Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 (8 page)

Aw, how sweet was that and totally oblivious.
“This one time, I’m trying to be. I’m counting on your help.”

Heather squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll succeed.”

She wilted. “Be right back.”

“No, take your time. The rest of the night if you need it. I’ll watch the front desk. Manage things for you.”

“Promise you’ll be good? I hate to ask. It’s awful that I did, but—”

“I won’t mess up anything, I swear.” She gave her the Boy Scout salute.

Heather dragged herself down the hall.

Wynona wrung her hands and paced, stopping at a flash of white in the hall. Heather crossed from the break room into a treatment area, Rafael following her. Before he could glance her way, Wynona ducked behind the wall and held her breath.

A door closed gently.

She peeked around the corner to the empty hall and waited. The first minute was excruciating, the next torture. After ten minutes, she paced worse than a caged animal. This was like waiting for a jury’s verdict of life in prison without parole or death, neither being the ideal sentence.

Never seeing Rafael again would tear her apart, but living with the anguish of having brought him down would destroy her. She’d want that special place in Hell then, all the misery Satan and his minions could heap on her.

The front door opened and a cool breeze slid inside.

She turned.
Shit
.

Olaf glared. “I want to talk to your boss.”

“Join the club. She’s in the West Indies, some kind of witch convention. How can I help you?”

“Haven’t you done enough already?”

“I shouldn’t have taken off last night like I did. My bad. But the guy I was with was an old friend.” She tried a smile. “Forgive me?”

“Where are we going tonight?”

Would that be after she threw him through the wall or once she’d hurled? “I have plans.”

“Me too. I want to see the next in command.”

“She’s in Haiti. Some kind of voodoo thing.”

“Hey there.” Becca strolled into the reception area. “Welcome to From Crud to Stud.”

He took in her harem getup, tonight’s ensemble in teal. “Who’re you?”

“No one.” Wynona shot Becca a please-don’t-say-anything look and ushered Olaf to the door. “Come back when everyone’s here.” She shoved him out and turned to Becca. “I’ll explain later.”

“Uh-huh.”

Heather left the treatment room and slogged down the hall when she should have been skipping and singing a Disney tune. Crap. Wynona backed away, her ass hitting the door. The knob turned and rattled.

“Let me in.” Olaf banged on the door.

She pressed against it.

Reaching Wynona, Heather stopped and sighed. “I tried. I really did. He said no way, ever, for any healing or magic.”

Rafael lay facedown on a treatment table, arms hanging over the sides. Daemon patted his head. Taro and Anatol leaned against the wall, their expressions pitying him.

Stefin yawned and stretched, releasing a wave of sulfur. “Why are we in here?”

Anatol rolled his eyes. “Wynona dumped Rafael.”

“Hey, congratulations.” Stefin smacked Rafael’s shoulder. “Where are we celebrating? Not the Crucible. Let’s try someplace new. Anyone up for the second circle of Hell tonight?”

Taro mouthed, “Moron.”

Rafael rolled his forehead over the padded leather. After Wynona’s chemicals had failed, she’d refused to corrupt him further even though constant sex was the obvious choice. He couldn’t go back to being a perfect angel any more than ex-virgins could reclaim their purity. Why not enjoy themselves?

She’d thrown him out of her apartment. He’d walked the city for hours, afraid to unfurl his wings and ascend to Heaven. Once there, Frank and the others might take him into custody, never letting him see her again.

That would be the real hell.

When he’d come in tonight, he’d hoped she’d softened somewhat, missing him as much as he had her. By the time he’d asked if she’d arrived, he was hyperventilating, his palms sweaty. When Heather had come into the break room, he’d nearly cheered. He’d thought Wynona had sent for him, not made more plans to get him out of her life and her out of his head, eager to have Constance obliterate those precious memories.

He groaned.

Daemon kneaded his back.

Knife-sharp pain shot down Rafael’s shoulders and arms, stealing his breath. Not only were his muscles sore, his feathers were nearly raw from the dyes. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“That’s your problem.” Stefin wagged his finger. “You put up with Wynona’s crap for too long.”

