Demons Like It Hot

by Ayers, Sidney

  “Really?”

  “It all happened so fast. I really didn’t pay any attention. My main concern was Edie. If that stuff had ended up on her, she’d have been in the hospital with third-degree burns.”

  “Fair enough.” His thoughtful expression lingered. “What about these other incidents?”

  “A tiny little imp changing chicken into pork?”

  “What about this ghoul and this goblin that Rafael reported?”

  Damn it. He wouldn’t let up. Then again, that was probably part of his tactical experience. “What’s next, waterboarding?”

  “I do not condone the use of torture.” A flash sparked in his eyes. “I have more productive ways of obtaining the truth.”

  She bet he did. The temperature in the office rose another fifty degrees—at least that’s what it felt like. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. She sucked in a gulp of air. Who was she kidding? The naughty part of her loved it. Down, naughty girl. Not now!

  She snapped back to reality. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re not a small guy, for one. And that glare could melt an iceberg. And the stern expression—well it’s stronger than the ones my grandmother showed me when I misbehaved.”

  “Niceties do not get you far in my position.” He reached down to grab a huge duffle bag and stood. With an unceremonious thud, he dropped the bag on the desk. With a quick yank of the zipper, he spread the bag open. Grabbing a Glock, he slid in a magazine and stuffed it in the holster on his hip. Snapping the holster in place, he grabbed another magazine and shoved it into a pouch on his waist. Another snap, another weapon—this time a dagger. Unsheathing it from the ruby-and-sapphire-bedecked scabbard, he twisted the weapon in his grip, and the silver-etched blade flashed. She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life. Vines were carved from hilt to tip and rosebuds had been etched into the shiny silver. Rubies and sapphires spiraled around the hilt.

  Not an ordinary weapon for a mercenary. Then again he wasn’t any mercenary. He was a demon. And he wasn’t any ordinary demon. He was a built like a brick shithouse—luckily he didn’t smell like one. And, heavens, his face was strong and angled. Not unattractive—if you were into the Delta Force type. Or was that Demon Force. And from the way her hormones flared, she was becoming that type. Not good. Hormones and hollandaise did not mix—at all.

  “Admiring the blade, are you?”

  Among other things. It was safe to assume he couldn’t read thoughts—thank goodness—because her thoughts would make even a eunuch blush.

  “It’s not the type of weapon I’d expect from someone in camouflage.”

  “It was given to me by my mentor.” His dark eyes glinted, and something similar to remorse passed over his face. He strapped the scabbard to his belt and slammed the dagger in. Without another word, he hoisted the duffle over his shoulder. “A few centuries back.”

  Well, if that wasn’t a conversation stopper, she didn’t know what was. And he obviously wanted to keep his distance, which was—much to her recently active hormones’ chagrin—fine by her.

  “All right, already. I know you’re old, dude. No need to keep beating that in.”

  “I was not.”

  “So you say.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “But if you plan on wearing those weapons into the mall, security will be on you like white on rice.”

  “Normal humans shouldn’t be able to see my weapons.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you need to realize—no matter how hard you try to hide it—you are not normal.”

  “I’ve got news for you. No one is normal. Everyone is unique in their own special way. Even century-old demons.”

  “Centuries.”

  “You know what I mean.” Curiosity bit her in the butt. “How old are you exactly?”

  “I was born in 1194.”

  Whoa! He was a lot older than Rafe… by at least three centuries. “When did you die?” He couldn’t have been that much over thirty.

  He opened his mouth to answer, then shut it, a deep scowl etched on his face. “I prefer to keep my previous life private, Ms. SanGermano. No offense.”

  Irritating, yet that aura of mystery nagged at her. Why in the hell was she so interested in him? “Fine, but the mall closes soon, and you definitely need some less conspicuous clothes. I didn’t tell Lucy, but I’m trying out for American Chef.”

  “What?”

  “I’m trying out for American Chef.”

  “I forbid it.”

