Devilishly Wicked (8 page)

His eyes remained locked with hers, but after a moment, he looked away. Breaking her gaze had required physical strength on his part. She was definitely up to something . . . but more than that, she was
doing
something. More energy surrounded him, thick and suffocating.

“I’m fine working here,” he said resolutely, but he didn’t meet her eyes again.

“I’m sorry to pry. I just get these feelings about people sometimes, and the feeling I got from you seemed to be a vibe of dissatisfaction. Like you are missing something. Or searching for something.”

Gabriel found her words as unnerving as her gaze had been. His skin prickled again, and he backed away from her, needing to put more space between them, even though there was now a good five feet and a metal table separating them.

“I’m not sure why you would feel that way,” he said, trying to sound casual, even uninterested. He was anything but. Her words unsettled him, even though they really said nothing in particular. In fact, it was a rather vague observation that could probably apply to a majority of the population. Yet still, he felt as if she’d somehow pulled them directly out of his mind.

But how and why? He hadn’t been thinking anything like that. Missing something? Searching for something?

She had to be saying things, hoping something would stick and freak him out. Demons were always playing mind games. He knew that.

“Well, I’ll let you get to your work,” he said, deciding dismissing her was the best plan right now, until he figured out what she was up to and why he was feeling so—so strange.

He began to walk away again, but again her words stopped him.

“Wait, you aren’t searching for something. You are searching for
someone
.”

Her words hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, but he still refused to look at her, or to show any reaction, period.

Searching for someone
.

What did she know about him? What could she sense or see?

This time, he didn’t have to meet her gaze to have that . . . almost . . . almost invaded feeling. But he did need to get away from her. He strode away, not stopping until he was on the other side of the room, back at his own desk, separated from her by desks and machinery and people.

He dropped down onto his chair, his knees weak. His hands shook as he busied himself with turning on his computer. When he finally looked back toward Finola’s workstation, she was working, but he could see a small, smug smile curling the corners of her ruby red lips.

And in that moment he knew something for certain about Finola White. She was a much more evil demon than he’d realized. And much, much more dangerous.

S
weat slicked his palms. Sweaty palms, him? This was crazy. When did a demon of lust ever get nervous about talking to a woman? Talking to anyone, really?

Still Tristan found himself standing outside Georgia’s door, hesitating to even knock.

What was wrong with him?

He raised his hand, but paused again. How would she react to him just showing up at her door?

Seriously? He was here to seduce the woman. Who cared if she was a little startled to see him there? She’d soon be naked and writhing underneath him.

What if she quit after that? He knew Peaches had a backbone. She might blush and act self-conscious under his attention, but that wasn’t because she lacked determination. Would she really continue to work at
HOT!
after diddling the boss?

Hell, a woman didn’t dress the way she did and not have self-assurance. Peaches was audacious, even if she didn’t always seem to know it. And he loved that. His cock hardened at the very thought of her over-the-top clothes and makeup and hair.

But maybe he should wait. Maybe he needed a better plan. He did need her at the job just as much as he needed to be buried deep inside her.

He glanced down at the tented front of his Armani trousers. Okay, he needed to be deep inside her pretty damned badly.

He might find her accidental confidence sweetly sexy, but in this case he didn’t think it would help his cause. Hell, he might have a hard time even seducing her. It was a rare admission for a demon of lust.

Instantly, his cock hardened more and pulsed in his tailored pants at the thought of his Peaches defying him. Not giving him what he wanted.

Suddenly, his nerves didn’t matter. He had to see her.

He rapped on the door loudly. Silence greeted him. Was she not home yet? Was she avoiding him?

He raised his hand to knock again when the door opened. He was greeted by a startled Georgia. Her wide eyes shifted from him to his raised fist. He immediately dropped his hand to his side.

“Tris—Mr. McIntyre,” she said, her voice breathy, her dark eyes still huge.

“Will you please call me Tristan?” he said as he had many times before, but this time it wasn’t a flirty suggestion. It was a plea.

“Okay,” she said, clearly too surprised to see him to argue. “Why—why are you here?”

“You didn’t check in with me before you left.” Damn, that sounded almost pathetically forlorn. As if she’d abandoned him.

“No, but I left a note on your desk. You didn’t see it?”

Tristan shook his head, realizing he’d been so wrapped up in finding her address, he hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I should have called you directly.”

“Yes, you should have,” Tristan agreed, his tone harsh because of his irritation with his own preoccupation.

He needed her. He’d never
needed
a woman like this. To the point of total distraction.

