Hollywood Demon (The Collegium Book 6)

by Schwartz, Jenny

  Slowly, their racing hearts steadied and their breathing evened out. The energy of the chamber pulsed around them and through them, deep and thrilling. Primal, but contained. Her magic settled, too. The floor beneath them became rock again, and not softly boiling sand. Her magic even feathered away the grains of sand that clung to her skin and Mark’s.

  “You are lovely.” He lay on his back, watching her dress.

  She flushed, hearing truth in his voice, but not believing him. “I’m not, you know.”

  He got up as she zipped her jeans and reached for her bra. He stood behind her and cupped her breasts before she could cover them. “You are real, not Hollywood perfect. Something better. Something to be trusted.” He lifted the weight of her breasts, gently squeezing, treasuring, before releasing them and sliding his arms around her.

  She leaned into the heat of his chest, twisting her head to receive his kiss.

  Then he helped her fit her bra, stooped for her t-shirt, turned it right side out, and helped her into it.

  She could dress herself, but this was caring. She melted at the gentle way he finger-combed her hair.

  His hand slid on down her neck, to her shoulder and away. “I like you real, Clancy Ramirez.”

  “There’s no other way I can be.”

  “And I like that most of all.” He pulled on his shirt abruptly, as if startled at his own emotion or needing to end the moment.

  She had to swallow a lump in her throat. What was loveliness but being loveable? It was validation of her worth, valuing her more than she valued herself. Coming after Jeremy’s undermining of her self-respect, Mark’s honesty meant even more. She concentrated on her socks and boots so that she didn’t get teary-eyed. When she had control of her emotions, she looked at him standing in the clearing where they’d made love. “Thank you.”

  They climbed the ladder in silence. Mark went first, with her distracted by his thighs and butt. However, she wasn’t so distracted that she didn’t think of what waited them. They were both clothed, again, but she suspected that she, at least, showed what they’d been indulging in. Sensual satisfaction glowed deep inside her and softened her muscles. Doris would take one look at her and know what they’d been doing.

  Mark didn’t seem concerned. He helped her step off the ladder into the laundry room, before crouching and closing the trapdoor.

  Clancy stomped on her rising sense of embarrassment and walked into the kitchen. Whew. Her spine slumped in relief. “Grandma isn’t here.”

  There were chocolate chip cookies cooling on two wire racks and a note beside them. The cookies are for you. I’ve gone to Kim’s. Don’t worry! Grandma.

  “Who is Kim?” Clancy demanded.

  Mark bit into a cookie. “Korean witch. Friend of Doris’s. Crazy powerful. Doris isn’t kidding when she says she’ll be fine with Kim. Satan himself would flee her.”

  “I’ll just text Grandma. ” Clancy put down the note and reached for her phone.

  Doris’s reply came instantly. Im ok—punctuation and long sentences were beyond her texting skills.

  Clancy picked up a cookie to munch. “She’s okay.”

  To Mark’s credit, he didn’t say, I told you so. Instead, he dusted cookie crumbs off his fingers. “I’m starving.”

  “I could make something.” Clancy looked around the kitchen.

  “So could I, at my house,” he said. “Pasta suit you?”

  “Sounds good.” It was only early evening, but with both of them skipping lunch, dinner sounded great. “Let me put some cookies on a plate for dessert.” She scooped half a dozen of the large cookies with their chunks of chocolate and pecans onto a plate.

  He held the door open for her and they walked out into a spectacular evening. The setting sun was painting the last of the rainclouds a blazing orange-gold. The air was cool and scented with damp dirt and the oils from the leaves of plants that had opened their pores to the rain. A snail slimed its way across the garden path.

  In his kitchen, Mark refused her offer of assistance, so she sat on a barstool at the counter and watched him move around. He’d poured her a drink of soda water with a twist of lime, and drank his own beer as he cooked.

  Watching him sent butterflies rioting in her stomach. She wanted him.

  He caught her look and paused, his gaze smoldering, before he left the stove to cross to the counter, lean over it and kiss her.

  She kissed him back eagerly, snatching at the chance.

