Tempted (Redemption Harbor Book 1)

by Brandi Evans

  “I’m so sorry, Lyn, but I…” He cursed. “I have to go.”

  Now she knew why he’d been so calm. He’d been planning to flee the entire motherfucking time. Just like that son-of-a-bitch Daryl. And to think, she’d thought Seth was one of the good guys.

  What excuse would he give for needing to cut his vacation short? He’d forgotten his mother’s birthday was tomorrow, and he needed to fly back to Whereversville for her party. Surely, he wouldn’t be that cliché.

  He kissed the top of her head. “When we met earlier, I still had one more…errand I needed to do for my boss, and if I don’t finish by midnight, he’s going to have my ass.”

  Red flags waved in her mind. “Boss? I thought you were here on vacation?”

  “I am. Working vacation, remember? It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. I promise. Right now, I’ve got to go.” Soft hands tilted her face up, and Seth pressed his lips to hers. “I don’t know how long it’ll take me tonight, so what do you say to breakfast tomorrow, say around eight-thirty? I’ll cook, but seeing as I don’t have a permanent residence here, it’ll have to be at your place. Is that okay?”

  Lyndi closed her eyes. Because he didn’t have a permanent residence here. Just another reason their relationship, such as it was, had been doomed before it even started.

  Franklin Michaels was dead and not a moment too soon.

  Seth had never been so close to missing a deadline before. As it was, he’d barely had time to transport the bastard’s sorry soul to the waiting area before the midnight hour had struck, the deadline for this particular termination.

  Death Code dictated rules all death workers must abide by. The biggest: assigned deaths should take place within predestined timeframes and in the manner foreseen by an Angel of Death. Granted, workers had the limited authority to intervene and tweak deaths but only if the prescribed death somehow couldn’t happen as instructed. Like tonight.

  Michaels’s death was supposed to take place at the park while the target was alone. Why alone? Seth had no clue, but apparently, that facet had been necessary. When Lyndi had arrived, the prescribed plan had to be revised.

  The adjusted plan: Michaels died of heart failure while watching rape porn in his home, his wife asleep in their bed.

  Close enough for death work.

  In a rush of cold air, Seth materialized in the Mourez, the circular “staff room” where he and the rest of the recruited received their updated list of targets. The room’s gray walls and tile were not very original, a perfect blending of light and dark. The Angels of Death weren’t known for their exquisite taste.

  Light and dark.

  Seth’s thoughts shifted to Lyndi. Given her fascination with the subject—light and dark, angels and demons—she’d probably get a kick out of this room and the décor’s absolute blandness.

  How would she transpose this scene to canvas if he were to tell her of the room’s existence and purpose but gave her no other details? Would she picture the space as a room split down the middle? One side white, one side dark. Or perhaps as a series of contrasting images, like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Creation, last judgment, and everything in between. Maybe a serene mountain backdrop, like in Switzerland? Complete neutrality.

  Or would she paint the room the way it appeared? A bland, featureless place where humanity’s deaths were foreseen and assigned without regard for good and evil.

  But he’d never know because he couldn’t tell her of the room’s existence, of who he was. She’d tried to get him to open up, but he’d avoided her questions. What choice did he have? He’d broken one of the angels’ fundamental laws when he’d revealed himself. Despite the potential pitfalls of that decision, however, he was surprised he didn’t regret what he’d done.

  Being with Lyndi, lost in her kick-ass body, had been as close as he’d come to heaven in—shit, he didn’t even know anymore. And, Lord help him, he wanted her all over again.

  He should disappear from her life, he knew that. Leaving was the selfless thing to do, the angelic thing. Working for the Angels of Death might keep him bound to Angelic Code, but it didn’t make him a true angel anymore. He was a selfish, needy being so undeserving of a woman like Lyndi.

  Guilt clogged his throat. She’d been upset last night when she’d realized they hadn’t used a condom, and he couldn’t even assure her they had nothing to worry about. Yes, he’d told her he was “clean”. What about the rest?

