A Christmas Demon for Clara

by Chloe Alice Balkin

  "Is this something I can sell at the shop? I don't want to tell you you can't make what you're making, but I'd rather get today's list finished before I do anything for fun."

  "I rather feel like you don't do anything just for fun, but yes, you can sell this at the store."

  Was that a jab at her? For spending all day baking? "I love what I do, Locke."

  He nodded. "I know you do, but I've noticed you don't do much else. And I regret not helping you with the holiday decorations, but—you can do whatever you want. I just want you to be happy doing it. Why don't you go take a break when this is done? I brought some Christmas movies back with me. Eloise recommended them. Go watch a movie while I finish up this bake and get dinner going?"

  "Will you watch it with me?" Clara asked, knowing what his answer would be and chastising herself for setting herself up to be disappointed.

  He was all sweet dimples, the weight in his shoulders easing, when he said, "Once I get dinner in the oven, I'll join you."

  Clara lit right up, but she gave herself a stern lecture about happy dancing in front of Locke. "I'll wait, then. I've got these icing floods to finish on the sugar cookies. You do your thing in here, I'll go to the dining room, and we'll do dinner and a movie afterward."

  Chapter 18

  It was easy to forget that Locke had been around a very long time. Sitting in front of the TV while eating dinner? A far more recent innovation. Clara had to stop him from setting the dinner table, and he looked scandalized by the notion of putting his dinner plate in his lap on the sofa.

  Clara found a compromise with pillows for seats and the big coffee table to dine on. Adding in a couple of plush blankets made it cozy proper dining. She laid out settings side by side, brought in trivets for the serving dish, and put in her favorite Christmas movie, an 80s Dudley Moore atrocity that she adored despite how bad it was. She'd gotten through the opening bits by the time Locke came in with a large casserole dish.

  "That looks like a lot for the two of us!" she said before she realized maybe it wasn't going to be just the two of them and his friends were coming over again. Was it rude of her to want this evening to be just the two of them? She hadn't yet gotten Locke to participate in a single one of her holiday traditions. She wanted him to be all hers for this one.

  "I confess that I have no idea how to make this smaller." He set the pan down, revealing a steamy, perfectly browned lasagna.

  Clara squealed in delight. "Did my sisters put you up to this?"

  Locke nodded. "I asked them what your favorite foods were. They were very helpful. This is my recipe for lasagna, though, so I hope you like it."

  Her eyes met his, and there was that spark that happened sometimes, the spark that made her entire body light up like the Christmas tree in the foyer. She was starting to get what her body was telling her, and she wasn't nearly so bothered by it anymore. Locke had stopped pressuring her, about the lemon bars and everything else, and now that she could catch her breath and lower her defenses without worrying he was going to jab her in any way, she let herself warm up under his gaze. "I'm sure I'll love it," she said softly.

  Locke only nodded and returned to the kitchen for the garlic bread, giving Clara a chance to sigh with relief. He hadn't betrayed those feelings with anything inappropriate.

  She served the lasagna up while he was gone but waited for his return to start the movie. They were silent aside from Clara's many compliments about the incredibly well-done lasagna, and Locke impressed her by laughing when she did at the movie. She knew how bad it was and had only hoped Locke would be patient enough to sit next to her the whole time. The fact that he laughed with her, even when the jokes were awful, made her feel even warmer and fuzzier.

  She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn't move, not to put his arm around her or to flinch away, but it wasn't more than a minute later that he stood to clear the table.

  "I'll do that," she offered.

  "Enjoy your movie. I'll be right back."

  He returned with full hands. Two plates, two forks, a serving knife, and a domed cake just big enough for the two of them. The bundt was a dark caramel color, the garnish on it a high dollop of whipped cream with two slices of candied figs. The scent of warmed brandy was heavy in the air.

  "It is a figgy pudding!" she laughed.

  "It's your figgy pudding. Hazel gave me the recipe."

