CHAPTER TWELVE
Emma took her time washing her hands
and splashing water on her face, soaking in the smell of fresh
flowers and the light, ginger-scented soap Sam kept in the staff
bathroom. The shop didn’t open until two o’clock on summer days, so
she still had a few hours until Sam’s assistant, Paige, arrived to
start filling orders and sorting through the new deliveries.
Emma wished she and Andre could stay here until
then, sitting in the silence of the sunny stockroom, surrounded by
buckets of cool, peaceful flowers soaking in the water and vitamin
solution Sam swore kept her blooms the freshest in the city. She
was so tired. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and sooner or
later the adrenaline high was going to wear off and she was going
to crash. Hard. She wished that she could crash here, in this
sweet-smelling haven Sam had created.
Sam. Emma was suddenly possessed by a
powerful longing to see her sister, to talk to someone who
understood.
“Are you almost finished?” Andre knocked on the
door, a light but impatient rapping that made her fingers curl
around the cool porcelain of the sink.
“Just a second.” She pulled in another deep
breath.
Instead she had Andre ... who didn’t understand at
all. She could tell he was taking her reluctance to touch him the
wrong way. But it would be pointless to explain to him why she was
afraid to hold his hand. He didn’t believe in her demon mark and
would only think she was even crazier than he did already if she
told him she was afraid all the drama and danger of the past hours
had made the darkness inside her harder to control.
If only he’d come down the stairs a few seconds
earlier. Then he would have seen the blue light shooting from her
hands and face and realized just how dangerous it could be for him
to touch her. Then there wouldn’t be this awkwardness between them,
this horrible feeling that something good was going bad.
She stepped out of the bathroom, expecting to find
Andre lurking outside the door, ready to haul her down the street
to the Conti offices. Instead he was across the room near the
kitchenette, slicing an orange. The bright smell of orange peel cut
through the sweetness of the flowers, making Emma’s mouth
water.
“Hope you’re planning to share that,” she said,
circling around the wooden table that dominated the room where Sam
compiled her arrangements.
Her sister was blind, so she chose the flowers for
her projects by selecting complementary textures and smells, which
made for some unique works of art. It looked like she’d left
instructions for Paige before she’d left. The purple and yellow and
orange flowers erupting from the four vases in the middle of the
table bore Sam’s distinctive stamp.
“Actually, this is all for you.” Andre pushed a
plate filled with orange slices and a toasted bagel across the
counter.
“Thanks.” Emma grabbed the bagel and took a huge
bite, sighing with relief as she chewed and swallowed and went for
another. “You sure you don’t want some?” she asked around a
mouthful of bread, beyond worrying about good manners.
She hadn’t realized how starved she was. But then,
if you didn’t count supernatural feedings, she hadn’t eaten
anything since the handful of stale pretzels last night at the
Demon’s Breath. It was a wonder she hadn’t passed out from low
blood sugar.
“No, thanks,” Andre said. “I had a bagel while you
were enjoying the world’s longest bathroom break.”
“Hm.” Emma swallowed and reached for the other half
of the bagel. “I needed a second.”
“More like fifteen minutes.” Andre wiped his hand
on a towel and circled around the counter. “We should go as soon as
you’re finished.”
Instead of coming to stand next to her, he moved to
the wooden table a few feet away, keeping his back to her, staring
at the flowers. Emma couldn’t help but feel a little sad that he’d
so easily accepted that she wanted her space. Still, it was for the
best. She didn’t want to hurt him, and what had happened with
Stewart had only proven that she couldn’t be sure kissing Andre was
safe right now. Hell, it might never be safe. Even on a good day,
the darkness was still there, waiting to come out and play,
struggling to triumph over her human side.
The thought made it hard to swallow her last bite
of bagel, and the orange slices still on her plate weren’t nearly
as appetizing as they’d been a moment earlier. She might never kiss
Andre again. Even five hours ago, she couldn’t have imagined that
would make her so very sad. But it did.
“Thanks for the food,” she said, wanting to reach
out and smooth her hands along the lines of Andre’s shoulders.