  As a near-angel—he hated thinking of himself as a demon—he was incapable of fathering a child with a human, at least not in his spiritual form. But he’d been in a corporeal form when—

  Shit.

  He raked shaking fingers through his hair. Could he have actually gotten Lyndi pregnant? Humans called the offspring of an angel and a human female a Nephilim. Seth had always assumed they were myths, but now, he wondered how accurate that assumption was. Weren’t most myths based around some sort of actual fact or event?

  A heady dose of wonder filled him. What if he and Lyndi had made a child? What would the baby look like, be like? Would he or she have any of his powers? Or would the child be completely human, with Lyndi’s creative streak?

  Smiling, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Lyndi with his baby inside her. He imagined what it would be like to have a family, to be connected to a group who cared about him. It had been so long since Seth had had any kind of loving support that he hardly knew how—

  “Well, well,” a familiar, much-hated female voice sang, “someone certainly looks chipper today. What an incredible—no sexy—surprise.”

  Kaia. The bitch who’d been responsible for his banishment. At least indirectly responsible.

  Seth’s smile froze. He hadn’t seen Kaia in half a century, and he liked his life—existence…he had no life—that way. Every time he looked at her beautifully hideous face, the blonde hair flowing down her back, he remembered how much she’d broken his heart. Broken his spirit. How naive he’d been to ever see anything good in her.

  “Kaia,” he said, opening his eyes and clearing his face of all emotion. The less ammunition she had to make his life even more hellish the better.

  Please, make her go away, he prayed to the Divine.

  “Oh, come on, Sethy. No hugs for your lover?”

  “Former lover,” he corrected. “Emphasis on former.”

  She glided closer. “It’s been how many millennia since our breakup? Can’t we have a conversation like civilized demons?”

  “Demon?” He forced down a sudden flare-up of fury. “I am not a demon.”

  “Demon. Fallen angel.” She shrugged. “You say tomato. I say—”

  “I’m not evil. Not like you and the rest of your kind, and one day, I will make it home again. Mark my word.”

  Kaia rolled her eyes. “Why do you even want to go back? Too many rules, regulations, and restrictions. Down here, we’re free. We can do whatever we want.”

  “I don’t want free. I want the family I lost when I blindly protected you instead of—”

  He shook his head. What was he doing? The liquid malevolence running through her veins made it impossible for her to remember, let alone comprehend, the love they’d once shared. At least the love he’d had for her.

  What a fucking fool he’d been.

  “Goodbye, Kaia. See you in a few more millennia. Never again if I’m lucky.” He turned to go.

  “Don’t rush off so quickly, lover,” she called after him. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Not interested.” He kept walking.

  “Maybe not now, but I have a feeling you might be interested in what I have to say once you see your list of terminations for the day. And if not—and you get lonely again—we could always meet at that little shed I saw you at last night.”

  He froze in mid-stride. No. It couldn’t. Lyndi was on his list of terminations? He didn’t believe it. She couldn’t be. Kaia couldn’t have arranged something like that, could she? Of course not. She didn’t ha
ve that kind of power—but her boss did.

  The Dark One, the worst of the worst, the vilest of the vile. She was the root of all evil, and she knew what he and Lyndi had done in that shed.

  Memories from last night came roaring back. Seth had sensed someone watching him—several times, in fact—but he’d dismissed the feelings as nerves, anticipation for what he’d done and what he’d been about to do. But the sensations hadn’t been his anxiety playing tricks on him. Someone had been watching him.

  Kaia or one of the Dark One’s minions had been watching him.

  Fear closing in on his heart like an invading army of the Dark One’s most heinous henchmen, Seth turned back to his ex. “What the fuck did you do? She’s an innocent.”

  “Innocent?” she shrieked. “Humans are not innocent. They’re pests, and if it wasn’t for the Divine’s pathetic obsession with his little…pets, we’d still be in Heaven now.”

  “Unbelievable, Kaia. Absolutely fucking unbelievable. You and your kind are the reason we were banished. You’re all selfish and cruel and—”

  Seth stopped. He shouldn’t be focusing on the past; it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was Lyndi. Her life was hanging in the balance.

