Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (60 page)

Probably we would have ended up right on that floor, or at least the sofa, if it weren’t for Luke’s ability to whisk us from one place to another in the blink of an eye. The next thing I knew, we were standing in a chamber slightly smaller than the living room, but with an enormous canopied bed. Another hearth occupied the far wall, and a fire burned there as well, providing the only illumination. A huge Persian rug covered the floor, soft against my bare feet.

Could I have stopped him at that point? I didn’t know. For an eternity we stood there, staring at one another as our breaths sounded, ragged in the half-lit room. Then our mouths met again, and this time his hands were moving down my body, pushing the straps of my gown off my shoulders, sliding it down until I stood there only in the red satin underwear I’d bought at Victoria’s Secret, on a night that now felt as if it had taken place a century ago. Likewise, I pulled off his tuxedo jacket, and then went to work on the rest of his shirt buttons.

His body was as beautiful as I had thought it would be — strong and toned, not particularly defined, but solid. The faintest dusting of dark hair trailed down his chest and disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

A flash of his teeth as he grinned in the semi-gloom. “I told you red was my favorite color.” His fingers worked the front closure of my bra, and I gasped as he pulled it away and cupped my breasts in his hands. I moaned as he touched me, even as I worked the button on his pants and then pulled down the zipper. Although he didn’t stop touching me, somehow he managed to step out of his trousers, kicking them to one side.

And then we were on the bed, his body pressed against mine as his hand slid down beneath my underwear, his index finger unerringly locating just the place to touch me…
there
. I moaned even more loudly, lying back and letting him stroke me. His breath came warm against my breast, and I felt his tongue touch me, swirling against my skin. The climax came with shocking suddenness — I’d never come that quickly in the past, but then, no one had ever been able to make me feel like this before.

I lay there gasping for a few seconds, then turned over and feverishly reached for his underwear, pulling it off, my hands wrapping around him, feeling the strength of his arousal. His breathing quickened, and I bent and took him into my mouth, tasting him, the heat in my body increasing as I heard him give out a low, strained moan.

Then he said, “Enough,” and pulled away, pushing me under him.

“Yes,” I whispered, and he was inside me, our bodies moving as one, the warmth of his flesh against mine. It was as if we’d been made to fit together — no false moves, no awkward miscalculations. I felt the surge in my veins again, and knew that I was about to come once more.

I climaxed just a few seconds before he did. With a groan that sounded as if it had been ripped out of him, he exploded inside me, the heat of his orgasm like a small supernova at the very core of my body. We clung together, both gasping, as the waves of passion slowly receded.

How long we stayed like that, I wasn’t sure. Eventually, though, reality set in, and I eased myself away from him to find the bathroom and get myself cleaned up. When I returned, he still lay there in the bed, his dark hair mussed and sticking to his brow, the blankets pulled halfway up his chest.

Did the Devil even sleep? I didn’t know for sure, but he was giving a pretty good imitation of it. Lifting the covers, I carefully slid into bed next to him. For a long moment I stared at his profile as it was silhouetted against the glow from the dying fire. I knew better than to say the words aloud, but I couldn’t help thinking them.

I love you…I love you…I love you.

D
im light slanted
across my eyelids. I blinked, then looked up at the heavy drape of blood-colored velvet above my head. Last night I’d barely registered the fact that this bed had a canopy, but now I could see a little more clearly. The sheets were dark red as well, along with the heavy brocade comforter that now lay in a crumpled wad toward the foot of the bed. The overall effect was womblike, to say the least.

Luke’s voice came from somewhere over to my right. “Rested?”

I started, then clutched the sheet against my naked torso. Not that he hadn’t seen my body already, but somehow what happens between two people in the dark gets overridden by the light of a morning after. My hair was a disaster, half still pulled up and held in place by some very determined bobby pins, the rest tangling over my shoulders.

“Um, yes,” I said. Rolling over, I saw him standing next to the bed in a white T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. He held a dark glazed mug in each hand. The thick smell of fresh coffee drifted slowly toward me.

“I thought you could use this,” he said, and extended one of the mugs.

Still clutching the sheet against my bare breasts with one arm, I sat up and took the coffee from him with the other hand. “Thank you.”

“I suppose this could be awkward,” he went on, his tone casual. “Would it put your mind at ease if I told you that I had a wonderful time last night?”

“Uh…so did I,” I replied, then bent my head to sip at the coffee. The heat in my face told me I was blushing furiously once again, but at least this time I had a good excuse.

“And that I certainly don’t mean for last night to be our only time?” His voice sounded teasing, but when I glanced up at him, he looked serious enough. His hair was mussed as well, but in an adorable bed-head sort of way. A trace of dark stubble showed on his cheeks.

“Okay,” I said. “If you insist.” I kept my tone light, but the pressure in my midsection eased a bit. At least it didn’t sound as if he meant for this to be a one-night stand.

“Some breakfast after the coffee?”

