by RJ Blain
“Please do. Now, listen up. The one who calls himself Bubba Eugene is of particular importance. I want everything you can get on him. If he takes a piss the same time every day, I want to know. No detail is insignificant. Profile him down to the number of hairs sticking out of his nose if you must.”
The last thing I wanted was to get intimate with Bubba Eugene, especially close enough to count any of his hairs. “Why?”
“He’s a reincarnation. While he’s a member of the Stewart family, he’s far older than he looks. In short, he has something I want, and I want every advantage so that when I bargain with him, he’ll do what I need. Also, as part of your duties, I want you to play bodyguard for your Stewart. It’ll be easy enough. Pretend you’re interested in him. That should minimize your work. If he’s demonstrating a desire to keep you company, the rest of his family will leave you both alone. Malcolm is their last chance to keep the family name alive, and they know it.”
Ah-ha. “So, they are really cursed.”
“They are. Good work figuring that out.”
I huffed. “It was pretty obvious. Men that pretty shouldn’t have any problems finding women willing to marry them—or at least sleep with them. Why are you interested in the family? Is it only because of what you want from Bubba Eugene?”
“Now you’re asking good questions. Let’s make a wager.”
“No. Only an idiot wagers with the devil.”
He laughed.
I scowled, as I meant every word. Accepting a job from him had caused me enough problems—and resulted in the loss of my hair, probable scarring, and a newfound dislike of fire. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are. That’s what makes it so amusing. I solemnly swear I won’t trick you. I want to see you work. This will be a friendly wager.”
Listening to his proposal couldn’t hurt, could it? If I liked what I heard, I could always demand another session with an archangel or two. If Satin consented to the presence of an archangel confirming the truth of his words, I’d think about it. I couldn’t see a reason not to if I could confirm I wasn’t going to become his victim thanks to some wager.
Well, as long as I ignored the obvious. Bargains and wagers with the devil couldn’t end well, could they?
I mulled it over for a few minutes, sat on the bed, and grumbled a few curses. “All right. I’ll hear you out.”
“Good girl. I bet you won’t learn the Stewart family’s secret.”
The devil truly was a bastard, challenging me on the two things sphinxes loved more than anything else: riddles and secrets. I had no doubt he knew I came with a species disadvantage. “What are we wagering?”
“If I win, you must obey one order from me. I’ll swear you’ll come to no harm from my command, nor will your soul be jeopardized in any fashion. You’ll have a right of refusal as well, but only if one of my pesky brothers confirms the legitimacy of your refusal.”
My eyebrows took a hike up to my hairline. What Satin proposed would make the wager ironclad; the archangels would readily confirm every last word he said as truth—and turn those same tables around on me, too. “And if I win?”
“I’ll break the Stewart family’s curse on your behalf.”
Curses were serious business; the older they were, the harder they were to break—and the more likely they were to backfire. I’d done just enough reading about curses and gypsies to understand when a gypsy bestowed a true curse, they had no intentions of unraveling what they’d done.
Egyptian curses weren’t much different, although their curses were handled by mummies and sacred guardians, often under the sigil of a scarab.
In truth, if I learned the art of curses, I’d probably make potent ones, which frightened me enough to ensure I avoided learning how they were inflicted on someone.
What interested me was his side of the wager. “How does breaking their curse benefit me?”
“It doesn’t, not directly.”
Ah-ha. The devil was in the damned details, and I’d end up doing a lot of work for him while I’d only get something questionably beneficial in return. “I’d be an idiot if I accepted that wager, Satin. First, you’d be reaping all the rewards on that one, as you want me to poke my nose in their affairs. If I find out their secret, you’ll find out their secret, and that’s profitable for you.”
“See? I told you I’d picked well when I’d picked you. Very well. I’ll break the curse and pay you a hundred grand on top of your other fees for your investigative work should you uncover the Stewart family’s secret. You’re such a mercenary.”
“Well, yes. I am. And you swear your request will bring no harm to me?” A girl had to cover her bases—and try to avoid a second close brush with death.
“I swear. Should you be endangered in any fashion, it won’t be through any fault or intention of mine. View this as a friendly bet between friends.”
Damn the devil and his money, bribing me into considering things only the insane should consider. Still, an extra hundred thousand in my bank account meant I could do what I loved doing without worrying where I’d find my next meal. I’d drift, but I’d drift on a full stomach and have the freedom to cherry pick future work. “How long do I have to figure out their secret?”
“Let’s call it three months. That should give you some time to earn their trust.”
“Do I get any hints?”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t be a fun wager if I made it easy on you—and yes, I already know this secret. I’m just choosing to pay you due to the extra work involved in learning it.” The Lord of Lies chuckled. “Do we have a deal?”
Damn it, damn it, damn it. “Why do I have the feeling I’ll regret this?”
“I’d say you’re smart, but you’re striking a deal with me again. Ah, I’m feeling nice today, so I’ll give you a clue to send you in the right direction. Remember what I told your Stewart earlier today. It might prove useful to you. So, do we have a deal?”
I was such a fool. “We have a deal.”