  He sucked in a calming breath. “You said you had a deal. What kind of deal?”

  Kaia smiled—naive, flirtatious—the same smile that’d had him committing the unforgivable sin all those millennia ago. “Just a little quid pro quo. Simple.”

  “I’m gonna need a little more to go on than quid pro quo! Give me details.”

  “When you’re ready to listen—and not give commands—I’ll contact you. Ciao, lover.” She blew him a kiss then poofed into nothing.

  “Kaia!” he shouted, but she was already gone, leaving him in the worst limbo of his life.

  Seth scrubbed his palms over his face. After all this time, Kaia was still finding ways to ruin his life, but this time, it wasn’t really his life she was destroying. It was Lyndi’s. And all because of a choice he’d made last night, a decision he hadn’t regretted until now.

  He looked to the heavens. What had he done?

  Five

  Bastards.

  All of them.

  Fucking, fucking bastards!

  Lyndi’s clock chimed nine, and her loft was still sans Seth Jones. No phone call, no flowers with an apologetic note. Nothing.

  Suddenly realization struck, and Lyndi stopped pacing. Maybe it wasn’t that men were fucking bastards. Perhaps she just had an incredible knack of fucking men who were bastards. Who knew she was such a masochist?

  “Come on, Seth. Where are you?”

  Maybe he just forgot to set his alarm and is still asleep in bed.

  Like a desperate loser, she grabbed onto the thought with both hands. She didn’t want to believe the worst about Seth. To accept he was like Daryl. More precisely, she didn’t want to admit the fact she’d chosen two losers in a row. Maybe she should join a nunnery. At least then she’d stop being disappointed by men.

  Even if Seth did show up, they had other issues to work out. Long-distance relationship anyone? Then pile on the they-hardly-knew-each-other complication, and yeppers, this was a recipe for failure if she ever saw one.

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She didn’t want this thing between them to fizzle out before it had even gotten started. She wanted to get to know the man she’d slept with last night, wanted him to tell her about whatever demons haunted his past. But first, to protect herself, she needed to take a step back with her heart and keep her emotions in check while she figured everything out.

  Walking to the railing where her loft overlooked her studio, she sighed. At least her art would never disappoint her. Each piece, each labor of love, was a child to her, and in three days, people would fill that lower room—hopefully anyway—to peruse, to judge, and to buy her babies.

  Her babies.

  Tears formed, and she turned back to her loft. She would not cry, not over something that had happened years ago. She’d put those painful months aside, and for months, she hadn’t let herself think about it or let the memories blacken what she’d worked hard to regain. A life free of depression and self-hatred.

  Besides, she had other, more recent issues to stress over. Like Seth and whether or not his sperm had gotten friendly with any of her eggs.

  She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to use protection. It was so unlike her. The entire condom debacle was definitely going on her bonehead-moves-of-the-century list. If she could actually take birth control pills without getting sick, it wouldn’t be such an issue. She could get the morning-after pill, but after already losing one child, that left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She grabbed the yellow throw pillow from the recliner beside her and hurled it—it was called a throw pillow for a reason, wasn’t it?—at the sketch of Seth she’d freehanded last night. The drawing portrayed Seth as her guardian angel. She planned to put the sketch to canvas and surprise Seth with the last-minute addition to her show. Now she didn’t know what the hell to do with it. Burn it in a symbolic act against the wickedness of all men?

  “And just what did that naughty little sketchpad and easel do to deserve being punished with yellow fluffiness?”

  Lyndi jumped at the sound of Traci’s high-pitched voice and then almost fell backward from her loft. “What the…how did…?”

  “Easy, sis. The door was open. Again. Ya know, you’ve really got to remember to start locking that thing.” Traci rubbed a hand over her mountainous belly. “Now, would you like to tell me what’s going on? Or is throwing pillows at your artwork a normal thing for you?”

  “No, it’s not. I’m just—”

  “Having a meltdown?” Traci waddled toward the sketchpad and tried to pluck the canary-colored sham from the floor, but bending or kneeling at this stage of her pregnancy was out of the question. In the end, she settled for kicking the pillow toward the couch, leaving easel and sketchpad where they lay.