  Not quite hers, though. Instead of incorporating the chocolate bits in the batter, he'd made a well in the center so that warm, melted chocolate poured out of it when he cut into it. He cleverly arranged everything so that they each had a serving, but the serving plate remained between them to dip their pudding into.

  One last trip to the kitchen had him bringing two steaming mugs of apple cider, rounding out the dessert perfectly.

  "This is better than mine," Clara declared when he'd gotten himself situated next to her under the blanket.

  Locke's cheeks went rosy at the compliment. "You're having me on, now. I'm sure yours is the best."

  "Nope. I'm making this recipe mine now, if you don't mind. I love it."

  He looked down at his plate, and if Clara didn't know any better, he was actually embarrassed by the praise.

  "You've done so much for me, Locke. And now all this? Tonight has been absolutely perfect. I can't thank you enough."

  "It's your sisters you should thank. They're the ones who coached me through this."

  She raised an eyebrow, trying not to get irritated with her sisters for whatever meddling they were doing. She was not unaware of their efforts to find her a boyfriend. They'd exhausted her over why she shouldn't let the ghosts bother her or why she should shoo them away, but Clara couldn't bring herself to do any of that. She loved her ghost friends, even if she hadn't missed them so much in her time in Hell, and she valued their feelings. She'd rather ignore that side of life if it gave her ghosts comfort.

  And she'd return one day, probably soon. She couldn't be in Hell forever, and she didn't want that even if she could. This was all so…defeating. Clara's throat went dry as she asked, "Why are they coaching you? What was their…their plan for tonight?"

  "No plan." He shrugged, no guile at all in his words or his body language. "We just want to make sure you're happy." He frowned. "They had a visit from the angel again. Everyone was fine, and the angel claimed he only wanted to talk to you. I think that's a good sign, but it also means I doubt you'll be home for Christmas. I'm sorry, Clara."

  She let silence come between them as she finished her dessert, savoring how he'd so expertly arranged the dessert to maximize each of the unique flavors, the dense cake, the smooth figs, the bitter chocolate, and the bite of the brandy. The fact that he'd actually been a bit abashed by how well it came out, so humble. So human.

  "What will happen when the angels are taken care?" Clara asked as the movie came to an end and the credits started up.

  "I'll take you home."

  "If I've not made the lemon bars yet?"

  "I'll still take you home. I want them, but I won't force you to make them."

  Clara rubbed her fingers together nervously and leaned back against the sofa behind them, keeping her head straight forward on the TV so she didn't have to see Locke's reaction as she said, "But you brought me here so I wouldn't get killed before I made those bars for you."

  "That was a mistake."

  "Protecting me was a mistake?"

  "Making you think I was only protecting you for your lemon bars was a mistake."

  She chewed on the inside of her lip, wishing she could stop herself from proving that everything he'd done for her was selfishly driven. He was a demon. It was absurd to think it was anything but that.

  But the way Druxel and Ramellen cared for each other. They were both demons, and some of the things they'd said to her was enough to turn her hair white, but their love was pure.

  Clara hated herself for saying, "You…wanted me her
e for more than the lemon bars."

  "I wanted you here for a very bad reason, and I've since changed my mind. Or, I've realized that what I thought I wanted of you wasn't actually what I wanted."

  "So…you no longer want me in that way?"

  "I only want you to be happy." He said it so honestly, so forthright. It was the truth. So why did it leave her feeling so raw?

  "Will I see you again after I've gone back to Earth?"

  "If you'd like that."

  She stole a glance at him, easy enough to do when he was still leaning forward, fussing with his dessert. He'd eaten only half of it, entirely unlike him, and his posture told her that he was working as hard as she was to navigate this conversation without being wounded.

  She could wound him, perhaps more than he could wound her. She felt the urge to put a hand on his shoulder, still clothed in one of his designer button-down shirts. He took a lot of care with his appearance, and he was definitely a proud man, but she no longer thought it was so deliberate. He was comfortable in himself and what he liked. He'd had hundreds of years to figure all that out. It must have been hard for him to realize he was wrong about his own heart.

