The Devil's in the Details (31 page)

I remembered the night of the spider incident and Cutter telling me about his last remaining family member. “Smith is your cousin?”

He nodded. “His dad was a big gun enthusiast. He named him after Smith and Wesson.”

“And here I thought that was a made-up name to protect his real identity.”

Cutter chuckled. “Hardly. He doesn’t think that fast on his feet. That’s why he needs me. That, and his aim is for shit. He’ll have to get a lot better if he wants to run with the big dogs. But it’s his dream and I’m going to help him realize it. He’s my only family. Him, and the other slayers. We’re like family.”

“But I thought the only reason you joined the Legion was because you were desperate for revenge. You had a vendetta against demons that was totally understandable since you lost your soul to one. But now you’ve regained your soul
because
of one. Surely you’ve come to realize we’re not all so bad.”

“I realized that a long time ago. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I took an oath.” He shrugged. “The Legion is what I do, Jess. It’s who I am.”

“I guess I thought you’d take some time off, maybe go camping and hiking again. Fire up the old grill.”

Melancholy played across his expression. “I just might, but it’ll have to be on my day off.”

“Oh.”

He eyed the box in my hands that overflowed with leftover programs and the coffin-shaped chocolates that I’d given away as favors. “I’m guessing you made it to the wedding in time. How’d it go?”

“No earthquakes or tsunamis, though we did have a couple small fires and a minor tornado.” A grin played at his lips and my disappointment faded in a swell of warmth. “Thanks for backing off and letting me do my thing.”

“We had a deal. I promised not to interfere if you delivered Azazel.” He shrugged. “You did, so I didn’t.” His gaze caught and held mine. “I always keep my promises.” His words dripped with implication.

I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. “Always?”

Hunger carved his features and anticipation shot from my head to my toes. “Always.” And then he took the box from my hands and kissed me.

My lips parted and Cutter’s tongue met mine and it was the best kiss of my life.

Hotter than I remembered.

More potent.

Yum.

I wasn’t sure what happened next. I was so wrapped up in the kiss that one minute I was standing in my driveway, the overflowing box at my feet, and the next I was standing in my bedroom, a frantic Snooki barking in the background.

Cutter broke the kiss and stepped back. He glanced toward the bathroom, a questioning look on his face.

“She doesn’t like company,” I told him.

“And what about you?”

“Me?” I shrugged. “I’m a lot friendlier.”

He grinned.

Buttons slid open. Material slithered and fell away. In a matter of seconds, I stood before him wearing nothing but my high heels, flushed with passion and a growing sense of impatience because, as fast as he was, he wasn’t fast enough. I’d been waiting for this far too long.

“You’re next,” I told him, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. I pulled the soft cotton up and over his head. My fingers brushed his crotch, popped the top button on his jeans, and gripped the zipper. The metal teeth gave and he sprang hard and hot into my hands.

I stroked his long, pulsing length, my fingertips tracing the head before sweeping back up and brushing the silky dark hair that surrounded the base of his shaft. He groaned.

The sound rumbled in my ears and stirred the lust I’d fought so hard to bury over the past two years. It was out now, unearthed in a matter of seconds, and suddenly I couldn’t wait to get him inside of me.

I finished undressing him, kicked off my shoes, and pushed him down onto the bed. I straddled him and was this close to sliding down onto his erection when his hands closed around my waist and he stopped me.

“Wait,” he breathed.

I stalled, my body poised over the head of his penis. “For what?”

“More of this.” He leaned up and caught my lips with his own. His mouth plundered mine, his tongue plunging deep.

The kiss was the wildest, most intimate thing I’d ever experienced. Crazy, right? I was the queen of intimacy, with a long list of conquests to prove it. But this was different. There was something more intense about this. It had power. Depth. Meaning.

The One.

Tell him.

The thought blared through my head and I pulled back. Guilt rushed through me and I opened my mouth.

But then he flipped me onto my back, parted my legs, and thrust into me.

Okay, so maybe now wasn’t the best time.

I lifted my hips, welcoming him in. I wanted to feel him deeper…harder…there.

Right.
There.

His groan echoed in my head and I forced my eyes open to see him braced above me, his breaths coming hard and fast. His gaze drilled into mine and I had the unnerving thought that he could see right through me, to all of my deep, dark secrets.

I clamped my eyes shut, breaking the spell, and concentrated on enjoying myself.

That’s all this was. Sex. Phenomenal. Overwhelming. But still, it was just sex. Purely physical with zero emotions involved.

Because Cutter Owens was
not
The One I’d been hoping for the past two years.

No matter how much I wished otherwise. His loyalty was to the Legion, which meant he could never pledge himself to a demon.

And that’s what I wanted.

A pledge.

A future.

I slid my arms around his shoulders, surrendered to the delicious sensation swamping my senses, and focused on having the hottest, wildest, most memorable night of my life.

If only I didn’t have the sinking suspicion that I’d been waiting for Cutter a lot longer than just a measly few years.

I’d been waiting for him my entire existence.

Waiting and hoping and praying. All for this.

For him.

