Devilishly Wicked (18 page)

“Hello, Ms. Sullivan. Could I speak with you again?”

G
eorgia’s first thought was to say no, and quickly shut the door in the man’s face. She didn’t think she could handle any more stress today. Standing face to face with, at best, a delusional coworker, and at worst, a psychotic stalker wasn’t going to calm her in any way. But she suspected simply closing the door wasn’t going to get rid of him.

However, she really couldn’t deal with his craziness. Not now, and frankly, not ever.

“This really isn’t a good time,” she said, starting to close the door, but his large hand shot out to keep it open. A small, alarmed squeak escaped her, but he instantly raised his hands in the air just as he had the night before.

“Ms. Sullivan, I promise you I’m not here to hurt you or frighten you, although I know it’s kind of late for that last one.”

She stared at him for a moment. He didn’t look like he intended to hurt her. Of course, by all accounts, Ted Bundy hadn’t looked dangerous either—until it was too late.

“I don’t have anything to discuss with you.”

Gabriel nodded. “I understand, Ms. Sullivan. And I know what I told you sounded crazy. But I assure you, I’m telling you the truth about Tristan McIntyre.”

She was still trying to process the fact that she’d slept with Tristan; she couldn’t hear more about how dangerous he was. She knew he was dangerous—to her emotional well-being anyway.

“I’m really not even here to pressure you about that,” Gabriel added. “I just got concerned when you didn’t come into work that maybe something bad had happened to you.”

“That Tristan had done something bad to me, you mean.”

Gabriel nodded again. “I know you don’t think he’s a threat, but he truly is, Ms. Sullivan.”

Oh, Tristan was a threat all right. To her peace of mind. To her rational thought processes. To her heart. But she didn’t believe he’d hurt her. Not in a physical way.

“Last night . . .” Just saying those words brought her right back to what she’d done with Tristan.

“Last night,” she repeated, “Tristan was nothing but a gentleman.”

After all, she’d been the one to initiate the sex, not him.

“Are you sure?” Gabriel asked, his gaze roaming her face.

“Because honestly, you look rather shaken.”

Oh, she was shaken, all right, but not for any reason she was going to share with this man. A lunatic stranger.

Still, she heard herself saying, “I am a little frazzled, but not because of Tristan McIntyre.”

He regarded her for a moment, and must have decided he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

Georgia didn’t know what to say. Thanking him, or offering any sort of gratitude didn’t seem right since she hadn’t asked for, and didn’t want, his concern. She didn’t even know him. And she certainly didn’t want to encourage this behavior from him.

“I’m fine,” she finally said, realizing she had to say something, or he was apparently going to continue to stand there.

“Okay,” he said, and she had a faint hope that he was satisfied and would just leave. Unfortunately, that hope didn’t last long.

“Are you sure you didn’t notice anything strange last night?” he asked. “Anything that seemed odd to you? Maybe something about McIntyre’s behavior that seemed . . . off to you?”

Only her own behavior.

Then she recalled the conversation she’d overheard in the hallway.
A deal with the devil.
That turn of phrase echoed in her head again. She had to admit that had sounded odd to her. Almost a little too overdramatic if Tristan was just discussing something to do with the magazine. But then again, what did Georgia really know about the situation? Tristan had said the men had a contract with him, so maybe they had reneged on the contract. Perhaps Tristan was feeling that he had to make the situation sound extreme, so the men in question knew Tristan expected the terms of the contract to be met. She honestly didn’t know, but she didn’t believe that conversation showed Tristan was dangerous, or that he was involved in some kind of mob activity.

“We attended the gala, but the evening was cut short. I had a family emergency,” Georgia told him, her tone clipped. She didn’t really want to be telling him any of this, but she didn’t think he’d leave until he was certain she wasn’t going to listen to any more of his nonsense.

“He left early with me and actually stayed with me until the problem was sorted out.” He’d stayed longer than that, too, but she absolutely wasn’t sharing that information.

“Marianne? Marianne, are you there?”

Georgia shot a look over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there, Grammy. Just one second.”

She turned back to Gabriel. “I have to go. Please don’t come here anymore.”

She expected him to argue, to continue to try to persuade her. But all he did was say, “Promise me you will come to me if something happens. I’m here for you.”

She didn’t answer, except to say an abrupt good-bye. Once the door was securely closed and locked, she hurried down the hall, afraid her grandmother might try to get out of bed.

But when she rushed into the room, her grandmother was still propped up amongst her pillows, watching television.