  "Even if I make you lemon bars, you'll still visit me?"

  He snapped right around at that, his temper flaring in his eyes. She thought she even saw a flash go through his handsome, iridescent horns. "Shut up about the lemon bars. I don't want to ever talk about them again."

  He looked away immediately.

  Clara pulled the blanket up to bury herself in it. "Will you visit me?"

  "I'll visit you every single day if you'd like that, Clara. If that's what will make you happy, I'll be there at the shop door waiting for you to unlock it every single day."

  Clara wanted everyone she cared for to be happy, and she did everything she could to make sure they were, but there were restrictions to that. She could never have promised such a devoted schedule to anyone else. She wasn't even the one who unlocked the front door most days.

  If Locke was on the other side of the door, waiting for her, she would. She'd stop everything to unlock that door. If she was lucky, he'd come back and help her finish the bake, but if he wanted to steal an hour of her time to sit in the shop and talk, if he wanted to ruin their inventory for the day, she'd let him.

  His head turned ever so slightly, enough that if she sat up, they'd be able to look each other in the eye, but only if she sat up. His proud profile glowed in the dim light of the TV, now set on a sleep screen. "Whatever will make you happy, Clara."

  "Do you…do you want me in that other way anymore?"

  "That doesn't matter."

  "If it does to me?"

  He frowned. "I don't want to lose you, Clara. If you don't want me like that, it doesn't matter if I do or not. I would never go against your wishes. And I won't push you anymore. I promise that."

  She twisted the soft, fluffy blanket, wringing it in her hands, willing the burn to fade from her cheeks so she could speak her mind without embarrassing herself.

  Locke straightened his back and kept his head turned away from her, so proud, so scared. The faintest tremor got her attention, the tightening of a vein in his neck. He didn't breathe, didn't move.

  "If I…if I did want you that way. If I wanted you that way, what would you do?"

  He swallowed hard. "I would do whatever would make you happy."

  "I would like you to make me happy, Locke."

  Chapter 19

  Locke had Clara completely naked and himself down to his boxers before he made it to the bedroom. She giggled as he stumbled going up the stairs, tripping over his pant legs and nearly dropping her, but she held on tight. They would have both gone down, and Locke was sure if that had happened, he would have ended up inside her right there on the stairs.

  He had to pin her against the wall just to open his door.

  She was so hot, so sweet, so soft and silky, and he loved it. He loved the way she guided his lips down to her collarbone once he'd moved down to his neck. He loved the way she rubbed her breasts against his chest just so, no doubt giving herself little thrilling spikes. He loved the way she rocked her hips in an expert rhythm with his. He didn't doubt her claim to virginity—and he didn't care about that beyond the fact that he had to exercise some caution with her—but this proved to him how well she'd been designed for him.

  This was where she was meant to be. This was where he was meant to be.

  He finally got the damn door open and carried her by the butt, digging his fingers into the soft but muscular mounds, careful not to drop her when she tossed her head back.

  What had he been thinking, deciding that he didn't want anything more than her happiness? This is what he wanted.

  He sat her down on the bed and took a step away, but only so he could take a breath and appreciate how beautiful she was with the erotic flush to her skin. He wanted her so much he ached.

  He wasn't ready for this yet.

  "I gotta go!"

  Her face fell at the rejection.

  He grabbed her cheeks in his hands and kissed her hard. "No, no, I have to get some things. You sit right there. Or lay there. Make yourself comfortable." He drew himself a door to the kitchen, which at this moment seemed like the most important use ever for his talent. "I'll be right back. This is going to be great, don't worry."

  He raided the pantry, grabbing an array of sweet dessert sauces and ripened fruit, debating if a fondue pot was excessive, grabbing it and putting it away twice before thinking about how amazing it would be to dip strawberries in chocolate and then drag them around her breasts for him to nibble away at.

