When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (20 page)

The man doing the talking turned to look at the man sitting behind the machine. “He’s telling the truth.”

“That’s a start, Creevey. Stick with the truth and we’ll get along okay.”

“What the fuck?”

“You don’t know the location. Fine. But I think you can find out.”

“Even if I could, why would I help you?”

“How are you feeling, Mr. Creevey?”

Kyle frowned, confused by the shift in the conversation. “Better. Whatever shit you people injected in me is wearing off.”

“It’s not. I assure you.”

Kyle cocked his head, not liking the tone of the man’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“We injected you with poison in addition to the sleep agent. You do this one little favor for us, and we’ll do a favor for you. The antidote.”

Creevey nodded. He needed to look cooperative even though he was anything but.
Idiots
. As if poison would have any effect on him. Not when certain promises had been made. When his friends changed him, they’d push him beyond death.

Poison—such a ridiculous notion.

But playing along would mean freedom. And for that he was willing to play their games.

He lifted his head and met his captors’ eyes. “You want me to get the location? Fine, I’ll get the location.” It was the god’s honest truth.

What he didn’t say was that he wasn’t about to share it with them. He didn’t say it, because that would be a lie.

Since Paul had received a nasty bump on the head along with his broken arm, the hospital admitted him overnight for observation. Andy stood next to the beeping
equipment by his bed and smiled down at him. “I haven’t been to a party that turned out this wild since college.”

“Neither have I,” Paul said.

She hooked her thumb toward the hallway where Doyle was waiting. “Looks like you have quite an asset on your team.” She’d been astounded by how skillfully Doyle fought. And she’d been almost paralyzed with fear when the vampire had cornered and disarmed him.

“Two assets,” he said, looking at her.

“I don’t know about that.” She gently touched her swollen cheek. “I was terrified.”

“And yet you acted.”

She nodded but kept silent. The truth was that the only thing that had given her the strength to move was the undeniable certainty that watching Doyle die would be like having a stake driven through her own heart.

“I should let you rest.” She squeezed his uninjured hand and then hurried out the door to meet Doyle.

“So,” he said. “Alone at last.”

She was mortified to realize that she was blushing. “Not that alone. There’s a hospital full of people around us.”

She fingered the fifty-dollar bill that was still in her pocket. Doyle had driven them to the hospital in Paul’s Mercedes, but they’d have to leave it in the garage so that Paul could use it in the morning. “I’ve got cab fare. Want me to have the driver drop you at the hotel? You left your car there, right?”

“Why don’t we both go?” he asked. “I can give you a ride home.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.” What she wanted was to spend time with him, and she kicked herself for being coy. What if he agreed and told her he’d
pay for his own cab back to the hotel? “Actually, yes. That would be great.”

At such a late hour, the traffic was sparse, and they were back at the Warford in no time. The lobby was abandoned—at 3
A.M.
, it wasn’t that surprising and they walked in silence toward the parking garage elevator.

“That’s it,” Doyle said, as they emerged on the first parking level. He was pointing across the lot, and she saw a candy-apple-red Porsche parked next to an ancient Pontiac Catalina, a mustard-yellow boat of a car.

“The Pontiac?”

He looked at her with a smile. “What? You don’t think I drive a Porsche?”

“No,” she said, amused.

“Smart girl.”

She laughed, then followed him, pleased that she’d so accurately pegged his car. “I’m in Burbank,” she said. “Is that out of your way?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He pulled out, then maneuvered the downtown streets before sliding easily onto the highway. The Catalina was a 1963 model, so it was older than she was. It had bench seats and no shoulder seat belts and the kind of radio where you had to punch the buttons. She loved it and told him so.

“It’s usually much spiffier.”

She surveyed the immaculate interior. “Looks pretty spiffy to me.”

“She needs a bath. My workload’s been crazy. I’ve neglected her.”

“There’s a gas station near my house with one of those drive-through washes. You could pull in?”

“It’s awfully late.”

“I think it’s open twenty-four hours,” she said, then yawned because she just couldn’t help it.

“I should get you home.”

“No, really.” The words were out before she’d thought them through, but she didn’t regret them. She wanted to spend time with him. She wanted normal. She wanted conversation. She wanted to forget about what she’d seen tonight and just be with this guy that, dammit, she was attracted to.

She wanted her mind to be less of a muddled mess, but
that
was hoping for the impossible.

“The car needs a bath, Doyle. I don’t want to stand in the way of a man and his clean car.”

She almost sighed in relief when he grinned at her. “Fair enough.”

“There,” she said, pointing toward the gas station.

He plugged in the money, slowly drove into the car cave, and set the brake. A moment later, the water began to shoot out at them and the huge brush descended. A loud, rhythmic roaring filled the car, and she could see far off streetlights reflected in the drops of water.

“If this were a date, it would be romantic,” Doyle said, eyeing her sideways.

“It would,” she agreed. Her stomach was fluttery, and not from hunger or from the strangeness of the day.

He looked at her, just looked, and she found that she couldn’t look away. All she could think about was what it would feel like to kiss him. To have him hold her in his arms—arms strong enough to protect her from all the nightmares out in the world.

Almost—
almost
—she got up the courage to shift toward him on the bench. But then the brushes stopped moving
and the green light blinked on, and the moment seemed to dissolve around them like mist.

