Devilishly Sexy (5 page)

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Authors: Kathy Love

BOOK: Devilishly Sexy
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“Hi,” she said, almost tentatively, her green-blue eyes filled with something akin to confusion.
He nodded, suspecting that she recognized him, but couldn’t place where she’d seen him.
She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but then nodded too, and hurried away. Michael watched her go, wishing she’d said something more.
“Poor Liza,” Elton said and when Michael tore his gaze away from the woman’s lovely retreating backside, he saw the other man was watching her too, but not with the same thoughts exactly.
Elton shook his head and began pushing the cart again.
Michael strode the few steps to walk beside him.
“So she’s one of the people we are trying to help?”
Elton nodded. “Poor woman.”
Michael wanted to ask more, but a tall, elegantly dressed woman brushed past them; a shorter, heavier woman, not nearly so well turned out or polished, scurried after her.
“Pardon us,” the more frazzled woman said, with a pained little smile. The tall woman didn’t even register that she’d all but shoved Elton out of the way.
Elton muttered something under his breath once they’d disappeared down the hallway.
“Was that—?” He didn’t finish the sentence, knowing Elton would understand.
The old man nodded, “Evil. Yes, that was Finola White.”
Finola White. Michael had only been back to the DIA a brief time, but he knew exactly who she was. The devil’s consort, his right hand, the head demon in charge of
Hot!
magazine and this takeover.
And despite himself, Michael’s fingers flexed. If he’d had his sword, she would have been an easy kill. Over before she even knew it was coming.
But Elton had said they believed they could now save lost souls. For a moment, his mind went to Liza. She was one of those humans.
“Come on,” Elton said. “I’ll show you to the queen’s hive.”
Michael followed.
Chapter Five
S
o that man from the other day was a mailroom employee. Liza dropped down into her office chair, staring blankly at her cluttered desk.
He looked different today somehow. Better.
Can this be?
A loud yawn echoed through her head.
Thinking about a man again. Two times in as many days. Interesting.
Liza gritted her teeth, forcing her thoughts to remain focused on work. She looked at the mock-up of the new summer fashion review. Did it look too jumbled?
Another yawn reverberated in her head and while she winced at the sound, she didn’t mind it. Yawns were good. That meant he was going to just go back to sleep.
She scanned the second page of the spread.
He had looked different. That was for certain. What had it been?
Thinking about him again? Finally something interesting. Well, maybe I should stay awake a bit longer.
“Shut up,” she muttered, refocusing on her work.
Testy, testy.
She gritted her teeth. After six years, it was a wonder she had any teeth left in her head.
Six years. Damn, she was tired.
Tell me about it. I definitely could be possessing a far more interesting person.
“I wish you would.”
A laugh filled her head. She closed her eyes, truly wondering how much longer she could do this. Sanity felt like it was slipping further away with each passing day.
She frowned down at the layout, narrowing her eyes, determined to get her work done so she could be through yet another day.
The summer fashions were bright and cheery this coming season. She tried to focus on the job she’d once loved. Adored. Been brilliant at. She’d built
HOT!
magazine into the fashion industry powerhouse it now was.
Finola White was taking the credit.
But Liza had been the editor-in-chief who had put the magazine on the top, and now it was her job to keep it there. Or Finola would make sure Liza was no longer on top, but deep, deep below. In Hell.
Of course, Liza was already in hell.
You and me both, sister.
Liza ignored the comment and continued with her task, glad that work did seem to quiet down the demon who resided inside her. Only after several more minutes did the man who’d been with Elton creep back into her thoughts. Something had been different about him. Something that made him even more attractive than the day before.
His clothes were better, she realized. They actually fit. But that wasn’t the only thing. She considered what she remembered about him, which she would have thought was basically everything. After all, he really had made a big impression on her.
She thought about him standing outside the elevator, and all she could recall was that he’d been gorgeous. And he was just as gorgeous today.
Gorgeous, huh? Even in ill-fitting clothes. I have got to see this guy.
Liza let out a low growl and reached under her desk for her purse.
