“Your dog’s clumsy,” he said and stooped beside me, giving me a hand with the cleanup.
“Yes, but on the upside, she eats enough for three dogs and poops with appalling regularity.” Crap. Shut up, Cassidy.
I looked out the corner of my eye and found him watching me. “You don’t have to help.”
He took the jagged pieces of glass from my hand and picked up what was left off the floor. “You get the flowers. I’ll take this; you could cut yourself.”
Wow. Gorgeous and thoughtful. Okay, a little authoritarian, but nobody’s perfect.
While he carried the trash outside, I gathered up the flowers I’d just bought two days ago and followed him to the kitchen. He’d already yanked off a handful of paper towels and was turning for the living room again.
“You know, with as good as you are at this, you don’t really need someone else cleaning up after you, do you?”
He gave me a half smile that sent a few delicious little tingles bubbling through my veins. “I prefer having an expert.”
“Right. Well, that’s me. Expert at cleaning. Of course, as you can see, I get a lot of practice around here.” Sugar was under the kitchen table, giving Devlin a death glare, like she blamed him for the entire incident.
My dog. In denial.
I took the paper towels from him, walked back to the living room and got busy cleaning up the spilled water. He was standing right beside me, and I could actually feel his eyes on me. My temperature spiked a little, and the small hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. Not in a bad way.
“So,” he said when I’d finished and was standing up again, clutching sodden paper towels in one hand and catching the drips with the other, “can I interest you in coming to the house to take a look around?”
“Now?”
“Unless you’re busy.”
“No,” I said, then realized I should have said I was all backed up—so many customers. But then he’d think I didn’t want his business or I was too busy for it, and the truth was, I really wanted to see his house. Like his club, Devlin’s house was a mystery. Big and beautiful, it sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and every time I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, I looked at it and wondered what it was like inside.
I was a little surprised he didn’t have a housekeeper. A man alone, a place that size. So I asked.
He shrugged. “Actually, I do.”
“So why do you need me?”
He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my left ear, and when his fingertips stroked against my skin, I swear I saw fireworks. Big red and blue ones bursting in front of my eyes. I really hoped it wasn’t blood vessels exploding.
“Truth is,” he said, “I don’t need you to clean my house. I just wanted to see you again and needed a reason.”
Whoa.
This is more than Flirting 101, Cass, I warned myself. This is graduate courses. This is, like, master’s-caliber flirting. And you are so not prepared. I’d been spending most of my time over the last few years with kids and dogs and dirty houses. Not exactly the life of the party. Hey, I’d never had a man like Devlin flirt with me. This was some serious pressure.
Think of something clever to say. Be brilliant. Witty. Or at least, not mute.
“I, uh…”
Great. Good one.
“You seem surprised.”
“Kind of,” I admitted and knew an instant too late that that was the wrong attitude to take. I should be acting like I go through this all the time. Like every day I have to beat off rich, gorgeous men with a stick.
Oh.
Maybe I should reword that a little.
“Why?” he asked and took a step closer. Was it hot in here? Seriously. Did all the air leave the room? Because I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath, and it felt like my eyebrows were smoldering from all the extra heat shooting off the top of my head. “When we spoke yesterday,” he was saying and swept me up and down with a gaze hot enough to set fire to my jeans, “I felt…something between us. Didn’t you?”
Lust? Could it be lust he felt between us? ’Cause, hey, I was right there with him. Bone-numbing, blood-firing, mind-expanding lust that was at this moment setting up shop in my hoo-hah and limbering things up, just in case.
Cassidy, you slut. My stern, talking-to-myself voice was silent, but effective. Just a few hours ago, I’d been drooling over Logan. Now here I was letting my hormones do a two-step, trying to get Devlin’s attention.
Slut.
For sure, I was going to Hell.
God. I squeezed the wet paper towel in my right hand, and my left filled up with water. Moving on automatic pilot, I scurried to the kitchen, tossed the mess into the sink, then grabbed a dish towel to dry my hands.
Devlin was right behind me. He was probably following the thundering pound of my heartbeat. Man, I really had to get out more.
“You know,” I said when I thought I could speak without slobbering, “it probably isn’t a good idea for us to have a personal relationship if we’re working together.”
“We’re not.”
“We’re not?” Crap. Should have had Thea do the bid up last night and hustled it over to him today before he could back out. Visions of lovely piles of money were fading right before my eyes and even took some of the shine off the nice little body buzz I had going.
I turned to face him. He was wandering around the kitchen, and I wished I’d put all the bottles of demon spray out of sight. But then why care about the little shit?
“But, I’m doing a bid for you,” I said.
He grinned, and my knees turned to liquid. Oh boy. Really hard to stand up straight when your bones are all slippery.
“We haven’t signed a contract yet.”
“True.”
“And if you’re as interested as I am…”
Interested?
I’d have to be dead six months to not be interested. The question here was, why was he interested? This man moved with the rich and famous and the nearly famous who loved to be photographed. This man was why paparazzi had been invented. This man was—
—staring at me like I was the last double-fudge brownie on the dessert cart.
