Embrace the Desire (11 page)

Chanta stopped, looked down at her trembling hands and shaking knees. What passions? She looked at Payne, instantly heat claimed her core. She knew it had to be the Burning that was causing her body such turmoil yet she couldn't deny how.

She stared at him, felt like she was staring at a wild animal that had been caged and refused to be tamed. And she was the one that had to let that animal out or die if she didn't.

His head was leaned back against the wall and his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful and asleep, almost content. The hard planes of his face were soft, almost gentle. She edged closer and slid into the black velvet chair that sat across from the couch. She had to admit he was rather good looking with all that black hair and those bulging muscles. Okay, he was flipping right out gorgeous. Groaning again, she tried to imagine him naked on her couch holding out his hands and begging her to come for him.

Shuddering from the erotic havoc dancing in her mind, her body warmed from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She had no doubt that she could get off just by looking at him. And that was downright nuts.

She wondered how often he had to work out to maintain that gorgeous physique. Rolling her eyes, she couldn't remember the last time she had looked at a man without being disgusted. And to her astonishment, a soft smile slid across her lips as she roamed Payne‘s body. She especially liked his hands, clean and neatly maintained and powerful. Her skin glowed and the warmth in her body turned to a devastating heat that spread throughout her limbs making her ache deep inside.

Chanta! You're doing it again! You're only torturing yourself. What the hell would someone like him want with someone like you? Devour you? Scare the crap out of you again?

She eyed Payne; he couldn't be all that bad if her cats had taken a fancy to him.

Chanta licked her lips bringing her fingers to her mouth. He had tasted so good, clean, and powerful. She shivered as she recalled how good it had felt to be in his arms. No, good was not the right adjective; she had felt things she had never felt before. Passion, desire, need, want, and damn if the list wasn't getting longer by the second.

Which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Eight years ago, she had literally run from him. But that kiss . . .

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Payne drawled out his words as he blatantly roamed her face for an answer.

His voice was so deep and gritty that Chanta jumped. It was a slow rumble in his chest, like a lion giving off a small warning to any would-be trespassers. It was sexy—too damn hot to be anything but supernatural. “I was just admiring your . . . your ring.”

The lie fell from her lips and her cheeks went red with embarrassment. Well, she couldn't very well admit that she had been checking him out. She looked at the floor and hoped he believed her.

“You're lying to me. Don't worry, most people find me frightening.” He paused. “Do you find me frightening?”

Chanta twisted in the chair and looked up to meet his obsidian eyes. “I don't find you frightening, just weird as hell.” And sexy as hell.

“You should be very afraid of me.” He grinned, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You were very frightened of me eight years ago.”

“If you were going to harm me, Gyth would not have sent you, so why should I be afraid of you?”

“Because I am the devil's son.”

That must have been the cue for her cats to start stretching and purring. Chanta grinned. “How am I supposed to find you scary when my cats have all curled up in your lap?”

“Cats are territorial and find comfort in the dark, much the same as I do.”

Chanta lowered her gaze. She had to ask. “Are you territorial also?”

“Yes.”

Chanta watched as he shifted and ran his hand along Jazz's back. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Your address is on your key ring.”

“Oh.” Her throaty reply rang in her own ears. What was she expecting? He was a Destroyer, a killing machine designed and created for one specific purpose—to protect the One Race and she guessed that included taking members, like her, through the Burning.

Turning her head, she hid the tear that was threatening to slide down her cheek. With a quick swipe, it was gone and she took a deep rattled breath. She wondered just how many women Payne had taken through the Burning. How many women had lain in his gorgeous arms and transformed from human to demi-goddess?

And just why the hell was it bothering her to think of other women in his arms?

Payne ran his hand through his hair and stared at Chanta's bare foot and the birthmark that hovered above her ankle, a purple circle with a crescent moon attached to each side. He had seen the same symbol somewhere else. His memory failed him and he grunted as his eyes slid farther up her leg. The length of it was torture and the scent that was reaching his nose was flaring up desires he didn't want to face.

