So I Married A Demon Slayer

by Love, Kathy; Fox, Angie; George, Lexi

  “It’s Charlie. Charlie Bowen.”

  She smiled. “Charlie. I like that.” She reached out and touched his jawline. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  Ava hadn’t dated as much as most people would think a supermodel had. But she wasn’t exactly an innocent either, and still she wasn’t prepared for how her body reacted to Charlie’s kiss.

  She realized she’d managed to startle him again when she first touched her lips to his. He froze against her gentle touch, but only for a fraction of a second, then his hands came up to either side of her head, those long fingers of his tangling in her long, wavy hair. After that, control was all his as his lips moved over hers with strong sureness.

  He angled his head, and hers, and the kiss deepened. His tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, silently, teasingly asking her to open for him.

  She did, without hesitation. She wanted to taste him, to feel him. And it was better, more powerful than she could have imagined: hot little flicks of his tongue like small licks of fire sizzling throughout her body; a low burn that was quickly escalating to an inferno.

  She whimpered, surprised and excited by her instant, violent need for him. But Charlie seemed to mistake the sound for distress, because he immediately pulled back, stepping away until he backed into the dresser. His gaze roamed her face, concern clear in his golden green eyes.

  “Ava—” He ran a hand through his hair, making the dark auburn locks more adorably disheveled. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

  He laughed, but this time the rich timbre fell flat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think we should do this. You are clearly upset about something tonight. And I don’t want you regretting anything.”

  She stared at him, feeling a slight sting of rejection, but also realizing that real concern clouded his hazel eyes.

  “Ava, I really don’t mean to—”

  She raised her hand to stop him. “I appreciate your kindness. I guess—I guess I have had a rough day, and that is affecting my thinking.”

  Charlie made a pained face, and she wanted to tell him that his kiss was affecting her thinking too, but decided she might seem desperate. And Ava Wells wasn’t desperate.

  Addy Wellmeyer was desperate though. And Addy did not want to be alone. Addy wanted this man.

  She wandered over to the nightstand to finish off her glass of vinegary wine. Not that she really noticed the flavor. Or cared. She just wanted the mellow feeling the alcohol would eventually give her.

  “Could I have some more?”

  “Of course.” Charlie appeared almost relieved by her request. He came forward and took her plastic glass. Their fingers touched briefly and her body was right back to burning intensely for him. It was amazing, and a little disturbing.

  “I’ll—um—get that for you,” he said, and it was heartening to see that the mere touch had affected him too.

  He took the few steps to leave the room, then paused in the doorway, glancing at her over his shoulder as if he wanted to say something more. But instead he just nodded and disappeared out of the room.

  Once he was gone, Ava collapsed onto the edge of the bed. What was she doing? How was this going to help her situation in the least? Well, it wasn’t; that was the answer. But she really didn’t care. She liked being around this man. Charlie—she even liked his name—made her feel like the person she’d once been. She didn’t want that feeling to stop. But of course, it would have to eventually.

  Finola White would never agree to her star supermodel dating a lowly mailroom clerk. If he even wanted to date her. Finola owned her, lock, stock and barrel. And Finola chose who she dated. Finola chose everything.

  She considered getting up from the bed, but instead found herself sliding back against Charlie’s soft pillows. She curled onto her side and allowed herself for a moment to imagine what it would be like to date a man like Charlie. To share this comfy bed in this cozy little room.

  Now she wondered why she’d had such big dreams, and had done the unthinkable to attain them. Now she just wanted to go back to simple dreams, a home, a family, a person who loved her for herself, and happiness.

  Too bad those dreams were now as unobtainable as she’d once believed the jet-set lifestyle, wealth and fame of being a professional model was.

  But just for a moment, she was going to close her eyes and pretend she had the simple dream. Simple happiness with a good man at her side.

  Charlie finished pouring a glass of wine for Ava, then braced his hands on the counter and closed his eyes. What was going on here? Ava Wells was in his apartment . . . in his bedroom, apparently willing to have sex with him and he’d turned her down. What the hell was wrong with him?

  But he knew the answer. He’d been honest when he’d called a halt to their kiss—and what might have followed. He didn’t want her regretting anything she did tonight.

  He groaned, wishing just for a moment, he could be a selfish jerk.

  But he couldn’t. He was doing the right thing, and he could certainly control his libido—as uncomfortable as it might be.

  He pulled in a deep breath, then opened his eyes. This was a woman who had something very real bothering her, and she needed a sympathetic friend more than a one-night stand.

  Which really sucked, but he was a gentleman—unfortunately.

  He braced himself, because his body wasn’t feeling nearly as gentlemanly as his mind. He forced a calm expression and headed back into his tiny living room, sure that Ava would be out of there by now. But she wasn’t.

  He frowned, then turned toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light out. That meant she still remained in the bedroom.

  He wanted to groan again. He had to be honest—he didn’t know how much temptation he could take.

  He moved slowly, reluctant to be back in his closet-sized bedroom with a woman he was more attracted to than any woman he could recall. Ever. He took one more deep breath, then entered the room.

