Twisted Luck

by Mia Downing

  “What? No. I don’t bleed. The magic takes care of that still.” Pause. “I think.” Confusion and a hint of horror laced his voice. “But what if it doesn’t protect me anymore?”

  “Promise me you won’t find that out right now,” I begged as a few my coworkers glared over their laptops and papers. Gerry squinted and tapped his watch.

  Leo cleared his throat. “No, I won’t, but—”

  “Leo.” I cleared my throat and grew a pair of balls. Or something. “Do not call me again unless you’re bleeding or the house is in fire. Do you understand?”

  “But Olivia—”

  “Got it?” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a few nods of approval.

  The phone went dead on his end.

  I blinked down at the screen. “He hung up on me.”

  “Good. Let’s get this finished so we can all go home and use our boyfriends for sex,” Gerry said from the across the table.

  Of course, they all snickered. I wanted to die the old-fashioned way, by vanishing through a magically appearing hole in the floor leading straight to Hell.

  Forty-five minutes later, we finished the project with no further interruptions. I excused myself from the usual celebratory drinks at Al’s to return to Leo. I rode the apartment complex elevator with a growing sense of dread, especially when Leo refused to answer his phone the ten times I’d tried to call him. I pictured him passed out on my floor, dying from hunger, or laying in a pool of his own blood caused by a sense of demonic curiosity that the magic couldn’t resolve.

  The metal doors opened to my floor, and I expected the hallway to be filled with smoke and firemen. Instead, the hallway smelled…good. Like garlic and spices melded into some buttery concoction. There was no way that was coming from my apartment unless Leo had found a way to poof a master chef into my kitchen. I drew a deep breath and steeled myself for the wrath that a demon could wreck in under two hours’ time.

  “Leo?” I closed the apartment door behind me. Fresh suspicion mixed with the stronger, delicious scents that indeed did come from my apartment. I followed the aroma into my kitchen.

  “Olivia.” Leo stood by the table, wearing my denim apron with embroidered with a zillion strawberries over his light blue shirt. In his large, oven mitt-covered hand, he held my favorite skillet.

  “What are you doing?” Pretty stupid question, seeing he was dishing something divine onto the plate at his side of the table.

  He arched a brow in a sardonic way that told me he agreed my question was stupid. “Cooking. And now, eating.”

  “You made me dinner?” A warmth grew in my belly, replacing the pit that had settled there at the idea of Leo burning down my house. Maybe the humanization was working. Maybe Annie had been right.

  Leo snorted. “I made myself dinner. I was hungry. You weren’t here to make me something.”

  So much for humanization. I sighed and ran a hand though my hair in frustration. “It’s not my job to feed you. I’m not your mother.”

  But then I realized the table was set for two, my plate arranged perfectly with napkins and silverware on my favorite olive green place mats. He’d even found the candle centerpiece on my little hutch and had used it to decorate. It wasn’t Martha Stewart’s handiwork, but for a demon who had never set the table, it looked cozy and even a touch romantic.

  I gestured to the table. “You set me a plate, though.”

  He finished arranging the food on his plate and surveyed his handiwork. “Well, yes. The table is made for two. It would look unbalanced without the additional setting. Presentation is everything.”

  “Yes, you do know all about presentation.” Leave it to the smarmy, hot demon to point out the obvious.

  He turned toward the stove and paused at my plate. “Since you’re here, and there’s enough for two, I guess I should feed you.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “I am,” he agreed as he slid the chicken and vegetables onto my plate. When finished, he went to the stove.

  I sat, placed my napkin on my lap, and took a moment to inspect his creation. He’d used chicken breasts and some frozen vegetables to create something awesome. I sniffed the garlicky sauce and glanced at the glass filled with white wine. Yep, he’d tossed some of that in there, too.

  Baffled, I glanced up in awe as he sat at the table. “How did you learn how to do this?”

  “This cute brunette on your television claimed I could cook this in under thirty minutes. I believe there was a loophole in that claim since it took me much longer.” He took a huge bite of his chicken and moaned in appreciation. “It does taste divine, though.”