“Are you okay? Did you need something?”

Grammy’s wrinkled brow creased more as she considered Georgia’s words. “I heard you talking. Is that your father? Is he home early from work?”

Grammy still didn’t know who Georgia was, and she must have thought the male voice was her long-dead husband, Georgia’s grandfather.

“No,” Georgia assured her calmly. “That was someone from my office. I’m Georgia, Grammy. Your granddaughter.”

Grammy looked confused and a little scared. “Georgia?”

“Yes, Grammy.” She walked over to her grandmother and touched her hand. “Don’t worry, you are fine. I’m going to make you that soup now.”

Grammy looked small and frail and frightened. She looked around the room as if trying to remember. Finally, she nodded. “Okay, Georgia.”

Georgia wasn’t sure if Grammy was remembering, but she forced a reassuring smile and left the room.

This was all too much. But Georgia had to hold herself together. Her grandmother needed her. She had to stay focused on that. And on keeping her job, and pushing this Gabriel person’s weird behavior out of her mind.

If Gabriel approached her again, she would have to tell Tristan that there was a nutter working in the mail room. After all, it seemed far more likely Gabriel was the one who was a threat, who was a real danger.

Not that he’d done anything to really intimidate her. Aside from coming to her apartment building—twice. That alone was scary.

Although both times, he’d made sure his stance and demeanor were reassuring. He held his hands in the air, keeping plenty of space between them. But that could have changed at any moment. Georgia watched enough true-crime shows to know that. Maybe she should tell Tristan as soon as she saw him again.

Maybe that would be a better conversation than the one she didn’t want to have—about sex on the living room floor.

Once back in the kitchen, she put the kettle on to make Grammy some of her favorite tea.

Take care of your grandmother, she ordered herself, and don’t think about anything else. It was too much.

She returned to buttering the bread for sandwiches.

Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Good comfort food. That was all she and Grammy needed right now.

The piercing whistle of the kettle filled the small kitchen, and all thoughts of comfort food vanished like the billow of steam pouring out of the kettle spout.

That sound had stopped their kiss. Why hadn’t she left it at that? Why hadn’t she used her damned head?

Then she wouldn’t be dealing with all this. All these memories of the best sex of her life. With the most gorgeous man she’d even met.

She gathered herself and turned off the kettle. The whistling stopped. If only the memories would.

She had just shifted the kettle to a cool burner when another sharp rap at the door resounded through the apartment.

Georgia closed her eyes and let her head fall back in utter misery and frustration. Gabriel. He had to be back with more questions. She couldn’t cope with him again. Not when she felt like doing nothing more than crawling into bed, covering her head with her quilt, and wallowing in her humiliation and shame.

But that wasn’t an option.

It was, however, an option to tell this loony-toon to leave her alone, or she would be forced to call the police. And tell Tristan all the nonsense he’d said to her.

This time, she had no hesitation as she went to the door and gripped the knob.

“Listen, Gabriel,” she said as she whipped it open, only to let the words to die on her lips. “Oh, hi.”

“H
mm, forgotten my name already,” Tristan said, managing to sound appropriately sardonic.

“I’m sorry,” Georgia said, brushing her hair away from her face, looking more than a little flustered. “I—I thought you were someone else.”

“I noticed.” He smiled, even as he wondered who Gabriel was. And was she flustered to see him? Or flustered because she was expecting this Gabriel person?

Of course, the bigger question was why he was at all concerned who Gabriel was. As if he should care. But then, he’d spent an entire day thinking about her. He didn’t like the idea that she might have been thinking about someone else.

Stop, damn it. He needed to get control of all these new, weird and very unnerving feelings. He didn’t care for any of them. Not in the least.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something,” he said, pleased that his voice sounded normal.

“You—you’re not.” Still she didn’t back up to let him in. Nor did she say anything more.

“Can I come in?” he finally asked.

She seemed to snap out of her rattled daze, and quickly stepped aside. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing,” he said moving past her, making sure he didn’t touch her. He didn’t dare. His whole body, which didn’t even feel like his own anymore, was aware of her. Wanted to touch her, but he didn’t trust himself to risk even the briefest contact.

Which was as insane as the way he’d been unable to think of anything but her all day. Just because he was a demon of lust didn’t mean he had no self-control. Hell, self-control was as much a part of his makeup as giving up control.

Once inside and a few feet away from her, he stopped. “I came to see Grace. How is she?”

