I couldn’t help but smile. A reaction that had nothing to do with the chemistry that sizzled between us and everything to do with the knowledge that he appreciated me.
Of course, the chemistry was still as potent as ever.
Awareness swept over my skin, and my nerves started to hum. “I guess that means you’ll hang up the demon-slayer hat and find a real job,” I heard myself say.
A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
He gave me an odd look before shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do at first. I couldn’t see past the kill. But now…” He shrugged. “I’m an integral part of the Legion. I take the jobs that no one else wants and, trust me, there are a lot of them. I can’t just bail now. Plus, Smith is trying out next month and I know he’ll make it. I can’t let him do it alone. He needs somebody to keep an eye on him. He’s the only relative I’ve got left.”
I remembered the night of the spider incident and Cutter telling me about his last remaining family member. “Smith is your cousin?”
He nodded. “His dad was a big gun enthusiast. He named him after Smith and Wesson.”
“And here I thought that was a made-up name to protect his real identity.”
Cutter chuckled. “Hardly. He doesn’t think that fast on his feet. That’s why he needs me. That, and his aim is for shit. He’ll have to get a lot better if he wants to run with the big dogs. But it’s his dream and I’m going to help him realize it. He’s my only family. Him, and the other slayers. We’re like family.”
“But I thought the only reason you joined the Legion was because you were desperate for revenge. You had a vendetta against demons that was totally understandable since you lost your soul to one. But now you’ve regained your soul because of one. Surely you’ve come to realize we’re not all so bad.”
“I realized that a long time ago. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I took an oath.” He shrugged. “The Legion is what I do, Jess. It’s who I am.”
“I guess I thought you’d take some time off, maybe go camping and hiking again. Fire up the old grill.”
Melancholy played across his expression. “I just might, but it’ll have to be on my day off.”
“Oh.”
He eyed the box in my hands that overflowed with leftover programs and the coffin-shaped chocolates that I’d given away as favors. “I’m guessing you made it to the wedding in time. How’d it go?”
“No earthquakes or tsunamis, though we did have a couple small fires and a minor tornado.” A grin played at his lips and my disappointment faded in a swell of warmth. “Thanks for backing off and letting me do my thing.”
“We had a deal. I promised not to interfere if you delivered Azazel.” He shrugged. “You did, so I didn’t.” His gaze caught and held mine. “I always keep my promises.” His words dripped with implication.
I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. “Always?”
Hunger carved his features and anticipation shot from my head to my toes. “Always.” And then he took the box from my hands and kissed me.
28
My lips parted and Cutter’s tongue met mine and it was the best kiss of my life.
Hotter than I remembered.
More potent.
Yum.
I wasn’t sure what happened next. I was so wrapped up in the kiss that one minute I was standing in my driveway, the overflowing box at my feet, and the next I was standing in my bedroom, a frantic Snooki barking in the background.
Cutter broke the kiss and stepped back. He glanced toward the bathroom, a questioning look on his face.
“She doesn’t like company,” I told him.
“And what about you?”
“Me?” I shrugged. “I’m a lot friendlier.”
He grinned.
Buttons slid open. Material slithered and fell away. In a matter of seconds, I stood before him wearing nothing but my high heels, flushed with passion and a growing sense of impatience because, as fast as he was, he wasn’t fast enough. I’d been waiting for this far too long.
“You’re next,” I told him, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. I pulled the soft cotton up and over his head. My fingers brushed his crotch, popped the top button on his jeans, and gripped the zipper. The metal teeth gave and he sprang hard and hot into my hands.
I stroked his long, pulsing length, my fingertips tracing the head before sweeping back up and brushing the silky dark hair that surrounded the base of his shaft. He groaned.
The sound rumbled in my ears and stirred the lust I’d fought so hard to bury over the past two years. It was out now, unearthed in a matter of seconds, and suddenly I couldn’t wait to get him inside of me.
I finished undressing him, kicked off my shoes, and pushed him down onto the bed. I straddled him and was this close to sliding down onto his erection when his hands closed around my waist and he stopped me.
“Wait,” he breathed.
I stalled, my body poised over the head of his penis. “For what?”
“More of this.” He leaned up and caught my lips with his own. His mouth plundered mine, his tongue plunging deep.
The kiss was the wildest, most intimate thing I’d ever experienced. Crazy, right? I was the queen of intimacy, with a long list of conquests to prove it. But this was different. There was something more intense about this. It had power. Depth. Meaning.
The One.
Tell him.
The thought blared through my head and I pulled back. Guilt rushed through me and I opened my mouth.
But then he flipped me onto my back, parted my legs, and thrust into me.
Okay, so maybe now wasn’t the best time.
I lifted my hips, welcoming him in. I wanted to feel him deeper…harder…there.
Right. There.
His groan echoed in my head and I forced my eyes open to see him braced above me, his breaths coming hard and fast. His gaze drilled into mine and I had the unnerving thought that he could see right through me, to all of my deep, dark secrets.
I clamped my eyes shut, breaking the spell, and concentrated on enjoying myself.