Oh no, you don’t. You are not going to do this to me again. I’ve already warned you that I will tell Finola.
It was Liza’s turn to laugh.
“You, my dear, can tell her. All she cares about is that I stay at this job and get this magazine out at a standard that will keep her on top.”
I control you, bitch.
“No, you don’t. Finola controls us both. We are just stuck with each other. We’re both Finola’s puppets.”
Her demon was silent. For a moment.
Finola will always take my side.
“No, you have been commanded to possess me to make sure I keep this magazine on top. And to make sure I will continue doing it, because that’s the only way to get rid of you. As long as Finola has that control and gets what she wants, she doesn’t care what I do. Or what happens to you.”
Silence again, and then a low growl of frustration.
“Exactly.”
This time she grabbed her purse and stood up.
“Time to really let you get some rest.”
Bitch.
 
“The demon’s lair,” Elton whispered, leading Michael down yet another hallway where recessed lighting illuminated the red walls.
HOT!
really did look the way Michael imagined Hell might—at least the corporate sections of the magazine.
As he approached the small reception area, he noticed the woman who had been chasing Finola down the hallway. She sat at a desk, a phone to her ear, her fingers flying over her computer keyboard, unless she stopped to jot down notes on a clipboard beside her. Now that she wasn’t racing after her demanding and purely evil boss, Michael could see her better. With her multicolored hair, which Michael thought had once been blond, and her overdone makeup, heavy black eyeliner, deep green eye shadow, and deep purplish-red lipstick, she looked more like someone who should be working at a tattoo parlor or vintage store than a high-end fashion magazine.
She certainly didn’t look like the type of woman Finola White would hire for her personal assistant.
Elton approached the desk with a large bundle of mail. Michael lingered back, taking in the whole area. The receptionist was so busy she was oblivious to anything but her work.
It appeared this woman was one of the naïve humans who’d been lured in by Finola’s irresistible promises and now found herself working to keep her mortal soul.
Possibly she was a demon, but he doubted it. He didn’t think a demon would take that particular form. Demons were notoriously vain, and while the girl wasn’t exactly unattractive, she wasn’t a knockout. A demon would be nothing less than gorgeous.
Liza popped into his mind. She was the type of human a demon would emulate. But Elton’s reaction to her made it clear she was also one of the unfortunates who’d gotten taken in by a demon’s pretty promises. False promises.
Suddenly Michael was glad things had changed, that the DIA was working on saving lost souls. Like Elton, he still didn’t understand not taking out the demons—or the possessed for that matter. But saving the people lured in—that would be a wonderful thing.
Michael watched the receptionist again, and from her intensity, he guessed she had to be working on something important for the demanding Ms. White. He stepped a little closer so that he could peer through the glass walls that kept the rest of the world away from Finola and her minions.
Elton wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was like a beehive back there, a honeycomb of glassed-in boardrooms and offices.
In one of the boardrooms off to the side, Michael noticed a movement, then realized that someone sat in one of the high-back, red velvet chairs at the boardroom table. The person’s head was ducked as if he appeared to be writing something down. He also appeared to be occasionally talking to someone beside him, although Michael couldn’t see anyone there.
Michael stepped even closer, scrutinizing the man more intently. What was the guy doing?
“That’s Finola White’s assistant editor and right-hand man, Tristan McIntyre,” Elton whispered from beside him. “He’s just as bad as she is. In fact, I think he could be worse, if given the chance.”
Michael glanced at Elton. “So why are we giving him that chance?”
Michael’s fingers twitched involuntarily like they always did in the presence of a demon. Itching to be curled around his sword, blade poised to strike. He was so close. It wouldn’t be difficult at all to go in there and behead the bastard. A perfect opportunity to rid the world of one filthy, vile minion of Satan himself.
They watched as the demon turned to speak to someone again. What was he doing? Michael still didn’t see anyone. But the demon was definitely talking to someone. Who?
Liza had been doing the same thing in the elevator. Although he’d decided she was probably using one of those headset things. Shit, why couldn’t he remember what were they called? Blue ... teeth. Something like that.