  Ava lay on her side, cuddled down among his pillows like some rich golden jewel against his plain gray bedding. Her dark hair was spread around her peaceful face. Her long legs curled up into an almost fetal position, her hands pressed palms together by her cheek like the perfect image of a small, sleeping child.

  Again he was struck by how breathtakingly lovely she was, but not in that glamorous, couture way that most of the world saw her. She looked angelic and sweet. He wanted to kiss her, but he maintained control.

  “Ava,” he said softly.

  He was greeted by a small sigh, then a long even breath. She was out cold.

  He considered waking her and seeing her home, but she looked too serene, more serene than he’d seen her since meeting her outside of Finola White’s office. And he got the feeling she needed her rest.

  Quietly, he left the room to put the wine in the kitchen, then returned to stand in his bedroom doorway, watching her for a moment.

  Ava Wells in his bed.

  He smiled, shaking his head. He could never have predicted how this day would play out when he’d forced himself out of bed at the grating beeping of his alarm clock this morning.

  Without much contemplation, he walked over to the desk wedged in beside his sofa and grabbed his Canon EOS, the black digital camera’s weight nice and natural in his hand. He hadn’t taken many pictures since starting his mailroom odyssey, and he missed the feeling of his camera.

  He then went back to his bedroom and inched toward the bed. Cringing slightly at the sound of the shutter, he took a picture of Ava. She didn’t rouse, so he took another and another.

  Maybe he was driven to photograph her among his pillows as proof that Ava Wells had been in his place, in his bed. But once he started shooting, he was overcome by the need to capture the way she looked right this minute, the need to capture her easy, natural beauty.

  She was stunning.

  He snapped at least twenty or thirty photos of her.

  Finally he se
t the camera aside. Studying her from every angle as she slept made him long for similar peace. She looked so wonderfully tranquil and calm.

  He contemplated the lumpy Goodwill couch that sagged horribly in the middle, then glanced back to his bed. Ava hadn’t moved from her curled position and she certainly didn’t take up much room on the mattress.

  He could grab extra blankets, one for her and one for himself and they could both share the bed without even coming in contact with each other. And he would, of course, sleep in his clothes, he justified to himself.

  He fished two blankets from his closet and carefully tucked one around her sleeping form. He switched off the light, but left the living room lamp on, in case Ava woke up and was disoriented.

  Then with slow, even movements so as not to bump the bed any more than necessary, he slid around the side against the wall—not an easy feat given the lack of space in the small room. The mattress dipped as he finally eased down onto it, but Ava didn’t stir. He stretched out beside her, heedful not to touch her, both for her sake and his own.

  As he lay stiffly beside her in the shadowy light, he realized he’d been very right not to allow their embrace to continue and escalate. After all, if she could fall asleep so quickly, she surely was not feeling the kind of arousal he’d been experiencing—and still was.

  Sighing, he turned on his side too, following the line of her body with his own, but not touching. Parallel spooning, if there was such a thing.

  He lay that way for a long time, his mind whirling with the events of the day, and eventually, though he would have thought it impossible, he fell asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Ava woke slowly, blinking her eyes, trying to gain focus in the dim light. She stretched, wondering what time she’d gone to bed. There was a faint light illuminating her bedroom, but she didn’t think it was sunlight.

  She rolled onto her back and stretched, feeling lazy and ready to doze off again. And she would if time allowed. She turned toward her nightstand to check her alarm clock, but instead of being greeted by the red glow of digital numbers, her gaze fell onto a shadowy shape close beside her.

  She rose up, her heart pounding almost sickeningly in her chest. Who was that?

  She looked around her room, realizing right away this wasn’t her expensive Upper East Side loft. Where the hell was she?

  She started to fling her legs over the side of the bed, wanting to get out of this strange place, when her memory returned. She glanced back to the form sleeping beside her.

  Charlie. An odd sense of relief weakened her tightened muscles. Odd because she didn’t really know this man, yet she was more than relieved to see him; she was happy. She remained still, allowing her eyes to adjust to the light until she could make out each feature of his handsome face.

  Without thinking about why, she found herself settling down beside him again, facing him, studying those lovely features.

  When awake, he was very good looking, but asleep, his features were impossibly perfect. Like a sculptor’s rendering of a young and beautiful poet or artist. A sensitive face. His dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks, almost delicate. His lips, parted slightly, were a study in masculine beauty. His jawline was cut and strong. She could make out the shadow of beard appearing on his chin and cheeks.

  She’d seen more beautiful men than she could possibly count. Models with perfect bodies and flawless faces, but not one of them had appealed to her as this man did.

  Her fingers, which had been curled tightly into the pillow as if to stop her from touching him, flexed and before she thought better of it, she gently caressed his jawline, the bristle of facial hair tickling her fingertips. Her body reacted instantly. She wondered how that coarse hair would feel against her lips, brushing over her soft skin.

  She shifted a little closer, his scent enveloping her. A faint mixture of soap and maybe laundry detergent and something warm and musky. Her skin tingled and her nipples tightened and puckered against her lace bra.

