CHAPTER NINE
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She’s crazy and young and off-limits.
She’s crazy and young and off-limits.
Andre repeated the silent litany half a dozen times
as he followed Emma up the stairs, but it didn’t stop him from
staring at her undeniably fine backside. The jeans she wore clung
to every curve, tempting him, teasing him as her hips twitched back
and forth with each step.
It was all he could do not to reach and grab a
handful of that ass. Or maybe two handfuls. He remembered how
perfectly she’d fit in his hands, how good it had been to pull her
thin body against where he was thick and hard and—
Shit. This kind of thinking was an excellent
way to put a tent in his damned pants. For the first time in ages,
Andre wished he were wearing jeans. At least the thicker fabric
would offer some help concealing the obvious evidence of his
arousal.
As they reached the top of the stairs and moved
down the dim hallway, Andre did his best to talk himself down, but
even thinking about the story Emma had told him in the street
didn’t help. He still didn’t believe in her “power” or that she’d
accidentally killed the woman who’d wanted to adopt her, but he
believed that Emma thought she was telling the truth. The pain in
her eyes had been real. It had made him want to pull her into his
arms and hold her, whisper into her hair that everything would be
okay, that he would make everything okay.
But he hadn’t. Emma didn’t want comfort; she wanted
his faith and trust—two things he hadn’t given anyone but family
for too long to remember.
The optimist in him wanted to believe that Emma had
really made the choice never to use again, but they could never be
just good family friends. The attraction between them was already
too strong and was getting worse with prolonged exposure. He was
starting to think it was cute that she didn’t wear makeup, that she
was beautiful in a fresh, natural way he’d been stupid not to
appreciate before. And talking to her was so easy, like goofing
with his cousins, but with an undertone of sexual tension that
drove him crazy.
Even when she was telling him things he didn’t want
to hear, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her. This tough girl had
captivated him in a way none of the models or society darlings he’d
dated had come close to. He could develop real feelings for her in
a short amount of time. If he allowed it.
But he wouldn’t. Not now, maybe not ever.
The only way he kept his life running smoothly was
by not getting attached to the women he bedded. It was sex, pure
and simple. The more intimate things got, the more likely someone
would get hurt. Maybe one of the women, maybe him. Even if he was
capable of falling in love again, he didn’t know whether he’d be
able to stop sleeping with other women. It was a compulsion, an
irresistible drive, a monkey on his back that hadn’t responded well
to attempts at therapy.
Emma deserved better than that. If they were
together, he wouldn’t want it to be a one-night stand, but he could
tell she wasn’t the type to stay with a man who slept around. In
the end, one or both of them would end up hurt.
By the time they reached the door to Emma and
Ginger’s apartment, Andre had revived his flagging resolve, at
least enough to refrain from staring at Emma’s butt as she cursed
and strode across the trashed living room.
“Shit. Someone’s been here. The television’s gone,
and the box.” She stomped a booted heel on the floor and cussed
again before spinning around and crossing to one of the bedrooms.
“And Ginger’s boots are all gone.” She spun around, hands pressed
to her face. “She’s going to lose it! Half her life savings was
invested in those stupid boots. We should have closed the door on
the way out.”
“You were a little incapacitated,” Andre said,
picking his way across the broken glass littering the floor.
“Okay, so you should have closed the door on
the way out.” Emma propped her hands on her hips and pinned him
with an accusing glare.
“The wood near the handle’s busted. It wouldn’t
have done any good.” Andre stopped a few feet away, having had
enough experience with the women in his family to know it was best
to give an angry female her space. “Besides, I didn’t think there
was anything in here to steal. Don’t most people have their own
crappy TV?”
“Our TV wasn’t crappy. It was a flat screen.”
Andre grunted. “A thirty-year-old flat screen that
probably has the picture quality of—”
“So what?” she asked, stepping closer and kicking
at one of the many books lying on the floor. “Not everyone can
afford zillion-dollar electronics or trillion-dollar suits.”
“I have never paid a trillion dollars for
anything,” Andre said in a light tone, “and zillion isn’t a real
number.”
“I don’t care if it’s a real number. You know what
I mean.”
“I do. Point taken. Now can we move on to
more—”
“Is it really? Is the point really taken?” she
asked, her voice rising. “Do you even understand what I’m—”
“Oh, please, give me a break with the teenage
angst.”
“I am not a teenager!” she shouted. “And this is
not angst; it is anger.”
“Fine. I’ll pay to have everything replaced,” he
shouted back. “I’m sure I can do so for a tiny, minuscule fraction
of a zillion dollars. Does that make you feel better?”