“He’s talking to something,” Elton said, and again Michael stopped watching the demon and looked back at the old man. Elton’s eyes were narrowed as if he were seeing something. Of course, he was seeing something.
“Can you tell what it is?” Michael asked quietly.
Elton shook his head. “It’s small and evil. But I can’t tell what it is. A demonic presence of some sort.”
The old man again surprised Michael with another sudden movement. “I have to go tell Eugene about this right away. This is something I have not seen before. This is an interesting change.”
Elton hurried out of the reception area, moving like a spry young man. Amazing.
Michael looked back through the window, trying to see what Elton had seen. He had to admit seers did have an amazing ability. One he’d never fully appreciated, he guessed.
Just then, Tristan McIntyre stopped in what appeared to be midsentence and peered out through the glass walls, his eerie gaze landing directly on Michael as if he’d suddenly sensed he was there.
For a moment, their eyes met, but then Michael managed to rally and head toward the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist still hadn’t noticed him and he’d been only a few feet away. And Michael hadn’t even been using his warrior stealth.
This woman was definitely human.
“Hey,” he said quietly to the assistant, not glancing back at Tristan McIntyre again.
The woman behind the desk started, blinking up at him.
“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said. “I’m just here to pick up any late outgoing mail you might have.”
The woman, whose nameplate read Georgia Sullivan, cast a look around her cluttered desk, clearly having some trouble shifting gears from what she had been working on to his question.
“Umm, here you go,” she said, snatching up a couple of letter-sized envelopes and handing them to him.
“Thanks,” he said, glad she actually had something. It made his reason for being there look legitimate. But even though his cover was still intact, he didn’t linger. He didn’t want to draw attention on his very first patrol.
He added the letters to the cart, then headed back toward the offices and cubicles in the center of the
HOT!
floor, making sure to look busy with the cart and mail as he went.
Once he was back down the red hallway and out of view of the receptionist area, he stopped, wondering what McIntyre had been up to in that boardroom. And what he’d been talking to. Was Satan bringing in some other form of demons? And did that mean this demonic warfare was about to take another twist?
Maybe The Brethren would be needed after all.
Michael considered going back and trying to see if he could get closer and discover what exactly the demon was doing, but then decided that wasn’t a good plan. Not now. Not on his first night up here.
Still he didn’t move, fighting the urge to go back and see what else was happening. Fighting that inherent urge within him to see McIntyre and whatever other demon he was dealing with dead.
“Damn it!”
Michael slowly turned his head, listening. Who had just sworn? He couldn’t see anyone, and for a fraction of a second he wondered if something demonic was near him now. But then he heard the other noises. The thump of a paper towel dispenser being pumped. A rattling like that of something in a plastic container, followed by the glugging, bubbling noise of water. Recognizable noises, not demonic.
“Damn it,” came the voice again. Female and frustrated.
Silently, he moved away from the mail cart and toward the noises.
Reaching the same alcove where he and Elton had paused to talk, he realized it housed the restrooms. He paused outside the ladies’ room, wondering if he should really open the door and peek in. After all, it didn’t sound like the person inside was in any severe distress.
Just then something hit the wall and bounced on the floor, followed by, “You aren’t going to stop me. Damn it.”
The voice was louder and more agitated.
Michael didn’t hesitate any longer. He pushed the door open and peered inside. The brightness of the fluorescent lighting and blinding white tiles made it hard to focus after the red lighting of the hallway. But his eyes did adjust, and he saw a woman standing at the sink.
Even though he couldn’t see her face, only her statuesque build and long, wavy black hair, he knew exactly who stood there. Involuntarily, his gaze dropped to the delightful curve of her derriere. Yes, definitely Liza.
“Enough!” she muttered then, and Michael wasn’t sure if she was talking to him. “I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more.”
She turned slightly, showing him enough of her profile that he could see her perfectly shaped lips and nose. She looked down, her hair falling forward to hide even those features from him.

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