Instead, she grabbed his discarded towel and brushed the last of
the crumbs off her hands. “That was nice.”
“That’s me. Nice.”
“I think you’re nice.”
Andre turned, nailing her with a hard look. “You
think I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah, but a nice asshole,” she said, uncomfortable
with the strained laugh that followed her words. “I mean it. I
appreciate everything you’ve done for me today.”
“Right. Appreciation made you decide to steal my
gun and—”
“I explained that. And I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry, I want to
hear that you’re going to stop putting yourself in danger,” he
said, closing the distance between them in two long steps.
Emma stood a little straighter, unable to ignore
the closeness of his body. He was only a few inches away. No matter
how determined she was to keep this man safe, she couldn’t stop
thinking about the fact that they were alone for the first time. In
a private place where they wouldn’t be interrupted, surrounded by
bright colors and seductive smells that seemed to heighten all of
her senses, making her crave that intimate connection she’d nearly
allowed herself to believe would be possible.
But it wasn’t possible. Not for her. Not now, not
ever.
“I can’t stop putting myself in danger. I’ve been
putting myself in danger since I was a tiny little kid,” Emma said.
She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but she couldn’t help
herself.
The unfairness of her mark was hitting hard today,
harder than it had in years. But then, she’d never been so keenly
aware of what she was missing as she was right now, staring up into
the dark eyes of a gorgeous man she wanted to kiss so badly it
hurt.
“You’re talking about the demon mark again, right?”
Andre moved even closer, his hands coming down on either side of
her, pinning her between him and the counter.
“Yes.” Emma tried to move away, but Andre refused
to move his arm.
“You’re going to have to show me.”
She shook her head, dropping her chin, refusing to
look at him. “No, I won’t.”
“I want to believe you, Emma, I really do,
but—”
“No, you don’t. If you wanted to believe me, you
would,” she said, increasingly breathless as he pressed even
closer, the hard planes of his body molding against her, making her
light up from the inside, like the face of one of her
victims.
Her victims. She didn’t want Andre to become one of
them. She had to maintain control, no matter how tempted she was to
twine her arms around his neck and pull his lips down to her
own.
“It’s not that simple,” Andre said, one hand
leaving the counter, wrapping around her waist.
Despite herself, she relaxed against him, sighing
as she felt the hard ridge of his growing arousal against her hip.
God, she wanted to see him, to touch him, to feel that part of him
pushing inside her, easing the unfamiliar ache he’d awakened. She’d
never wanted anyone like this.
All the more reason to put as much distance
between you as possible.
The dark craving had responded to her fear in
powerful ways today—what if it responded to her desire, as well?
What if it decided Andre would make the perfect snack and began to
feed while they were ... in the middle of something?
The thought of the blue light shining from between
her legs was almost enough to make Emma laugh, but not quite. No
amount of ridiculous imagery could banish the awareness of Andre’s
body so close to her own, Andre’s mouth teasing near her ear.
“Come on, Emma, show me.”
Emma lifted her chin, shivering as he pressed a
soft kiss to her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the place
where her pulse raced beneath her skin. She reached up, careful to
keep her hands fisted as she pushed against his chest, forcing him
back a few precious inches.
“I can’t show you.” She stared into his eyes, heart
beating even faster at the need she saw there.
It wasn’t just physical need. It was something
else, something more. Andre really did want to understand,
but nothing in his realm of experience had prepared him for her.
Sadly, her experience had prepared her for him. She knew how
to convince him she was telling the truth. She also knew that the
words she’d have to speak wouldn’t be easy to hear.
“Come on, let’s go.” She tried once more to break
out of his arms, but he only held her tighter. Once he’d set his
mind on something, the man was like a pit bull—utterly intractable
and determined to the point of being dangerous.
“Don’t you think Francis is going to want some kind
of proof of what you can do?” he asked. “Don’t you think he’ll have
the same doubts that I have? Wouldn’t it be easier to go in there
with me on your side, able to confirm your story?”