“Excellent. I’ll be in touch.” Satin hung up, and I glowered at the darkened display for a long time, wondering why I’d even consider taking unnecessary risks to help a family I didn’t even like in the first place. Then again, it made some sense. I was a sucker for punishment with a troublesome altruistic side a mile wide. I needed to take my twisted ethics for a long walk off a short pier. For the moment, I’d repay Malcolm’s generosity the only what I knew how, through hard work and effort.
If I broke his family’s curse, I’d give him the chance to have what he wanted most, then his home wouldn’t feel so empty and lonely.
I spent the next week in a drugged stupor, although I appreciated having a sexy fireman as a bodyguard. It occurred to me someone—likely the sexy fireman—had slipped a sedative in among my painkillers. I should’ve gotten upset over it, but turnabout was fair play, so I didn’t complain. Dodging the worst of the healing process made me more inclined to ignore his subterfuge. My blisters healed, what hadn’t blistered peeled, and I itched when I wasn’t busy dozing on Malcolm’s couch, in his guest room, or in his bed.
The ‘in his bed’ part led to a few awkward moments, especially when I’d woken up in the middle of the night, gotten lost in my dazed stupor, and did what any sane cat did, seeking out the warmest body to cuddle with.
Since his body was the only one in the house, I had volunteered him. How could he blame me? I needed to keep warm.
If he hadn’t drugged me stupid, I wouldn’t have crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night. To be fair, I had stolen the blankets, leeched onto him, and refused to let go, which had resulted in an eventful morning.
Malcolm was a very strong and sexy fireman, and I’d ended up on the floor before he comprehended who had joined him in bed. Unfortunately for him, I’d taken him with me, as a wise cat didn’t readily relinquish their prey.
I regretted that I couldn’t remember the incident, although Malcolm made a point of reminding me of it every sin
gle morning.
Men. Climb into one’s bed while under the influence of drugs, and a girl got a reputation.
Twice, however, meant I had a bed-invading habit. The third time, it meant a problem, but after the fourth, he accepted the inevitable. I stopped counting after five and enjoyed most of my mornings with Malcolm stretched out beside me, awake with his arms crossed over his chest while I clung to him, my nose pressed to his wonderfully muscular stomach.
Not only had I invaded his bed, I’d managed to take up the vast majority of it, too. Oops.
“Hi,” I mumbled, and since I’d already made a mess of yet another morning, I slithered over him and oozed to the floor, reaching in the direction of his private bathroom, too sleepy to traverse the distance. “Too far. Make it be closer.”
“You crawled into my bed again.”
“Your furnace is obviously broken. I got cold. You can’t blame me. You’re the one who keeps slipping me sleeping pills. You only have yourself to blame for this.” I stretched towards the bathroom door, pleased my healing burns no longer hurt. Even better, I only itched a little. I still didn’t have any hair, but in a few days, I could think about meeting the devil’s practitioner. Until then, I’d have to deal with being bald. “You should be happy I don’t have to wash my hair.”
“I’m not happy your hair was ruined.”
I grunted, drummed my fingers on the sun-warmed hardwood floor, and debated if it was worth the effort to reach the bathroom. While it probably wasn’t, I grunted again and began the slow crawl to his big bathtub, where I’d catch another nap while enjoying the jets.
Maybe some cats didn’t like water, but I liked bubbles. They kept me amused when I wasn’t enjoying a good snooze.
“You’re going to run up my water bill again, aren’t you?”
Grunting needed to become a recognized part of the English language. I almost made it to the bathroom before Malcolm joined me, hooked his arm around my waist, and lifted me off the floor.
“Hey,” I protested.
“Yesterday, you stayed in there for four hours.”
“It’s a nice tub.”
“No.”
“You’re mean.”
“At least earn your bath first today. Your burns are healed enough it should be safe for you to try shifting to see if it helps your hair. If you insist on taking over my bathroom again, I’m just going to take my morning shower while you’re in there. Consider yourself warned.”
What kind of warning was that supposed to be? If all I had to do to get a good look at him naked was take a bubble bath, I could live with that. A good soak plus a show seemed like a good use of my time. “Put me down.”
“Why?”
“So I can go play in a bubble bath, duh. Dumb question. If you’re offering to put yourself on display, I’m accepting.”
“And that backfired rather spectacularly.”
“I’m a cat who sometimes wanders around masquerading as a human. What were you expecting?”
“Modesty.”
“Really?” I snorted, and since Malcolm wasn’t showing any sign of putting me down, I wiggled to make myself more comfortable. “I’m plenty modest. You’re the one threatening to come into the bathroom while I’m bathing and get naked in the shower. That’s all on you. Just because I’m willing to accept your invitation and share your nice bathroom doesn’t mean I’m not modest. You’re the one who isn’t modest. I’d already be in the tub, and you’d be barging in on me.”
“You weren’t supposed to be coherent enough to realize that. How are you feeling?”
“I’m not itching nearly as much now.” I lifted my arms and pushed up the sleeves of my new pajamas, which were made of silk and so slick on my skin I considered never changing into real clothes ever again. “I seem to have skin. That’s an improvement.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I thought you’d be a lot paler. You’ve still got a nice tan despite the burns.”
“Egyptian,” I reminded him. “Despite appearances, I don’t have a sunbathing hobby. How much work have you missed babysitting me?”
“Not much. I’ve been doing everything from here, and I’m off rotation at the firehouse for another two weeks while the police try to track down who hired the pyro. While he claims he was after you, we have no way of knowing if he was lying. It’s a matter of public safety.”
“Because someone might start setting fires to hurt you.”
“I see most of the drugs have worn off. That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said and done this week.”
Dangling from his arm made it difficult to glare at him, and I dug my fingernails into his wrist. “Put me down or make yourself useful and take me to the tub. For that, I am owed a bubble bath.”
I really liked the way he laughed, although I wasn’t a fan of the drop to the hardwood floor. Landing with a grunt, I got onto my hands and knees and headed for the sanctuary of his bathroom. He snagged my collar to stop me. Damn, silk was strong to be able to withstand the battle between us. The fabric choked me, and he stood firm without budging an inch.
“If I let you go in there now, you’ll stay for hours.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Are you aware breakfast exists and should be eaten before noon?”
Was he actually expecting me to agree with him? “No.”
“That would explain why you haven’t had breakfast once this week. You should try it sometime—like right now. I have a business proposition, and business propositions are nicer over breakfast.”
“But my bath.”
“You aren’t going to die if you take your bath after breakfast.”
“But my bath.”
“Are you even awake?”
A yawn slipped out before I could stop it, and I flopped to the floor with a tired groan. “It’s all your fault. You kept making me take those pills. They make me sleepy and stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, but you do need breakfast. Unless you start trying to scratch your skin off again, you won’t get any pills at all today. Breakfast, business, then bath.”
Why did the pretty men always have to be so bossy? Still, after making a wager with the devil, entertaining a business proposition from Malcolm would likely serve me better than stubbornly indulging in my bath before breakfast. “If I get sick because you insisted I eat breakfast before I bathe, you’ll be forced to wait on me hand and foot.”
“I’ve been doing that for the past week. I’ve even been a gentleman and resisted the urge to evict you from my bed every time you crawled in because you seem to believe I’m a living furnace existing solely for your comfort.”
Either I could face him directly or give him the victory. Since surrender was not an option, I replied, “You’re not?”
“I’m really not.” His tone, stern with the faintest hint of his amusement, promised some form of retribution for my bed-invading tendencies.
“I guess you’re going to make me do this breakfast thing in the kitchen, aren’t you?”
“That’s the general idea.”
With the help of the wall, I got to my feet, grumbling curses. In reality, our little war amused me, but I’d play up my disgruntlement to see what he did.
Malcolm laughed, put his hands on my shoulders, and turned me in the direction of his bedroom door. “The kitchen is that way, baldy.”
Baldy? I hissed at that declaration of war. If he wanted to start lobbing well-aimed bombs my way, I wouldn’t play fair. “It’s on, sparky. You’re going to regret that.”
“You could always shift a few times and see if you upgrade to a fro. That hair of yours has to get frizzy. If I’m going to have to deal with you sneaking into my bed, I want long hair to play with on my pillow. That’s a fair request, I think.”
I admired his immediate assault in our newly fledged war. Two could play at that game, and if he thought he could make requests of me regarding my hair, I’d make demands of my own. Since he didn’t sleep with his shirt on as it was, I’d ha
ve to target his next line of defense, his flannel pants. He didn’t need them, and while I’d gotten several good looks at his bare chest, he defended his legs with admirable dedication. “If my long hair belongs on your pillow, your pants belong on the floor.”
As my volley was best presented with a careless, disinterested attitude, I strolled for the kitchen, adding a little extra sway to my hips to make it clear I was the victor. Either way, I won.
I wanted my hair back to its original length, and if I was going to sleepwalk into his bed, I could live with more exposed skin to keep me warm. If he got to objectify me for my hair, I’d objectify him right out of his pants.
“Trying to get me out of my pants already? I find this potentially promising.”
“If you found it promising, you wouldn’t whine when I sleepwalk and end up curling up with the nearest warmest object,” I countered, refusing to let him get the last word in—and win the first battle through hinting at what might result due to promising pantsless situations. I still had some of my morals intact, and technically he was still my client.
Invading his bed because he was warm didn’t count, and neither did his lack of pants.
I could still win. Maybe. But how? That was the real question.
“You could convince me to change my mind once your hair grows back.”
“I could also grow it back, turn it into rope, and tie you up so you don’t become a menace.”
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to dissuade me or encourage me.”
I wasn’t sure, either. Fortunately, I had an easy way to avoid answering, and it involved breakfast and business. “If I can’t take my bath, you need to get a move on with the breakfast, Malcolm. And breakfast better involve something nice, like bacon.”
“As if I would dare to deprive you of bacon. I’m convinced you’re the only woman who will stare at the refrigerator whimpering for bacon at two in the morning.”
“It doesn’t count if I don’t remember it,” I countered—and it was the truth, I didn’t. Had I been in my right mind, I would have just fried the bacon myself. Then again, I rarely cooked and my attempts often ended in disaster.