by Tina Donahue
Somehow, Becca didn’t want to know and risk disappointment. “Are you saying you want us to release your beast? That is, if you have any.”
“I do.” He pushed to a sitting position. “I must. No one’s perfect.”
He was pretty damn close.
“You want us to make you rude, obnoxious, selfish, vulgar and basically unbearable like our other clients when they first come here?”
“I don’t want to offend. But hey, a little of that stuff wouldn’t hurt.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I think you have the wrong idea about women. We really do want an honorable man. Someone who’s kind.”
“How many have you kept dating like that?”
None. She’d always fallen for the bad boys, delighted when they threw a crumb of attention her way, determined to turn those morsels into a whole loaf of love. Never happened. They used her. She got hurt, swore never to do it again, then did. Except for the last six months. Becca had kept her pledge, hadn’t screwed in half a year, and was ready to jump out of her skin. She dropped her hand. “We’re not talking about me.”
“Fair enough. Let’s ask your staff.”
“Zoe’s sworn off men and sex.”
“Lucky guys.”
Becca twisted her mouth.
“Careful,” he teased. “Your face might freeze that way.”
She was not going to smile.
Eric inclined his head to the hall. “Have you been listening to that?”
“The groans and howls?” To Becca they were background noise.
“No. The conversation.”
She went to the door and opened it. Four staff members were huddled close to one of the treatment rooms, giggling worse than tweens. Constance—a black voodoo priestess—wore her signature turban and flowing gown, tonight’s garb in peacock blue and iridescent green. Next to Constance’s vibrancy, Heather looked even more delicate than the typical fairy. At least, those envisioned by artists and Hollywood. Although she was of normal height and didn’t have wings, she was so blonde, pale and slender she seemed in danger of fading away. The other two staff members were twins Becca could never tell apart.
“We really shouldn’t change him,” Constance said. “He’s fine just as he is.”
Twin One pressed her hands to her chest and sighed. “I love how he knows what he wants and tells me. Gets right to the freaking point, you know?”
“Do I,” Twin Two said. “When he growls an order, I can’t move fast enough. Imagine what he’d be like in bed.”
“Along with that freaking tail of his,” her sister added. “Imagine the places it’d take you.”
Constance nodded knowingly. “He’s one helluva demon. Talk about a deep voice. I bet women can hear it over in the next parish. Wow.”
Heather blushed. “He is cute.”
“Cute, my ass.” Constance grinned. “Try sexy as sin. Commanding as hell. Did you see his muscles? His thighs? That cock?”
“Constance, please.” Heather shook her head. “No need to talk like that.”
“Why not? That thing is downright lethal. At least a foot—”
“See?” Eric said.
Becca started at his voice. He was right behind her, whispering in her ear. “They like beasts, not nice guys.”
His breath was fresh and minty, not to mention hot and thrilling. A few inches closer and his shaft would be snuggled against her ass.
Becca fought a moan of delight and forced herself to speak. “That’s just talk.”
He moved away. “That’s my reality. Every time I get serious about a woman, she dumps me for some mean prick, figuratively and literally. I’m tired of it. I want you to release my inner beast.”
Becca gestured helplessly. “We don’t have the tools in place to do that.”
“Sure you do. Whatever you’re using on your clients now, simply reverse the process for me.”
She sagged against the jamb. “None of my staff has ever done anything like that before.”
“Who cares? I don’t want them. I want you. In fact, I’m demanding you.”
Becca opened her mouth but no words came out. Other than her parents, she couldn’t recall anyone wanting her above everyone else. Unsettled, she fingered the edge of her blouse above her cleavage.
Eric watched. The bulge between his legs got a little plumper, surely harder. A knee-jerk reaction? Genuine interest?
Becca still wasn’t certain. “Me?”
“Yep. You.”
“Why?”
He regarded her. Gone was the nice guy, the boyish grin, the gentle teasing. In its place was a man who knew what he wanted, no different from the demon down the hall. “You own this place. Presumably, you’re the best.”
“Not presumably.”
“Good. We agree on something.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“You will. I’ll pay you ten times what the others do.” He moved toward her, loose limbed and confident like before, but also slightly predatory.
Becca wavered between standing her ground and backing away. She opted for the latter.
He followed. “You’re going to bring out my beast, turning me into one fucking bad boy for all those women out there. Babes I intend to meet and keep for a change.”
Chapter Three
Becca’s mother, Rowena, shouted from the kitchen, “Becca? What took you so long? You’re late.”
Rowena hurried into the entry hall of the eighteen-eighties Victorian where Becca had grown up. Streetlights bled through the stained-glass windows, splashing color on the rose walls and her mom’s black outfit. A stretchy ballet top and capris that defined sexy, showing off her perfect hourglass figure.
Impressive by mortal standards. Totally expected for a five-hundred-year-old witch. Although Rowena hadn’t aged a day in centuries, she did have several silver streaks in her short black hair, laugh lines at the corners of her gray eyes and faintly drooping jowls. The results of spells she’d cast on herself, and all for Becca’s dad. In this youth-obsessed world, Rowena insisted on aging with him even though he’d never asked her to do so.