“It’s not a story,” she said, his condescending
tone finally pushing her to say things she’d hoped could be
avoided. “When I touched you this morning, I saw inside your mind.
I looked into your memories. I saw Katie. She was a redhead
with—”
“You didn’t see anything.” He stepped back, cutting
the physical connection between them.
“Then how did I know? How would I be able to
describe—”
“Jace told you,” he said, pacing back and forth in
front of the table, his anger clear in his pinched features. “Or
Jace told your sister, and she—”
“Jace and Sam have nothing to do with this. I saw
her. In your mind. I saw the way she was crying the last time you
saw her before she died,” Emma said, hating every word she spoke,
but knowing she couldn’t stop now. She had to finish this, to make
sure this was the last time Andre ever questioned her about her
mark. “She was crouched in a corner near a bed with a ...” Emma
closed her eyes, searching her mind for the specifics she needed.
“A blue comforter, with some sort of white pattern on it. She was
reaching out to you, begging you not to leave, but you—”
“Stop it.” Andre’s sharp tone made her eyes fly
open. He’d stopped his pacing and stood frozen in front of her, one
accusing finger pointed at her chest. “However you found out about
Katie, it’s none of your—”
“I know it’s none of my business, but that’s the
question you have to answer, Andre. How did I find out?” Emma asked
in her softest voice, the pain on Andre’s face making her wish he’d
left well enough alone. “Did you ever tell anyone about those last
few moments? Did you ever tell anyone that Katie was crawling
across the floor to you when you slammed the door in her face?”
Emma tensed, half expecting Andre to strike her. The violence
simmering in his eyes was making his hands shake—it was
terrifying.
But not nearly as terrifying as what happened
next.
Instead of lashing out, Andre crumpled. He dropped
his face into his trembling hands, his back hunched, and seconds
later, those broad shoulders began to shake. He didn’t make a
noise, not so much as a gasp for breath, but there was no doubt
about it—Andre was crying, weeping like his heart was breaking all
over again.
And it was all her fault. She’d known how much he’d
loved Katie, how it had killed him to lose her, but she’d ripped
the scab away from the wound anyway, hurting him in the name of
proving her stupid fucking point. Her worries about the dark
craving faded to background noise as a more powerful need surged
inside her. She needed to comfort this man, needed to help
take away some of the pain that she had caused.
She went to him, wrapping her arms around him,
holding him as best she could, the act of offering herself to
someone in such an intimate way making her awkward and unsure.
Andre must have felt her doubt. For a moment, his body stiffened
and she was certain he was going to pull away. Instead, his arms
parted and he engulfed her, hugging her so tight, she could barely
breathe. He buried his face in her neck and continued to sob in
absolute silence while she smoothed his hair, stroked his strong
neck, ran her hands in comforting circles on his back.
Emma had no idea how long they stood there, holding
each other, before Andre finally lifted his face, but she knew for
certain that the darkness was as dormant as it ever was. Touching
Andre with empathy and compassion hadn’t summoned the beast from
its rest. It gave her some small hope.
Maybe ... if Andre didn’t hate her for the things
she’d said...
“You made me cry. I can’t remember the last time I
cried,” he said, wetness still shining on his cheeks, though he
forced a small smile. “What a jerk you are.”
“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers
through his hair, marveling at how soft it was. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m the jerk. I should
have believed you.” He brought one hand to cup her face, smoothing
away a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “I’m just ... not very
good with faith. Or trust.”
“Me, either.” Emma’s chest tightened with an
emotion as foreign as the desire Andre inspired. “But for what it’s
worth, I’d like to get better. I would ... I’d try to get
better.”
He curled his fingers at the back of her neck,
making her shiver. “Me, too.” The expression on his face the second
before he kissed her was enough to make Emma forget how to
breathe.
Was that what love looked like? Was that the
way a man stared at the lips of a woman who meant more to him than
a way to scratch the most ancient of itches?
She’d seen into Andre’s mind and knew better than
anyone that women were his fix. He might need his fix, but
he didn’t love it. Sometimes he even hated it, hated the weakness
his compulsion shoved in his face every night of his life.
