DevilishlyHot (16 page)

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BOOK: DevilishlyHot

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Annie’s end of the line fell silent again.

“Annie?” he finally said, thinking maybe they were cut off, or that she’d hung up disgusted with his inability to let her go, even when he knew there wasn’t any other option.

“So what’s going to help me stop thinking about you?”

Nick paused on the sidewalk, torn between the joy and sorrow her words roused in him. Part of him was so damned glad she felt the same way he did. So damned selfishly glad, and another part just felt like shit. Shit for making Annie feel guilty and sad. She didn’t deserve that.

“Annie—”

“You know what,” she said suddenly, her voice no longer soft and filled with painful regret. Now she sounded resigned but determined, clearly the way she handled all the difficulties of her life, “it is probably good that you meet Bobby. I’m sure it will make both of us see this attraction between us is just a silly little thing—not real at all.”

Nick felt her words like a kick to the gut, stealing his breath and making him want to double over in pain, but he managed to sound as confident, as accepting as she did.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

Annie was silent again, for just a moment, then she said, “Good. See you tonight.”

“See you.”

Nick hung up his phone and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He pulled his collar up around his neck and strode in the direction of his apartment.

For the first time since impulsively setting this plan into motion, he started to feel like maybe he’d made a mistake. It was going to be damned hard to woo the woman he suspected of nefarious deeds for information while he was watching the woman he really wanted with the man she loved.

Chapter Fourteen

S
atan frowned, clearly not pleased to be interrupted again so soon. But that couldn’t be helped.

“Finola has not given up on her romance with the detective. They are going out again tonight.”

Satan set down the fork; he’d just been about to stab into what appeared to be a huge helping of Belgian waffles. Dripping with butter and syrup. To his right stood a very buxom redhead with dramatic eye makeup and glossy ruby lips. She wore only an apron and chef’s hat.

Satan sighed. “She would have to interrupt ‘breakfast for dinner’ night, wouldn’t she? She really is becoming a nuisance.”

Satan rose and turned to his sexy chef. He bowed his red horned head to the woman’s chest, running his long, serpent-like tongue across the swell of her large breasts above the apron bib.

“I will be back in time for my dessert.”

The woman nodded, her eyes glazed with desire. The scent of lust was thick in the air. Mingling nicely with the warm, toasty scent of the waffles.

“Okay, let’s put a stop to this impudent demon’s behavior. Now.”

Tristan mixed himself a double dirty martini, extra dirty, and settled on Finola’s white leather sofa. He gazed out her window at her much-coveted view of the Central Park. He preferred his loft in the West Village with all its quirky charm, but Finola’s ultramodern apartment was undeniably stunning.

He just could not comprehend why she would want to risk this lifestyle, her free rein in the mortal world and all its amazing perks. Just for a piece of ass. Hell, they could get sex anywhere. Why was this one man so worth all this risk and, frankly, headache?

He took another sip, then let his head fall back against the supple leather. Damn, he was tired. Babysitting a diva demon was exhausting. He needed a vacation.

Beside him the sofa dipped just slightly, and he opened his eyes to see Finola’s mutt on the cushion beside him. The white fluffball watched him with expectant, unblinking black eyes.

“What do
you
want?” he muttered. “Satan knows, I’ve already done a full day’s work without waiting on you too.”

He lifted a hand to shoo the little pest off the sofa when a deep voice stopped him.

“Do you not care for my gift to Finola?”

Tristan looked away from the dog to see Satan himself standing in the center of Finola’s monochromatic living room, his bright red skin standing out violently against the white backdrop.

Tristan instantly rose, dropping his gaze in the appropriate response of submissiveness and respect.

“It is—cute,” Tristan replied, so shocked to see the Prince of Darkness in someplace so unexpected as Finola’s living room.

“Hmm, cute,” Satan agreed, his voice rumbling through the room like low, distant thunder. “Please relax.”

Tristan tried, but that wasn’t something he could do easily. The appearance of the reigning prince of Hell himself could not be a good sign.

Damn it, he knew Finola was pushing her luck.

Finally Tristan mustered the nerve to lift his head, carefully looking toward his master. It was especially unnerving to see Satan here in an uptown apartment in his full demonic glory. Standing nearly seven feet tall, he seemed to eat up the whole room. His bare torso was broad with flaming red skin pulled taut over massive muscles. His black horns, not unlike a bull’s, threatened to hit the chandelier in the center of the ceiling. And his deep-set black eyes burned with an inner light. He was terrifying and oddly gorgeous all at once. Even to another demon.