She crossed her arms and the frown remained on her
face, but at least her volume level was significantly lower when
she spoke again. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Then what do you want?” Andre asked, struggling to
be patient.
Emma’s frown faltered, and uncertainty crept into
her eyes. “I want this not to have happened.” She sighed, looking
as overwhelmed as she probably felt. Her arms fell limply to her
sides. Poor kid. She had every right to be angry and scared, and he
hadn’t done much to help alleviate those feelings. “Aside from
that, I want to know that my roommate is okay.”
“We’ll figure that out. Don’t worry.” Andre stepped
closer, unable to resist the urge to offer some kind of comfort. He
reached out and took her cool hand, squeezing it between both of
his own.
“And who took the dead guy from the alley.”
“We’ll find that out, too.”
“And who trashed my apartment,” she said, curling
her fingers around his hand.
“Ditto.”
“And who came back and stole my television,” she
said, looking up at him with those amazing eyes that made his chest
ache for inexplicable reasons. “And why you think it’s such a bad
idea to kiss me.”
Damn. She’d gone there, and now he had no choice
but to stare at her full lips, to imagine how amazing it would be
to taste her again. “Emma, I told you—”
“Shut up,” she whispered. “I don’t want to hear
it.”
And then she kissed him, without hesitation or
uncertainty, with a passion that gave him no choice but to kiss her
back.
His arms went around her, hands finding that
delicious ass and molding it with his fingers as he pulled her
close, angling his head, opening his mouth, and welcoming the sweet
slip of her tongue between his lips. She tasted vaguely minty
again, but beneath that was the taste of Emma, the bright, fresh,
compelling taste of this woman who made his body come alive in a
way it hadn’t in years.
He’d had so many women, so many different ways,
that he’d been certain that overwhelming sexual thrill he’d felt
when he was a younger man was a thing he’d never recapture. Sex
still felt damned good, but it didn’t knock him off his feet,
didn’t make his blood rush so fast his heart had to work to catch
up.
But kissing Emma, feeling her slim arms twine
around his neck and her hips push forward to rub against where his
hard-on had returned with a vengeance, made him feel like he was
sixteen again. He was breathless and dizzy, consumed with need and
overwhelmed with longing, not certain whether he’d survive to get
his clothes off and his cock sunk deep inside that hot, seductive
place where he was dying to be.
“Emma,” he groaned into her mouth as one of her
legs wrapped around his hips, not knowing whether he was asking for
permission to continue or help in stopping before this went any
further, only knowing he loved the sound of her name.
“Touch me,” she said as she circled her hips,
grinding against his cock. “Touch me everywhere. I want to—”
Her words ended in a moan as he slid one hand up to
cup her breast, teasing her nipple through the thin fabric of her
shirt. Andre rolled the tight tip between finger and thumb as he
kissed his way down her throat, reveling in the light scent of soap
clinging to her warm skin, nipping at her shoulder as he
transferred his hands to the buttons of her shirt.
Screw his honorable thoughts and realistic fears.
He wanted this woman. He wanted his lips on her breasts, her tight
nipple in his mouth; he wanted—
“There’s somebody here—run!” The harsh whisper came
from the open front door. He and Emma leapt apart, as if they were
the ones who’d been caught stealing.
Seconds later, footsteps thundered down the
hall.
Emma clutched her shirt together and ran to the
doorway. “Hey! Come back here! I want to talk to you!”
Andre rushed after her, grabbing her around the
waist and tugging her back inside the apartment. “What the hell are
you thinking? You don’t go running after a bunch of men who—”
“They’re not men. I bet they’re some of the kids
who hang out down the street by the liquor store.” Emma cursed but
didn’t pull away from him. Instead, she leaned closer, softening a
bit as her hands moved to rest on his arms. “I thought they might
know something about who did this, but they probably just heard the
word on the street. An unlocked apartment with stuff still inside
is big news around here.”
“I bet.” Andre refrained from making another crack
about the worthlessness of most of the junk still left in the
apartment. This was her place, after all, and she must find at
least some of these things valuable.
“I’m amazed there’s anything still left. Even the
books—” She broke off and her eyes widened before she pulled away
from him and hurried over to the bookshelves in the far corner of
the room.
“What’s up?” Andre asked, following her.
“The books.” Emma knelt and began sorting through
the torn pages covering the ground. “Why would someone tear the
pages out?”
“Um ... because they enjoy destroying
property?”
“Maybe ...” But Emma didn’t sound convinced. She
intensified her efforts, pulling out the books that remained and
piling them on the floor.