  “I’m sure your cute brunette had help.”

  He shoveled food into his mouth, and a gulp later, he admitted, “I sort of had help, too.”

  “Oh?” That surprised me. I had pegged Leo as the sort to die of thirst in the desert because he wouldn’t ask for directions to the oasis. “Did you figure out how to use Google?” That seemed a more manly way to seek help without admitting flaw or failure.

  “No.” He sipped his wine and returned the glass to the table. “I called your mother.”

  I almost choked on a forkful of broccoli. I gasped for air and grabbed my drink to force it down. I finally sputtered, “What?”

  He shrugged. “I told her I wanted to surprise you with a meal and begged for pointers. She thought it was romantic.”

  “Great.” I was telling the world he was rebound sex while he was asking my mother for cooking tips.

  “Isn’t it?” Leo beamed over his glass. “My plea served the greater purpose, and I got a meal out of it. Fancy that.”

  “Fancy that,” I mumbled in falsetto under my breath. I’d given him time alone, and he’d made a delicious dinner he had dubious intent of sharing while conning my mother. I didn’t even want to use him for sex at this point.

  He ceased shoveling his dinner to stare at me. “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not.” I stopped stabbing bits of chicken and set my fork down. And damn it, my now-empty wine glass had nothing for me, either. I got up and poured myself another glass.

  “Rough day?” Leo chewed happily. “I actually had a good day. Samuel was in a great mood. Very understanding.”

  Of course he was elated after skewering me this morning. Agitated, I shoved away from the counter. With wine glass in hand, I headed down the hall. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “But you didn’t finish your meal,” Leo called. “And what about dishes?”

  “You made the mess. Do them.”

  And though that parting shot should have made mean girls across the globe cheer in victory, my heart cried a little for stooping to their level. But I just didn’t have it in me to be nice. Not right now.

  ****

  I sat on the bench in my shower, unable to enjoy the hot water sluicing over my skin, incapable of shaking the snit I’d fallen into. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why I had to be joyful. I didn’t ask for this. Any of this. I had a right to my snit.

  Did I have to act happy around Leo? No. I hadn’t faked the good cheer up to this point. He made me horny, angry, horny, sad, horny, and frustrated. I had a few glimmers of happy here and there, and given the circumstances, I had a right to feel whatever I wanted to feel in between. The precocious therapy I’d had earlier in life had said so.

  And damn it, his shower accouterments now ruled every inch of shelf space. I peered out the foggy glass, and sure enough, my things had been dumped into a basket outside. “Bastard.”

  I could tell Leo that, too. In my early life, I got hit for telling the truth. So I didn’t. David…I would have apologized for being an inconvenience in my own home and faked a smile as I made him dinner and did dishes. But funny how I could tell Leo—a demon—anything. From calling him names to praising him on his driving skills to ordering him to wash dishes…this entire time I’d been true to my feelings.

  The bathroom door opened because I’d forgotten
to lock it, and Leo poked his head in. “You’re going to turn into one of those prune things.”

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Of course, he didn’t get the hint and leave. He came into the bathroom, and before I could order him out, he shucked his clothes and joined me.

  His ass made a splat noise on the tile as he flopped down on the bench next to me. “You don’t take long showers.”

  “Just go back out and leave me alone.” There. Honesty at its best.

  “Most humans don’t want to be alone. Not really.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. “But I do. Just…let me sit here in peace.”

  Blessed silence reigned.

  “You’re upset that Samuel moved the wedding date.”

  Blessed silence had been dethroned in thirty seconds. My eyes popped open, and I glared at him. “Of course I’m upset. Do you want me to bake a cake and have a celebration? This wedding benefits you and him. Not me. Definitely not my mom.”

  He picked up one of my pruney hands and kissed the back of it. “The quicker you accept this, the easier our time together will be.”

