Seduced by Pain (5 page)

"Cats and
china? Really?" I put the last of the produce in the refrigerator,
recycled the bags, and sat down at our two-person kitchen table.

She sat across
from me and picked at a bowl of grapes. "Yes, cats and china. It's a
thing. Anyways, you shouldn't shun him. I can tell there's a spark."

"Just
because there's a spark, doesn't mean I need to start a forest fire." I
wasn't ready for that, not with him or anyone. All the problems I had with
Derek, at least as far as the touching went, still applied. I could kill any
man I lost control with.

It seemed
Blake was determined to fan the flames of what might be, regardless of the
consequences. Over the next several days he brought me a bouquet of wild
flowers—my favorite, despite my name— sent me a box of caramel
chocolates, and gave me a first edition copy of Milan Kundera's
The
Unbearable Lightness of Being
, one of the best books ever.

I shoved the novel
at Ocean. "'Fess up. How'd he know about this? No one would know to buy me
this but you."

"What? So
I answered a few questions for him. I can't believe you're not interested.
Every single female, and some not-so-single females, on this property are
throwing themselves at him and you're playing ice queen? You're the only one he
has eyes for!"

Someone
knocked on the door, and I frowned at her and turned to answer it.

Blake stood on
the porch, another gift-wrapped box in hand. A small box, like one that might
contain jewelry.

He smiled, and
my knees buckled ever so slightly. I braced myself against the frame of the
door and fought the urge to press my body against his and tear his clothes off.

Get a grip,
girl! Sheesh.
I was
acting like a bitch in heat. At this rate, I might as well turn my ass to him
and rub against him until he took me from behind.

Blood rushed
to my face, and his lips curled up, as if he could read my mind.

"Blake, I
can't accept anymore gifts. I don't think this is a good idea."

He leaned into
me, and I braced myself for a kiss, wanting it and resisting it all at once,
but he slid a finger down my cheek, onto my neck and then whispered in my ear, "I'm
a patient man. I can wait." He walked away, leaving the gift on the porch.

A fire had
indeed blazed through my body, down the line he'd created with his finger,
pooling into a desperate need at my center.

Ocean reached
down to pick up the gift and opened it. She whistled. "You're doomed,
Rose. He's got your number."

She handed me
the box, and when I saw the contents, my breath left me in a whoosh.

I could not
let myself near this man. He was far too dangerous for my body. And heart.

Cupid is a knavish lad,


Thus to make poor females mad.

—William
Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

IT HAD NEVER
mattered to me before, whether in
human form or demon, if a woman was drawn to me because of my seductive nature,
or because they genuinely appreciated my inner qualities.

With Rose, it
mattered.

I knew her
lust was an artificial reaction to the chemicals I secreted as an incubus, and
for the first time, that bothered me. But I couldn't turn off that part of
myself, so I had to make her fall in love with the real me, without actually
telling her who the real me was.

This line of
frustrating thought led to Jasmine sneaking up on me unaware while I soaked in
the hot tub.

She slipped
into the steaming water, and I turned in time to catch a glimpse of long legs
and a skimpy purple bikini that matched her short hair.

My kind didn't
have arbitrary rules about age. Puberty was puberty.

But while
human, I had to abide by the laws of humans, which meant she was off limits for
another two years.

And though
that was all true, that wasn't the real reason I resisted the scent of her
freshly scrubbed body as she moved closer to me.

Rose stole my
attention.

She occupied
prime real estate in my mind and heart, even in her continued rejection of my
advances.

I hoped the
last gift would show her that I truly cared about her. I'd scanned through
hundreds of pictures looking for the perfect one of Sandy that would fit the
white gold, antique locket. The quote I'd written myself, as an effigy for her
departed friend.

Rest in the
heart of those whose love you shared.

I knew how
hard it had been for her to say goodbye and clear her house out of Sandy's
belongings. Having a keepsake would help ease the grief and facilitate healing,
or so I'd hoped.

Jasmine's hand
slid around my waist, over the muscles of my abs. "You have an incredible
body, Blake. I can't believe I never noticed before."

My cock
stiffened, and my body reached for her, desperate for the food only a willing
woman could provide, but my heart forced me back. "I can't, Jasmine. You're
too young."