  “Well, you know, you’re not my dad, and last I checked I was twenty-nine years old. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  Not one of her most brilliant and well-thought-out ideas, but she needed the publicity. And, unfortunately, there was a kill clause in the contract. She couldn’t back out now.

  “I sort of signed a contract. The host of the show is meeting me tomorrow.”

  “This isn’t safe.”

  “But now I have a big bad bodyguard to protect me, so what’s the big deal?”

  “I’ll need to discuss this with Rafael. This complicates matters.”

  “It’s American Chef, not Hell’s Kitchen.” And thank goodness for that. If there was one chef that could be a demon, Gordon Ramsay was it.

  Matthias stood to his full six-foot-four height, his eyes smoldering. “I don’t care if it’s the bloody 700 Club, inviting the public means inviting trouble. You don’t need any more trouble.”

  No, what she didn’t need was a huge hulk of a man—scratch that—demon, controlling her every move. Being a bodyguard and protecting her was one thing. Ordering her around like a child was another. She wasn’t a teenager. She was an adult.

  “I need publicity. I’ve had a dry spell. This TV gig will bring in more business.” She stood to her full five-foot-six stature in a pathetic attempt to meet his glare. “As for The 700 Club, Pat Robertson will be the last person on my invite list.” She brushed a finger along her cheek. “How do you know about television? I figured you’d been too busy dealing with your demonic military company.”

  “Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of modern religion and political beliefs. I need to stay on top of trends if I’m supposed to blend in.”

  She let the sarcasm roll off her tongue. “Well, you’re doing a smashing job so far. Because everyone in America feels the need to dress up like an extra from Apocalypse Now. No pun intended.”

  “I didn’t have time to get civilian clothes.”

  “I’m sure Rafe would lend you some of his clothes but something tells me leather really isn’t your thing.” And she doubted he’d fit Rafe’s pants anyway. Her heart thudded again. Her breath caught. Muscles bunched and rippled with his every move. She trained her gaze lower—to his hands. They were big, yet elegant—well, as elegant as a military man’s hands could get.

  Hands like that could grip parts of her body tight. What? Where did that come from?

  He gripped the side of the desk. Any tighter and the dark mahogany would splinter. Hands like that could kill.

  Serah gulped. She needed to keep her distance from him. He was a demon—and a rather large, dangerous one at that. And the aura of mystery that surrounded him didn’t help matters much either. The way he avoided her questions meant one thing. He was hiding something. Then again, he was a mercenary. Not the most honorable job in the world—or the netherworld.

  But, first, she needed to get him in new clothes. “The mall is going to close soon, unless you’d rather shop at the Super M-Mart. They’re open twenty-four hours a day. Not as expensive, but cheaper quality.”

  “Money is no issue.”

  She snorted. “I figured as much. Green’s Corner it is. There’s a designer big and tall shop in the shopping center. I’ve obviously never shopped there.” But the live models in the window always got her attention—you’d have to be dead not to notice them. Then again, none of those men ha
d anything on Matthias. Centuries of battle experience—human and demonic—would do that to a man.

  “Is this necessary? I happen to like my clothes.”

  “I just think it would look awkward to have you dressed like Rambo. My customers might not like it.” Not to mention the T-shirt he wore strained too tight against the ridges of his muscles. She needed to concentrate. Him standing there in military gear twenty-four-seven wouldn’t help matters at all.

  “Fair enough.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. His words came out strained. “I am at your mercy.” His gaze seared and his jaw remained firm. Hard. No softness anywhere.

  Her heart continued to thump. She swallowed the lump that kept forming in her throat. No, he’d never be at her complete mercy. Men—demons—like him never were. And for some reason that naughty corner of her didn’t mind that one bit. The sooner she got this man into some normal clothes, the better—for the sake of her practical side.

  Chapter 6

  “Watch out!”

  The command echoed in her eardrums. She slammed on the brake, sending her new GMC Terrain screeching. She wasn’t known for having the best driving skills, but having such a bulking presence with her sent her mind reeling and her car swerving. Focus, girl. Don’t let him get to you.

  Too late. He already had—in more ways than one.