Oh boy. If he was feeling what I was feeling, then it was a wonder he could still talk. On the other hand, who needed chitchat?
He walked closer, and with every slow step, my heartbeat hitched a little higher and faster in my chest, and my mouth went just a little bit drier. I grabbed hold of the counter behind me, gripping both hands around the edge as if it meant my life.
I generally keep my business world separate from my real-life world. It’s neater. Takes less time to sort through; and, hey, none of my other customers ever really hit on me, so it had never been an issue. Now suddenly it was, and I knew that I should just say, “Gee thanks for stirring up my hormones, but you should be going now.” And I also knew there was no way in hell I was going to say it.
I was about to do something really, really dumb. Ordinarily, I try to avoid stuff like that on general principles. But this time, I was willing to make an exception.
“I heard you were in an accident this afternoon,” he said, catching me completely off guard.
“Uh, how’d you hear that?”
He paused for a second, then shrugged and said, “Small town.”
“Oh…Right.”
“Were you hurt?”
“No,” I said and marveled at that simple truth. Apparently this Demon Duster strength thing was good enough to keep me from feeling whiplash. One small blessing in an otherwise—up till now—crappy day. “Just mad. My car got crunched.”
“A shame, and yet, it could have been far worse.”
His eyes looked almost black, and something inside me shivered. He’d only made a statement, but somehow, it felt almost like a warning. Weird.
“Have dinner with me?” he asked, close enough now that his warm breath dusted my face.
Okay, forget about the weird thing. He was just bein
g nice and I was overreacting. Besides, the best-looking male I’d seen since Logan left my kitchen that morning was offering me both food and, perhaps, lusty good times.
Damn it, my life was a mess. I deserved a reward for simple survival.
“Sure,” I said. “When?”
Chapter Eight
I had a date.
An honest-to-God date. With a man—an incredibly hunky man—in just three days. More than enough time to lose five pounds, right?
As soon as Devlin was gone, I discovered I had way too much energy. Suddenly, all the aches and pains of demon-killer training—not to mention my poor toe and my misery over my poor car—were gone.
Excitement sizzled, then sort of drifted into nerves and then back to excitement and, finally, disgust.
Honestly. So pathetic that I was that excited.
Couldn’t really blame me for the excitement factor, though. My last date had been when Thea was thirteen. He was a mystery writer who’d been renting one of the beach cottages for the summer. Turned out he liked to act out his mysteries, so I spent most of the night posing as a murder victim in different areas of his house. Nice guy, but scoring a little high on the creep meter.
Not surprising that I’d steered clear of men after that little disaster. But now, with Devlin, a whole new world of possibilities was opening up in front of me. If the date went well, who knew? There might be another one. And eventually, maybe even sex.
God. Just thinking about that gave me another little burst of energy. To make good use of it, I grabbed up a bottle of demon skin acid and squirted some on the kitchen window. I’d been thinking a lot (okay, not a lot) about that extra-clean streak where the liquid that had missed Leo’s head had splashed on the window, and decided to give Jasmine’s potion a real test.
I wiped it off a second later with a paper towel and stood back in awe and admiration. No streaks, and the damn glass was sparkling like diamonds under a spotlight. I took a good look at the liquid in the bottle and shook it up a little. Green flakes floated in the brown solution and swirled merrily with every shake. Unscrewing the spray top, I took a whiff. Vinegar, molasses and…oregano? Oregano killed demons? I was guessing there weren’t many Italian demons, then. I shrugged, screwed the cap back on and finished the rest of the windows. By the time I was done, my kitchen was bright enough to do surgery in.
“Oh yeah. Can’t wait to see what Carmen has to say about this stuff in action,” I muttered.
When my phone rang, I grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Thank God,” Rachel breathed into the phone. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon.”
“It hasn’t rung once.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about calling you for hours, so it’s the same thing.”
Okay.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Rachel shrieked that last word, and I winced and pulled the phone away from my ear. “Hello? Logan? Me, still not having details.”
I sighed, nudged Sugar out of the way and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. “There are no details to be had.” I was completely overlooking the whole Logan-teasing-me-into-wanting-to-be-kissed-and-then-not-following-through thing. There were some humiliations too deep to share, even with your best friend. Of course, Rachel didn’t see it like that.
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Sorry,” I said and reached for the Pop Tart box I’d left on the table that morning. I peered inside and found an empty silver wrap. Damn it. That’s okay. A Pop Tart wouldn’t help me lose those five pounds, now would it? “I could lie if that would help.”
“I don’t want lies,” Rachel hissed, her voice dropping now so that I had to strain to hear her at all. “I want to know what’s going on. Where’s he been? Where’s the wife—What was her name? Doesn’t matter. What’d he say when he found out about Thea?”
“The wife’s name was Busty or Musty or—He’s divorced.”
“Ooh. Now see—that’s a detail.” She paused, half covered the mouthpiece of her phone and said, “Fine, fine. I understand that you’re in pain, the doctor will be with you as soon as he’s free.”
