More Than Fiends (16 page)

The red silk shirt Rachel had found dipped low enough to provide a peek at my boobs, and the full, long sleeves covered the bruise I'd gotten while fighting my first demon. My black skirt was short, a couple inches above my knees, and I was wearing my new black sandals with the three-inch heels. (And, yes, I had needed the size eight.) My feet already hurt, but they made my legs look great.

While Thea was complaining about my treatment of the poor little Jett demon, I opened my Judith Leiber black satin evening bag and paused just long enough to stroke the smooth, expensive fabric for good luck. Then I dropped in my perfume, a lipstick, my house key and twenty bucks.

Last I added a travel-sized perfume spritzer filled with demon acid. You just never know.

“I was completely humiliated and may NEVER recover,” Thea was saying. “Jett was hurt. He couldn't believe you could be so cruel.”

“Cruel?” I asked. “One little squirt? Kind of a whiny demon, isn't he?”

“Mother”—Thea inhaled sharply and blew the air out in a rush—“you could have blinded him or something, and you dind't even
care
.”

With one final look in the mirror, I figured I'd done all I could and turned to face my darling daughter.

“Baby girl, the kid's a demon.”

“You're prejudiced.”

“Against demons?” I said with a shrug. “I can live with that.”

Good demon/bad demon. Didn't really matter what Jasmine had to say, I was keeping a wary watch over the little creep demon.

Thea set both hands on her narrow hips. “Jett is COMPLETELY cool.”

“As long as he remains cool, I've got no problem with him.” Well, so far only minor ones, like the piercings.

“You're not going to kill him?” She looked at me warily.

Hmm. How to answer? When I'd first discovered the truth about the little twit, my first instinct had been the ol' hand through the chest move. Amazing just how quickly I was getting to be okay with that maneuver. But Thea was right. She'd known him for months, and he'd never been anything but irritating. Hardly a death-penalty offense.

“No,” I said, as that mental decision was made. “But I
am
going to keep an eye on him.”

“God, MOTHER,” she said, “he's not a criminal or something. He can't help it that he was born a demon, you know. It's not like he's done something hideously wrong or anything.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I said, totally patient—and, hey, good for me. “But when a demon wants to hang out with my kid, I'm going to be careful.”

“You're being completely unreasonable.”

“Then my work here is done.” Hey, nobody ever said being your kid's friend was easy. Besides, she already had friends. Time to be the mom.

The doorbell rang, thank God, preventing Thea from saying anything else. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, with Thea and Sugar just a step or two behind me. I slapped a sophisticated smile on my face, opened the door and shouted,
“Logan?”

He sailed past me into the house, wafting some delicious smells under my nose. “I brought Chinese.”

“HIM?” Thea squealed, appalled. “You got my FATHER to BABYSIT me while you're on a DATE?”

“I didn't—”

“You have a date?” Logan asked, one black eyebrow lifting right into his hairline.

“I don't NEED a sitter. I'm old enough to BE a sitter,” Thea sputtered.

“I didn't—”

“Who's the date with?” Logan demanded, clutching his white sack filled with what smelled like egg rolls and beef and broccoli to his chest.

“I can't believe how you're treating me,” Thea said.

“I didn't do anything to you,” I said to Thea, then shifted my glare to Logan, “and I don't think it's any of your business who my date's with.”

Logan put the bag of food on the coffee table, crossed really muscular arms across what I knew to be a hard, broad chest and braced his feet wide apart, like some caveman ready to tie up “woman” and throw her into the back of the cave. “Who is this guy? Do I know him?”

“I don't think so,” I said and looked at Thea. “I didn't invite your father here. He just…came.”

A rustle of paper caught Logan's attention, and he grabbed up the food just as Sugar was ready to make her move.

“He's not staying,” Thea said.

“No, he's not,” I agreed, grateful that my daughter and I were finally on the same side.

“Yes, I am,” Logan said, and holding on to the paper sack of delicious aromas, he grabbed my elbow with his free hand, smiled tightly at Thea and dragged me off a ways to hiss and whisper into my face.

“You're going on a date? But we—”

“—kissed. It wasn't an eternal commitment.”

“It was a great kiss,” he pointed out—apparently unnecessarily, as my blood started pumping the moment he leaned in closer. Oh yeah, I remembered the kiss, and it seemed like my body was more than ready for a second go-round.

However…places to go, gorgeous guys to see.

“Yeah, it was, Logan—”

“Cassie—”

The doorbell rang again, and I whirled around to face it. Saved by the bell. Again. “Crap. Logan. Thea. Go away.”

“
I
live here,” Thea announced hotly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I want to meet the date,” Logan said, already narrowing his gaze on the door like he was ready to do battle. What was this? A testosterone infection?

“Are you serious?” The doorbell rang again, and I glanced from Logan to the closed door and back again. “How'm I supposed to explain you being here?”

“Tell him the truth. That I'm Thea's father and I'm here to—”

Thea shouted from the couch. “You will NOT tell someone that you're babysitting me.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” I muttered, turning to open the door. The only way to get through this was to face it down and then hustle Devlin out before he could figure out just how nuts my family really was.

He looked great. Tall and gorgeous, he was wearing a suit that probably cost enough to feed a small country and, boy, did it do amazing things for him. He smiled at me, and my knees went wonky again. Wow. If he did that too often tonight, he might have to carry me on the date—not necessarily a bad idea.