  “Sorry.” She adjusted her sunglasses and pulled down the mirror. “Sun was in my eyes.” No need telling him the truth. He’d make up his own assumptions anyway.

  Shrugging, he pulled out his own sunglasses. The Top Gun-style aviator glasses nearly completed his military guise. Just add a wide-brimmed hat and he’d make a perfect gunnery sergeant. “Just be careful. I can’t have you getting hurt on my first day on the job.”

  His brusque tone sent shivers through her body. Her lower lip trembled. As if she really cared that all he was concerned about was his damn mission. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to be here, any more than she wanted his protection. Why did that thought rip at her insides?

  “That wouldn’t be good at all, would it?” she asked, her tone biting. With a little more force than needed, she turned left onto A-Line Road. The SUV’s tires screamed in reply. Good Terrain. Just the response she wanted.

  Matthias gritted his teeth and clung to the handle. What was with these demons and their aversion to driving? Even Rafe had a similar reaction to Lucy’s driving, and she wasn’t nearly as bad behind the wheel. Who was she kidding? She was tons better than Serah.

  “Damn it, woman,” he said through clenched teeth. “Deleon didn’t mention you needed protection behind the wheel too.”

  “Must have slipped his mind.” Just like it slipped his mind to tell her they were hiring a bodyguard—a bodyguard she didn’t need. She yanked on the steering wheel, sending him crashing against the passenger side window. With a grunt, he shook his head.

  “Unholy Hades. Who did you bribe to get your license?”

  She slid into the right lane. “I got it out of a Cracker Jack box. I wouldn’t talk. You probably learned to drive on a chariot.”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “Could have fooled me. You sure act like it.” With another hard right, she turned into Green’s Corner. As she drove by the abundance of shops that lined the shopping center, she glanced over at Luscious Locks, Lucy’s salon.

  “Is that where you and Lucia unleashed Belial’s minions?”

  If that wasn’t a barb, she didn’t know what was. “Yes, that’s where Lucy opened the chest. And for the record, I tried to stop her.”

  “I apologize.” He turned to face her, his gaze penetrating into her pores. “I know it wasn’t you who opened the Arca Inferorum. You’re too pure.”

  “I’m not a virgin.” Oh, dear. Did she just say that out loud? Like he wanted to know about her sex life, or lack of it for that matter. It was a pretty boring story at that.

  Matthias blew out a deep breath, his brow creasing with frustration. “Your soul is pure. Even certain intimacies do not diminish that.”

  How about sex with a demon? Not that she would have a chance to find out. He was too uptight and militaristic. Not her type at all. Yep, that was her story and she was sticking to it.

  “Fine, whatever you say.” With that, she turned into the nearest parking spot and slammed on the brakes. Matthias pitched forward, then back, and the seat groaned. With a small smile curving her lips, Serah shifted into park and turned the key. “We’re here.”

  He shifted in the seat and unhooked his seat belt. “I don’t know what I need to protect you from more—the Infernati or your driving.”

  Oh, he had a sense of humor. “Neither,” she said, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “That was for show. I’m not nearly that bad.” But not by that much.

  “I’ll do the driving from now on.” With calculated precision, he swung the door open. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”

  If he planned on acting this stiff through the entire ordeal, she couldn’t have agreed more.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Flinging her seat belt off, she ripped open the door. Shopping with Lucy had always been a chore. This would prove to be pure torture.

  A loud hiss rent the air followed by a high-pitched shriek. For God’s sake. Not now! Matthias sprung from car and clutched the dagger strapped to his belt. “Serah! Stay in the car.”

  Two balls of fur flew in the air and attached themselves to his T-shirt. Claws flying, they swept at his arms and face. Matthias swung out his arm, sending a black-and-white ball of fur flying.

  “Reooooooooooooooow!” came a screech.

  The fluffy white Persian lifted her paw, long sharp claws, ready to slice.

  Serah flew from the car and pounded her fist on the hood. “Inanna! No!”

  Inanna’s long fluffy tail slashed back and forth and her bright green eyes flared. She gave a low menacing hiss.