“Time to go,” he said, easing the car out of the cave.

“I’m just over there,” she said. “The next left, and then all the way down. Second house from the end.”

“Cute,” he said, as he pulled into her driveway.

“That’s another word for small. But I love it. And you’re right. It is cute.” The house was a pale pink stucco bungalow that she’d bought when she turned twenty-one with the money that had been put in trust for her after her mother’s death. It had cost next to nothing since even in California, one-bedroom, one-bath homes were not overly desirable. Especially when they were in crappy condition.

But that was the benefit of working freelance. She’d had a lot of time to fix the place up herself and she even got paid to write articles about the rehab. During that same period, the market went crazy. And when it was all over, her property had ballooned in value, and she was sitting pretty.

It wasn’t a house in Malibu, but it was hers and she loved it. She even had an avocado tree in her backyard, and that was nothing to sneeze at.

She pushed open the heavy Catalina door. “So, this is me. Thanks for driving me home.”

“Any time.”

She stepped out, and was about to shut the car door, but somehow she couldn’t manage it.

“Andy?”

“Listen, I know it’s late. And you probably want to get home. But, oh hell. The truth is I don’t want to be alone.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. If it was anyone other than him, she’d be fine with being alone. When the
option was Doyle, though … well, she wanted him with her. “Would you—would you like to come in for a drink or something?”

For a second, he just looked at her, and she started thinking of ways to backpedal. “It’s okay if you don’t. It’s just that—well, tonight was a little crazy, and—”

“You’re scared?”

“Yes. No.” She drew in a breath. “I’m a little freaked out, but I’m not scared. I guess I’d just like the company.”

“I’d love to come in.” And her relief—and delight—were palpable.

“There’s not much sense giving you the grand tour,” she said after pushing open the door. “This is pretty much it.”

“I like it.”

She looked around, trying to see it from his eyes. The walls were each a different color, and she had flowers everywhere. Books covered pretty much every surface, and a package of Chips Ahoy sat open on the table, left over from her last snack attack. “It’s kind of a mess.”

“I like it,” he repeated firmly.

“Coffee?”

“It’s almost four. If we’re not going to bed, I think coffee’s a necessity.”

“Oh. Right.” She could feel her cheeks heat up, and she wished she wasn’t so tired. If she hadn’t been exhausted, she would have had a better comeback. As it was, she could only stand there and absorb his words, getting lost in what must have been an unintentional double entendre. Because surely it had been unintentional. “I have stale cookies to go with it. Or, let’s see, I think there’s a coffee cake in the freezer.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m antsy.”

“That’s understandable.”

“It is?”

“After the night we had?”

“Right. Fighting vampires.” At least he wasn’t commenting on the real source of her antsyness. Himself.

She ended up heating up the coffee cake and making a full pot of coffee. Half-caff in honor of the late—or early—hour.

“It’s good,” he said, taking a bite from the plate she’d set on the coffee table in front of him.

“Thank Sara Lee. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, then, I applaud your shopping skills.”

She grinned, then settled back against the couch cushions. “I should probably apologize. I don’t usually need a babysitter.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I want to be here. Do you want to talk about it?”

“It? There are too many its to choose from. And the truth is—” Was she really going to admit this? “The truth is that I mostly wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Really?”

She watched as he seemed to absorb her words. He had dark brown eyes with golden flecks that seemed to catch the light as he settled back against her couch cushions.

“And why is that?” he asked. She barely heard his words. She was too busy looking at his mouth. He wasn’t a classically attractive man—more rugged outdoorsman than elegant gentleman—but she thought his mouth was perfect. Wide and firm, but quick to smile. She wondered what his lips would feel like under hers.
And she wondered if she was losing it from a lack of sleep.

“Andy?”

She jumped. “What?”

That mouth curled into an enticing smile.
Yeah, definitely kissable
.

“I asked why you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips and felt a tug at her neck. She realized she was clutching her necklace and she forced her hand back down into her lap. He sat up, leaning a bit toward her as if encouraging her to answer. He reached out, his fingertips resting gently on her bare knee. She was suddenly aware that her cocktail dress ended midthigh. And that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the thin, shimmery material.

“Andy? Did you want to spend time with me because you’re nervous?”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But not about the monsters.”

“Then what?”

“I—” She bit back nervous laughter. “I don’t know.”

He slid closer to her on the couch. The movement pushed his hand higher on her thigh, and her entire body stiffened, her pulse increasing, her skin burning.

“You don’t know?” he repeated. “I have an idea. Do you want me to tell you?”

“I’d love to be enlightened,” she said—or she started to say. Before she could get the last word out, his mouth closed over hers, and she went from being grounded on the couch to floating out there with the stars. His lips were soft but firm, and he pulled her close as his lips parted and his tongue sought hers. He was tasting her, teasing her, and she was soaking it in, her mind spinning, her whole
body more awake than she could ever remember it being, and all because of a kiss.

It seemed to last forever, and when he gently pulled away, she had to remind herself to breathe.

“I like the way you kiss,” he murmured.

“I’m glad. Considering that my dad’s a preacher, I didn’t get much practice growing up. Except on pillows. Mannequin heads. That kind of thing.”

“How do I compare?”

“Remarkably well,” she teased. “And unlike pillows, you taste good. