The Sexorcist (11 page)

“Do we chase him?” Brittany bounced on the balls of her feet at his side.

Rodriguez shook his head, sending water droplets flying from his hair. “By the time we get around the building to your car, he’ll have too much of a head start. There are too many small, interconnecting roads in this part of town. It’s too easy for us to lose him. Damn it.”

He yanked off his shirt to wring it out. Brittany made a small noise and he looked up to see her run her tongue across her lips, her eyes locked on his chest.

She was dripping, head to toe, her clothes clinging wetly to her as a puddle expanded at her feet. He’d never been the type to go to wet T-shirt parties, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so sexy in his life as her standing there, soaked to the skin. The wet denim of his jeans was suddenly uncomfortably tight.

“Come on,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. “We’ll let the club know they have a plumbing problem out here and then we can get dried off. My place isn’t far from here.”

Chapter Seventeen—Pipes Bursting, a Metaphor

Rodriguez’s house wasn’t what Brittany had expected. Not that she had much in the way of expectations.

She’d never really thought about where he went when he left Karmic Consultants. But if she’d thought about it, she doubted she would have pictured him in a cozy two-story craftsman house in the suburbs.

The tattoos, the leather, the Harley. Somehow they just didn’t add up to a house in Lawnmowers & Minivans Central.

On the other hand, she could see the man who loved his sisters to distraction and once considered the priesthood living in the sweet little house. She was learning Luis was so much more than just a beautiful bad boy.

He parked in the driveway and they squished and dripped their way up to the front door. The club had given them some hand towels, but they hadn’t been good for more than cleaning up the puddles they’d left on the Audi’s upholstery.

He unlocked the front door and, as she stood dripping in his foyer, he kicked off his soggy shoes and dropped them on the small front porch. “Wait right here. I’ll get you a towel.”

He shut the front door and disappeared down the hall. Brittany shivered in the air conditioning, craning to check out the framed photos that lined the hall. The people in those candid pictures were all dark-haired and gorgeously tanned. They laughed. They smiled. They stuck their tongue out at the camera like dignity was a ridiculous pretense.

Brittany had never thought of her family as particularly rigid, but the freedom in those pictures was something that didn’t exist in the Hylton-VanDeere household. The photos there were all of a posed, poised, and perfectly coiffed family.

“You must be freezing.” Rodriguez appeared again, carrying an enormous fluffy towel. He whipped the towel open and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms through the thick cloth.

Brittany noticed he hadn’t bothered to change into dry clothes or grab a towel for himself. He was still wearing the same soaked jeans and damp T-shirt. “Aren’t you cold?”

His teeth were chattering and his lips were beginning to turn blue, but macho man shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You should change into something dry. There’s no sense both of us coming down with hypothermia. I have to stand here in wet clothes. You don’t.”

He arched his brows at the dictatorial edge to her voice, his lips curving in a way that menaced her equilibrium. “I’ll get you something dry to wear.”

“Get something for yourself too!” she called after his retreating back as he disappeared down the hall again.

Now that she was no longer dripping quite so egregiously, Brittany wandered deeper into the house as she waited. It was decorated in traditional bachelor minimalist style without a throw pillow or candle in sight. The walls were bare, but the bookshelves were full.

Brittany wandered over to snoop into the selection of books, CDs and DVDs lined up in neat rows. The books were mostly academic, with titles like
Aspects of Demonology
and
An In-Depth Examination of the Demonic Condition
, but the music surprised her. After the way he’d danced, she expected a stack of salsa CDs, but what she found was an orgy of Elvis.
The Essential Elvis, Elvis Lives
and
Elvis: Ultimate Gospel
lined up next to
Elvis Presley Christmas Duets.
And the DVDs were no different.
Blue Hawaii
.
Jailhouse Rock
.
Girl Happy
and dozens more.

She heard his footsteps coming back down the hall and turned.

“This was the best I could find,” he said as he came into the living room. He was still wearing his wet clothes, but now he carried a stack of dry clothes for her.

“You got a thing for the King?” she asked, nodding toward the shelf that was buckling under the weight of Presley as she accepted the clothes.

“He’s the King,” he said with a shrug, as if his obsession was only natural.

“After Friday, I figured you more for salsa than blue suede shoes.”

“Elvis would have been all over salsa. It’s all in the hips.” He gave a mock Elvis shimmy. “Real men know how to shake their hips.”

Yes, they do
. Brittany’s mouth went dry and she barely resisted the urge to fan herself. She suddenly understood why women had fallen screaming at Elvis’s feet. She’d never really gone for the pudgy guy in the white jumpsuit, but if he’d been able to shake it like Luis… Whoo, baby, love me tender and then some.