If that wasn’t love, Becca hadn’t a clue what might be.
She returned her mom’s fierce hug, savoring her scent. Johnson’s baby powder. Becca’s dad had liked the fragrance so much that once his little girl grew out of it, his wife had taken to sprinkling the stuff on herself.
“What’s wrong?” Rowena cupped Becca’s face. The bands of her elaborate silver rings—two on each finger—were slightly cooler than her palms. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Becca shook the huge take-out bag. “They were really busy at Happy Wok.” Her parent’s favorite Chinese restaurant. “I had to wait forever for the order.”
“You want to talk?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t cast any spells hoping to hurry them along. I’ve learned my lesson. No way am I good at that stuff like you are.”
“You could be if you were serious about your craft and studied.”
Not gonna happen. Becca had suffered through no end of boring subjects in regular school. Her mom’s Big Book of Charms was as exciting to her as reading an automotive repair manual. She made a face. “And miss Dancing with the Stars?”
“You joke now, but someday you might need it.”
Someday was this minute. Becca groaned inwardly.
Always attuned to her daughter’s moods, Rowena regarded her. “There is something wrong. I can see it on your face. Do you want to talk about it?”
No. “Nothing’s the matter. Honestly.”
“Then we’ll talk about other stuff. Catch up. Say hi to your dad, then meet me in the kitchen.” She kissed the tip of Becca’s nose. “Okay?”
Not really. She had to stop giving away her feelings to her mom and Eric. He’d looked at
her the same way Rowena was now. As though he could read her soul. Becca handed her mom the bag. “I’ll be right there.”
Her dad was in the family room—his man cave—stockinged feet propped on the footrest of his La-Z-Boy recliner, The Times-Picayune draped across his blue-jeaned legs, his scowl on one of the Fox news shows he loved to bitch at. Liberal right down to his DNA, he kept muttering at the talking heads on the big-screen TV.
Becca smiled. Burly and cuddly, her dad still resembled the trucker he’d once been. Since meeting her mom, he’d established and built his own trucking company, making it succeed with backbreaking work, not magic. Although they could have lived in a mega-mansion, given her mom’s powers, Wade Salt wouldn’t hear of it. Their home was beautiful, right down to its gingerbread embellishments and wraparound porch, but still modest by immortal standards.
The only time Becca recalled him asking Rowena to use her witchy talent was during the 2010 Super Bowl, played by the New Orleans Saints. Gently but firmly, she’d refused. The Saints won anyway.
Becca kissed the top of his head. His bristly salt-and-pepper hair, worn in a crew, tickled her nose. Suppressing a sneeze, she sputtered, “Isn’t watching that crap bad for your blood pressure?”
“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those fools.” He lifted his face to Becca, sending a wave of Old Spice aftershave in her direction. “Crap?”
Becca ran her fingertips over his frown marks. “Dad, I’m twenty-seven, all right? I know all the bad words. I even use them sometimes.”
“I hope not in front of guys. Trust me, they like a lady.”
Becca thought of the beasts she knew. Every time one of her staff let loose with gutter talk, their clients liked it so much they got humongous hard-ons.
Becca sensed Eric wasn’t any different…deep, deep down. She recalled how assertive he’d become, insisting she help him. Once she’d caved and agreed, he went right back to being Mr. Nice Guy. Finishing last with thousands of babes he’d already dated, while millions more were just waiting for the bad boy he wanted to become.
Rowena breezed into the room. “Here you go.”
She placed a tray of spring rolls, Crab Rangoon, deep-fried wontons, Hui Guo Rou and a Bud Light on his lap. After tucking a linen napkin into the neck of his tee, she slipped her arm through Becca’s. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us.”
He nodded, his attention torn between his feast and the junk on Fox News.
In the brick-and-brass kitchen, Rowena held up a bottle of red Bordeaux and a Bud Light. “Pick your poison. You can’t have both.”
Becca wanted neither. Several shots of hard liquor were calling to her, though not until her escape from here. She gestured to the Bud Light.
Rowena heaped portions of the Chinese fare on Becca’s plate. “Say when.”
“About five spoonfuls ago. Please, enough—thanks.”
For the first time in forever, Becca wasn’t hungry. Nervous energy ate at her along with mounting depression. She found it hard to move, but impossible to keep still or quiet. Without wanting to, she blurted, “Do you have any spells to turn a guy into a bad boy?”
Rowena sank to her chair at the wrought-iron table. Behind her, tall windows stretched to the ceiling, showing the balmy night outside, distant headlights twinkling like lightning bugs. She lowered her serving spoon to the glass top. The metal utensil tinged slightly.
“I knew something had happened.” She leaned closer. “Who is he?”
Becca pushed back in her chair. “Just a client.”
Rowena studied her as she had when Becca was a child, searching for a lie.
Becca guzzled most of her beer and belched. “Sorry.”
“Is it serious?”
“My belch? Naw. I just drank this too fast.” She held up her bottle.