  All of the damned stress, and tension, and the thoughts of therapy telling me not to bottle crap up and hold it inside blew something inside of me. Anger bubbled to the surface, making me tremble.

  “Why?” I yanked my hand from his. “You weren’t supposed to contract me, yet you did just that. Why? Why me and not some other depressed soul? Because I know I wasn’t the only sucker ripe for the plucking that night. Just once, I want to know, why me?” I slapped my hand down on the tile between us. “Why. The. Fuck. Me?”

  He sighed and stared at the ceiling, and for some reason, it took me down a peg. Then two. Water rolled from his hair down his cheeks, shifting to stream down his perfect nose as he turned to me. “You want to know why?”

  “Yes,” I ground out, incredulous. “You got in trouble for it, so there had to be a good reason if you’d risk Samuel being pissed.”

  More silence, and this time, Leo didn’t seem eager to break it as he contemplated my ceiling tiles again. I waited and waited…

  “Fuck it.” I slapped my hands on my thighs and started to rise.

  “Wait.”

  I sank back down.

  “Samuel doesn’t know this.” He licked droplets from his lips. “I contracted you because I had no choice.”

  I stared and snorted on a sputter of angry laughter. “Bullshit.”

  “Olivia…” He turned to me, and the sorrow in his eyes, the turn of his lips made me sit a little taller. “Do you know how much you had to drink that night?”

  “No. Some.” A lot. “I’m not usually a drinker, and that was the first time I’d ever been drunk. Before my mother met Samuel, I had a drink here or there with dinner.”

  “Had you noticed an increase in your drinking?”

  “No.” I swallowed as I thought about it and swallowed again as the truth hit me. “Yes.”

  He nodded, showering me with droplets. “I came here to the house before I went to the bar. You had downed half a bottle of tequila before heading out.”

  “That couldn’t be. I’d just opened it that night. I didn’t feel drunk when I went to the bar.” And the next morning, the bottle had been empty. Plus I’d had a margarita and shots at the bar… Horror grew in my belly and climbed my spine to avoid the churning of bile. Who could have survived all that alcohol?

  “Samuel had spent months destroying your life. The job, your dickweed ex, your whore girlfriend. A touch of his magic often drives one to drugs or to drink, but you’re stronger than most. That night, you were unable to resist the lure of alcohol because of a spell he had cast.” He took my trembling hand back in his. “Your blood alcohol level was way too high. I had asked you to stop drinking. Do you remember?”

  Memories of his concern and his horror as I took that last shot from Bob the bartender swam in my mind like scenes from a bad B movie. I wanted to shake my head, to scream he had it all wrong, but I couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

  “You would have died eventually if I hadn’t showed up and contracted you.”

  I sputtered, not wanting to believe as I swallowed the foul taste in my mouth. “No.”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “By owning your contract, I saved you. My protection gives you a little step above the rest of humanity. You’re not quite immortal, but it’s a little harder to die. You signed, and the magic took care of you to ensure you lived to the end of your contract.”

  “You couldn’t just…clean my liver out and let me be?”

  He shook his head, the water droplets gently spraying my skin. “I’m not an angel, Olivia. I can’t save people.”

  “But you saved me by contracting me. Yes, you get my soul out of it, but you had to risk Samuel’s wrath. I think he would have been happier if I had just died.”

  A long moment passed, then two. “Yes,” Leo admitted. “That’s what he had wanted. The failed date and your drinking had been planned. And I ruined it.”

  It made no sense to me. By the way he avoided my gaze, it didn’t make sense to him, either. “Why? Why bother? Why me?”

  He shrugged again. “A moment of weakness, perhaps.”

  “Again, bullshit. You don’t have moments of weakness.” Not when he had full use of magic. The bastard was lying to me. “Just tell me why, Leo, or game over. You can go stay with Samuel.”

  He turned on the shower bench to gape at me. “But you took my magic! I can’t go home to him every weeknight and weekend.”

  “Well then.” I waved a hand, shooting spray in his face. “The solution is pretty simple, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

  I patted him on the back. “Have a nice time with your daddy.”