“Where is Finola?” he asked, glancing around the stark, modern space.

“Tristan,” Finola called as if on cue, stepping out from her bedroom suite, “what on earth is that noi ...” Her question trailed off as she stepped into the living room and saw their unexpected visitor.

“Master,” she said automatically, coming to a halt and dropping her gaze to the floor.

Her meek demeanor amused Tristan, although he was careful to keep his expression respectful. Even though all demons, no matter how powerful, were subservient to the one and only ruler of Hell, it was still nice to see her submissive for once.

“Aren’t you looking lovely tonight,” Satan said in his rumbling, mighty voice.

“Thank you, Master,” she said, her voice extra melodic.

Of course she was going to pull out all her most appealing tricks; she knew she was in deep shit.

Satan strolled toward her, moving with a grace that seemed to defy his size and cloven hooves. He reached out and tested the fabric of her skirt between his large fingers, his talon-like black nails threatening to catch the filmy material.

“Chiffon,” he confirmed. “Very nice.”

“Thank you, Master,” she repeated actually daring to lift her eyes just slightly and smile at him. A flirty curl of her bloodred lips.

Tristan’s breath held, waiting for a burst of rage from their prince at her brazen behavior, but instead Satan only chuckled.

“Ah, Finola, always so sure of yourself,” he said, shaking his horned head.

Finola didn’t say anything to that, but her coquettish smirk remained.

“So, my lovely little demon, why are you dressed so beautifully tonight?”

“I dress beautifully every day, Master,” she said, her voice light and crystalline.

Satan chuckled again, but this time his hand shot out with startling speed and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Those clawed nails of his, pressing just lightly into her pale, perfect skin.

This time, when Finola looked at him, all hints of flirtation were gone, replaced by genuine fear.

“Oh Finola, you know you are one of my favorites. As greedy and heartless and arrogant as myself.” He stroked the sharp nail of his thumb over her full bottom lip. “But even I know that too much of any of those traits will get a demon into some very serious trouble.”

Finola nodded slightly, clearly afraid to move too much for fear of that sharp talon.

“So again,” he asked, his voice so low and deep Tristan had to concentrate to make out his words, “where were you going tonight?”

Even as quietly as the question was asked, Tristan didn’t miss that it was in the past tense. He cringed, afraid what the question meant. Was Finola going straight back to Hell tonight? Was Tristan?

“I have a date,” Finola answered, her verb tense indicating that she either didn’t catch the tense of his question, or that she, in her uncontrollable arrogance, still believed the outing was going to happen.

Satan slowly removed his hand from her, a slow brush of his fingers over her skin. Then he turned away, striding back to the center of the room.

“Oh yes, a date with the human detective.”

Finola lifted her head to frown at him, although Satan’s broad back was to her.

“Yes,” she said, not keeping the surprise from her voice.

Satan swung back to her, a smile curving his lips into a wide, unnatural grin. His black eyes danced with an orange flame.

“You’re surprised that I know about this mortal male, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said, but it was evident she was.

“Oh sweet, evil Finola. You should know that I know about everything. At least I do eventually.”

She nodded, her eyes lowering again to focus on the white carpeting. But not before she shot Tristan an un-pleased look.

“You will not see this man.”

Finola didn’t respond, although Tristan could see her pale eyebrows come together just slightly.

Obviously so did Satan because he asked, “You don’t understand why, do you, lovely?”

This time she shook her head.

“Look at me,” Satan ordered.

Finola lifted her head, her eyes meeting his and for a moment, Tristan was impressed with her boldness. It would likely get her permanently banished one day, but it was extraordinary. Satan was right about that.

“You will not date this man.”

Finola again didn’t respond.

“Do you understand?” Satan asked, sounding more like a stern father than the purveyor of all evil. “This man is off limits. We do not need a human detective worming his way into places he shouldn’t be. He’s already suspicious of you. Of the magazine. There is no reason to risk our hard work. One day, when we are better infiltrated into the human world, I will not worry about law enforcement and the like. But right now it could just draw unnecessary attention to you and the magazine.”

“I understand,” Finola said.

“Cancel the date,” Satan said.

Finola nodded and walked over to Tristan, holding out her hand. Even in submission, Finola managed to make him feel like her lackey.

Tristan reached into the pocket of his Armani trousers and pulled out his cell phone. He unlocked the screen, then handed it to her. She scrolled through the numbers until she found the number she needed.

Chapter Fifteen

“T
hree Men and a Cockroach
?”