“Bathroom’s down the hall. First door.” Rodriguez nodded toward the hallway he’d come from. “Why don’t you go on and get changed.”

She was tempted to ask for more Elvis shimmies, but since he was more concerned with getting her into clothes than out of them, Brittany padded down the hall to the bathroom. She glanced back over her shoulder before she shut the door, in time to see Rodriguez yank his wet T-shirt off again. The sight hit her deep in her stomach, just as it had the first time.

The gorgeously defined muscles across his chest and shoulders were accented by the tattoos that extended over his arms, across his shoulders and down onto his pecs. His abdomen was mouthwateringly flat, but a blank canvas, completely bare of tattoos.

The temptation to lick her own pattern into his skin came out of nowhere, startling her in its intensity. She’d never really thought of herself as the licking type, but something about Rodriguez brought it out in her.

He turned to look down the hallway after her and Brittany quickly shut the door before he could catch her spying on him. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door, hugging his clothes to her chest.

At least she hoped they were his clothes. If they belonged to a woman, they had better be his sister’s.

Brittany blinked, surprised by her own territoriality. She’d dated a few guys, even gone
all the way
with a couple, but she’d never wanted to own someone the way she wanted to write her name all over Luis. The idea of tattooing her name into a blank space on his chest was remarkably appealing.

Her parents would be appalled. Tattooing anyone’s name anywhere was unspeakably vulgar. But Brittany wanted to brand him.

She realized she was still leaning against the door, a puddle forming on the tile at her feet. She set the clothes on the sink and quickly stripped out of her sopping skirt and blouse. Her bra and underwear were just as drenched, so she took them off as well. Wrapped in the towel, she examined the clothes he’d left her.

The T-shirt was black and looked exactly like the ones he wore every day. It hung loose on her, but she wasn’t swimming in it as much as she had expected to. Rodriguez always seemed larger than life, so big and strong. It was a shock to be reminded he was only a few inches taller than she was.

She cinched the drawstring on the sweats down as tight as it would go and rolled up the cuffs. She looked like she was about to do massive home repairs or heavy yard work. The ensemble was hardly seductive, but the clothes were warm and comfortable and smelled deliciously like Rodriguez. No complaints there.

Brittany wrung out her clothes and draped them over the sink. She did what she could to towel her hair dry, but it would be hours before the long, curly mass would be totally dry without the assistance of a hairdryer.

With no excuse left to remain in the bathroom, she hesitated, staring at the door.

Rodriguez was on the other side of that door.

She wanted him—there was no question about that, she’d been thinking of little else all weekend—and she was pretty darn sure he wanted her back just as much, but that wasn’t quite the free pass to ride the Ecstasy Express she’d hoped it would be.

For one thing, there was her job at Karmic Consultants. She loved working there. Every day was an adventure and she had never felt more useful, or more accepted. Karma had stopped acting like Brittany was going to vanish at the drop of a hat, just like all the other secretaries had. She felt she might really have found a home there, but Karma had been very clear about the intra-office dating being a no-no. Was Rodriguez worth risking her job?

And even if that hadn’t been an obstacle, Brittany couldn’t get around the fact that she was flat-out scared.

She wasn’t a siren. She was bubbly and sweet and everyone
liked
her well enough, but a cheery disposition didn’t exactly inspire torrents of lust. She’d never tried to seduce anyone before in her life. It wasn’t easy to be sexy with a ten-inch scar running down the center of her chest.

She couldn’t exactly strip off her clothes and prance naked in front of him. Guys tended to lose their groove pretty darn quick when they were staring at evidence that she’d had her chest cracked.

She was standing in his bathroom, in his sweats, wanting him so badly it was all she could think about, but Brittany didn’t have the first idea how to get Luis into bed. Did she just kiss him? Would that work? Maybe he would just take it from there.

“Britt?
Corazón
? You need anything in there?”

Jeez Macrow.
She’d been in the bathroom an unnaturally long time. He was going to think there was something wrong with her.

Brittany yanked the door open and came face to face with the object of her infatuation. He was wearing another of his ubiquitous black T-shirts and a fresh pair of jeans. He looked positively edible. While she looked like a walking dust rag.

“You okay? The clothes look like they fit.” His gaze raked her from head to foot and a little smile quirked his lips. “Sort of.”

Her breeding finally kicked in and she remembered her manners. “They’re wonderful. Thank you.” She smoothed her hands over the hem of the shirt.

“Do you want to drive by your place and pick up some dry clothes?”

The thought of Rodriguez bumping into her parents in the hall was enough to send a shiver of terror streaking down her spine. “No. No, thank you. Can we just, um, throw my stuff in the dryer and hang out until they dry?”