“Maybe they resent your refusal to make the
transition to digital like everyone else,” he said, squatting
beside her, a part of him wanting to bring up the kiss they’d just
shared. Instead, he made another joke. It never paid to be the
first one to start talking. “Or maybe they never learned to
read?”
“Hmm ...”
“And they’re bitter about it, and find book ripping
cathartic.”
“You’re funny,” she said with a sigh.
“Then why aren’t you laughing?”
“Because not all the books are here.” The eyes she
lifted to his were genuinely troubled.
Who would have guessed Emma would be so into old
books? In an age where almost everyone used some sort of digital
reader, it was unexpected and rather ... adorable. He was finding a
lot of things about this tough girl adorable, not the least of
which was that adorable ass, that ass he might have had out of
those tight jeans given a few more minutes.
It was a good thing they’d been interrupted. Once
the heat of the moment had passed, he still didn’t think sleeping
with Emma was a good idea ... did he?
“Some of the books are missing. Some of my
books are missing.”
Andre struggled to keep his thoughts on books, not
more flesh-and-blood matters. “Thugs who steal books. That’s ...
odd.”
“That’s bad. They took the books on
translating demon lexicon.” She stood and drove her fingers through
her hair. “But I have a feeling they didn’t find the book they were
looking for.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a demon grimoire,” she said, pacing around
the room, glancing down at the few remaining books she hadn’t
checked yet. “It’s an ancient text on aura demons and demon marks.
It has spells in it, too. Ezra used it to help him summon the
demons last spring.”
Andre sighed. So they were back to the invisible
demons. Again. Just when he’d started to hope Emma was a seminormal
woman with a love for reading.
“I should have destroyed the fucking thing. I
should have known better. Now Ginger’s probably in danger. If
Ginger even has the book.” Emma’s voice rose as her obvious panic
increased. “What if someone else has it already? What if someone
stole it from the pub?”
“What? Why would—”
“None of the artifacts on the wall were stolen, but
what if they weren’t after artifacts or money? What if they were
after that book the entire time?” She froze for a second, her nose
and eyebrows wrinkling into what he assumed was her thinking
face.
She looked a little like a pug dog, which he also
found strangely adorable. This was not good. At all. He
didn’t do adorable. Sexy, yes. Adorable, no. Finding someone
adorable led to adoring them, which led to a depth of feeling he
wasn’t ready to approach at the moment.
“But then, they wouldn’t have trashed the apartment
if they already had the book,” she continued. “Unless there’s more
than one person looking for it. But that—”
“Emma, hold on.” Andre angled his body in front of
hers. “Calm down for a second. I can’t help you if I don’t
understand what you’re talking about. And I’ll admit it, I’m
lost.”
She took a deep breath. “My purse. I had my purse
in the safe at the pub. The book was in my purse. I thought Ginger
had taken it home for me, but it looks like she never came home,
and I can’t get in touch with her.”
“And she ran off instead of coming to the safe
house,” Andre said, silently admitting that the chain of events
seemed strange.
“Right!” Something sparked in Emma’s eyes. “I bet
she didn’t know that those men who came for—”
“Women. Little Francis sent two women to meet
her.”
“Still, I bet she didn’t know they were Conti
people. What if she thought they were someone else? People who were
trying to get her?”
“But they’re not after her; they’re after your
purse?”
“The spell book that’s in my purse.”
“Okay, so assume you’re right and some nut job
wants this magic book,” Andre said, doing his best to keep his tone
neutral. “Why would they go after Ginger? Wouldn’t they assume you
have the book?”
“Not if they’d already searched my apartment and
found it wasn’t here.” Emma paused, her tongue darting out to
dampen her lips as she thought. “And not if they had seen me this
morning.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t have a purse or a pocket big
enough to hold a book.” She gestured down at herself, drawing his
attention to the fact that her top two buttons were still undone.
If he leaned forward the slightest bit, he’d be able to see the
lace of her bra. Somehow, he managed to resist the urge. “So if
someone were following me, they’d know I don’t have it.”
No matter how unlikely, the thought still made
Andre’s jaw clench. He didn’t like the idea that someone was
following Emma, spying on her, hoping to steal from her.
“I have to try to call Ginger again. Could I use
your bud?” Emma asked. “Our wall phone was broken when we moved
in.”
“I’ll call her for you. I programmed it into my bud
this morning after I met with Little Francis, just in case we
needed it again,” Andre said, ordering his phone to call Ginger
Spatz.
He wasn’t going to tell Emma that he had another
Ginger programmed into his bud. Or two other Emmas, for that
matter. He was suddenly feeling more ashamed of his collection of
numbers than usual.
“She’s not answering?” Emma asked.
