One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1

by Tammi Labrecque

  “Hey,” she said, and reached up to touch his hand where it rested on her face. Whatever else she had been about to say went right out of her head; the feel of his skin under her fingers and the feel of his fingers against her cheek sent a crackling bolt of something that felt a lot like electricity right through her.

  He felt it too; she saw his eyes narrow and he kept his hand where it was just a moment longer. Then, with something that looked very much like reluctance in his eyes, he straightened up and stepped back. “We’re here,” he said.

  She struggled a little to sit up; he reached out a hand but she ignored it, looking instead out the window. Outside, there was nothing but desert as far as she could see.

  “Why aren’t we at the airport?” she asked, confused.

  “We’re at a little airport just outside of Vegas, in the desert a bit,” he said.

  “But why?”

  “There wasn’t room for us to land,” he said, looking amused.

  She looked around the plane, pointedly. It wasn’t that big.

  “Too many planes already there,” he said. “Everyone’s in town for the fight, I guess.”

  “There were too many planes at the airport?” she said. “I don’t think that’s even a thing.”

  “Private planes,” he clarified. “There’s a limit to how much room they have to park private planes, so we had to come out here.”

  She couldn’t help it; she started to laugh, and the look on his face only made her laugh harder.

  “What?” he demanded, smiling and frowning at the same time, something that should have made him look ridiculous but of course didn’t.

  “Hashtag —” she managed to choke out, then busted out laughing again.

  “What?” he said again.

  “Hashtag,” she said, getting herself under control, “richguyproblems.”

  He laughed then, a genuine amused laugh, and she had to stop herself from preening under his attention. Somehow making him laugh was more flattering than making him want to jump her bones.

  Maybe because it didn’t appear she had to do much for that. All they had to do was touch.

  Unless Miri and Matthew were right.

  She’d turned down his offer of a drink when they’d boarded the plane, and remembering that made her thirsty. “Is there any bottled water here?” she asked.

  “There is,” he said, and stepped into the galley, came back quickly with a bottle of water.

  She checked to see that it was unopened, then broke the seal and took a sip.

  “Thanks,” she said, and looked up to find him looking at her very strangely. “What?”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. It wasn’t a lie, not with a question so vague; she was neurotic, not insane. Of course not everything was okay. She’d lost her job. The world was at war. People were starving. What a dumb thing to ask.

  “The meds I took make me a little groggy,” she said, and that was the unvarnished truth. Her head would be slightly muzzy for hours.

  Still beat spending the flight in the lavatory though.

  “They let us bring the limo right onto the apron,” he said, “so it’s not far. Do you need help?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Then grab your purse and let’s go.”

  The pilot was loading her equipment into the trunk of the limo as she came down the stairs, and she turned to Sebastian. “Should I be taking pictures, or —”

  “Let’s leave it till morning,” he said. “I’ll try to look presentable.” And he smiled that smile, the one that warmed her all the way to her toes.

  “Okay,” she said, weakly.

  “Let’s head to the hotel. We can order room service, since you’re not feeling right?”

  “That would be great,” she said, sincerely.

  So that’s what they did. They were staying at the Venetian — of course, she thought — and Sebastian’s name made all the usual check-in rigamarole disappear. An express elevator whisked them up to their suite and a very earnest bellhop showed her around the suite while she tried not to goggle like a rube at things like the ridiculously large jetted tub or the piano in the formal living room. Or, for that matter, the fact that the suite had a “formal living room.”

  When the bellhop finally left them to their own devices, Sebastian handed her a menu and then called to order their room service while she unpacked her things and put her clothes away in the dresser and closet. The cameras and other equipment she left packed for now, and shoved them under the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Sebastian asked from the doorway.

  “I’m unpacking,” she said, not sure how that was unclear.

  “We’re only staying one night,” he said.

  She turned and looked at him, couldn’t help grinning. “Such a guy,” she said. “All the money in the world doesn’t affect that Y chromosome, does it?”

  “How so?” He didn’t look offended, only amused.

  “What do you suppose the closet is for? The dresser? And look at this nice fancy bowl, for my keys and change and stuff.”

  “It’s called a valet,” he said.

  She flushed a little. “It’s called a valet when it’s all manly and made of leather. This is a fancy bowl.”

  “Is that the technical term?”

  “My point is, I’m putting my damn stuff away. You might not get it — because, again, guy — but clearly the staff at the Venetian knows. Civilized people unpack.”

  He looked at the closet and she could see him nodding his head almost imperceptibly as he counted. “Do civilized people bring six dresses for an overnight stay, too?” he asked.

  “Good thing you can’t see what’s in the drawers,” she replied. “How am I supposed to know what I’ll want to wear?”

  “I’ll be damned if I know,” he said, but he was smiling, and she found she liked him like this. Easy, relaxed, and … across the room where he couldn’t scramble her senses.