  The water in the pot on the stove boiled over.

  Mark sprinted back to it to deal with the mess and add the pasta. “That pot is how I feel.”

  Me, too. She laughed. “Hot and bothered and ready to come undone?”

  “I want you to come again.” His voice was deep and dark with the innuendo.

  She shivered. “I intend to. With you.”

  They sat down at the table to eat. The spinach and ricotta ravioli came from a packet, and the tomato and basil sauce from a jar, but they were hot and flavorful and liberally sprinkled with cheese. And simmering beneath everything was her and Mark’s awareness of each other. As awesome as their encounter in the chamber had been, that was only foreplay. Only!

  Yet, she didn’t feel nervous. She felt comfortable with him. There was anticipation, but also confidence that they could satisfy—and more than satisfy—each other.

  They even strung out the anticipation by tidying the kitchen and making mugs of tea to have with the cookies. Clancy giggled as Mark grabbed her around the waist and buzzed a raspberry against her throat. If you could laugh with a guy, the sex would be great.

  The intercom chimed.

  Mark kissed her, ignoring it.

  Mmmm, sweeter and more decadent than chocolate. She could drown in his kisses. He’d backed her up against the counter, caging her in. That was thrilling.

  The intercom chimed three times. Someone was stabbing at it.

  Mark pulled back. “Sorry.” He crossed to the security panel, and swore. “It’s Gilda,” he said to Clancy, and to Gilda, “Gate’s open.” He pushed a button, making it so.

  Clancy pushed a hand through her hair. She was a mess; something that hadn’t mattered with Mark who was responsible for her dishevelment, but not something she wanted Gilda to see.

  “You can tidy up in my room,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She ran up the stairs. Her lips were swollen with kisses. Nothing she could do about that, but she could splash water on her face and comb out her hair. She entered Mark’s bedroom and desire unexpectedly exploded. His bed was large, but not extraordinarily so. What mattered was that she expected to share it with him. She could picture them together, his big body over hers. Hers over his. Their limbs entangled. She could feel how it would be. She could hear them: her gasps, his triumphant shout.

  Even with Gilda bringing who knew what bad news, Clancy wanted to lie on the bed and imagine Mark coming to her.

  “Soon,” she whispered.

  In the bathroom mirror—don’t think of that decadent tub—her face was flushed, her pupils wide with arousal, and her hair like a bird’s nest. “Oh, bananas!” She’d sat opposite Mark at the table looking like this.

  She found a comb and dragged it through her hair.

  Out of nowhere, she remembered Jeremy’s warning, that Mark couldn’t be truly interested in her. That she wasn’t in Mark’s league. “Jeremy was wrong,” she said to her reflection.

  Mark wasn’t superficial or shallow. He knew she was ordinary and he’d seen her looking like this, and his words and actions all aligned to say that he wanted her, Clancy Ramirez. He valued her.

  Which left her with an ugly thought. If Jeremy was so devastatingly wrong in his advice regarding Mark, what else had her brother lied to her about?

  Chapter 10

  For the first time in seven years, Mark had been going to move on with his life. Now, here was Gilda, bringing back all the horror, guilt and confusion of the situation with Faust and Phoebe. He wanted to bar the
gate, lock the door, and keep her out.

  He wanted to follow Clancy up to his room, strip her naked and find the fierce joy of being one with her. She was real and vibrant, and he wanted to be inside her so badly that his bones ached with it.

  Instead, he opened the front door and invited Gilda and all his troubles into his home. “Coffee? Tea?” The offer of refreshments was automatic.

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  Gilda landed on a chair at the table. Her gaze went around and settled on the two mugs. “I’m interrupting?”

  He didn’t mistake her question for one of courtesy. She wanted to know who was in the house with him. “Clancy and I had an early dinner.”

  Clancy, herself, entered the room. “Hi.” She sat down and curled her hands around her mug of tea.

  The urge to go to her and stand behind her chair, his hands on her shoulders, being with her, was so strong that he put the counter between them. He couldn’t forget that Gilda was the Collegium’s chief demonologist and she’d already dismissed him and his lack of magic as worthless. He didn’t need to show her further weakness.