She should have known better than to think there
was anything but lust and addiction in his eyes. But when he kissed
her, she could feel the emotion there. There was hope in the
way his lips moved against hers, tenderness in the way his tongue
swept into her mouth, tasting her with an intensity he hadn’t
before. He wanted to believe she was different. He wanted to
believe that he could be different.
More than anything in the world, Emma wanted to
believe those things, too.
She didn’t hold back when Andre moaned and kissed
her harder, his hands roaming over her body, opening buttons and
un-snapping snaps as he went. Instead, she shoved his suit jacket
off his shoulders and down to the floor, then went to work on his
buttons, stopping only when he leaned down to catch her behind the
knees and hoist her up around his waist.
Emma tensed her arms and held tight to his
shoulders as she spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips,
pulling him closer, sighing as Andre’s hard-on pressed against
where she ached.
“I want you.” She kissed his neck, his jaw, his
lips, any part of him that came close enough for her to
taste.
“I want you. Way too much,” he gasped against her
lips, spinning around, setting her ass down on the wooden table
behind him.
His hands were on her boots a second later, pulling
them off and throwing them to the side, knocking over a stack of
wicker baskets without pausing to assess the damage. He was too
busy at her blouse, ripping open the last two buttons, sliding it
off her shoulders before coming back for another kiss.
This time the meeting of their mouths was frenzied,
wild, making it impossible to concentrate on the small buttons on
Andre’s shirt. But she needed her hands on his bare skin. Now. Ten
minutes ago. Emma grabbed two handfuls of fabric and pulled.
Buttons flew, and Andre let out a rough sound of approval that made
her smile against his lips.
“I’ve got protection covered. Don’t worry,” he
said, “I’ll put a condom on.”
“The sooner the better.” Electricity shot across
her skin as the true impact of their words hit and spun through her
addled mind. She was going to sleep with him; he was going to be
inside her within minutes, and her virginity would be a thing of
the past. The thought should have been a little frightening, but it
wasn’t. It was thrilling, perfect, and made her sex ache until she
squirmed against Andre, desperate to dispense with the rest of her
clothes.
She reached for the waist of her unbuttoned jeans,
but Andre beat her to it. “Let me,” he said, fisting the thick
fabric in his hands and whipping her jeans down her long legs. Her
socks went next with two little flicks of his wrist, and then he
was kissing his way up her thigh, making her gasp when he paused
between her legs, inhaling the smell of her through her black
cotton panties.
“You smell ...” He inhaled again, and his hands
came to rest on her thighs, shoving her legs a little farther
apart.
“Um ... good, I hope?” Emma tried to joke, but the
words came out breathless. It was a miracle she could even form
words. Andre’s lips teasing against the fabric of her panties were
causing a full-body meltdown of epic proportions.
Her nipples puckered tight, aching for his touch,
while her pussy... well ... the poor thing might never be the same.
She’d never been so plump and swollen and wet. Every inch of her
cried out for his touch—his tongue, his fingers, his cock—anything
would do. If only he would touch her and ease the need that made
her innermost walls pulse and her clit stand up and beg for the
attention it had never been given by anything except Emma’s own
hand.
It didn’t want her hand now. It wanted Andre, any
part of Andre. Her hips arched of their own accord, pressing her
crotch shamelessly into his face.
Andre’s fingers tightened, digging into the flesh
of her thighs. “You smell like ... everything. So perfect.” He
opened his mouth and bit down lightly, dragging his teeth over the
cotton covering her, making her cry out. She made a sound like she
was in pain, but she wasn’t, though the aching need was so intense,
it was almost more than she could take.
She wanted him now. Right now, before this wild
desire inside her spun any higher, before the dark craving took
notice of what she was doing and surged toward the surface. So far,
Andre was safe, but she could feel the foreign, demonic part of her
beginning to awaken, seething through her veins, curious at this
new fire burning in her blood. No matter how perfect it felt to
burn, she couldn’t let this go on much longer.
