Demon Marked (15 page)

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.”