Georgia blinked, and again he got the feeling she was trying to shake off the anxiousness that darkened her pretty eyes to near black. “Oh, um, she’s a little confused today, and the ankle is pretty sore, but she seems to be resting okay now.”

“That’s good.”

She nodded, and fell silent again.

This wasn’t going well. She clearly felt uncomfortable with him, which wasn’t a total surprise, but it still bothered him. Sex hadn’t helped things in any way. It certainly hadn’t helped his issues.

“Do you think it would upset her, if I said hello?” he asked after a moment. He didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t want to stand in the foyer, staring awkwardly at Georgia either.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

This time she squeezed past him, clearly not wanting to touch him either.

Tristan wasn’t sure how he’d expected this meeting to go, but not like this.

She led him down the hall, and despite his own agitation at his almost insane attraction to her, he found his eyes drifting down to the sway of her hips and the nice, round curve of her rear end.

He wanted to take her from behind next time. He took a longer stride, bringing him closer to her. Close enough to grab those full hips. He raised his arms, hands poised to catch her. He could bend her over right here, and—

“Grammy, you have a visitor.”

Georgia’s words pulled him out of his libidinous thoughts, and he dropped his hands.

Shit. Had he really been about to take her in the hallway, with an injured, elderly woman just feet away?

He was losing his mind. Okay, if Georgia enjoyed a little sneaky, “we might get caught action,” then he’d be all over it. But Georgia would never do something like that around her dear grandmother, and he hadn’t been looking at it as a kinky scenario. He’d been driven by a need far stronger than any he’d felt in his whole existence.

And frankly, this lack of control, or near lack of control, was freaking him out.

“Grammy, Tristan is here,” Georgia said when she reached the doorway. “He came by to check on you.”

Tristan came up behind her, again not getting too close, but close enough so he could look over Georgia’s shoulder.

Grace peered at him, clearly confused, but then she smiled and waved for him to enter the room. Georgia stepped in and he followed.

“Come,” Grace said, patting the edge of her bed. “Come sit down.”

Tristan hesitated, but then did as she asked.

“My goodness,” Grace said, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen you in . . . my goodness, it’s been years.”

Tristan shot Georgia a confused look, which she met with a helpless tilt of her head. She had said her grandmother was confused, and clearly Grace didn’t know whom she was talking to. Or rather, she thought she knew whom she was talking to, but it wasn’t Tristan.

Grace reached out a gnarled hand, her knuckles large with arthritis and her skin paper thin over bones and veins. Not pretty hands, not anymore. But her touch was gentle and her skin smooth against his wrist.

“Tristan, it really has been so, so long.”

Tristan frowned. Wait, she did know he was Tristan. Perhaps she just couldn’t recall that she’d seen him only yesterday.

“Hello, Grace,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

She shook her head, her cloudy eyes filled with sympathy. Sympathy Tristan didn’t understand. He wasn’t the one deserving of her concern. Well, perhaps if she knew how utterly obsessed with her granddaughter he was, he might merit some sympathy.

“Please don’t worry about how I am,” she said, her tone soft, yet emphatic. She squeezed his fingers in reassurance. “I’m the one who is worried about you.”

Tristan glanced at Georgia again. She shrugged, clearly having no idea what her grandmother was talking about either.

“I have always felt so bad I didn’t tell you about my marriage in person.”

Tristan’s frown deepened. “Your marriage?”

Grace sighed. “I know it must have come as such a shock. To come see me at my parents’, only to discover I’d married and moved to Bingham.”

Tristan didn’t respond right away, trying to piece together what would be the correct response to all of this. Then he recalled her mentioning that her first love had been named Tristan.

“It was a shock,” he said, although he knew he still sounded a little puzzled.

“Of course it was,” she sympathized, her fragile, soft skin stroking his wrist and arm. “And I did plan to wait for you. But . . .”

She shook her head again, looking so pained.

“Tristan, I wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone. And well, I met Joseph, and . . .” She sighed. “Well, I won’t lie. The flesh is weak.”

Tristan paused, and then shot another look at Georgia. Her expression was as wide-eyed, and probably as comical, as his own. Apparently, Grammy was confessing to “Tristan” that she’d run around on him. Wow.

“I—I understand, Grace,” he said when he’d finally gotten his expression schooled to one of understanding.

Of course, he did understand. He was dealing with the weakness of the flesh himself. But he wasn’t going to make that confession.

“I know I can’t really expect forgiveness,” Grace said. “But I do hope you will believe that I never meant to hurt you in any way.”