  Although, needing another person wasn’t weakness, was it?

  Gilda sighed. “I don’t want to ask this of you, Mark, but Rivera’s psychological state is fragile.”

  His brain helpfully presented a memory of Rivera wearing Phoebe’s appearance and torturously demanding that he love her. “I deduced that,” he said drily.

  Clancy’s gaze was locked on Gilda. The older woman looked exhausted but determined. Clancy clearly saw her as a threat. So did he.

  And Gilda wasn’t blind to their wary antagonism. “You, neither of you, have the best relationship with the Collegium, but we are the strongest option for permanently banishing this demon from Earth.”

  “But first you have to summon Faust,” Mark said. It was what Rivera had tried to do. To banish a demon from this realm, it had first to be present.

  “If we knew its name, we wouldn’t have to,” Gilda said, surprising him. “However, we can’t break the wards it has placed around divining its true name. So we’ll need to summon it through its most recent manifestation or tie to Earth.”

  “Which would be Rivera,” Clancy said. “Except you might damage her irrevocably if you involve her in a demon summoning at this point. How are you going to reverse her transformation? Is it even possible?”

  “We’re looking into it.” Gilda closed her mouth tightly. She stared at Mark.

  He understood. Whatever the reason—possibly Clancy was right and Faust used Mark’s old tie to Phoebe’s soul—the demon kept manifesting around him. Which made him the Collegium’s best chance at divining Faust’s signature and summoning him.

  Mark gripped the counter’s edge. He’d happily go the rest of his life without seeing another demon, most especially Faust. But he didn’t have that choice. “If you banish Faust, that won’t stop his plans.”

  “It should slow them down, though.” Gilda straightened as his agreement became apparent. “We need to win some time to look into things, to consider your counterspell.” And that was an obvious bribe, a crude one.

  He shrugged it off. “You can’t summon Faust, here. The estate is warded.”

  “I realize that. I’d like you to travel to the Collegium tomorrow morning. I’m going back, now. We’ll have everything ready by ten, tomorrow. Ten o’clock, New York time.” She was pressing for an early start.

  He had no problem with the early hour. It was the activity he didn’t want to agree to.

  “I’m coming with him,” Clancy said.

  Gilda stared at her, then put her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up. “If you like.” Her tone of voice said, whatever for?

  So that he wouldn’t be alone was reason enough. “We’ll be there for ten o’clock,” he said, and showed Gilda out. He closed the door behind her and turned to find Clancy just behind him.

  “Do you think they can banish Faust?” She had her arms hugged around herself. They’d both been there when Rivera had dramatically failed.

  “Yes.” He leaned back against the door, head thunking against it. “What I hadn’t considered before I asked Rivera to try is, will that trap Phoebe’s soul in Hell forever?”

  A man being tortured on the rack might look as Mark did now. Clancy wasn’t sure if he’d welcome or repulse her touch. She wanted to go to him, but uncertainty kept her feet glued to the marbled floor. Gilda had brought trouble to the house, shattering the sensual mood into shards of brittle glass.

  “You can ask Gilda,” she suggested.

  Mark closed his eyes. “No one believes Phoebe sold her soul.”

  “I think there’ll be a few people at the Collegium re-evaluating your evidence.” Clancy decided to risk his rebuff. She walked up to him and hugged him. Her heart sighed in relief when he hugged her back.

  “Even if they do.” He opened his eyes and the bleakness in them hurt her. “You know how the Collegium thinks. They’ll weigh the risk to the world against the loss of one soul that chose to bargain with a demon.”

  They’d sacrifice the chance of rescuing Phoebe in an instant.

  Mark groaned. “And what’s worse, is that I have to agree with them. If Faust went on a rampage…we’ve already seen what he did in Bryce’s body, and what he did to Rivera’s. We can’t risk him being free to operate on Earth.”

  So he’d go to the Collegium tomorrow, beating himself up the whole way that he was consigning Phoebe’s soul to eternal suffering.