He’d sped over here, nearly wrecking his car in the crazy New York traffic. He was even double-parked. All of that was—well, desperate. He did not like feeling desperate.

But she clearly misunderstood where his annoyance was aimed.

“I’m sorry. I-I hope this doesn’t mean that—” she paused, her face pale with what appeared to be worry bordering on panic.

Why was she so upset?

“I just hope—” She stopped again, and he couldn’t understand what had her so worked up. He was the one who was acting like a crazed maniac.

“I—” she started again, when a loud crash echoed from inside her apartment.

Her eyes widened, and her nervousness turned to real fear. Without hesitation or a word to him, she spun and rushed back into her apartment.

Tristan debated for half a second whether he should follow her, and then hurried inside himself.

Even though Tristan didn’t take the time to inspect her place closely, he still saw that the rooms were decorated with her unique style. There was furniture that was somewhere between shabby chic and French boudoir and lots of deep, sensual colors, reds and golds and deep oranges.

But he was more curious about what could make her hurry away from him like that. She clearly had thought she was in trouble, so it surprised him that she’d dare leave during their conversation.

And from the sound of the noise, she wasn’t alone. Suddenly, he realized that he didn’t even know if Georgia lived by herself. Maybe she had a roommate. Or a boyfriend. Or a husband.

The idea stole his breath like a sucker punch to the stomach. No, she couldn’t have a husband. She would wear a ring. Peaches was loyal, she wouldn’t hide her commitment like some people did. She’d wear a wedding ring proudly.

But a boyfriend . . . that could be possible. Would her boyfriend share? A threesome maybe. He was a demon of lust; a threesome was mild experimentation compared to some things he’d done in his past.

But he instantly found himself dismissing the idea. He didn’t want to share Peaches. Even with her boyfriend. If she had a boyfriend.

Only one way to find out. He headed down a short hallway, glancing into the first door he got to, even though it was dark. The bathroom.

Then he heard Georgia’s voice, heavy with worry, sounding even huskier than usual.

“Oh, my gosh, are you okay?”

He heard another voice, female, respond, but he couldn’t quite make out the words, although he got the impression of someone soft-spoken, maybe a little disoriented.

He could tell which room the voices came from, and he headed in the same direction.

At the doorway, he paused, taking in the sight before him. Georgia was helping a frail, white-haired lady in a long nightgown back into a bed. Georgia got her settled back onto the mattress, making sure the old woman was comfortable before straightening.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Georgia asked again, fiddling once more with the covers.

“Fine,” the woman said, although Tristan could see confusion in her dark eyes. “I just lost my balance.”

She shook her head. “But I don’t recall how.”

“You have to use your cane, Grammy,” Georgia explained, showing her the four-footed cane standing beside the nightstand. “Your balance isn’t what it once was.”

The old woman shook her head again, clearly not recalling any of it. But instead of growing more confused and panicked, she smiled sweetly. “Maybe I bumped my head, too.”

“Maybe,” Georgia agreed with a smile of her own. “But right now you have to rest.”

She arranged pillows behind the woman’s head.

“Here is your book.” Georgia handed her what looked like a dog-eared mystery novel. “And I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, Marianne,” the old woman said. “I would love some tea.”

“Grammy, I’m Georgia.”

The old woman’s already age-creased brow wrinkled further. “Georgia?”

Then she nodded, recognition clear in her eyes. “Yes, of course, Georgia.”

“I’ll get you some tea, Grammy.” Georgia straightened from fussing over the woman, but her grandmother’s next comment stopped her.

“And who is the gentleman in the doorway?”

Georgia slowly looked over her shoulder to see Tristan standing there. Their eyes locked for a moment, and before Georgia could say who he was, her grandmother spoke.

“Georgia, this is your beau, isn’t it? I knew you had one.”

Georgia shot a surprised look at her grandmother.

“No, Grammy, this is—” she started, but for some reason Tristan couldn’t explain himself, he cut her off.

“Hello,” he said politely, stepping into the room. “I’m Tristan.”

“Tristan.” Grammy smiled, clearly liking his name. He wondered why. Her next words gave him his answer.

“My first love was named Tristan.”

Georgia frowned at her grandmother. “Grampy wasn’t your first love?”

Grammy smiled and patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Your grandfather was my true love. Tristan Howe was my first love.”

The old woman returned her attention to Tristan. “How long have you been seeing my sweet Georgia?”

“Grammy, he’s not—”

Again, Tristan interrupted Georgia. “Only for a little while.”

The old woman nodded.