That’s all this was. Sex. Phenomenal. Overwhelming. But still, it was just sex. Purely physical with zero emotions involved.
Because Cutter Owens was not The One I’d been hoping for the past two years.
No matter how much I wished otherwise. His loyalty was to the Legion, which meant he could never pledge himself to a demon.
And that’s what I wanted.
A pledge.
A future.
I slid my arms around his shoulders, surrendered to the delicious sensation swamping my senses, and focused on having the hottest, wildest, most memorable night of my life.
If only I didn’t have the sinking suspicion that I’d been waiting for Cutter a lot longer than just a measly few years.
I’d been waiting for him my entire existence.
Waiting and hoping and praying. All for this.
For him.
EPILOGUE
I was through waiting on Cutter Owens.
Done. Over. Fini.
It had been three weeks since my mother’s wedding and the most incredible after-wedding sex of my existence. And not once in twenty-one days had he called. Or sent an e-mail. Or even a text.
Because he was busy helping Smith on his first assignment.
I knew that because he’d said as much in a voice mail just before disappearing off the face of the earth.
Still, I couldn’t shake the bone-deep feeling that somehow, someway, he’d discovered that I was Satan’s daughter and he now hated my guts.
I chewed on my lower lip as I stood in the bridal suite of Galveston’s infamous Moody Gardens (think a man-made Jamaica in Texas—no, really) and watched Delaney fidget with her hair in front of the mirror. She was breathtaking in a floor-length A-line with a sequined bodice and Swarovski crystals lining the train. Bouquets of tropical flowers filled the interior of the room, along with a huge box overflow
ing with three dozen long-stemmed roses. A recent token of the groom’s affection.
Delaney abandoned her hair to read the card on the flowers. She blinked back tears.
Not the happy kind, either. She looked as if she were about to face a firing squad.
My chest hitched. Don’t do it, I told myself. Remember the three years of hell she put you through, with all the indecisiveness and stalling.
My pain was about to end. She would waltz down the aisle and I would collect my final check and there would be another group of successful pics to load onto the digital frame in my office.
“You don’t want to marry him, do you?” I heard myself ask.
Was I a glutton for punishment or what?
“Of course I do.” She blinked frantically. “I’m just rethinking this dress.” She glanced down. “It’s a little too fitted. I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“That’s not the dress. It’s the anxiety.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Yeah, what are you trying to say?
I was supposed to be encouraging this wedding. I was supposed to tell her everything would be fine and the wedding would be beautiful. I was supposed to tell her she was the most stunning bride I’d ever seen and that the groom was one lucky guy and that they would live happily ever after.
I knew the routine.
I lived it week after week.
But as much as I wanted to say those things, I just couldn’t. Not when I saw the apprehension in her eyes. It was an emotion I knew all too well. The dread of facing the future, of admitting the truth.
To my mother.
To Cutter.
“You don’t want to marry him,” I told her.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve seen my share of excited brides, and you aren’t one of them. You’ve changed your mind about a million times.”
“That’s just because I want every detail to be perfect.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re more worried about the groom than the details.” I caught and held her gaze. “Seriously, Delaney. Do you really love him?”
“I should.” She turned back toward the mirror and stared at her reflection for a long moment. “But I don’t.” Her eyes met mine. “What’s wrong with me, Jess?”
“The only thing wrong is that you’re living a lie. You’ll never be happy as long as you’re doing that.”
“Which means I should tell the truth?”
“The truth shall set you free.”
I knew as I recited the words to Delaney that I had to follow my own advice. I would never find my own happily-ever-after as long as I was living a lie.
And if you come clean?
I wouldn’t find it then, either.
Surprisingly, my mother had been so preoccupied over the past weeks with trying to convince my grandfather to accept Samael that she hadn’t noticed the magazine on her own.
Likewise, my family was so fixated on the will-he–won’t-he? drama between Satan and his eldest daughter that they seemed oblivious to yours truly as well.
Even Hester wasn’t paying any attention to me, despite the fact that she was still pissed because I hadn’t brought enough brownies to her shower.
Still, I had no doubt my mother would doom me the moment she found out. That was, if Cutter didn’t beat her to the punch, chop off my head with his magic sword, and end my miserable existence for good.
Miserable. That’s what I was. Miserable and riddled with guilt and fear. Dreading the worst was just as bad as living it.
No more. I was done living a lie. I had to come clean and save my conscience if nothing else.
It had worked for Gio. While Syra hadn’t called off the wedding, she’d at least postponed it for a while. Gio now had a chance to make his case and prove his love. And all because he’d put himself out there and confessed the truth.
“You want me to buy a copy of what magazine?” Cheryl asked when I called her after loading Delaney into a cab and announcing to everyone, including the groom, that the merger—er, the wedding—was off.
“Texas Brides. Just buy a copy of this month’s issue and give it to my mother. It’s urgent.” Before she could ask any more questions (and before my courage ran out), I killed the connection and texted Cutter to please, please, please meet me ASAP. If that wasn’t tempting enough, I added a line about having a lead on a very ancient, very evil demon.