Whenever Rachel called me from work, it was entertaining. As Simon’s receptionist she had to check in all the patients waiting to have their teeth drilled or whatever, and she wasn’t the most laid-back person in the universe. “Gee, great bedside manner there, Rach.”
“I’m not the dentist. Simon is. And I think that it’s chair-side manner for dentists.”
“Right. Thanks for clearing that up.”
“So, what’re you going to do with Logan?”
“Do with him?” Oops. Did I just get a tiny hot flash there? Nah. “I’m not doing anything with him.” Not that the promise hadn’t been there that morning. At least until he shut me down while my engine was still running. Bastard.
Where was a damn Pop Tart when you needed one?
“Why the hell not?” she whispered. “Honey, I know you and Logan didn’t exactly end things well…”
“Hah!”
“…but come on. He’s here. You’re here….”
I sighed. “Rach, you have a sex life. Why do you spend so much time worried about mine?”
“Because you don’t have one. It’s not healthy. Things get bottled up. You know you’re bottled up; you just don’t want to admit it.”
True. If somebody ever pried the cap off my bottle, I’d probably spew in all directions. Mmm. Lovely image.
“Besides, you make a lousy nun,” Rachel added.
True again. I don’t take orders well. And, hey, now that you didn’t even get to wear special outfits, why bother being a nun? You could pray on your own time, right?
“Cass, you know I love you, but you need to get out. With a man.”
I pitched the empty Pop Tart box into the trash. “Actually, I have a date.”
“I knew it. You did too get up to something with Logan. Still sparkage there, huh?”
“It’s not with Logan.”
“Then who—? Oh God, don’t tell me the mystery writer’s back. Honey, that was just too strange.”
“Nope, not him.” I was really sort of enjoying this.
“There’s another man in your life and I don’t have details? What the hell is happening to this world?”
I laughed, leaned back in the chair and hugged that thought to myself for a long minute. Yes, it was really fun to all of a sudden have men in my life. Okay, they weren’t really in it, but they were at least adjacent to my life.
Rachel was right. Logan was still hot. But there was a lot of crapola to dig through before that could go anywhere. Not that I wanted it to go anywhere. I’m not actively anti-Logan or anything, but…maybe I should just be moving on. And moving on brought me right back around to Devlin.
“So, who is this mysterious man?” She paused again. “Yes, Mrs. Spencer. Right. I’ll put it down that you were here ten minutes early for your appointment.” Then to me, she muttered, “I swear I think she wants a gold star by her name. So, come on, Cass. Spill. Who’s date guy?”
“Devlin Cole.”
A long silence that became longer and longer until…“Are you freaking kidding me?” A whispered shout that hissed over the phone line with an air of excited insult. “I can’t believe you met that guy and didn’t tell me.”
“Rach, I’m bidding on a contract to clean Magic Nights.”
“So, have you been inside the place?”
“Yep.”
“Ohmigod.” Her voice dropped again. “You are so dead the first chance I get. This is a betrayal of all Best Friend rules, you know. To have this amount of stuff to tell and not tell it.”
“I was going to,” I said, but knew I had planned to wait to tell anyone until I knew if I had the job or not.
“Sure, sure,” she said. “When’s the date?”
“Saturday night.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“Don’t know.”
“What’
re you wearing?”
“Not sure.”
“Are you going to give me details afterward?”
Best Friend test. Score well on this one or forever suffer the consequences.
“Of course I will.”
“Especially if you have sex.”
“I’m not having sex on my first date with the man.”
“Never say never,” Rachel said sagely. “It’s been a long time for you, sweetie, and you just might not be able to help yourself. God knows, if I was anywhere near Devlin Cole…”
“You wouldn’t do a thing,” I said and idly brushed the hair out of Sugar’s eyes. She looked surprised to see a world beyond her hair. “You have Simon.”
Rachel actually sighed. “True. I do. So therefore I need a little vicarious thrill now and then. So promise you’ll tell me.”
“I swear,” I said, holding up my right hand as if she could see me or something, “on a stack of Godiva.”
“Okay, then. Oh God, the Henderson kids are here. Gotta go.”
She hung up before I could say good-bye or wish her luck dealing with the twins.
When the phone rang again instantly, I punched the button, grinned and said, “I swear already, Rachel, the minute I have sex, you’ll be the first to know.”
A deep chuckle sounded in my ear. Then Logan said, “With any luck, I’ll be the first to know.”
Perfect.
Great.
“Logan,” I said, sweeping one hand over the kitchen table, searching for food that wasn’t there. The bowl of apples didn’t count. “I thought you were Rachel.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Very humorous. What do you want?”
“Well,” he said, “I heard about your accident and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Damn. Why’d he have to be nice?
“I’m fine—but whoever hit me won’t be if I ever catch him.”
“Somebody said it looked like the guy slammed you on purpose.”
“What?” Surprised, I jolted straight up. “Why would somebody do that?”
“Beats me,” he said, and I heard amusement in his voice. “I’m new in town. Got any enemies?”
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