  Dinner was delicious, and while they ate they watched the sun go down on the other side of the enormous windows in the dining area. Sebastian talked about their plans for the next day: some touristy things, the fight, and of course gambling, which she said she couldn’t afford, but he assured her the hotel would supply them with some chips so she could at least try it out. She forgot for a little while about being unemployed and about how weird everything felt when she was around him, and just enjoyed herself.

  Then she came back from the bathroom and found him refilling her water glass.

  She barely flinched, hoped he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, sat down.

  He sighed and put his napkin down beside his plate, leaned back in his chair. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “With what?” she asked, not at all liking where this was going, and trying desperately to think of a way to deflect a direct question.

  “Everything has been quite nice, and then, just now, something made you just … shut off.” He tilted his head. “What did I do to upset you?”

  Well, shit. She looked away from him, tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t be a lie. There was nothing. She could stand up and walk out without saying anything, but she literally could not tell him she wasn’t upset, or prevaricate about why. I should have agreed when Dr. Nussbaum suggested we meet more than once a month.

  He said nothing, just waited for her answer.

  “I didn’t want you pouring me a drink,” she said.

  His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think that was even on the list of things I imagined you’d say,” he said. “Why on earth should it bother you if I top off your glass?”

  “Because I’m afraid you’ve been doing something to me,” she said. “I’ve been behaving in a way that’s not like me and every time it’s been after I drank something you gave me.”

  He blinked at her. Just sat there and blinked at her, his fa
ce gone still and cold.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You should be,” he replied, with ice in his voice. “I assure you, I’ve not tampered with your beverages in some ploy to get you into bed, Lily.”

  She flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “I didn’t even have access to your drink the first night,” he said.

  “The bartender did.”

  He didn’t even deign to answer that one, which was just as well, because as soon as she said it she realized how ridiculous and paranoid it sounded. Sebastian hadn’t even noticed her until after she’d been served. “And your coworker was with me the entire time that next day, unless you think he didn’t mind watching me drug your water bottle?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “No, it was just —”

  “Just what?”

  “Just a thought,” she said, knowing how incredibly stupid it sounded even as she was saying it.

  “A disgusting, offensive thought,” he said, his tone curt. But she thought underneath it there was some genuine disappointment.

  The idea that he would be disappointed in her for thinking badly of him grated on her last nerve.

  “What was I supposed to think?” she demanded. “The way I’ve been acting around you — it’s abnormal. It’s not how I am, it’s not how I’ve ever been and I don’t like it. What was I supposed to think?”

  “I’ve no idea what you were supposed to think,” he said. “But I might suggest not jumping to conclusions about someone you’ve only just met, who’s given you no reason not to trust him.”

  “You’ve given me no reason to trust you, either,” she said.

  “So that’s your default position, then?” he asked. “Assuming the worst and acting from there?”

  “I’m confused,” she said. “I’m confused and I don’t know … I don’t know what to do with the way you make me feel, okay?”

  “That’s not my problem to solve, Lily,” he said, which made her even more furious.

  “Fine,” she said, pushing her plate away and standing up. “I guess I’m not your problem either.”

  “Lily, that’s not what I —”

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “And if you go, I’m not going to follow you and beg you to come back.”

  “I wasn’t —”

  “Sit and finish your dinner. I’ll get you a bottle of water from the minibar. You can open it yourself.”

  He’d said it kindly, but somehow it was the worst thing he could have said. Without another word, she turned and fled, out of the suite and down the stairs, rather than wait for the elevator and risk him changing his mind and coming after her.

  Chapter 10

  SHE FELT LIKE she’d been doing a lot of running away lately, but this was even worse than usual because what she was running away from now was herself.

  Sebastian wasn’t drugging her. It had been a ridiculous accusation even when she’d had the thinnest shred of “evidence” to hang it on; it was beyond ridiculous now so she wasn’t going to try. Something was going on with her. In the course of a few days, she’d gone from reserved and cautious to groping a virtual stranger every time she got within two feet of him.

  If it wasn’t his fault; it was hers — so what was happening?

  She was so consumed with her own stupid thoughts, it was a complete surprise when she looked around her and found she’d wandered away from the well-lighted area around the hotel. She was still surrounded by hotels — this was Vegas, after all — but they were a far cry from the Venetian. The nearest hotel had a dying neon sign flashing VACANCY, and the unpleasant buzzing combined with the flickering red and blue light made her uneasy.

  She turned back the way she’d come and reached into her pocket for her phone, figuring she could GPS her way back to the hotel. Two things happened at almost the same moment. First, her hand found an empty pocket. She’d dumped the contents of her pockets on the dresser in her room when she was unpacking, and her phone was sitting in the fancy bowl — valet — whatever. Second, and far worse, she heard a woman scream, somewhere close by.

  It was one of those moments to either think or act; somewhat uncharacteristically, she chose the second option. The scream had seemed to come from off to her right; she looked cautiously down the nearest side street and saw nothing, then moved halfway down the block in the same direction and peered into an alleyway.