Tristan opened his mouth to say he understood totally, but Grace continued, “I just want you to also know it wasn’t that I had a roaming eye. I was waiting for you. But Joseph”—her voice got dreamy as she said the other man’s name—“he is just so handsome. And so strong. And well, he was such a wonderful kisser, I just fell for him. And his hands.” She sighed. “Such talented hands.”

As far as apologies went, this wasn’t the best he’d ever heard. The real Tristan was probably better off having never gotten it. At least Tristan hoped the poor man never did, although he was finding it all rather entertaining.

Tristan and Georgia exchanged a look. Her eyes were still wide, now in a combination of disbelief and amusement.

“I know I was your first,” Grace continued, drawing both his and Georgia’s attention right back to her. “And you were, of course, mine.”

Wow, they were really finding out the dirt on Grammy today.

“And I know that was enough reason to believe we would marry, but I just couldn’t let Joseph go. He’s my soul mate.”

Tristan glanced at Georgia. Their eyes met, holding for a moment, but Grace’s stroking fingers pulled his gaze back to her.

“I hope you understand.” Grace smiled sadly, an almost pleading look in her hazy eyes.

He might not be the Tristan this apology was meant for. But he understood her need to be forgiven. How? He couldn’t say. Demons were never forgiven. And maybe that’s why her odd apology touched him. Or maybe he was going daft. Probably that was it, but he reached out his other hand to cover hers on his wrist.

“I forgive you, Grace. A soul mate is something you can’t deny and never want to lose.”

Grace instantly looked relieved.

He wished he felt the same way. But his own words, while said to comfort Grace, worried him. What did he know about souls? Aside from bartering for them, making sure that humans lost them for all eternity, he didn’t understand souls, or the whole idea of a soul mate. Since he didn’t have a soul, how could he ever understand the power of having a soul mate?

He glanced at Georgia. She watched him, a strange longing in her dark eyes. But when she realized he was looking at her, she looked away from him to her grandmother, that longing gone.

And while he didn’t understand the look he saw on Georgia’s face, he did feel a strange longing of his own. A weird yearning, as if he had a void inside himself and he wanted something, or someone to fill it.

“I’m so glad you understand,” Grace said. “I feel better talking to you.”

Tristan wished he could say the same thing.

“I’m glad,” he said. “And I do forgive you.”

Grace smiled, a serene look softening her wrinkled features. She settled back against her pillows, content.

Tristan wished he could feel that contentment.

“Thank you, Tristan.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m going to let you rest now.”

He rose from the bed, being careful not to jostle her ankle too much.

“I’ll come back with your dinner,” Georgia said as they headed to the door, and only then did her grandmother seem confused about what was going on.

“Marianne,” she said, her tone a tad admonishing. “Did you listen to my talk with my old friend?”

“No,” Georgia assured her.

Her grandmother still didn’t seem convinced, and Tristan wondered who Grace had thought Georgia was when she’d been standing there the whole time. Or maybe Grace truly hadn’t noticed her. But now she thought she was someone named Marianne. And from Georgia’s reaction, that was not like the confessions of Grammy’s romantic past. Georgia was used to this misidentification.

“Just rest,” Georgia said, her tone low and soothing. “I’ll be back in a minute. I think
Murder, She Wrote
is on.”

That information seemed to distract Grace because she turned her attention to the television on her dresser.

Tristan glanced at the old woman once more, still thinking about what she’d said, then followed Georgia out of the room. Once in the hallway, Georgia made a noise, a low gurgle deep in her chest, and Tristan tensed with alarm.

Oh, God, she wasn’t crying, was she? He imagined it was hard to see her beloved grandmother so confused. But when Georgia reached the kitchen and he joined her there, she turned to look at him.

There were tears in her eyes, but not from distress or sadness, but restrained laughter.

She did giggle then, a fit of giggles, in fact.

Tristan found himself grinning with amusement, too.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, “but I did tell you she was confused today.”

He nodded his head. “Indeed, she is.”

“So how does it feel to be dumped by an eighty-five-year-old woman?”

“No breakup is easy,” he said, attempting to look wounded.

She giggled again, and he found himself lost in the sound and the joyous look on her face. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were stained a pale, pretty pink. And those bow lips—so rosy and delectable.

“At least it was for a soul mate, though,” he said slowly, distracted by how truly beautiful she was.

Her smile faded slightly as she noticed the intent look on his face. He took a step toward her, and though she held her ground, he noticed she looked almost worried. He didn’t like that. He wanted her joy back.

He wanted . . .

“Georgia, I have a confession of my own.”