That sounded wonderful, but I felt a little used up. What I really wanted was a long, hot shower. A change of clothes would be nice, too. I hated the thought of sneaking into my apartment still wearing the previous night’s evening gown. I wouldn’t exactly call it the walk of shame — I certainly wasn’t ashamed of what I’d done — but it would still be a dead giveaway for letting my neighbors know that I’d gotten got lucky the night before.

“Sure,” I replied, then hesitated.

“Over on that chair you’ll find some of your clothing. And I have toiletries for you as well in the bathroom.” His eyes gleamed at me, impossibly blue. “Meet me down in the kitchen when you’re ready.” Then he leaned down and kissed me, just a swift touch of his lips against mine, but it was enough to get my blood racing all over again. After that he turned and went out through the door that led to the hall.

I should have known he’d have all the contingencies figured out. Glancing over at the chair he’d mentioned, I saw a pair of my jeans, a sweater, and a bra and panties folded neatly there, just waiting for me. On the floor beneath the chair were my flat brown boots, with a trouser sock tucked into each one. Shaking my head slightly, I pushed my way out of the oversized bed — I had to be careful getting out, as it was a good deal higher than what I was used to — and went over to the chair. After picking up the stack of clothing, I wandered down the hall, found the bathroom in the same place I’d left it last night, and set my clothes down on a marble-topped chest at the far end, under the window. Sure enough, sitting on the counter was my little striped cosmetics bag. All the necessities were tucked away inside: toothbrush, deodorant, moisturizer, even my purple container of birth control pills. So much for Luke using me to conceive the Antichrist.

I poured some water into the heavy glass tumbler I found next to the sink, popped a pill, then went over to the shower to turn on the hot water. Like my own bathroom, this one had a separate tub and shower stall, but there the similarity pretty much ended. In keeping with the rustic, Tuscan-villa feel of the house, this bathroom was completely tiled in shades of cream and rust and dark blue. Every so often one of the tiles had a little hand-painted vine-like design on it. Although the place had probably been built in the early ’20s, the fixtures were up-to-the-minute Moen pieces that looked as if they should be in a museum. The water was hot, and felt wonderful. Inside the shower I found my regular Biolage shampoo and conditioner, along with the vanilla sugar soap I loved so much.

All in all, everything had been provided to make the experience as enjoyable as possible, and I felt myself relaxing as the glorious massaging shower head pounded hot water against my neck and shoulders. No matter how great the sex, the aftermath can be messy, and it felt awfully good to get clean again.

Then I thought I sensed movement out beyond the frosted glass of the shower door. I froze, soap still in my hand. The door opened, and Luke stood there, naked as I was, and obviously ready for another go-round.

“I decided I couldn’t wait,” he said, and entered the shower. Reaching out, he pulled me against him, then smothered my mouth with his as his hands moved to cup my breasts.

After the first second of shock, I responded with equal passion. How many times do you get to make love in a shower, after all? Reaching down, I took him into my own hands, using the soap as lubricant. His breathing grew harsher and more rapid. He leaned back against the tiled wall, his eyelashes dark crescents against his water-flecked cheeks.

The orgasm came quickly. I had a quick thought that it helped to do this sort of thing in the shower — no muss, no fuss. But after a few seconds of slumping against the wall, Luke straightened, then slowly knelt, his lips moving down my torso until his mouth reached the damp triangle between my legs. And then it was just his tongue, and the waves of pleasure that pulsed through me until I almost collapsed. My shaking fingers found the metal bar of the washcloth hanger, and I gripped it so I wouldn’t fall down in a heap on the floor of the shower stall.

He stood, his hair looking almost black as it lay wetly against his head. His breathing still sounded a little hurried, although nowhere close to the post-marathon gasps I was taking. That heart-stopping smile touched his lips. “Mind if I borrow some of that soap?” he asked.

E
ventually
, of course, we made it out of the bathroom and down to the enormous kitchen, which faced out on an equally expansive backyard that featured a black-bottom pool and an artfully landscaped herb garden off to one side. Land was at a premium in this part of town (well, to be honest, it was at premium almost everywhere in Southern California), and I wondered how much this little piece of Tuscany in L.A. had cost. Five million? Six? But I guessed housing prices were just a number when you happened to be the Devil.

“How do you like your eggs?” Luke asked. “Oh, wait — scrambled well. Right?”

Again, there was no point in asking how he knew that. Instead, I inquired, “So do you actually cook?”

“Of course not. Eating, as with so many other mortal…activities, is an enjoyable occupation, but I’m afraid I don’t feel the same about cooking.”

He pointed to a smaller chamber that opened off the kitchen, sort of a sun room, but one which obviously had been intended as an adjunct eating area. Windows framed it on three sides, offering an excellent view of the herb garden, which probably would have looked more welcoming if the skies hadn’t turned gray and brooding again. People seem to think it’s always sunny in Los Angeles, and maybe we have more sun than a lot of other parts of the country, but January through March was our rainy season. This year in particular had been fairly wet, although the walkways outside looked dry for the moment.

