in-chief for a very successful fashion magazine,” she told him, although not admitting it had actually been
HOT!
before it was controlled by demons.
“Really?”
She nodded with a slight smile, finding his surprise a little amusing, although her current situation at
HOT!
certainly did not amuse her.
“Why did you decide to take the position at
HOT!
then?”
She shrugged, then gave him the most honest answer she could. “Finola White made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
 
“Oh, okay,” Michael said, although he didn’t quite understand. Usually, the way a demon got a human to sign a soul contract was to offer them something they simply couldn’t refuse. Their heart’s desire.
How was moving from a position as editor-in-chief to one working under Finola Liza’s heart’s desire? Unless she was just determined to work for
HOT!,
which, as he’d come to understand it, was the most successful of all the fashion magazines out there. Maybe that had been enough of a lure. Or maybe Finola had promised her something more than Liza had actually gotten. That was a breach of a soul contract, but he was sure a powerful demon like Finola White could find a way around such technicalities. Not to mention, she had no problems breaching contracts anyway.
Still, who signed a contract with the devil that got them less than what they already had? That was strange.
“Anyway,” Liza said, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I plan to be free of Finola soon. I’m hoping anyway.”
Michael wondered if Liza was aware that help was out there. In fact, right below her every day in the mailroom. He knew he couldn’t risk asking in case she didn’t know. Revealing anything about the DIA could be detrimental to the agency’s work.
So instead he decided to simply reassure her.
“You definitely will. Sometimes you just have to be patient and bide your time.”
She glanced at him, her eyes roaming over his face. “I hope you are right.”
Michael knew he was right. No matter what, she would be freed from that contract. Whether it was by DIA’s actions or his own.
But discussing the issue any further wasn’t going to fix her problem right now, and frankly Michael wanted an evening when they could get to know each other without demons being a part of the equation. If that was possible.
“So you’ve never told me where you are from,” he said.
She smiled, and he was glad to see her relax a little. “Not far. I grew up in Connecticut. My family still lives there, although you’d think it was a thousand miles away, considering all the times I get there. Working for
HOT!
keeps me awfully busy.”
He nodded, imagining that was very true. But again, he wasn’t going to let the conversation revolve around
HOT!
or Finola.
“How about you?” she asked.
“I’m from all over, really. I’ve traveled a lot.”
“Because of your special forces work?”
Man, it was hard to avoid their demonically ruled lives, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” he said. “That was a good portion of it.” There was also the fact that he’d been alive for many, many decades.
“That must have been a very exciting career. And dangerous.”
“It was.” He wasn’t even lying when he used the past tense. He wasn’t a slayer anymore. At least for the time being. But he would be again, if he had to.
“Why did you decide to get out of it?” she asked.
“I didn’t decide to—it’s more like my unit was deactivated.”
“They can do that?”
Michael sighed. “Yeah. They can do that.” As much as he wished it wasn’t true.
“You sound disappointed.”
He nodded. “I am. I like to think that our unit was one of the most elite and effective teams they had.”
“That must be hard.”
Michael nodded. “It is, and I’m hoping the higher-ups are making the right choices. I’m honestly not convinced they are.”
 