Taro snorted. “Just like you did with Zoe’s.”

“Hey.” Anatol pushed away from the wall and held up his hands. “That’s the answer to Rafael’s problem. Remember what we did when Zoe pulled the same stuff on us in the beginning, telling us to leave her alone?”

Stefin laughed. “We gave her exactly what she wanted. My idea, by the way.”

“A crappy one too.” Rafael frowned. “I am not giving up on Wynona.” She was his woman.

“Of course you’re not letting her go.” Anatol pulled his dreadlocks into a ponytail. “But she won’t know that. You’ll be polite and emotionally distant, as though she means nothing to you. You’ll also happen to be wherever she is, bumping into her lightly, brushing against her, standing close until she caves and jumps you. Get the idea?”

Sounded juvenile but strangely sexy. “Why can’t she and I simply talk this out?”

They laughed.

Rafael rolled off the table, catching himself before he fell.

Stefin blocked the door. “You better listen to us. This is the only way to turn a woman around. If you crowd her, she’ll run. Give her what she thinks she wants, and she’ll be in your arms in no time at all.”

Or forget him and return to the Crucible with Olaf. “Are you sure this will work? I’m dying here.”

Taro leaned in. “How’s your plan working?”

Shittily.
“Guess I’ll give this a try.”

“Good man.” Stefin shoved Rafael into the hall. “Do us proud.”

Right. Begging Wynona for a hug was probably out of the question.

Rafael smoothed his clothes and strode into the treatment room on wobbly legs, so short of breath he was barely conscious.

Wynona turned from the zombie on the table, an ugly dude with vacant gray eyes. Her cheeks colored.

Rafael’s entire being ached for her, but he played Mr. Professional and regarded her client. “Is this your first time strapping someone in?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Just asking, I wasn’t being critical.” He joined her, standing so close their arms touched. She tensed but didn’t move away. Nice. “First zombie for you?”

“No.”

She sounded as breathless as he did.

“Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t know. What?”

“Loosen the strap on his wrist.”

When Rafael had come in, she’d tugged the restraint so hard the zombie’s hand had broken off and hung by a tendon now. No, wait. Tissue stretched and snapped. The hand plopped on the floor.

Wynona reached for the thing. He did too, and their fingertips touched. He backed away first and put the appendage between the guy’s legs.

She pointed. “I didn’t do that deliberately.”

“I’ll put that in my report.”

“You’re writing me up?” She poked his chest. “Is this because I asked Heather to talk to you?”

“Because I’m your PO.” He turned away. “For the moment.”

“Hold it.” She joined him. “Someone else is taking over my case?”

Relief and sadness played across her beautiful features. An urge to hug her hit him harder than an eighteen-wheeler. Recalling Stefin’s advice, he forced himself to shrug like Mr. Cool. “I won’t be here forever. I’d like to write a good report on you for the next person.” No lie. If she really wanted him gone, he’d have no choice except to leave her be. “Tell your new PO what a great job you’re doing.”

The zombie held up his stub and grunted.

Wynona lifted her face. “Heather!”

Rafael patted the guy’s knee. “Heather’s the healer here. She’ll fix you up in a jiff.”

She rushed inside, her pale hair and white skirt flying. “Oh my.”

Wynona backed away from Heather and toward him.

Again, Rafael put distance between them. “I’ll stand over here and observe. Just pretend I’m not here, like I’ve already moved on.”

He remained near the wall, insides shaking, but his determination remained firm. He had to win her over no matter what.

Chapter Eight

During her shift, Wynona became increasingly dangerous to clients. Not by choice, she simply couldn’t concentrate. Without thinking, she grabbed a were’s arm to escort him to the treatment room. He gasped and dropped to the floor.

Heather restarted his heart. Becca gave him a fifty percent discount on tonight’s services.