He gritted his teeth and frowned as she stood. She was looking better and better each time he saw her. She stretched and he sucked in the air around him as her breasts peeked and her nipples hardened. He would like to see her naked, and he knew that soon he would and a soft grin came to his lips.

Watching her move was a pleasure all its own and he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he was going to enjoy this. Yeah, he would indeed, even if it killed him in the end.

She turned and headed back down the hall. “I'm going to take a shower and get this makeup off. Would you be a dear and fix some hot chocolate? The cocoa is in the cabinet above the stove.”

Cocoa? Chocolate? What was she trying to insinuate? Chocolate was an aphrodisiac.

Payne growled, but stood carefully depositing the cats on the couch; he didn't have the faintest clue how to fix hot chocolate nor had he ever been asked to do such a thing. The fat black cat that had been on his left leg stretched as he purred. Jazz jumped down to the floor and meowed up at Payne as he waltzed by. He walked across the room and went into the small kitchen turning around and meowing to Payne once more.

Payne rolled his eyes and followed the cat's path to the kitchen. Jazz pawed at the refrigerator and Payne opened the door. The cat rubbed against Payne's leg and meowed again. Scanning the contents of the refrigerator, he found a gallon of milk.

Okay, so he had the milk, now what?

He twisted the cap off and poured some into the bowl that was sitting in the floor in front of the stove. The cat happily lapped at the cold liquid as Payne reached into the cabinet and pulled out the can of cocoa. He carefully read the instructions on the side of the can.

It seemed easy enough. He looked around the tiny room trying to find a microwave. The directions called for a microwave, but none was to be found in this kitchen. He eyeballed the pan that sat in the dish drain beside of the sink.

“I am not a fucking maid, she can do it herself if she wants it. Who the hell does she think she is ordering me around? And why the fuck does she smell so good?”

He carefully sat the can down on the counter and looked down at the black cat. “You fix the shit for her!”

Jazz purred and rubbed up against his leg as the other three cats came running into the kitchen at the sound of his voice. He grinned as they jumped up onto the counter and pawed at the pan. They were loyal to her and he did appreciate that.

Loyalty he understood, cooking he did not.

Payne grabbed the pan and slammed it down on the burner, wincing slightly at the harshness of the sound. He poured it about half full of milk and turned the knob until flames shot out from underneath the pan. He stepped back and grinned; he could have used his fingers to achieve that. He took the lid off the can and tipped it over the pan. The tabby squalled out as a few drops of the powder poured into the milk. He jerked the can away and frowned as the powder landed on the stovetop.

“What the hell do you expect from me? I haven't ever done this shit before.”

The tabby growled and hissed as she went to the dish drain and pawed a spoon. Payne grunted as he took the spoon and slammed it into the can. He dumped two tablespoons into the milk and glared at the cat. He stood over the stove and stared at the milk until it started to boil.

As his stare hardened, he listened to the water running in the bathroom. He could hear her humming and smell the soap she was using to wash her hair. He wondered what she looked like without all that makeup and Gothic clothing. Growling, he could picture her in a black negligee with her hair damp and clinging to her. He wondered what kind of lover she would be as he pictured her sitting in the middle of his bed. The image was sexy. He groaned as he imagined her naked in his arms and begging him to take her.

Mine.

The tabby squalled again and Payne watched as the chocolate milk boiled over the pan's side. “Son of a bitch!”

He grabbed the pan's handle and cursed again. The tabby jumped off the counter and hissed at Payne. He sat the pan on the counter and mentally shook himself. He grabbed the mug that was turned upside down and slammed it on the counter. He gritted his teeth as it split up the side. Picking up the pieces, he looked for a trashcan. His nostrils flared as he threw the broken shards into the ten-gallon can. Jazz purred and pawed at his black combat boot as he ran his hand through his hair.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He looked at the cat and suddenly felt like a fool.

In all his life, he had never been like this, jittery and acting foolish.