  You are in danger. I sense a darkness about him. Inanna’s Middle Eastern accent sang in her mind.

  “It’s okay, Inny. Go home,” Serah said, as she stood tall, hands on her waist.

  Mr. Whiskers moaned as he rolled on the ground, dust and dirt coating his black-and-white fur.

  “Meowwwwwww,” he groaned out.

  Ah thooght Ah was yer new bodyguard! Mr. Whiskers sprang to his paws and shook dirt from his head. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrowl.” He angled his head and licked his hind leg. With a reluctant shrug, he sidled next to his Persian kittyfriend and winked.

  Matthias swept a piece of shredded fabric from his arm. “Mr. Whiskers, I presume?”

  Mr. Whiskers sat on its hind legs and extended a paw. With the swiftness even a normal cat shouldn’t possess, he extended each claw.

  “Don’t let the size fool you. Mr. Whiskers is one badass cat.”

  With wary steps, Mr. Whiskers slunk toward Matthias. With a predatory gleam flashing in his green eyes, he continued to circle.

  “Mr. Whiskers, cut it out. For real, he’s with me.”

  Inanna growled low, sliding down Matthias’s chest. Her claws slit the rest of his T-shirt into shreds.

  With a soft snort, Mr. Whiskers turned to Serah and puffed out his chest. His green eyes flashed with question.

  Why him?

  She shrugged. She seriously didn’t know. He didn’t want to be there. She didn’t really want him there. Then again, that was usually the Council’s MO. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “You can talk to them, can’t you?”

  Great. Another of her secrets was out. “Just call me the Animal Whisperer.” She smirked. “And before you say anything, plenty of normal people can talk to animals.”

  Matthias nodded. “You’re right.”

  “He’s harmless. He’s here to protect me.”

  Mr. Whiskers scratched his kitty whiskers and narrowed his eyes into a thoughtful glare. Ah dorn’t buy it.

  “I will keep Serah safe.”

  Mr. Whiskers nuzzled protectively against Serah,
a look of concern spread across his kitty face. Ah don’t trust him. How dae ye ken he’s tellin’ the truth?

  “He’s a friend of Rafe and Lucy.”

  Wha’ever. Ah still don’t trust him.

  At least she wasn’t the only one. But she had other reasons for not trusting him—personal reasons. Everything about him raised her adrenaline level. His voice, his gaze… his body. His scent. It was hard to describe. Woodsy notes with a ginger undertone. If only she could bottle some of that and sell it. Totally intoxicating. Now she needed protection for sure, from her overactive libido.

  Then again, maybe Matthias was the one who would need protection from her naughty thoughts. Never mind. There wasn’t anything that could loosen his stiff ass up. If there was, well, pigs would be sighted flying over a glacier in hell.

  She would have said when hell freezes over, but she knew better. “Well, whether you trust him or not doesn’t matter. He’s here and obviously is in need of new clothes.” Thanks to Mr. Whiskers’s and Inanna’s claws of fury.

  “I am here and can hear perfectly, you know.”

  As he raked a hand through his shorn hair, one of the tears in his T-shirt ripped further, affording her a quick glance of the outline of one massive pectoral. Like a Greek god. Hell, his body would put Adonis to shame.

  Fine. See ye later. With the flick of his long black tail, Mr. Whiskers sidled next to Inanna and slunk along her fur-puffed body.

  Serah cringed. PDAs were bad. PDAs involving cats was on a whole other level of wrong. “Enough, Whiskers.”

  Wha’ever, he meowed over his shoulder. Yer’re just jealous. Slinking further down the sidewalk, the two cats twisted their tails together.

  Yuck.

  “Hardly,” Serah muttered. “Jealous? Of a cat? Yeah, right!”

  But she still loved the little guy regardless.

  ***

  “How about this?” Serah held up a crinkled black shirt and tossed it onto the pile of clothes stacked in Matthias’s arms. He rubbed the crisp fabric in his fingers, smoothing it out. “It’s wrinkled.”