Things didn’t go any better with a vamp. During his aversion therapy, that used electric shocks, Wynona hurried into his room to get restraints. A definite no-no. The lights flickered immediately. By the time she realized her error, the electricity spiked, sending a mega jolt through him.

Daemon had to pry the vamp off the ceiling.

Becca wrote off his treatment charge and gave him a coupon for the following week’s session. Rather than bitching, she stroked Wynona’s arm. “Maybe you should take the rest of the night off and relax.”

Wouldn’t do any good. She’d toss in bed, missing Rafael’s embrace, him filling her. Tomorrow would be more of the same. He’d watch quietly, his presence arousing and unnerving. Or he’d be gone, leaving her with nothing but sweet-painful memories. Either way, she was screwed and had to tough this out.

While Becca consoled her, Wynona snuck a peek down the hall. Rafael met her gaze. A surge of desire hit her hard and deep, along with raw despair. She wasn’t certain which was worse, how horribly distant he’d become or how he waited patiently, without comment or complaint, for her to screw up again. With her performance tonight, she’d probably end up with Attila the Hun as her next PO.

Her shoulders sagged. “I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear.”

Becca patted her arm. “I know. How about you stick with reapers for the remainder of your shift?”

Sounded like a plan. How much harm could she do to her own kind?

Before the next hour was out, her client had backed into a corner and was shaking like a beaten dog. “It’s not working. You need to stop.”

She’d talked him into bleaching his feathers, telling him babes liked white wings better than black ones. Her hope had been that the ingredients for Becca’s potions would do the trick, which she’d then use on Rafael’s wings. No dice. The reaper’s feathers littered the floor, a good portion of his wings bald now.

Rafael stood to the side, amazingly quiet considering this newest fiasco.

She was ready to burst and whirled on him. His impassive expression spiked her frustration. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“I know.”

She held back a sob. “I did this for you.”

The reaper whimpered. “What kind of service is this? He wanted you to torture me?”

“Of course not.” She turned back to Rafael. “You need to fix yourself.”

“What about me?” The reaper touched a bare spot on his wing and moaned.

Wynona fled the room and ran down the hall. Heather looked up from her computer screen. “You need me to heal someone or something again?”

“Reaper, room nine. I’m leaving for the night. Tell Becca, please.”

Wynona rushed outside and gulped the cool, humid air. A dog howled. Others followed, their racket quickly annoying. Wind gusted. Lights flickered. She raced away from the building, past locals and tourists talking loudly, many laughing. The moment she approached the stoplight, the stupid thing stuttered and changed, forcing her to wait to cross the street. A horse-drawn carriage rolled past, the couple inside sharing a kiss. Jazz blared from a bar. Several young women hung from a passing van’s windows, beer bottles raised, voices loudly propositioning guys in the crowd. Several dudes followed the vehicle at a run.

Something smacked into her shoulder. Fuming, she turned.

The guy behind her laughed with his friends, their fists raised in a mock fight. Giggling, he ducked a blow, his backpack ramming into her boob.

She winced and seethed. “Hey!”

He turned, his gaze zipping over her wind-whipped hair and leather catsuit. He barked a laugh. “Halloween’s over, babe. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Hurt and rage tore through her. She reached out to reap. One less Neanderthal on this planet wouldn’t matter.

He glanced at her hand, his silly grin intact, male privilege oozing from him.

She should have seen red. Rafael filled her mind, his sweet-sad eyes when she’d thrown him out of her place, his loving embrace, heated kisses, unrestrained passion, and unconditional acceptance of everything she was and wasn’t. A reaper, imperfect, doomed.

If her body count rose again, she’d drag him down with her. As her PO, he was ultimately responsible for her mishaps.

She dropped her hand, turned, and darted through traffic. Horns blared. Rather than pissing her off even more, the noise soothed. She couldn’t hear the howling dogs any longer. On the other side of the street, she ran hard and long, wishing she had a direction in mind other than escape.

No matter the distance she put between herself and the service, Rafael still invaded her thoughts, her need for him endless.