His eyebrows arched. “I figured you’d be in a hurry to get back to Karmic.”

“I called Karma while you were talking to the club manager about the pipe. She isn’t expecting me in for a little while.” She grabbed her clothes off the sink and held them up. “Dryer?”

“This way.” He started down the hall toward the back of the house, to a utility room off the kitchen. “What’d Karma think of our pipe disaster?”

He flipped open the door on the dryer and grabbed a dryer sheet as she tossed her clothes in. It was so domestic—chatting, doing laundry together—it should not have been unspeakably sexy, but she was learning that everything was unspeakably sexy when Rodriguez was involved.

“She wanted to know why we didn’t catch the demon when we had the chance and she asked if I had any thoughts about where we ought to have the reception now that the pavilion was waterlogged and has a big old hole in the ceiling.”

“The manager thought they could get the pavilion back into shape in time.”

“Under perfect conditions, he said,” Brittany reminded him, “and we can’t expect perfect conditions with a mischief demon running around messing with us.”

“So we catch the demon. Next time I’ll be ready for him.”

She decided not to remind him that they’d been warned and ready for him this time. He closed the dryer and set it to start.

Brittany leaned against the washing machine. Laundry, check. Karma, check. There was nothing else to talk about, nothing more to distract her from the fact that he made her feel like a pipe about to burst herself. Her heart was pounding fast. Her nerve endings felt pressurized. It wouldn’t take much for her to explode.

But Luis wasn’t looking at her like he was deranged by lust. Small wonder, considering her current attire was about as stimulating to look at as a potato sack.

She’d never been inclined to linger on regrets, but right now Brittany wished keenly that she didn’t have a massive scar on her chest. If only she could whip off her shirt and watch his eyes glaze over with lust…

He nodded back toward the kitchen. “Come on. I might even have something edible in the fridge.”

Brittany looked at the lickable tattoos curving up his arms and wondered if she could pull off saying something deliciously wicked like,
But I only want to eat you
. She wanted to be naughty. She wanted to leap into a wild new affair with the same exuberance she threw into life.

Karma didn’t have to know. No one had to know.

A delicious shiver shimmied down Brittany’s spine. She’d never had an illicit affair before. The secrecy added an extra curl of excitement to the need winnowing through her bloodstream.

It would be an adventure. It would be
living
.

“Britt? You coming?”

She looked up with a jolt and realized she was alone in the laundry room. While she’d been fantasizing about jumping Luis, he’d gone ahead into the kitchen. So far her seduction skills left something to be desired.

Chapter Eighteen—Edible Delights

Ever since Brittany stepped out of the bathroom, looking rumpled and damn near post-coital wearing his clothes, she’d been driving Rodriguez deranged with lust.

He tried to be good—for about a minute and a half. He offered to take her home. But as soon as she said she wanted to stay, he knew it was only a matter of time. He could only be so good.

While throwing her clothes in the dryer, he was taunted by images of boosting her up on the washing machine or bending her over the folding table. Now, as she watched him throw together a couple of sandwiches, he fought the constant temptation to spread her out on the breakfast table and make a meal out of her.

Only the thought of screwing this up and sending her running kept him from pouncing on her.

He wasn’t such an idiot that he didn’t recognize a good thing when he saw it. Brittany was undeniably a good thing, but there was also a fragility about her that scared the shit out of him. He needed to take it slow, but every time she looked at him, his hormones stomped on the accelerator.
Slow
was testing every bit of restraint he had.

“You’re a good cook.” She sat at the table, watching him smear mustard on bread.

He snorted. “Yeah, I make a mean sandwich.”

“I can’t cook. Not even sandwiches.” She leaned forward and confessed, “I’ve never done laundry before either.”

“You aren’t missing much on the laundry front. And if you want to learn to cook, learn to cook.”

She beamed at him as if he had just poured diamonds into her lap. “I love that you never tell me I can’t do something. Nothing is too dangerous.”

“If you want to skydive into a war zone, we’ll have a talk, but I think you’re safe enough in the kitchen.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like much to you, but I’ve had more adventure with you in the last week than in the rest of my life combined. Demons, salsa dancing, motorcycles…” Her teeth caught her plump lower lip. She was up to something. Or about to be. It was written all over her face.

Brittany pushed away from the table and stood. Her brown eyes were intent as she crossed the three feet between them to lean against the counter at his side. “How about another adventure, Luis?”

He swallowed around a lump that formed suddenly in his throat.
Slow. Hit the brakes, Rodriguez.
Only Brittany didn’t seem to be aware of his go-slow plan. She looked like she was about to slam the accelerator to the floor.