“You look beautiful,” he said, stepping into the house and handing me a small bouquet of what looked like a dozen tea roses in several different colors.

“Thanks. And thank you for this, too.” I turned and watched Logan's face freeze up at the same time that Thea's eyes went wide and appreciative. Good to know the girl had excellent taste in men—Jett notwithstanding.

“Devlin, this is my daughter, Thea,” I said.

“Hi.” Thea's voice sounded all croony.

“And this is Logan Miller.”

“Thea's father,” Logan pointed out.

Well, that wasn't awkward.

“It's nice to meet you, Thea,” Devlin said, then nodded at Logan and returned his cool look. Apparently testosterone infections were highly contagious.

“Well, this has been fun,” I said cheerfully, handing my flowers off to Thea. “Put these in water for me, honey? We have to go now.”

“Cassie—”

“MOM.”

“Bye, you guys,” I said, waving wildly and nearly shoving Devlin out onto the porch before heartlessly closing the door behind me. No doubt Thea would make me pay later, but for the moment, Logan was her problem.

 

“I'm really sorry about the wine stain,” I said and stared up at Devlin as we danced.

“Don't worry about it.” He tightened his arm around my waist and pulled me in close to him.

I could feel every line and ridge of his body, and there was one particular ridge pressing into my abdomen that had my complete attention.

He'd brought me to Magic Nights, and it was just as magical as I'd imagined. Music pulsed all around us, and splashes of neon shattered the shadows of the upscale club. People crowded the dance floor, and conversations and snatches of laughter shot up from the mob like confetti at a party.

I couldn't believe I was really there. I mean, I'd been seeing pictures of celebrities coming out of this place for years. Now I was here, in the center of it all, with the incredible owner of the place, no less. It was enough to make my head spin, but I couldn't risk it. Didn't want to miss anything.

In a shadowy corner booth, a couple was kissing and crawling all over each other, and I was pretty sure it was Brad and Angie. Yep.
That
Brad and Angie. Made me wish for just a second that I was wearing my Team Aniston T-shirt. There were other famous people there, too, of course. Actors and celebrities and one so-called singer who should have stayed home with his wife and baby, but who was I to judge?

People clustered around the bar, and the wide mirror behind it reflected the lights and people until it looked as though there were thousands of us packed into Magic Nights. And, hey, maybe there were. I
did
notice a certain goateed bartender, who kept trying to avoid my gaze, and until I knew for sure he was the guy who'd slammed me, I was willing to let him get away with it.

Besides, there were better things to concentrate on. Like the feel of Devlin's arms around me and the sigh of his breath on my neck.

If his idea had been to romance me, he was doing a hell of a job. He spun me in a slow circle until the faces and the lights surrounding us blurred like images from a dream. It had all been perfect, so far. At least, except for one blooper.

He had so thrown me for a loop—him with those dark eyes and whisper-soft voice—I'd managed to spill half a bottle of four-hundred-dollar red wine down the front of his suit during dinner. Nothing like a good impression.

“I'll pay for the cleaning,” I said abruptly, as the memory jolted through my brain again. I was praying silently that the dry cleaners could get red wine out of Armani.

“No you won't,” he said and spun me in a tight, close circle. “I'm keeping it. To remember the night by.”

My mouth twitched. He was just too good to be true. “Please tell me there's something more memorable than my klutzy moment about all of this.”

He looked down into my eyes, and his dark gaze heated. “There are a lot of things, and the night's not over yet.”

My hoo-hah sent up a cheer, but I managed to keep a lid on things.
For God's sake,
I told myself, shaking a mental index finger at me,
what are you thinking? Sex? On a first date?
True. How tacky is that? But what if, my treacherous hoo-hah whimpered, there
wasn't
a second date?

How many times in my life am I going to go on a date with a guy like Devlin Cole? Millionaire, gorgeous, charming, gorgeous, funny…and did I mention gorgeous?

Come on.

“So,” Devlin asked, his voice rumbling just below the music, his breath dusting my ear, “Logan Miller.”

Damn.

We hadn't talked once about his brief time at my house. I was sort of hoping we could keep that up. Apparently not.

“What?” I gave him a big smile and batted my eyelashes. He wasn't distracted. Should have used more mascara.

“He's your daughter's father.”

“Yep,” I said, giving up on the whole avoidance tactic—what was the point? “But we haven't seen him in years. He just moved back to town recently, and he's been hanging around a lot, trying to get to know Thea.” And, I thought guiltily, checking out my tonsils to see if they've changed any.

God.

“So you and he are—”

“Hmm,” I finished for him. “Not really sure, you know? He's just…”

“In your house,” he finished for me.

Interesting thought. Was he still there? Would he be hanging around waiting for me to get home so he could have me dusted for prints? Nah.

“Probably not anymore. I'm guessing Thea got rid of him pretty quickly after we left.” I nodded, liking that idea a lot. I wasn't going to be in the mood to talk to Logan by the time I got home. “She has no problem telling people exactly what she's thinking.”

“She's like her mother, then,” he said, and tightened his grip on my right hand.

“Pretty much,” I agreed, smiling at the thought of Thea. “She's stubborn and loud and klutzy….” I winced, thinking about the red wine again.

“And beautiful,” he added, dipping his head to nibble at my ear.

Oh boy.

Skyrockets went off, I swear—actual fireworks—as every hormone I had started a conga line through my bloodstream. It had been a
realllllllyyyyyy
long time.