  “Okay!” He sputtered, gritted his teeth, and scowled. “You reminded me of someone.”

  “Who? Your mother? Sister?” Did he even have siblings?” I thought for a moment and vaguely remembered when he’d first set eyes on me, the awe in his gaze as he’d touched my face. No, whoever meant so much more. “Who?”

  “A—” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he glanced away, giving me full view of his stubbled jaw. “My first lover. Beatrice.”

  I blinked in surprise, my anger and frustration fading at his admission. “You saved me because I looked like the woman who took your virginity.”

  He shrugged as he worked his jaw. “Men do stupid things.”

  Men did, but not demons. Definitely not Leo. He hadn’t worked this hard to lose everything because I looked like someone he once knew.

  But as he sat under the spray, avoiding my gaze, I had to wonder what kind of woman this Beatrice had been. He’d never had a wife. He’d come from meager beginnings and had sold his soul to be the best painter in his era. But there had to be more to it than just that to rattle him this hard.

  “Did you love her?” I asked.

  “Ah.” He finally met my gaze and shook a finger at me. “Before your head explodes from thinking, just stop. There’s nothing more to it. You looked familiar, you needed saving, and Samuel tends to make rash decisions. In the grand scheme of things, my deed would further our cause. Case closed.”

  He had loved her. I’d bet one of Leo’s woodchucks on it. He was so damned gorgeous, and if his human form looked a tenth like his demon form, he’d have women lined up across Europe to bed him. I had thought him a medieval version of a player. Maybe I’d thought wrong, and he’d had his heart broken. Maybe…maybe he could love again.

  I opened my mouth to ask more, and he dipped his head to suck in one of my nipples. As his tongue lashed flesh with wicked intent, my question became a gasp that turned into a moan.

  “Isn’t this much better than being grumpy?” he asked, his hands still caressing my breasts.

  “I have good reason.”

  “You’re alive. Enjoy the spoils.” His head dipped, and his mouth captured my nipple again.

  I sighed, leaned my head back on
the wet tile, and tugged his head closer, wanting to just lose myself in the moment. I’d almost died. Didn’t I deserve to enjoy being alive?

  One of his hands slid between my thighs, and the pad of his finger traced along the seam of my sex, parting my folds to test for wetness.

  My nipple popped free from his mouth, and he kissed his way to the other. “Wouldn’t you rather I fuck this bad mood out of you, Liv? That’s all you need is one big orgasm.”

  “Two,” I corrected as I let my thighs fall open to succumb to the stroking of his finger. Why the hell not? “No, three.”

  “Three it is.” After giving my nipples two quick pecks each, he stood. “Come. I’ll dry you off and fuck you under candlelight. It will give you something romantic to tell your mother.”

  “I’m not sharing that.” The thrum of need echoed over my skin and along each nerve as I rose, too. “And why candlelight?”

  “It seems to turn women on, and it makes me look fucking hot.”

  “You have no problem with the ego.”

  “Deadly sin number seven.” He held his hand out. “Come with me.”

  I took it. Gah, those sexy eyes as he kissed the back of my hand. Maybe I was going to win at something after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Forecasting a hurricane’s path of destruction would be easier than predicting Leo’s actions and responses to my latest campaign.

  Over the last few days, I had changed my schedule to keep him on his toes. I stayed at work later, or I went home for dinner only to rush out quickly afterward for a pretend meeting. He had complained, whined, and railed like I had expected. The greedy bastard wanted my undivided time and attention, and he made it quite clear I was failing at fulfilling his needs.

  And then unfortunately, he got over himself.

  Like jail tends to make better criminals, my absence seemed to make Leo thrive in the independence area. The more I left him to his own figurative devices, the more actual devices he learned to operate.

  I came home at seven Tuesday to homemade waffles with fruit compote. On Wednesday, I went out for a “meeting” and came home to a batch of dough assembled in the bread maker because he wanted homemade bread for toast.