“What’d you have in mind?”

Brittany ducked under one of his arms and slid her body between him and the counter.
So much for sandwiches.
She put her hands on his chest and ran them up across his shoulders, tipping her face up to his.

“I think you should kiss me.”

Funny, he’d just been thinking the same thing.

The look in her eyes was both an invitation and a challenge. At that moment, he couldn’t have looked away from her mouth to save his life. But this wasn’t going to stop at a kiss. Not this time.

“You sure about this?”

They both knew he was asking about more than one little kiss. Or even a one-night stand. There was more going on here than a no-strings attraction. He needed to know they were both getting into this with their eyes open. There wouldn’t be any turning back.

“Come on, Luis,” she goaded, a familiar smile flirting with her lips. “Live a little.”

She went up on her tiptoes, her body flush against his. All thoughts of chivalry, guarantees, and
slow
burned right out of his mind the second she set her mouth to his.

She was a damn good kisser. Hot and eager, she pushed against him without hesitation, urging him on.

He slipped his hands under the hem of the shirt she wore, framing her waist in his palms. The skin of her back was soft against his fingertips. He ran his thumbs downward in a slow sweep across her stomach and she sighed into his mouth, her hips angling to align with his.

He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her smooth skin, but she was wearing way too much clothing.

Rodriguez ran his hands up over her ribs, the loose fabric of the shirt gathering on his wrists. Just as his hands brushed the underside of her breasts, her fingers suddenly locked on his forearms, stopping him.

She jerked back from the kiss. “Whoa.”

And there are those brakes
.

Brittany squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the muscle of Luis’s forearm. Her heart drummed loud and frantically fast in her ears. Panic sent a spike of adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream the second she realized Rodriguez was going to take off her shirt.

He was going to see her scar.

His hands were still under her shirt. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she threw up the stop sign. His palms pressed flat against her ribs, his thumb and fingers framing the lower curve of her breasts, the weight of them lying against the webbing of his hand. She didn’t push him away, but neither could she force her fingers to unclench. They stood in a frozen tableau.

She forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet his. He looked at her questioningly, but didn’t say a word. She could feel her face flushing bright red, embarrassment taking over for lust in the things-making-Brittany-hot-and-bothered category.

“Did I do s—”

“No!” She cut him off before he could even start thinking he’d done something to freak her out. She was perfectly capable of freaking herself out all on her own.

She was the one who was a freak, after all. She was the one with a ginormous ten-inch scar going down the center of her chest. She was the one who’d only ever had two lovers in her whole entire life.

The first one had taken one look at her scar and suggested they turn off the lights. She’d hadn’t really loved him, but she’d still felt a rosy, blushing eagerness. His words had killed that feeling. Losing her virginity hadn’t been much fun after that. The second time, she knew better. She left her shirt on every time.

“I missed something,” he said softly, his accent more pronounced than usual. “How did we get from
live a little
to
whoa
?” He glanced down at his hands beneath her shirt.

Brittany couldn’t help flinching.

Her shirt was pushed up over his hands. Her stomach was bare, the lower curve of her ribcage exposed. Could he see the pink scar that ran the length of her breastbone peeking out beneath the edge of the shirt?

His eyes still lowered to her abdomen, he slowly started to raise his hands. Another spike of panic tightened her grip on his arms and he froze.

“I usually…” she croaked then cleared her throat, hoping her next words would sound more human than froglike. Her face was flaming now. He could probably feel the heat her cheeks were giving off from several inches away. She felt like she couldn’t move, but the adrenaline surging through her body kept screaming at her to
run
. She flashed him a bright, false smile. Nothing to see here, folks. Totally normal. “I usually leave my shirt on.”

As realization lit Rodriguez’s eyes, his face darkened as though with anger, but that expression was veiled so quickly Brittany wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. Instead, he looked at her with a singular concentration that wasn’t soft or tender, just intensely focused.

He stared straight into her eyes. “I don’t care about your scar.” His hands fisted on the hem of her shirt. “You’re beautiful,” he enunciated each word as if precision would prove his sincerity, “and you can trust me.”

The word
trust
startled her. This wasn’t about trust, was it? It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It was that she didn’t want to repel him. The problem wasn’t that he wasn’t trustworthy enough to be shown her scar. She couldn’t show him because she
did
trust him. She wanted him. Heck, she was three-quarters in love with him. The last thing she wanted right now was for him to realize she wasn’t as desirable as he thought she was. The disappointment would crush her.

Her grip had slowly loosened on his arms. He started to deliberately raise the shirt. Panic lanced through her and her hands clamped down over his on the hem. “No. I can’t.”