  The wan illumination of the streetlight at the curb beside her reached just far enough into the alley to show her that this was trouble, of the worst sort. A woman — petite, blonde, wearing a tiny red skirt and bandanna top — was trying her damnedest to pull out of the grip of a stocky, bald guy in a black sweatshirt and having no luck at all, while another guy, this one in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, tried to trap her wildly flailing legs. Not that succeeding would have been particularly helpful anyway, not when there were two other guys standing ready to catch her if she did.

  She thought about leaving … and then she remembered that she was a woman, and thought about how that could have been her in there, if she’d walked by five minutes sooner.

  “Hey,” she shouted from the mouth of the alley, and took two steps in. “I called the cops! Let her go!”

  In her head, this was perfect. It was going to send the guys scattering to the four winds, and then she’d help the woman to safety.

  In reality, the two guys not currently holding a struggling woman came after her at a dead run. She had time to think, Oh, shit! and turn to run — and then they were on her.

  She screamed and got backhanded for her trouble, which split her lip and pissed her off enough that she started kicking and punching in earnest. But there were two of them and one of her, and it was a matter of less than a minute before she was hauled back into the alley and pushed up against a wall next to the other woman.

  Their eyes met as one of the guys holding Lily slid his hand up under Lily’s shirt and copped a quick, assessing feel, the zipper at the wrist of his red jacket scraping against her skin. Lily felt like she might be going a little mad, and was surprised that no matching expression could be found in the other woman’s eyes; the other woman just looked — what?

  Resigned, Lily decided. She looks like that scream was all the fight she had in her.

  The fourth guy, who was decked out in a blue wifebeater and — of all the crazy-ass things — yellow flip-flops, let out a yelp then swore and let go of Lily for a moment. “Fuck! Something — something bit me!”

  “What the fuck, dude?” Red Jacket said, though at least it got him to take his hand off Lily’s boob so he could restrain the arm Wifebeater had let loose.

  “I don’t know — I thought it was a cat, but then — I don’t know. Fuck!” Wifebeater was rubbing his forearm, and it did indeed have a giant reddening welt on it.

  “Nevermind your fucking arm, for Christ’s sake,” Red Jacket said. “Get one of her arms.”

  Wifebeater complied, recapturing Lily’s left arm and pinning it against the wall. He looked at her with a lecherous grin. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, getting in close to her face. “We’re gonna party, okay?”

  Okay? she thought. It is most certainly not fucking okay. Has he lost his mind?

  Rather than get into a debate about his sanity, she spat in his face.

  Not smart, as it turned out, since he backhanded her — this was her evening for being backhanded, it seemed, which would have been hilarious if it hadn’t been so terrifying. To think that thirty minutes ago she’d been in a however-many-thousands of dollars per night hotel suite with the hottest guy she’d ever met, eating gourmet food and trying to decide whether to cap off her night with a swim or a round in the jacuzzi.

  Now she was being smacked around by a couple of lowlifes, and the smacking around was actually the least of her worries. She tried again to get a limb loose, but after almost a full minute of struggling her hardest she got nowhere; they had her a
rms well-pinned and Red Jacket was pressed against her legs in a manner that was both repulsive and impossible to escape.

  She cast her gaze over to the other woman, and swallowed convulsively when she saw her shirt was in shreds and her skirt was rucked up completely over her hips — and the furious kicking with which the woman was keeping her attackers at bay was becoming less effective as they used the sheer weight of themselves to press her against the wall behind her. The guy in the black sweatshirt already had his pants around his knees.

  At least I’m not wearing a skirt, she thought — as though that was going to make any difference at all, in the end.

  Just as she had this despairing thought — just as she felt that same emotion she’d seen in the other woman’s eyes take up residence in her — someone came in from the mouth of the alley. Fast.

  Faster than she’d ever seen anyone move in her life.

  And it was Sebastian.

  He was coming straight at her — in the second she had to realize it was him, their eyes met and she saw murder in his. She’d never understood what that saying meant until now, but she saw death in his eyes as surely as if he’d been the Grim Reaper himself.

  He moved past her, and for one confused second she thought he was a hallucination or something — this was the part of the movie where the hero pulled the attackers off the heroine and smacked their heads together like coconuts, wasn’t it? So what the hell was he doing?

  What he was doing, apparently, was being smarter than her … and better at prioritizing. Wrapping a hand around Black Sweatshirt’s throat, he pulled him off the other woman with not a moment to spare; given her attire, her location, and the lateness of the hour, her virtue was likely to be nonexistent, but Lily thought — and apparently Sebastian agreed — that whether she chose to compromise it further really ought to be up to her.

  Baggy Shorts gave a shriek but Lily couldn’t really see what had happened — and then the shriek spiraled up an octave … and up … and up. Then Sebastian shifted slightly to the right and Lily saw he had quite literally lifted the guy up by the crotch of his pants and was holding him about four feet off the ground, his body bowed back in agony, long greasy hair just barely brushing the asphalt. Judging from the screaming, that wasn’t just fabric Sebastian had bunched in his fist. Somewhere in the back of her mind Lily wondered how well everything was still attached in there.