  To Lyndi’s surprise, the same wave of sadness she always felt when seeing her pregnant sister didn’t hit her. Hmm? Probably had something to do with the fact her emotions were playing a wild game of pinball in her chest.

  Ping! Bang! Tilt! Game over, loser.

  “So,” Traci continued, “would you like to tell me what prompted you to start throwing pillows at your artwork?”

  Because I’m a fucking idiot. “Not really.” Lyndi grabbed the pillow from the floor and smashed it over her face.

  “Does it have something to do with Mr. Handsome McMuscles, and what happened in the Maybrooks’ shed, you naughty, naughty little girl?”

  After Seth’s departure last night—he’d insisted on taking a cab to his hotel—she’d told her sisters everything. Well almost everything. From how she met Seth, to asking him to be her fake date, to the incredible and reckless sex in the shed and, finally, to her and Seth’s plan to meet for breakfast. She’d left out the deck make-out session and the creep who’d attacked her in the park, though.

  Mari and Traci had both scolded her about her “unprotected sex with a stranger” lapse—repeatedly—but for the most part, they just wanted to keep hearing details on how big Seth’s, uh, prowess was.

  Lyndi slammed the pillow onto her lap. “Why am I prone to being such a fucking idiot, Trace? Why?”

  “Oh, sweetie. You’re not an idiot.” As she tried to sit, Traci grabbed the arm of the sofa to keep from going down too fast. “Are you impulsive? Yes. Wild? More often than you should be. An idiot? Absolutely not.”

  Lyndi wished she had her sister’s opinion of herself.

  Traci took hold of Lyndi’s hand. “Do you think, just maybe, you might be jumping the gun here? Ya know, in hating Seth. He’s late. He’s not Daryl.”

  Lyndi rested her head on the back of her couch and closed her eyes. Maybe she was letting her unresolved issues with Daryl cloud things where Seth was concerned. There could be a multitude of logical reasons why he had
n’t arrived yet.

  “And for what it’s worth, Lynds, Seth will show. Eventually. Do you know why I know this?” Traci didn’t stop talking long enough for Lyndi to pretend to answer. “Because he was at Mom and Dad’s bright and early this morning helping Dad fix your car, which is fixed now, by the way. They replaced some hose somewhere, and since Mom and I had to drive close to your place on the way to my doctor’s office, we thought we’d return your car. She’s downstairs waiting for me, so I can’t stay long, but I digress.” She gave Lyndi a sisterly squeeze. “I doubt Seth would help Dad fix your car and then blow you off the same day.”

  Hope bubbled in Lyndi’s chest. “Really?”

  “Lyndi?” Seth’s deep baritone rumbled up the stairs, preempting Traci’s answer. “Your door was unlocked. May I—”

  “Seth! Yes, come in, come in,” she called back, almost tripping over her own feet as she leaped from the couch on her rush to the stairwell.

  So much for stepping back and getting a better grip on your emotions, Lyn.

  She rounded the corner just as Seth stepped from the stairwell, a bag from Betty’s Bakery in his left arm, a bouquet of lilies in his right. The scent of sweet blueberry reached up and tickled her nose. How did he know Betty’s blueberry muffins were her favorite?

  Mom, duh.

  “I’m late,” he said. “I’m sorry. After I left your parents’ this morning, time got away from me I guess.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. God, he looked even cuter now than last night, his brown eyes even more alluring.

  He offered her the lilies and the bag of muffins. “I didn’t know if I’d have to do any groveling for being late. Your dad said these were your favorites.”

  Her dad? Giving advice on his Lil’ Lynds’s food faves? Didn’t seem possible.

  “Thank you,” Lyndi said.

  He looked over Lyndi’s shoulder. “Morning again, Traci.”

  “Right back at ya,” Traci answered with a sly smile then made a show of looking at a nonexistent wristwatch. “Well, look at the time. I have a doctor’s appointment at nine-thirty, so I’d better get going.”