I was through waiting on Cutter Owens.

Done. Over.
Fini.

It had been three weeks since my mother’s wedding and the most incredible after-wedding sex of my existence. And not once in twenty-one days had he called. Or sent an e-mail. Or even a text.

Because he was busy helping Smith on his first assignment.

I knew that because he’d said as much in a voice mail just before disappearing off the face of the earth.

Still, I couldn’t shake the bone-deep feeling that somehow, someway, he’d discovered that I was Satan’s daughter and he now hated my guts.

I chewed on my lower lip as I stood in the bridal suite of Galveston’s infamous Moody Gardens (think a man-made Jamaica in Texas—no, really) and watched Delaney fidget with her hair in front of the mirror. She was breathtaking in a floor-length A-line with a sequined bodice and Swarovski crystals lining the train. Bouquets of tropical flowers filled the interior of the room, along with a huge box overflowing with three dozen long-stemmed roses. A recent token of the groom’s affection.

Delaney abandoned her hair to read the card on the flowers. She blinked back tears.

Not the happy kind, either. She looked as if she were about to face a firing squad.

My chest hitched.
Don’t do it
, I told myself.
Remember the three years of hell she put you through, with all the indecisiveness and stalling.

My pain was about to end. She would waltz down the aisle and I would collect my final check and there would be another group of successful pics to load onto the digital frame in my office.

“You don’t want to marry him, do you?” I heard myself ask.

Was I a glutton for punishment or what?

“Of course I do.” She blinked frantically. “I’m just rethinking this dress.” She glanced down. “It’s a little too fitted. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“That’s not the dress. It’s the anxiety.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Yeah, what
are
you trying to say?

I was supposed to be encouraging this wedding. I was supposed to tell her everything would be fine and the wedding would be beautiful. I was supposed to tell her she was the most stunning bride I’d ever seen and that the groom was one lucky guy and that they would live happily ever after.

I knew the routine.

I lived it week after week.

But as much as I wanted to say those things, I just couldn’t. Not when I saw the apprehension in her eyes. It was an emotion I knew all too well. The dread of facing the future, of admitting the truth.

To my mother.

To Cutter.

“You don’t want to marry him,” I told her.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen my share of excited brides, and you aren’t one of them. You’ve changed your mind about a million times.”

“That’s just because I want every detail to be perfect.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re more worried about the groom than the details.” I caught and held her gaze. “Seriously, Delaney. Do you
really
love him?”

“I should.” She turned back toward the mirror and stared at her reflection for a long moment. “But I don’t.” Her eyes met mine. “What’s wrong with me, Jess?”

“The only thing wrong is that you’re living a lie. You’ll never be happy as long as you’re doing that.”

“Which means I should tell the truth?”

“The truth shall set you free.”

I knew as I recited the words to Delaney that I had to follow my own advice. I would never find my own happily-ever-after as long as I was living a lie.

And if you come clean?

I wouldn’t find it then, either.

Surprisingly, my mother had been so preoccupied over the past weeks with trying to convince my grandfather to accept Samael that she hadn’t noticed the magazine on her own.

Likewise, my family was so fixated on the will-he–won’t-he? drama between Satan and his eldest daughter that they seemed oblivious to yours truly as well.

Even Hester wasn’t paying any attention to me, despite the fact that she was still pissed because I hadn’t brought enough brownies to her shower.

Still, I had no doubt my mother would doom me the moment she found out. That was, if Cutter didn’t beat her to the punch, chop off my head with his magic sword, and end my miserable existence for good.

Miserable. That’s what I was. Miserable and riddled with guilt and fear. Dreading the worst was just as bad as living it.

No more. I was done living a lie. I had to come clean and save my conscience if nothing else.

It had worked for Gio. While Syra hadn’t called off the wedding, she’d at least postponed it for a while. Gio now had a chance to make his case and prove his love. And all because he’d put himself out there and confessed the truth.

“You want me to buy a copy of what magazine?” Cheryl asked when I called her after loading Delaney into a cab and announcing to everyone, including the groom, that the merger—er, the wedding—was off.

“
Texas Brides.
Just buy a copy of this month’s issue and give it to my mother. It’s urgent.” Before she could ask any more questions (and before my courage ran out), I killed the connection and texted Cutter to please, please,
please
meet me ASAP. If that wasn’t tempting enough, I added a line about having a lead on a very ancient, very evil demon.

“Who is it? Where is he? What’s going on?” he demanded when I pulled up to my duplex a half hour later to find him sitting in the driveway. He wore a rumpled white T-shirt, worn jeans, and dusty black biker boots. A shadow of a beard covered his jaw and there was a weariness in his eyes that said he hadn’t slept in a long, long time.

“You look tired.”

“I’ve been working.” Regret gleamed in his gaze. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to call you—”

“It’s fine, really.”
Not.
At the same time, at least I knew he hadn’t stayed away because he hated my guts. He
had
been working. Day and night, from the look of him. “Thanks for coming.”

“What’s up?”

Easy. Calm. Breathe.

I gathered my courage. I was through being scared and lonely. I was going to do this. For better or for worse.