Annie turned to find Nick standing behind her, peering up at the vintage-style marquee, which was Annie’s own nice way of saying old.

“It—it’s a satire about humans’ false sense of supremacy over the world around them,” Annie explained, repeating what Bobby had told her so many times. Not that she’d gotten that message from the play when she’d seen it previously. As far as she could tell, it was about three guys with a strange and at times unnatural obsession with a cockroach. A cockroach that could talk.

But Nick was kind enough to simply nod as if that explanation made perfect sense.

“So are we the only ones here?” he asked, glancing around at the crowd.

“So far.”

Nick nodded again, and Annie could see that their earlier conversation was still weighing on both of them, making things between them awkward. Annie hated it.

“Does Bobby know you are here?”

Annie nodded, then shrugged. “I think he does. I left him a voicemail to let him know we were coming.”

Nick nodded again. And again she wished they didn’t have to have this uneasiness filling the air like a canyon between them, making it impossible to act normal.

She opened her mouth to tell him so, when her phone rang.

She pulled it out of the side pocket of her purse, checking the name on the screen.

“It’s Tristan. They must be running late.”

She answered, frowning when she realized it was Finola. Her boss spoke quickly, not giving Annie any room or time to ask questions. All she managed was a couple of “okays” before the phone went dead.

“What was that about?”

Annie looked at Nick, somewhat surprised as well as a little—disappointed.

Was she mad? Finola’s announcement should have pleased Annie no end.

“That was actually Finola. She said that something came up at work and she and Tristan won’t be able to make it.”

Nick frowned. “I wonder what came up.”

Annie shrugged, realizing his detective cap was on just as quick as that. “She didn’t say. But I guess that means our play night is off.”

Annie started to pull her coat tighter around herself, preparing to walk home, when a hand on her arm stopped her.

“Why do we have to cancel?” he asked. “I know I was looking forward to seeing a play about humans’ false sense of something or other.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “False sense of supremacy.”

“Yeah that,” he said, his eyes twinkling in that way she so loved. “I want to learn all about that.”

Annie regarded him for a moment. Those eyes, and that smile. His goatee and tousled hair. God, she loved just looking at him.

“You don’t have to do that. In fact, I think it might be easier if we just don’t.” Despite herself, she felt that dull sense of disappointment deep in her chest again.

Nick nodded, and for a moment she thought he was going to agree, but then he said, “Do you know what would definitely make it easier?”

Annie hesitated to ask, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “What’s that?”

“Wine,” he stated. “Wine.”

Annie laughed again, and he must have realized she was going to protest again, because before she could, he pointed through the glass door to where a bar was set up in the lobby.

“No, really, wine.”

Annie shook her head at his persistence, but relented. “Okay, let’s get some wine.”

Nick reached for the door handle just as she did. For a brief moment, her icy fingers brushed against his much warmer ones. She snatched her hand away.

“Let me,” he said, his voice low and husky, and for a moment, Annie didn’t know if he referred to getting the door or touching her.

But then he pulled the door wide, gesturing for her to enter. Neither spoke as they made a beeline for the bar.

“Two glasses of your best—” he raised a questioning eyebrow to Annie.

“Chardonnay,” Annie said.

“Chardonnay,” Nick repeated.

Soon they each had a plastic tumbler of cheap white wine and they moved over to a quiet corner.

Annie took a sip, letting the warmth seep into her.

“See, don’t you feel better?” he said.

She smiled, then nodded. “I do.”

She usually felt better around him, she thought, but had the sense to keep that to herself.

Nick glanced around the lobby. Annie followed his gaze. Neither spoke, just sipped their wine and watched the people arrive.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she said when the dwindling crowd indicated it was time to go to their seats. “It’s really not a very good play.”

Nick smiled at that. “With a name like
Three Men and a Cockroach
, I never had high hopes it would be.”

Annie laughed, then gestured with her empty cup toward the bar. “We better sneak in another glass of wine, because we’re going to need it. The play’s
really
not good.”

Nick chuckled and followed her to back over to the bartender.

By the time the lights came up for the play’s intermission, Nick realized Annie had understated the truth.

“I think we should have brought in a whole bottle,” he said as they both headed out to the lobby. “This play is beyond bad, it’s awful.”

“I warned you,” she whispered.

“How many times have you sat through this?” he asked.

“This is my third time.”

Nick made a pained face. “Dear God.”

Annie laughed.