By the time she circled back to her place, sun spilled over the horizon. After a warm shower and a stiff vodka nightcap, deep sleep eluded her, fleeting dreams leaving behind sorrow and unease.

That evening, she’d planned to arrive late for her shift but couldn’t suffer another moment away from Rafael. Even though nothing could happen between them, she could use their remaining time together to grow stone cold again, preparing herself for his inevitable parting.

At the door, she dragged in as much soggy air as she could and then dragged herself inside.

Heather looked up at the pulsing lights and then down and stared at Wynona’s outfit—a tight leather dress with spaghetti straps that laced up the front to show off her boobs. Both sides also had laces, revealing all her legs and most of her hips. Completing her ensemble were thigh-high boots with four-inch heels. Everything in black.

Yeah, she knew Halloween had passed, despite what that douche had said last night. She happened to like her clothes, so screw him.

Heather pointed her pen at the dress. “Where’d you get that?”

“Rock Hard. Online store.”

“Expensive?”

“No way. I only do cheap.”

Heather beamed. “I think Daemon would like that on me for our next time at Whatever Goes.”

MJ strolled past, bells tinkling. “Babe, it’s Anything Goes.”

“Right.” Heather smiled at Wynona. “I keep getting the name wrong.”

“No prob. You want to borrow this? No need to buy your own.”

Heather leaned close. “Between you and me, MJ insists I never buy anything. She wants me to wish for stuff, which she delivers faster than Amazon.” Heather shook her head. “Doesn’t seem right, I like to pay or borrow. So thanks for your offer. I’ll definitely take you up on it. You feel better tonight?”

Depended on what happened when she saw Rafael again. “I’m good. Any early walk-ins I can strap down? I swear I’ll be careful from now on.”

“I know you will. No customers yet, but Rafael’s in the break room.”

Wynona’s legs bowed. She gripped Heather’s desk to keep from sagging to the floor. “Daemon there too?”

“He’s at home finishing his snack. I expect him in a half hour or so. Sooner if the food runs out.”

“What about the three stooges?”

Heather went blank, brightened, and then sighed. “That’s not nice.”

“Neither are Anatol, Stefin, or Taro, at least to me.”

“They’ll come around, I’m sure. They’re with Zoe in her office.” A scarlet stain spread from Heather’s neck to her face. “Better not disturb them.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t planning to. Call me when you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“You bet.”

Wynona trekked down the hall, pausing frequently to gather courage and resolve. She stopped at her office door and glanced over. Heather had left her desk. Chewing her lip, Wynona fought her urge to see Rafael. They’d be in the same room soon enough, once a customer agreed to let her within a hundred feet of him.

Her reputation for earlier mishaps had preceded her. What she’d done last night hadn’t added to her appeal. Maybe she should stick to paperwork. She still had an endless amount to plow through.

She gripped the knob, released it, and practically ran to the break room.

Rafael was at the refrigerator, the door open, his hair loose.

Was he deliberately trying to kill her?

Those dark, silky waves grazed his shoulders, black shirt hugged his broad back, and gray pants draped provocatively over his firm ass. He grabbed something from the top shelf, straightened, and turned.

She recalled when she’d watched him cook and he’d broken into a smile.

No grin tonight.

He regarded her outfit, blinked slowly and became aloof once more.

God help her, she missed his desire when she shouldn’t. She waited for him to say something, hoped he would, even if it was work related or involved her screw-ups last night.

Keeping his peace, he extended his hand and offered her the Mars bar he’d taken from the fridge. Her favorite candy, especially chilled.

She wasn’t certain whether he was simply being friendly or was trying to seduce her. “Since when do you like Mars bars?”

“Late nineteen-thirties, early forties, I can’t recall the exact year. If you want this, better take it before Daemon arrives.”

She crossed the room to Rafael. He put the candy bar on the table before she could touch him. Her cheeks burned at how he avoided her, precisely as everyone else did, exactly what she’d wanted.

He pulled out a chair. She stared at it stupidly. “For me?”