Hardly amused, Rowena shot her a look. “Don’t be cute, Becca. I’m talking about whatever’s going on between you and this client. Wait.” She held up her hand. Her rings glittered beneath the glow of the filigreed ceiling fixture. “Why would you have to turn him into a bad boy if he’s one of your customers?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s okay. I have all night.”
“Really complicated.”
“I’m available from now until the end of next week if you need it.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned close again. “I’m guessing you’re trying to change him from being nice to being a beast. Why would you want to do that?”
“It was his idea, not mine.”
“Why?”
“So the babes he dates don’t keep dumping him for being too considerate, honorable, you name it. Understandably, he’s tired of losing out to pri—other men.”
Rowena ignored Becca’s near slip of the tongue. “Who said he’s losing? Those women are clearly too dense to know what’s good for them. He sounds perfect to me. What about you? Don’t you like him the way he is?”
Who wouldn’t? Becca finished the rest of her beer, suppressing her belch. “He’s a frigging Greek god.”
“A real hunk, huh?” Rowena smiled knowingly.
Becca’s belly fluttered at her memories of Eric’s muscular pecs, thick cock, weighty balls, firm ass…that precious birthmark. She imagined it beneath her tongue, the skin slightly raised but smooth. And his sac. Gawd. If ever there was flesh created for a female to worship, that was it. Short, dark hairs roughened the wrinkly skin, providing a wonderful contrast to his silky crown. What a mouthful it would make, sliding over her tongue to the back of her—
Uh-uh. No way would she go there. A fruitless journey with heartache its destination. Hadn’t he proved that with one of the last things he’d said? That he wanted to change for all the women out there. Them. Not her. Babes he intended to date and keep, until he moved on.
She slumped in her chair. The fabric cushion whooshed with her weight. “Definitely hot. But he’s also an actual Greek god. A descendant of Cupid and Psyche. Has a heart-shaped birthmark on his—ah, leg—to prove it. His parents named him Eros. He’s gone by Eric since he was twelve. Finally got tired of the other boys jumping him.” Listlessly, she bit into a spring roll, not tasting any of it.
“You like him.” Regina smiled. “About time you went for a nice guy like Dad.”
Becca forced down a mouthful of seasoned cabbage. It stuck at the base of her throat, the pain making her eyes water. She swallowed repeatedly until the hurt passed. “He’s a client, Mom. He wants me to change him so he won’t only attract the babes—according to him there have been thousands—but he’ll also be able to keep them.”
“What does he think about you?”
Becca laughed. “I’m not even in the equation.”
“Do you want to be?”
She sobered. “No.”
Rowena drummed her fingers on the table, clearly not believing her.
Becca figured it was time to confess what was painfully obvious to her and should have been to everyone else, even a mother. “He’s way out of my league, Mom. I’m not gorgeous like you. I’m not built like you.”
“Oh baby.” She cradled Becca’s face. “You’re more beautiful than you can imagine, and there’s not one thing wrong with your body.”
“Except that I’m built like Dad or one of his truckers.”
“Nonsense. You resemble that beautiful redhead on Mad Men.”
Becca chuckled weakly. “I wish.”
“Stop talking like that. You’re smart, kind, successful and so many other wonderful things, I don’t have enough days to name all of them. If he doesn’t notice you, then he’s a fool.” She paused. “Did he notice you?”
He’d smiled at her ass and seemed riveted by her cleavage. He’d said he liked the color of her hair. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“How? What happened? What did he say?”
Bec
ca chewed her lip then waved her hands. “He was just being nice. It’s in his genetic makeup. He comes from the God of love, sweetness, charm and all that other shit.”
“Becca.”
“Sorry. All that other crap?”
Rowena hung her head.
“Mom, I don’t think I want to be in love. Ever.”
“What? Why not?” She held Becca’s hand between hers. “Why would you think such a thing?”
Becca pulled in her shoulders.
“Come on, tell me, baby.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Rowena straightened. Confusion, concern, disbelief and finally acceptance…mingled with sorrow…raced across her lovely features. “You don’t like guys?”
She barked a laugh.
Her mother dropped Becca’s hand and frowned. Something she rarely did.
“Sorry,” Becca mumbled. “Yeah, I still like guys. A lot. Maybe too much.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The obvious. Although Becca had never brought up the subject before, she thought it hung over their household, muting everyone’s happiness. No different from the last hours spent with a loved one, trying to be happy when you knew you’d never see them again.
Becca murmured, “What are you going to do when Dad’s gone?”
He hadn’t a millionth of the time her mom had.
The color drained from Rowena’s face. She focused on her food, pushing it from one side of the crystal plate to the other.
“I’m sorry.” Becca rested her hand on her mom’s. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I can’t help but worry.”
“I know.” Rowena cleared her throat and blinked away tears. “When the time comes, which won’t be for decades, I’ll be fine. I’ll have all the wonderful memories we’ve made. I’ll have you.”
Uh-uh. That didn’t cut it. Becca would never be a substitute for her dad. And there was no telling how long she’d be around. She might be immortal like her mom, limited to decades like her dad, or somewhere in between. No one freaking knew. “Damn, love sucks.”