“I’m sorry to meet you in this state,” Grammy said, suddenly realizing she was in bed. “But it seems I’m not quite myself today.”

“No need to apologize,” Tristan assured her. “I don’t want to interrupt your rest, but I did want to check on you and Georgia, of course.”

“Okay,” Georgia said, her voice a little louder and more determined, as if she had decided to take control of this conversation. “Mister—Tristan is right, you do need your rest.”

Grammy looked as if she might argue, but then she touched a small, knotted hand to her forehead, suddenly seeming confused again.

“Yes, maybe I do need to rest.”

Georgia tucked the quilt around her once more, and then turned to Tristan, hesitating before she walked toward him.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Tristan.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“Call me Grace,” the old woman said with a sweet smile.

Tristan smiled back. “Okay, Grace.”

Georgia stopped, still a foot or so away from him, her own expression nearly as confused as her grandmother’s had been. She looked from him to her grammy and back to him.

Finally, she moved closer to him, silently ushering him out the door. He obeyed, waving to the old woman as he left the doorway, but then pausing in the hallway.

“He is very handsome,” her grandmother said.

“Yes, he is,” Georgia agreed, although Tristan couldn’t really read her tone. “I’ll be right back with your tea. Rest.”

Her grandmother agreed, and Georgia left the room, shutting the door to leave only a crack. Again she hesitated, seeing Tristan in the hallway. But then she forged ahead, twisting her body to slip past him, although her back still brushed against his in the narrow passageway.

Tristan actually caught his breath at the brief touch. His body, which was already pretty damned aware, jumped to complete attention.

This mortal turned him on more than he could recall anyone ever doing. He didn’t understand why, and at this moment, he didn’t feel the need to question the enormity of his lust. He just wanted her.

But she didn’t seem to be having the same reaction to him. At least, not if anyone was to watch her actions. She quickly left him standing in the hallway, disappearing into the other room.

But fortunately, Tristan wasn’t just anyone, and he didn’t have to just watch her actions. He could sense her reaction, smell it. Hell, if he concentrated enough, he felt as if he could taste it.

Would she taste as sweet and ripe and ready as her scent? Mmm, he knew she would, his delicious Peaches.

His cock pulsed painfully in his trousers. Damn, he wanted her.

He followed her, strolling along behind, unhurried, like some killer in a slasher film. Just like the horror movie killer, he had no reason to rush. He’d get his victim no matter how far or fast she ran.

For the first time this evening, he actually felt calm and in control. He was going to have her. No need to fret.

He walked into her tiny kitchen just as she was reaching inside the cupboard to get a mug. She clearly was trying to ignore him as she filled it with water, and then put the mug in the microwave.

“So you live with your grandmother?” he finally said. That certainly put a damper on his plans for the night, but a grandmother was far better than a boyfriend.

Tristan didn’t contemplate his relief over that realization. Mainly because a sick grandmother meant something else. Georgia needed money. Good money if she was doing in-home care, which she had to be. Grace clearly couldn’t be left alone while Georgia was at work.

Georgia paused in the midst of lifting the lid off a canister on the countertop. Then she nodded.

“Yes,” she finally said. “She has Alzheimer’s and so she’s had to live with me for a year or so now.”

Tristan nodded, the wheels in his devious mind turning.

“It must be expensive to care for her.”

Georgia turned to him, leaning against the counter as if she was very tired and not really up to trying to read his thoughts. Or being “messed with,” as she called it.

She did look exhausted and he almost felt guilty for what he intended to do. Almost.

“I can’t lose my job,” she said instead of answering his question.

Lose her job? He frowned. Why would she think she was going to lose her job? He’d been stupidly bereft without her for just one evening.

“Your job isn’t at risk,” he told her. “Why would you think that?”

“Why else would you be here?” she asked.

To fuck you senseless
. Yeah, he couldn’t say that.

Instead, he walked up to her until he was only an inch or so away, effectively caging her against the counter with his height and size, but still not touching her.

“I came here to tell you I need you to work extra late tomorrow night. In fact, very, very late.”

She frowned, clearly confused and curious.

“I have a gala to attend tomorrow night. And I need you to go as my date.”

“Your date?” She was truly puzzled now. “Surely you have other women who are dying to go with you. Women who are better suited for such an event.”

“But I want you to go with me. You are my personal assistant and this is just as much a work function as a social one.”

She still looked bewildered, but he wasn’t going to give her a chance to argue further.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and plucked up several hundred-dollar bills.

“I want you to go buy a dress and get your hair done. Something sexy, please.”

She stared at the money as if it would jump forward and bite her.