He reached to the cabinet above the sink and pulled out another mug. He poured the mug full and carried it to the front room. Grunting his discord, he placed it on the table beside the black velvet chair. He reached into his pocket and took out a pen and notepad. He scribbled on it and tucked it under the mug's edge. Taking a deep agonizing breath, he turned on his heel and stomped to the front door growling as he quickly left and locked the door behind him. This night had definitely not gone the way he had intended.

His body was hard wired for Chanta Timbers, ready to embrace her Burning. His mind was another matter. The witchy woman had done something to his body and to his head.

Mine. The word spun loops in his brain, zigzagging across his nerves like the teeth of a saw blade. She could never be his. His future didn't have any place for her, it didn't have a place for anyone.

He was famished and needed to feed. And there was no denying that he needed to put some space between himself and the bewitching woman in the shower. Cursing under his breath, he left the building and shimmered out of sight. Right now, he needed control and patience and those were two things that he seriously lacked.

• • •

Chanta dried off and slid the purple gown over her head. She caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled. She was back to her normal self and her face felt a lot better without the make-up on. Wearing all that stuff made her skin itch, but it hid the dark circles under her eyes. Her light blonde hair dripped as she ran her fingers through it. She wondered if Payne liked her natural whitish blonde tresses. It was an odd color, almost white.

But then why would she care? Why did she care? It wasn't like he was going to stick around.

She wiped the fog from the rest of the mirror and frowned. She hoped he thought she was pretty. Hell, she was praying he thought she was sexy because she sure as hell was thinking that about him. She closed her eyes and imagined him standing in the bathroom naked. All those beautiful muscles and that silky long black hair and his hands, oh lord, those hands. Her face flushed as she wondered what he felt like under those clothes of his.

Chanta grinned and turned to the door. She took a slow long deep breath and opened the door. As she stepped out of the bathroom she heard the front door close. She frowned and went to the front room. It was empty. She slid into her chair and noticed the mug steaming on the end table.

Without thought, she took the cup and raised it to her lips. Sipping the hot chocolate, she realized something was stuck to the bottom of the mug. She pulled it and looked at the fancy writing. It was old English and as neat as it could be and her jaw dropped as she read it.

It read:
Sorry about the mess in the kitchen. I will be back tomorrow night at ten sharp to finish our conversation; make sure you are home. If you feel the burning before I return tomorrow, call me immediately. Payne.

Underneath the words nine numbers were scrolled, it was a cell phone number. Payne, crazy as he may be, had left her his phone number. Knowing it was silly, she smiled as if he had left her a bouquet of flowers. An odd feeling crept up her skin. She felt as if she had cracked the surface, had somehow took an inch off of the mile where he was concerned.

Payne was a Destroyer, a lethal weapon against the demons that Damon commanded. And even though she knew he had a demon of his own under his skin, she couldn't help the way she was feeling.

With a sigh, she shivered. Payne was just more male than anyone she had ever been around. He was the total package except for his ill moods; those she could live without. The same ill-mooded, almost frightening, thick-headed Destroyer with no manners who she knew would rock her world. Reading the note again, she laughed. She was already feeling a burning, but she was sure it was not what he meant.

Payne collectively retreated inside of himself as he left Chanta's apartment. He needed to find that black void where he felt so comfortable. His back went straight and rigid as his hands curled into balls at his sides. The smell of this town was almost clean, almost.

His eyes flashed and turned yellow as he caught the distinct smell of witch. The grimace on his face deepened as his eyes glowed orange and then red. It was hunting time and his blood boiled with the excitement of the kill. His fangs extended over his lower lip as he grinned.

He reached around to his back and pulled the Egyptian scimitars from the sheaths that hung from his shoulders. They were his favorite weapons, forged by his own hand with the power that ran through his blood veins. The smile on his face widened as the smell grew closer. He knew the witch was strong and old and he hoped for a good fight. The stronger the witch, the more fulfilling her blood would be.