Liza didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. She certainly didn’t do anything as dangerous as special ops, but she did understand how it felt to be taken out of a job she loved and how helpless that made her feel. Sure, she still did most of the work an editor-in-chief would do, but now she worked for someone who made her job more difficult and took all the credit for the good things Liza did.
Not quite the same, but still as frustrating.
“So how did you come to be working in a mailroom after a career in special forces? That definitely doesn’t sound like a natural progression,” she said, giving him a sympathetic smile, since she didn’t need him to even say it to know the mailroom wasn’t his idea of a great job.
“Like I said, I just sort of found myself with the job. I happened to know the mailroom manager and he suggested that I take the position. Since I didn’t have any other prospects at the moment, I decided to take him up on the offer.”
Liza nodded, again sympathetic. “In this economy, I guess there aren’t as many options in all fields, including law enforcement.”
“I really had no options,” he said flatly and again Liza knew he was very dissatisfied.
Again, she understood. “I don’t have any options either.”
Michael turned more toward her on the vinyl bench seat of the cab, his knees brushing hers.
“But things will change for you,” he said, reaching for her hand. His thumb rubbed back and forth across the back of her fingers, his touch soothing and arousing at the same time. “I can promise you. You just have to be patient.”
She looked down at their joined hands, loving his touch and believing his reassurance, although she wondered how she could. She didn’t know if things would ever be okay, whether she’d ever be free of Finola and Boris, but she wanted to believe him.
And something about the way he spoke seemed to say that he totally understood what she was going through even though he couldn’t possibly.
What would he know about possession? Or demons. He’d fought evil and villains, but they’d been the human kind.
“Here we are,” the taxi driver said in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.
Michael caressed his thumb over her fingers one last time, then reached for his wallet.
“Let me,” she said, but he had already given the driver several bills.
“I have the unglamorous job of mailroom clerk, but the gig pays surprisingly well.”
Liza found that hard to believe, but didn’t argue. She appreciated his gentlemanliness.
She stepped out of the vehicle onto the sidewalk, feeling warm even though there was a chill to the night air. Michael always had that effect on her. As well as making her heart race in her chest.
She even felt a little light-headed as she waited for him to follow her out of the cab. Very light-headed actually.
She swayed, but before her knees buckled, Michael was at her side, his strong arm around her back to steady her.
“Liza, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She nodded, although her vision now blurred too.
“I think maybe the wine went to my head more than I thought,” she told him, then blinked and smiled. “Or you have.”
He raised an eyebrow, offering her a lopsided smile of his own. “I’m not sure that is a compliment. You look pretty pale and woozy.”
“I’ll be fine in a moment,” she assured him, but when she moved to take a step, she wobbled sideways and only Michael’s hold kept her from toppling over.
“Whoa there.” He pulled her tighter against his side.
She smiled, starting to be a little worried that maybe something was really wrong. The dizziness wasn’t going away, and she could hear her heart beating in her ears. The combination made her feel slightly ill.
“I think we need to get you somewhere to lie down,” Michael said.
She could hear the concern in his voice even over her pounding heartbeat.
“I look that bad?” she asked, trying to sound airy, even as she was getting more concerned herself.
“A little,” he said, not giving her the answer she necessarily wanted. Then he further concerned her by hoisting her up in his arms.
“Michael,” she cried, her arms wrapping around his neck as a wave of light-headedness hit her.
“Shh, just let me carry you.”
She felt silly, but at the same time she also felt protected and cared for, which she had to admit was a wonderful feeling.
This strange light-headedness wasn’t so wonderful however. She groaned slightly as he headed up the steps to the apartment.
“I don’t understand what is wrong,” she said to him, letting her head drop on his shoulder. “I was feeling fine and now ...” She moaned again.
“Maybe we should go to the hospital,” he suggested, his voice thick with worry.
“No,” she said immediately, knowing if they did any blood work or an examination of her now, a doctor might discover the amount of allergy meds in her system. Which had to be what was making her feel this way. Although this was not how she normally reacted to the meds.
It had to be the pills combined with the two glasses of wine she’d had with dinner. That was it, she was sure. And it would pass.
“I’m fine. I really think the wine just went straight to my head,” she told him, trying to sound firm, which wasn’t easy when she felt so woozy.
“Maybe it was that tuna and seaweed salad,” Michael suggested in jest, and she managed a small laugh.
“That is it,” she agreed. “Definitely.”
Then she fell silent, the dizziness and rapid heartbeat making it hard to focus on anything else.
In fact she wasn’t even aware that they had reached her apartment until he asked her where her keys were. She fumbled with her small purse, trying to locate them, which seemed like a colossal undertaking.
Finally he set her down, careful to keep her pinned to his side, and got the keys from one of the pockets of the leather purse himself.
She heard the door unlock, rather than seeing because she had her eyes closed and she was trying to force her heart to calm down.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the hospital?” Michael asked again and this time she made herself open her eyes and look at him.
“No,” she answered, willing her gaze to hold his, even as the edges of her vision closed in to a tunnel with Michael’s handsome face at the center of it.
“I will be fine in a minute,” she repeated, not feeling certain of that fact, but not willing to go to the hospital. “I just need to rest for a moment.”
He still looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded again and led her into her apartment and directly to her bedroom.
She groaned in relief as he helped her down onto the bed. She draped an arm over her eyes and tried to keep her breathing even and slow.
Beside her, she felt her mattress dip under Michael’s weight, and he slipped her shoes off. She heard them drop to the floor.
“I’m going to get you a warm cloth to put on your forehead,” Michael said softly and she nodded. She wasn’t sure if that would help, but at this point, she’d try anything.
She wasn’t aware how long Michael was gone, but after some unspecified amount of time, she felt the bed shift again and a warm, damp cloth replacing her arm on her forehead.
“How does that feel?”
She remained still for a moment, then slowly opened her eyes. She felt better, although she didn’t think it was the warm cloth, but rather that the spell had simply passed.
“I feel much better,” she said, glad to feel that her heart rate had calmed and her head had stopped spinning. She was even more relieved that she could see Michael clearly.
She smiled at him and noticed relief on Michael’s face too. He’d been truly concerned. But it had to be the combination of wine and meds.

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