“Who else?”

At this point, she wasn’t sure. She dropped into it.

He grabbed another bar from the fridge and sat across the table from her. Far, far away, the doorway at his back should he need to make a fast exit. This wasn’t turning out as she’d hoped. Not that she was sure what she wanted at this point, except for him to be safe from her though not quite so remote.

He peeled the wrapper from his candy. “Did you have a good evening last night after you left here?”

How could she have when she’d screwed up so many clients? She stopped nibbling on her bar, aggravated at how serene he was when she was ready to jump out of her skin. “Yeah, hooked up with the Sandman.”

Rafael chewed his bite, swallowed, and studied his candy. “You slept well then?”

She laughed softly. “I’m not talking about going to bed, at least not alone.”

He looked at her. His gaze hard and possessive.

Her nipples peaked and her cleft tingled. She should have backed off but couldn’t, yearning and loneliness driving away her good sense. She wanted a reaction from him, even if it was bad. Anything would be better than indifference. “I’m talking about
the
Sandman, not the silly fable parents tell their children. The real one puts mortals to sleep permanently. Like I do. My kinda guy. We fit. Always have. I can’t hurt him.”

“You haven’t hurt me. At least not until now.”

Oh God.
“I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have said…I…” She jumped from her chair and crawled across the table to him.

He met her halfway.

They kissed so hard, Wynona’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. She suffered the pain gladly and yanked him closer. The table bounced. He rolled them over, settling her on top. She straddled him, driving her fingers through his hair, unbuttoning his shirt, cupping his balls and rod.

Massive, hard, thick, raring to go.

Growling, she pushed his tongue aside, filled him with hers, and suddenly came to her senses. Possibly because of the approaching footfalls that had stopped abruptly outside this room. Or maybe because she’d finally remembered what she’d done to his poor wings. Whatever the reason, she broke free and scrambled off the table, skirt hiked to her upper thighs, front laces undone, left boob hanging out.

“Hmm.”

She looked over.

Stefin wiggled his eyebrows. Taro and Anatol grinned.

She shouldered past them and sprinted toward her office. Unable to make it that far, she ducked into an empty treatment room and slumped against the table.

The door flew opened. Rafe. His shirttails hung out, a few buttons were missing, his zipper was down and several locks of hair hung over his face. He blew them away and shut and locked the door.

She put out her hand. “Stay there. You and I aren’t going for a repeat of what just happened in the break room.”

“Why not?” He planted his hands on his hips. “I don’t kiss as well as the Sandman?”

She clenched her fists, ready to explode. “There is no freaking Sandman. Not in my bed anyway. Well, not for a long time. He’s history. I never even liked the turd. I was alone last night.”

Rafael smiled, his expression beatific.

Her insides turned to goo.

“Thank you, baby.” He opened his arms and approached.

She lifted her foot, her spiked heel deadly. “Not one more step unless you want an unscheduled castration. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to save you from yourself.”

“By wearing that?” He gestured to her skanky outfit. “By coming into the break room? By crawling across the table to me? By sucking my tongue halfway down your throat?”

She arched one eyebrow. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“Hey, I’m just asking what’s going on. You’re hot one minute, cold the next.”

And he wasn’t?

He lifted his shoulders. “PMS?”

She growled.

After a cautious step back, he finger-combed his hair, zipped his fly, and buttoned what he could of his shirt. “This has to stop.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Great. As your PO, I’m ordering you to sleep with me.”

“What?”

“I outrank you. You have to do what I say. Besides, I’m a big boy. I’ve already asked you to corrupt me, which means I don’t want you saving my butt. I want to get it on, do the thing, rock and roll.”

“You mean continue with the vanilla sex we’ve had.”

He laughed. “That’s what you call vanilla?”

Actually, more like preschool when it came to carnal pleasure. He had no idea how indecent she could be. If she showed him the real Wynona, he’d surely consider her base, which she was. His distaste would crush her but might save him, the only thing that mattered.