Right after Luke gestured in that direction, breakfast just sort of...appeared. Plates of eggs and bacon steamed gently into the air, a rack of toast materialized in the center of the table, and a pot of coffee and a mug sprouted into existence next to each plate.

“Nice trick,” I said. “I should have you come over to help with my laundry.”

He didn’t bother to reply, but instead shook his head, then went to the table and sat down. I followed him and took a seat as well, unfolding my napkin and putting it in my lap before I helped myself to a bracing swallow of strong coffee.

Was it possible that I could still trade casual remarks with him as if last night’s intimacies had never happened? But I supposed that was the way things usually worked out; after all, we couldn’t spend the entire day mooning into each other’s eyes and having sex. Then again….

I could feel the familiar warm sensation grow in the pit of my stomach. Whether it was the afterglow from our shower escapades or a tactile memory of the way he had felt inside me the night before, I knew I was ready for him again, wanted him once more. Did he sense it? Did he feel the same way?

At that moment I didn’t think I could trust myself to look directly at him. I lifted a forkful of eggs to my mouth, tasted, and gave a nod of approval. “Just the way I like them,” I said. Of course.

Even though my eyes were cast down toward my plate, somehow I felt the weight of his gaze on me. “Good. You know I want only to please you.”

That comment finally made me look upward. How many women would kill to hear a man say those same words to them? Was I a horrible person for still wondering, even after the night we had spent together, what exactly his plans for me were?

The other thing that made me more than a little uneasy was the fact that I could sit here and try to second-guess him, yet still know I loved him. Oh, I couldn’t have said why, exactly. It was more than his good looks, the solicitous way he treated me, or even his sly sense of humor. Add to those the way the hair waved back from his brow, the sound of his voice, the million and one other things that made him uniquely Luke, and you might have a start. Maybe.

I guessed he was expecting a response, so I said, “Oh, you’ve definitely pleased me — no doubt about that.”

“And you’ve pleased me as well.” He smiled. “More than pleased me. Mankind’s obsession with the physical act of love makes much more sense to me now.”

Shocked, I said, “So you’d never — ”

Eyebrows lifted, he replied, “There’s not much opportunity for that sort of thing in Hell, I’m afraid.”

Well, damn. I set down my fork and stared at him. His face wore its usual half-amused expression, but something about the set of his mouth told me he didn’t want me asking a lot of questions. If I’d even known which questions to ask.

I figured it was better to leave it alone. If Luke wanted to confide in me at some later point, then he could. If there was one thing I’d learned in this life, it was to keep my mouth shut when it became obvious that my questions were unwelcome.

I said lightly, “You’re an awfully fast learner, then.”

Some of the tension seemed to go out of his jaw. “Thank you, Christa,” he replied.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “So what would you like to do today? I’d thought of perhaps going to the beach, or over to the Huntington Library in San Marino, but the weather doesn’t look as if it’s going to cooperate with outdoor activities, I’m afraid.”

I followed his gaze out the window and saw that it had in fact begun to rain again. It was the sort of day that made you just want to cocoon, to stay indoors and explore the offerings on Netflix, listen to music, or even randomly surf the cable TV stations to see if anything caught your fancy.

“No weather control?” I teased.

“That power lies with a greater authority even than mine,” he said gravely, although I guessed he was teasing me back…just a little.

“Well,” I said, after I had drained the last of my coffee and set down the mug, “I think I know of a few indoor activities that should keep us busy….”

I couldn’t see myself, of course, but I think for the first time the gleam in my own eyes matched the one in his.

A
s it turned out
, I didn’t make it home until almost eight o’clock that night. Even then I had to plead exhaustion as well as a certain soreness — there are limits to how many times a woman can have sex in a twenty-four hour period, no matter what the porn industry might want people to believe. Luke finally relented and drove me home, my evening gown packed carefully in a little case he gave me that also contained my shoes and my cosmetics bag. I would have come home earlier, using my undone laundry as an excuse, but he’d only laughed and said it was taken care of.

And so it was — after he left, I went into my bedroom to stow the gown in my closet and saw that everything had already been washed and hung up, or folded and put away in my dresser. Talk about your modern conveniences; the Devil was obviously the ultimate labor-saving device.

At last I remembered to dig my cell phone out of my purse. The little alert icon for a missed call was showing on the home screen. It never failed. Holding back a sigh, I pushed the button to call voicemail.

“You have five new messages,” the machine voice intoned once I connected, and I winced. Why was it that no one ever called when I was actually sitting around and
waiting
for a call?

The first one was from my sister and time-stamped around seven-thirty the previous evening. “Christa, call me as soon as you can. I’ll try your email, too.”

The second call was from Jennifer. She said she knew I was probably out with
him
(her emphasis, not mine), but that we really needed to get moving on the whole bridesmaid dress thing, and when would I be available to come into Pasadena for a fitting?

Not any time soon
, I thought, but I made a mental note to call her back.

The third call was once again Lisa, this time at around nine o’clock this morning. “I don’t know where you’ve gotten to,” she said, sounding increasingly waspish. “Did you forget to charge your cell phone again? Call me as soon as you can.”