“Who is it? Where is he? What’s going on?” he demanded when I pulled up to my duplex a half hour later to find him sitting in the driveway. He wore a rumpled white T-shirt, worn jeans, and dusty black biker boots. A shadow of a beard covered his jaw and there was a weariness in his eyes that said he hadn’t slept in a long, long time.
“You look tired.”
“I’ve been working.” Regret gleamed in his gaze. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to call you—”
“It’s fine, really.” Not. At the same time, at least I knew he hadn’t stayed away because he hated my guts. He had been working. Day and night, from the look of him. “Thanks for coming.”
“What’s up?”
Easy. Calm. Breathe.
I gathered my courage. I was through being scared and lonely. I was going to do this. For better or for worse.
“I’ve got something I need to tell you.”
And then I did just that.
KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT.
1
“We want an outdoor theme,” said the woman sitting across from me. “Something at night beneath a star-studded sky.”
“Outdoors.” I entered the information into my iPad. “I can do that.” Because I was Jess Damon, Houston’s hottest up-and-coming wedding planner—at least according to the last issue of Texas Brides magazine. My sole mission in life was to make matrimonial dreams come true.
“With lots of candles.”
“Candles.” My fingers flew across the touch screen. “Check.”
“Black candles.”
“Black. Check.”
Okay, so I wasn’t just any ordinary wedding planner. Jess is short for Jezebel. The Jezebel.
Yep, that’s right. I’m a 1,026-year-old demon slut puppy (the not-so-PC term for succubus) with a weakness for all things sugar, a rockin’ bod (a demon can only exist in this realm by occupying a human body), and a crazy extended family. We’re talking a control-freak mom (aka Satan, one of the four crown princesses of Hell), three aunts (the Big H’s other three), thirty-six cousins, and a zillion second cousins. All female.
Um, yeah.
Anyhow, I’d been carrying on my birthright by plowing through men faster than I went through my favorite Krispy Kreme doughnuts up until two years ago, when I’d watched an old hookup marry the love of his life. A lightbulb had gone off then and I’d realized how empty and meaningless my existence had truly been.
Forget mindless lust.
I wanted the real deal. Forever and ever. Till death do us part.
And I wanted it in a big, massive ceremony with those cute little bubbles, a five-tiered wedding cake, and tons of flowers.
What? A demon can’t be a hopeless romantic?
Anyway, since true love wasn’t hanging around every street corner, I’d had to settle for planning happily-ever-afters for everyone else while eagerly awaiting my own. I’d started out with a strictly human clientele, but a recent wedding uniting Mommie Dearest with a demon general named Samael had opened up my employment options.
Enter Henry Martin—that’s human speak for Heneraminzanen, aka chief demon of foul-smelling gases (and I don’t mean the fuel kind)—and his one and only Eloise Macallister—Elimaneezercalis, i.e., the chief demon of bad timing. They’d been front and center at Mom’s big event and properly awed by my planning skills. While they’d obviously teamed up a long, long time ago, now they wanted to make it official with a big ceremony and an ever-growing guest list.
“And we need lots and lots of shrunken heads,” Eloise went on. �
��Henry has a thing for shrunken heads.” She beamed at the fortyish-looking man sitting next to her. “And we’d like to do a mini bonfire at the center of every table and ceremonial knives at each place setting and we definitely want to spit roast a few virgins.”
“Four,” Henry chimed in. “We need at least four.”
“A wedding is a happy occasion,” I reminded them. “Why don’t we save the human sacrifice for the first anniversary?” That, and since we demons existed in this realm and weren’t too anxious to find ourselves sucked back Down Under, we tried to play it as safe as possible. That meant looking both ways before crossing the street, turning off the oven before bedtime, and refraining from any major felonies that might lead to the death penalty.
“I think I’ve got enough information to get started,” I said after making a few more notes. “I’ll call as soon as I’ve lined up some location prospects.”
“Great.” Eloise smiled and motioned to Henry. “Pay the woman.”
Henry pulled out a Visa Gold card and my heartbeat kicked up a notch. While I was scheduled to make a nice profit off my mom’s wedding, I had no idea when, or if, I would see the money. I’d sent her an invoice two weeks ago, right along with a copy of Texas Brides featuring yours truly. No big deal, except that my mom had been under the impression that my new career was nothing more than a front to boff hunky groomsmen and spoil Big Days. The magazine was proof that I’d gone legit.
I’d expected a few lightning bolts and maybe a plague when she’d discovered the truth.
But complete and utter silence? Talk about scaring the bejesus out of me.
In more ways than one.
My chest tightened as my thoughts shifted to a certain hunky demon slayer. While Cutter Owens and I had gotten superclose (we’re talking phenomenal sex and the fact that I’d helped him hunt down an ancient demon and reclaim his soul), I’d failed to reveal my true identity. Instead, I’d led him to believe I was just a lower-level demon. Insignificant in the hierarchy of Hell. And, therefore, hardly worth a Legion member’s time, much less his sword.
But in my flurry of guilt, I’d not only sent my mother a copy of the magazine, I’d gone for a full confession with Cutter.
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