She flicked
her hair. "A technicality." Biting her lower lip, she moved closer,
pinning me to the side of the tub.

I couldn't
remember a time I'd ever turned away a willing meal. I caught her wrists in my
hands and pushed her back, slipping to the side to avoid her body. "We can't."

With a pout on
her lips born of teenage hormones, she stepped back. "Is there someone
else?"

I paused too
long.

"I knew
it. You're still into Rose, aren't you?" She pushed her breasts up as she
crossed her arms. "She doesn't even like you. God, she's such a bitch. She
gets everything, even the things she doesn't want."

Her anger
reached deeper into pain and insecurity. I'd become an expert at reading
humans, mostly so I could manipulate them. I'd never tried to use these
abilities to help one out of selflessness. "I know it feels like that, and
I can't imagine what it's been like for you to live in the shadow of your
mother and Rose. But Jasmine, you are young, beautiful and bright. These feelings
aren't permanent. High school isn't forever."

Normally, I'd
reach out and use contact to give weight to my words, but I didn't want to send
her the wrong message, so I kept my hands to myself. "What do you love
doing most?"

The question
must have surprised her, because she forgot to scowl for a moment. When her
face relaxed, she looked more her age. More innocent.

She shrugged. "I
don't know. I like music, I guess."

"Do you
sing? Play an instrument?"

"Both,
kind of. I taught myself piano and guitar, but I've never had lessons. My
friends at school say I sing pretty good, and I'm in the choir, even though it's
lame and full of losers."

She tried so
hard to project a badass rebel image, but I could tell she wanted to embrace
her talents. "Pour yourself into that. Forget about your sister or your
mother, or even about being popular. Give your music time and attention and it
will open doors for you no one else can. You'll also be a lot happier."

"What if
I suck?" She bit on her thumb's nail, no longer trying to be the seducer.

"Sing
something for me."

She backed up,
dropping her hand to her side. "What? No way. I'd be embarrassed."

"No one
else is here. I won't tell anyone. Just sing. Close your eyes and pretend you're
alone in your room."

I saw the
struggle on her face. She craved validation and approval to pursue her dreams,
but dreaded making a fool of herself in front of a guy.

Finally, the
singer in her won out. She closed her eyes and began to sing. Her voice warbled
at the first few notes, nerves getting in the way, but then confidence came and
she belted out the lyrics to a popular song.

When she
finished, she opened her eyes, waiting.

This time I
did reach out to her, touching her hand. "You have an amazing voice. I'm
not exaggerating, or telling you what you want to hear. Practice more. Stay in
choir. Do whatever it takes to learn more instruments and take lessons. You'll
go far."

Her face lit
up when she smiled from real pleasure, when she showed her true self. "Really?"

"Really!"

Ocean rounded
the corner and saw us, her face an unreadable mask.

I pushed
myself out of the tub, legs hanging in. "Hey, Ocean, want to hop in? I was
about to leave, but Jasmine would probably enjoy the company."

Lust swelled
in Ocean, and my desire reciprocated. I could take her. She was of age, willing,
beautiful. But she wasn't Rose.

Damn that
woman and the hold she had over this body.

I blamed
Blake, the man who mooned over her ineffectually for so many years. The man who
blew his shot with her too many times to count.

I wanted him
to be the reason I couldn't get her out of my mind,
needed
him to be the reason, but she hadn't just snared the man
whose body I wore. She'd stolen the heart of the demon beneath.

With a nod of
gratitude to Ocean, I left a happier Jasmine and sought solace in my own room,
alone with my thoughts and worries.

I didn't have
time to woo Rose. Soon, I'd be forced back to my prison if I didn't accomplish
my mission here, but doing what I must to stay meant partnering with the woman ruining
Rose's life.

Night and
silence.—Who is here?

—William
Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

THE SILVER LOCKET
hung from my neck in a constant
reminder that something between Blake and me had changed. I considered not
wearing it, or returning it, but he'd put so much thought into this gift, and I
loved it.

It had been
the perfect way to honor the memory of Sandy. The horror of her and her puppies
all dying was in no way diminished, but now she didn't feel so discarded or
forgotten. She still had a place in the tapestry of my memories. This, and the
knowledge that at least one of her puppies had been sold before the rest were
slaughtered, gave me some peace that Sandy would live on.