She might have been imagining the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He released the shirt. “Okay.” He smoothed the T-shirt fabric down over her stomach and bent to rest his forehead against hers. He gently cradled her face in his hands, drawing her up for a slow kiss.

She’d effectively killed the frantic momentum they’d had. The kiss was languorous and unhurried, almost careful. Nothing like the frenzy of a few minutes ago.

She’d wanted adventure. She’d wanted life. He’d been right there with her, giving her exactly what she needed. And now he was kissing her like a heart patient. Like she was fragile and
weak
.

She refused to be weak.

Brittany pushed him away and sidestepped away from the counter until she’d put several feet between them.

Luis frowned at her, concern dominant on his face, though frustration and compassion were also making cameo appearances. The compassion and concern only goaded her on. They were too close to pity. She’d already been pitied enough in this lifetime.

Brittany closed her fingers around the hem of her shirt. Fear clogged her throat, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need to say anything. Actions spoke louder than words.
Quick. Like a Band-Aid
. Brittany yanked the shirt over her head. She threw it away from her, eliminating the temptation to put it back on before he could see her.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she stood there, exposed.

She fisted her hands at her sides. She
would not
cover herself. Brittany locked her jaw and met Rodriguez’s gaze head on, her chin held high. She was not ashamed. She was not weak or afraid.

He was staring, but she didn’t feel like he was gaping at her scar in horror or disgust. He stared at
her
. He saw her, not the surgery, not the thick pink line that ran between her breasts.

“
Dios mío
, you’re gorgeous.” He stepped forward and ran his hand across her collarbone, dipping his thumb into the hollow at the base of her throat, right above the top edge of her scar. “Everything about you is beautiful.”

His hand slid around to cup the back of her neck. She thought he would tip her face up for a kiss, but when he bent his head, it was to press his mouth against the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. His other hand flattened against the bare small of her back, drawing her flush against him. He spoke again, this time in Spanish.

Under the seductive lyricism of the whispered words, Brittany felt her spine melting beneath his fingers. She felt hot and like the world was moving in slow motion. Every move was languid and drawn out like pulled taffy. She lived through the whisper of his breath in her ear, the glide of her hands across the bare skin of his back beneath his shirt, and the lazy, drugging pull of his mouth when she leaned up for a kiss. Each moment was drawn into seven, lethargic and rich.

Over the next few minutes, somehow his shirt vanished and the drawstring on her sweats came loose. The soft fabric needed little encouragement to puddle around her ankles. Luis lifted her out of the pool of fabric and up into his arms. He cradled her against his bare chest. The heat of his skin seemed to burn against hers, seeping into her body to ignite her blood.

She curled closer, tracing the pattern of the tattoos across his shoulders with her fingers, then her lips. He walked down the hall and kicked open the door to a bedroom. Brittany was scarcely aware of the movement until he propped one knee on the bed then slowly lowered her down on top of the comforter and followed her down.

His weight pressed her into the mattress and she closed her eyes at the luscious feel of his strength hard against her. She twined her arms around his shoulders, trying to hold him there, but he slid down her body, kissing his way across the hollow at the base of her throat, the upper curve of her breast, and then, deliberately, her scar.

Brittany hissed out a gasp and he raised his head.

“No?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not no.
Yes
. I liked it,” she said, surprised by the truth in the words.

He needed no further encouragement. He kissed his way down the line of her scar then continued down over the curve of her stomach, straight down until his lips brushed the skin just above her curls. A restless, spiraling need twisted and rolled inside her. Brittany fought the urge to squirm, to bring his mouth closer to where she needed it to be.

His hands touched her thighs and she eagerly parted them. He gave a low laugh and murmured something she wasn’t sure was English, then brushed a kiss against the inside of one thigh. Brittany sank her fingers into the black silk of his hair and gave an impatient twitch of her hips. He pressed another kiss into her opposite thigh.

What was he doing down there? Did he need a map?

Just as she was about to tell him he was missing the good parts, his thumb ran down her crease. Brittany gave a sharp little cry. He slid a finger high inside her and even as Brittany clenched around it and acknowledged that
yes, that feels quite nice
, she wanted to aim him back toward the oh-my-sweet-heavens-
yes
part.

Then his mouth unerringly locked on that part and Brittany nearly came off the bed. His name burst out of her mouth on a strangled shout as her world instantly shrank down to revolve around his mouth, his fingers, and
oh-my-sweet-lord-right-there-please
.

Her toes curled, her back arched, and for the first time in her life, Brittany Hylton-VanDeere came, screaming her head off.

And they weren’t even at the good stuff yet.