  Clancy squeezed him tight. “Then, tonight, we need to think again about what options we have to free Phoebe. I’m a new set of eyes. Let’s hit your books.”

  A small smile started in his eyes. “Are you sure? I thought, tonight…”

  She shook her head. “Gilda’s visit killed the mood.”

  “Yeah.” He straightened as he ran his hands down her back.

  Despite her statement about the mood being broken, she shivered.

  He kissed her briefly. “Something to look forward to.”

  “Mmm.” Yet, she tasted tears, imaginary ones, in their kiss.

  Clancy woke in Mark’s bed. She was fully dressed and he wasn’t there. Memory crawled back of a late night, no ideas on how to help Phoebe, and her, finally, dragging Mark to bed. She’d fallen asleep instantly, but had he?

  “Coffee.” He walked in; dressed, shaved and ready for the day. He looked as if he’d slept, some. All expression was locked away. He had his game face on.

  “Good morning. Thanks.” She took the coffee.

  “Doris made it. She’s here. I told her you spent the night helping me. She’s caught up on the Faust-related stuff.”

  Unspoken was that it was Clancy’s decision how much and how to tell Doris of their new relationship.

  Did they have one?

  He hadn’t kissed her. True, she probably had morning breath. She drank some coffee, aware that he watched her.

  “You don’t have to come to the Collegium with me.”

  “I’m not letting you go alone.” And if he didn’t like that, too bad.

  “So fierce.” He stroked a finger down her face, bent and kissed her. He took the coffee mug from her, set it aside, and followed her down against the pillows.

  His kiss was desperate, as if he’d consume her.

  Then, just as abruptly, he pulled away.

  Before he averted his face, she saw naked emotion in his expression. “Mark?” She scrambled up.

  He inhaled, his back shaking with the deep breath, and turned to her. “Your honesty, your loyalty undo me.”

  She stood in front of him, so much shorter, not feeling smaller. She put a hand over his heart, feeling the cotton of his shirt crisp beneath her fingers. The heavy thud of it echoed in her. She had no words for him. She didn’t know any other way to be. Once she made a commitment—

  Have I made a commitment to him?

  As fast as the question occurred to her, she locked it away. It wasn’t a safe
question to consider with his blue eyes searching her face, alert for every nuance. Today, he needed all of her support. If they couldn’t rescue Phoebe’s soul from Hell before cutting every link to her by banishing Faust from Earth—and they hadn’t found any method of reaching her soul during last night’s research—then Mark would be struggling with what he felt was his betrayal of his treacherous ex-fiancée. Clancy could sort out her emotions another day.

  “I have to shower and change.” Prosaic words. Ordinary words to break the silence.

  He nodded. “And tell Doris where you’re going.”

  Clancy hid a wince, or not quite.

  Mark’s eyes narrowed.

  “No.” She forestalled his question. “It’s not me being there for you that Grandma will object to. It’s me visiting the Collegium that she’ll hate. She’s not a fan.”

  “True.” The tense line of his mouth relaxed. “And that’s an understatement.”

  “I’ll meet you back here.” Clancy checked the bedside clock. “In thirty minutes.”

  “At the garage in forty will do.”

  “Huh. I remember LA traffic.” She gulped some coffee, handed the mug back to him, and ran.

  Shower. Dress. Shouted explanations to Doris. Clancy stumbled back down the cottage stairs wearing a warm sweater, jeans, her kickass boots and holding her leather jacket and a scarf. New York would be cold. Mark had been dressed for a business meeting, his white shirt and black trousers expensive, and his shoes shined. They were so different. The clothing she wore as armor against the world was practical rather than designed to overawe.

  When she met him at the garage, he’d added the matching jacket for his suit, a subdued red tie, and carried an expensive cashmere coat.

  “You look like a male model.”

  A faint smile erased some of his remoteness. “I’m too old.”

  She snorted.

  He opened the passenger door of the warded SUV for her, and closed it firmly behind her, walking around to get in his side. “Today, I feel old.”

  “I can understand that. But you’re doing the right thing.”

  He nodded, put the car in gear and drove to the Los Angeles portal.