“Although Bobby wasn’t bad,” he said, feeling like he should acknowledge him in some way. Truthfully, Bobby’s very small part as a deliveryman delivering cases of roach killer, of course, was the only part of the performance that had held Nick’s attention. He was morbidly curious about the man who called the most adorable and sweet woman Nick had ever met his girlfriend.

Nick hadn’t been completely surprised by what he saw. A tall, fit blond with traditional good looks and a toothpaste-ad smile.

“It’s okay,” Annie said, drawing his thoughts away from the other man. “He’s not good either. But acting is his dream and he won’t give up on it.”

“What about your dreams?” Nick asked. “Surely, working at
HOT!
isn’t your dream. Not with Finola as a boss.”

Annie smiled faded, and he wished he hadn’t brought up her employer.

“It was my dream at one time, but not anymore.”

“Annie, you should just leave. No job is worth working with a demanding boss like that.”

“Ah, if it were only so simple.”

Nick frowned. She’d said that before. That leaving wasn’t an option, but why not? Somehow he knew that was a question Annie wouldn’t answer.

“Do you want to stay for the rest?” she asked.

Nick wasn’t ready to leave Annie, but he honestly didn’t think he could make it through the rest of that nightmare.

Still he had to ask.

“Tell me, does the involvement between Leo and the cockroach take a—” he grimaced as he asked, “physical twist?”

Annie made her own pained face as she nodded.

“Oh God, how?”

Annie shook her head. “You really don’t want to know.”

He paused, pretending to consider the possibilities, then stated, “No, I don’t think I can make it through that.”

Annie smiled. “I kind of thought you were done when you suggested we take our coats with us.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Understandable.”

Nick smiled, then he couldn’t help saying, “I did enjoy one part of it, though.”

“Oh yeah,” she said tugging at her coat, “which part?”

He moved behind her to help her, holding the coat out so she could slip her arms inside, but once she had it on, he still didn’t move away from her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. “I loved the part where I could smell your perfume. Feel the occasional brush of your arm against mine. Feel the warmth of your body.”

At his murmured words, she swayed slightly back against him, only to catch herself and step away.

She didn’t speak for a moment, her cheeks flushed pink, her breathing coming in short puffs. But finally she seemed to gather herself.

“I should go backstage and say hello to Bobby.”

Nick nodded, realizing without saying the words that she was telling him this attraction couldn’t go where he wanted it to go. And he understood that. He did, but something about being close to her stole all his rational thought.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

Annie immediately shook her head. “No, that isn’t necessary.”

“I want to. Like I told you before, I think I need to meet him.”

She hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether that was a good plan. Then she nodded.

As Annie led Nick toward the backstage door, she considered his theory about having him and Bobby meet. Earlier he’d said that meeting Bobby would make him real to Nick. Well, Bobby was already real to her, and still she couldn’t seem to control her attraction to Nick.

Just his lightest touch. His hands on her shoulders. His breath against her ear. Even his voice. All of him drove her to distraction. And she just didn’t know how to make the feelings stop.

Focus on Bobby, she told herself. You have to remember Bobby is the man in your life.

No one stopped them as they headed back into the maze of old sets and props, following the sound of excited voices and laughter.

“Clearly, they don’t know they suck,” Nick mumbled and Annie found herself suppressing a giggle even though she was distracted and nervous. Or maybe because she was nervous.

He smiled too, that naughty grin that instantly drove her heart into overdrive.

Stop it, she told herself. Her thoughts could not go there. This meeting would be the moment, the turning point, where she got control of her feelings and did the right thing.

They continued to weave through the theater paraphernalia, toward the voices, when a movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention.

She almost didn’t even give the slight shuffling a second glance, assuming it was one of the theater hands changing the set, or a janitor cleaning up. But something about the flashing image seemed familiar.

Whatever the reason, she stopped, leaning down slightly to peer through the wooden framework of an old set piece.

There, amid the fake castle sets and a plywood cutout of a stagecoach, she could see what was obviously a man and a woman intertwined. Hands roaming over each other’s bodies, clothing being peeled up to reveal flashes of skin. A man’s still-covered rear end and hips pressing between a woman’s bare, spread knees.

Shock and embarrassment heated Annie’s cheeks, and she started to straighten, prepared to move on. But again, a flash of recognition stopped her.

“That feels so good, baby.”

The female’s comment was followed by a low moan. A moan Annie knew very well, even though she hadn’t heard it herself in many months.

“Oh, Bobby.”

Annie closed her eyes, as the enraptured woman confirmed what she already knew.

Before she realized what she was doing, Annie ducked and weaved her way through the scaffolding and props, making her way toward them.

“Hello, Bobby.”