  Oh yeah, that was good.

  He was wasting time.

  He drew a peep hole to his room to see if Clara was getting impatient. Maybe, if he was lucky, she was keeping herself ready. That was something everyone knew how to do, right? Even if they'd never done it before? Hand between the legs, touch the tingly bits, make them tingle more.

  She was in bed, the blanket tucked around her like any other night, her bare shoulders the only difference. She was still naked and ready for bed.

  Is this how she thought sex worked? She tucked herself in and he moved the blanket where it was in the way? Did she somehow think it happened through the blanket? Did she have some weird fetish where she was only turned on if he tore the blanket from her body?

  He doubted that last one. The other horrifying thought was she'd changed her mind. She had the right to, of course, but that erection he was sporting was going to be the devil to take care of.

  She sighed heavily, her brows knitting together as her lips pursed. She rolled to one side, she rolled back. She flipped one arm over her head, then the other, then pinned them back to her sides. In another second, she was pulling the blanket down, first using it to push her breasts up into some nice cleavage then tucking it beneath her breasts. She gave Locke an incredible view of her delectable bounty, her breasts flowing over the blanket, for maybe five seconds before she pulled the blanket over her head.

  Oh yeah, now she was getting into the spirit, checking herself out like that.

  Nope, she pulled the sheet down to the bridge of her nose and gave the most frustrated grumble he'd ever heard from her, and even though she was great in the kitchen, he'd certainly gotten familiar with her frustrated grumbles.

  She finally tucked the sheet back under her arms, in the original position. Her lips pulled thin, her eyes closed, and her next breath had a faint warble to it.

  Locke closed his own eyes as he erased the peephole. She was scared, and she was anxious. He didn't think she was backing out of it, but he had to tread lightly.

  He put everything back where it was. His only goal was to make her happy, and none of that would make her happy tonight.

  He trudged back up the stairs and felt better about walking through the door than simply appearing beside her.

  Gone from her face was the fear, but demons
had better senses than that. The warm smile was a facade over the heart that pounded too loudly and the faint, gentle scent of her sweat. She wasn't anything worse than glowing, but he knew the glow wasn't one of passion.

  He kept his boxers on as he pushed the blankets back on his side and got under the covers.

  "I thought you were…you were getting stuff?" Her voice was weak, cracked.

  "Changed my mind. May I untuck the blankets around you, Clara?"

  Pink bloomed in her cheeks as she nodded and also swallowed hard.

  He did so carefully, even more careful as he brought her arm underneath the sheets with them. Her breathing was still ragged, so the only way he touched her was to stroke her arm gently, nothing more than rubbing his fingers up and down her bicep until her breathing leveled out some.

  Her eyes closed with those brows tucked together again, but he didn't mind. Better for her to be honest than allow him to rush.

  He kissed her shoulder, a delicate move for both of them as it did have the unfortunate risk of her getting poked in the face by his good horn. He tilted his head just right, and she opened her eyes at the touch of his lips, only to jerk, startled, by how close he'd gotten to her.

  Instead of panicking, she barked out a silky laugh and stroked the horn. "Neither of my sisters mentioned this problem."

  Another kiss on her shoulder as he nudged his fingers around to the underside of her arm. The backs of his knuckles slid across the silk of her breast, so he tucked his fingers to make it as light a touch as possible. "Have your sisters told you much about this?"

  "Everything," she laughed. "They're really awful with it."

  "They tease you?"

  "No, they just tell me too much. Honestly, I feel like they're trying to talk me into it, but they've made it really off-putting. The whole thing just seems so…" Her chest heaved on a deep breath of irritation. "But I want to do this, Locke."

  "I do, too." He dragged his hand down her arm all the way to her hand, where he laced his fingers with hers. The motion brought her hand closer to him, close enough there was no doubt she could feel his own warmth bridging the sliver of space between them. "I want to do everything you want me to do, and I want you to tell me if I'm doing anything you don't want me to do."