“No ... and no voice mail.”
“Shit! What if they’ve got her? Or what if they
killed her and—”
“Emma, relax. Who is ‘they’?” He reached for her,
but she danced a few steps away, nearly tripping over the ruined
couch. “You’re blowing this theory out of pro—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m crazy!”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t get ahead of
yourself,” he said. “Right now, the only ‘they’ you have to worry
about are the Death Ministry members who think you had something to
do with their friend’s disappearance.”
For a second she looked ready to blow, but then her
arms fell to her sides. “You’re right. I do need to worry about
that.”
“As well as who really took that body.”
She nodded slowly. “Right ... and how all these
events are related. Because they have to be related.”
“They do?”
“Yes. It can’t just be a coincidence that a dead
body disappears, my apartment is trashed by people looking for my
grimoire—”
“You don’t know that for—”
“And that my roommate is on the run for her life,”
Emma continued, ignoring his attempts at reason.
“Ginger could be fine,” he said, the lawyer in him
determined to show her the holes in her logic. “What if she’s just
wasted and confused? What if your spell book was stolen by one of
the people who came to loot the apartment after—”
“It wasn’t stolen. It was in my purse. If you’d
been listening, you would remember that.” Without further
commentary, she headed toward the door.
“Jesus Christ,” Andre whispered under his breath as
he followed her. “Emma, where are you going?”
“Out to look for Ginger.”
“But you have no idea where—”
“She was uptown a few hours ago. I’ll find
her.”
“But what about the Death Ministry?” Andre asked,
grabbing her arm just before she reached the door. “What
about—”
“They can wait.”
“Right. I’m sure they’ll be fine with—” She twisted
from his grasp and disappeared into the darkened hall. “Emma! Damn
it!” Andre leaned out the door, calling after her. “Do you want me
to try to lock the damned door this time?”
“I don’t have a key,” she threw over her
shoulder.
“So the key on this nail is—”
“What?” Her footsteps grew louder as she hurried
back to where he stood. “What key?”
“This one.” Andre pointed to the small blue key
hanging on the nail next to the door.
She stared at the wall before shaking her head
slowly. “That’s not mine. Or Ginger’s.”
Andre paused. Her conspiracy theory still seemed
far-fetched, but why would someone break into her apartment, trash
the place, leave the few valuables, but place a key on the nail
near the door before they left? It was ... suspicious, to say the
least. “Was it here before?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Emma grabbed it
and turned it over. “St. Anthony’s. Number 127.”
“There’s a church with a homeless shelter called
St. Anthony’s.”
“And I bet they have old-fashioned lockers with
keys,” Emma said, looking up at him. “You want to go check it
out?”
“I don’t know. This seems ... off.”
“Like a trap?”
“I wasn’t going to go there,” he said, “but yes, I
suppose it could be a trap.”
“Or maybe Ginger came back and left it.”
“Maybe.”
“Either way, we’ve got nothing else to go
on.”
“You were ready to leave me a second ago,” he said,
leaning closer, sneaking that peek down her shirt he’d nobly
abstained from a moment before. He just couldn’t help himself. For
all her crazy talk, Emma was smart and brave—the combo turned him
on more than he would have dreamed possible.
“I wasn’t going to leave.” She shrugged and her
eyes drifted down to his lips, giving him hope that he wasn’t the
only one affected by the chemistry between them. “I was just mad. I
was going to wait for you at the bottom of the stairs.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. Like it or not, I need you.”
“So do you?” He cocked his head, smiling his
signature grin. “Like needing me?”
She shook her head, but he saw the slight curve at
the edge of her lips. “I like it all right. So far. But right now
I’ve got shit to do.” She held the key up between them. “So are you
coming or not?”
“Why don’t we head back to the Conti offices and
get Douglas to search the police database first, see if they’re
looking for anyone matching your description. That way we could
rule out the possibility that Greg’s body is down at the county
morgue, and then we—”
“Why don’t we call Douglas and have him do that
while we’re on our way to the homeless shelter? That way, we kill
two stones with one bird.”
He laughed. “Isn’t that two birds with one
stone?”
“Does it really matter?” she asked, poking him in
the chest with her key. “Two things are dead from throwing
one thing. I think I’ve made my point.”
“I really like you,” Andre said, shocking himself
and Emma. Two birds with one stone, indeed.
She actually blushed pink before blowing air
through her lips hard enough to make them vibrate. “You’re okay.
Better than I thought.”
“Better in what way? In the—”
“Oh, just shut up and come on.” She turned and
stormed down the hall once more, leaving Andre to follow, strangely
pleased by the fact that he’d made Emma blush.