“Now, please.” She fisted her hands in his hair,
pulling his mouth back to her lips. She kissed him hard, making him
groan as she worked his pants open and tried to pull down the tight
waist of his boxer briefs.
No, not boxer briefs. Tighty whiteys.
As Andre stepped back, dispensing with the last of
his clothes, Emma was treated to a sight that she’d always assumed
would make her laugh—a man wearing nothing but a pair of tighty
whiteys. Surely, they had to be the least sexy article of clothing
in the world ... or so she’d assumed.
But Andre made them work. Hell, he could probably
make a fluorescent orange man thong work, she thought, watching the
tighty whiteys slide down his thighs to join the other clothes on
the floor. And then, Andre stood bare before her, taking her breath
away. His body was Roman-statue perfect, with dark, olive skin that
dipped and swelled in all the right places. Emma understood why no
woman could resist him. He was beautiful, every single part of
him.
She reached out, taking his cock in her hand before
she could second-guess the urge. It was heavy and hard but covered
with skin that was surprisingly soft. It sprung from closely
trimmed black hair, its shaft full and thick, with a fleshy,
dark-rose-colored head that, strangely, made Emma want to kiss him
there. She’d never put her mouth on a man like that, but suddenly
she wanted to. She wanted to lick and suck and taste. She wanted to
feel that soft skin hot against her lips, taste that bit of liquid
that had formed at the tip of his arousal. What would it taste
like? Would it be sweet or sour? Salty or—
“The way you’re looking at me right now”—Andre
grabbed a foil packet he’d dropped onto the table beside her—“it’s
almost enough to make me come, you know that?”
“No, I don’t.” Emma watched with undisguised
fascination as he rolled the condom onto his cock, a part of her
wishing they didn’t need it, wondering whether it would feel
different with the thin rubber between them. “We wouldn’t want
that.”
“No, we wouldn’t.” Andre reached out, flipping the
clasp that held her bra closed in the front open with one practiced
motion. Emma shivered as he eased the straps down her shoulders.
“So maybe you should close your eyes for a while.”
Emma gasped as his lips touched the bare skin just
beneath her breast, and her already aching nipples pulled even
tighter, until they stung and burned. But then Andre came to kiss
the sting away. And lick and suck and bite and ...
god.
Desire surged through her body, cutting away her
mistaken expectations, forging new pathways that had never been
explored before, awakening every part of her—from her lips to her
toes to those desperate inches between her legs—to a new kind of
sensory overload. She’d always thought feeding the dark craving was
the most intense, visceral experience in the world.
She’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.
This was the ultimate high, a pure, erotic thrill
with none of the guilt or shame. Andre’s skin on hers, Andre’s hot
mouth on her breasts, Andre’s hands pulling her panties down to her
ankles and flicking them onto the floor—were completely natural,
things a man should do to a woman.
As natural as it was for Andre to push the blunt
head of his cock against where she ached, as natural as it was for
her to arch her hips, welcoming him inside. Emma gasped at the
slight flash of pain that came as he drove to the end of her, but
any discomfort faded as he moved in and out of her slick heat, each
slow, controlled drive making the electricity sizzling inside her
surge higher.
“Andre,” she gasped his name against his lips as
his thumb found her clit and circled, keeping time with his
thrusts, building the tension inside her until her back arched and
a wild sound leapt from her throat.
She looked up, flowers filling her vision, all
those wild oranges and purples flooding in through her eyes, making
her feel shot through with beauty and pleasure. And then Andre
kissed lower, capturing her nipple in his mouth once more, pushing
her over the edge.
Emma squeezed her eyes closed and fisted her hands
by her head—keeping Andre safe from the chance of blue light her
last rational thought—and came so hard and long, she feared her
soul would be wrung from her body by the time she came down. Or
maybe she’d never come down. The thought was frightening,
but surely there were worse ways to spend eternity than riding this
high with the man she loved.
Oh god. Love. It had crept in on little
demon claws.
The realization dulled the edge of her pleasure.
Her eyes opened and she looked up at the man laboring above her,
the man whose skin glowed from within with a pale blue light.