  What was it about this man? She should just sneak out now while he slept and pretend this night had never happened. But she couldn’t seem to get her wayward body to obey her mind.

  Instead she continued to lie beside him, her fingers lightly exploring his features. God, she wanted him so badly. So very, very badly.

  Her fingers moved from his jaw to trace his lips, fascinated by them. The fullness of the bottom lip. The slight bow of the top one. And the amazing memory of how his mouth had felt moving against hers. Soft yet strong. Greedy yet generous. She closed her eyes, replaying their kiss as her fingers played over his mouth.

  When she finally opened them, she realized his eyes were open too. Her fingers stilled, but she didn’t snatch them away as she thought she would have. Instead she began to stroke him more, his lips, his chin, his jaw. Her eyes locked with his.

  He didn’t stop her caresses. Instead he remained perfectly still, watching her with those lovely hazel eyes. As if caught in a trance, she rose up, leaning over him. Only then did he move, shifting over onto his back.

  Ava studied him a moment longer, her fingers resting on his lips, then slowly she replaced her fingers with her mouth.

  It had to be a dream. That had been Charlie’s first thought when he opened his eyes to find Ava in his bed, her whispering caress brushing over his face. He’d even hesitated to stir, sure that somehow any movement would make her vanish like a wonderful, sensual dream.

  But now with her lips pressed to his, he knew she was truly there and very real. And in his slightly dazed, sleepy state, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to stop what he’d somehow managed to deny himself earlier.

  In fact rather than pushing her away, one of his hands came up to knot in her hair, while his other curled around her back, pulling her tighter against him.

  She made a small noise low in her throat, and even that didn’t have the effect it had had earlier. No warning bell this time. The soft whimper only fueled the need bubbling up inside him like a flood rising wildly over an already weakened dam.

  Then in one deft movement, he shifted so he was the one leaning over her, pressing her back into the mattress. Their kiss deepened as he took control, unable to reign in his desire for her. And her hands tangling in his hair and stroking down his shoulders and back were as frenzied as he felt.

  But by some sheer miracle he did manage to pull away, searching her face for any signs of apprehension. Regret.

  Nothing but desire was reflected back at him from her beautiful, hooded eyes. Her lips parted, deep pink and damp from their kiss. She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers trembling.

  Did she shake with need? Or was she uncertain?

  He caught those delicate fingers and held them against the side of his face, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of her hand.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice raspy with longing and sleep.

  She nodded, even before he finished his sentence. “I want you, Charlie.”

  Four words had never had a more powerful effect on him. He didn’t need to hear any more. His own need was far too strong to be halted again. The dam was broken.

  He returned his mouth to hers, teasing her soft, full lips, tasting her, nipping her. Her tongue brushed against his in return, more longing welling up inside him.

  A low moan vibrated in her chest as he pressed kisses down the side of her neck and across her collarbone. His mouth traveled down the valley between her breasts, hindered only by the neckline of her sweater.

  He stopped long enough to reach for the hem and push it up. Ava helped him, pulling the garment off over her head and tossing it to the floor.

  She fell back against his pillows, her skin looking golden and flawless against the black of her demi bra. Even in the dim light, Charlie could see the dusky pink of her nipples through the fragile lace.

  He lowered his head and licked one of those rosy peaks through the material. She whimpered, writhing under him. He sucked in deeper, loving her r
eaction, the feel of that tight little nipple straining to be farther into his mouth. He nudged the bra out of the way to taste her bare, beaded flesh.

  He continued to torture first one nipple, then the other as his hand stroked down the outside of her thighs. Her tiny skirt had ridden up in her sleep.

  He sat back, needing to see what she looked like. Her skirt was nearly up to her waist and underneath she wore just a wisp of lace panties. She bent a leg, the pose so wanton and sexy, his cock hardened almost painfully against his pants. Then his gaze moved from the triangle of cloth between her thighs to her face. Despite the sensual invitation of her position, her expression was a little uncertain. Her dark eyes watched him, wide, unsure, clearly trying to read his reaction.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d have said she was afraid he might reject her. Her expression was almost that of a sweet innocent making love for the first time.

  “You are so lovely,” he said, realizing that he was probably saying the same thing men always told her. But the words were true.

  She smiled at him, but he could see her worries didn’t seem to be assuaged. Her eyes were still huge, her smile not quite banishing the doubts there.

  He struggled to find words to explain how amazing he found her, but then decided maybe the better bet was simply to show her with his body.

  He gently parted her legs and situated himself between them. Then, starting at her feet, he ran his hands up over her instep, curving his fingers around her delicate ankles, up the long, shapely length of her calves. To her knees, which caused her to wiggle. He paused there, grinning evilly as he toyed with them again and again, loving her ticklishness. But her breathy giggles and squirming stopped as soon as he moved on to stroke her beautiful thighs, the skin smooth and soft under his palms. Then she began to wriggle again, but not because it tickled.

  She gasped as his exploration stopped right at the top of her thighs, his thumbs very close to the wisp of lace covering the lovely mound of her sex.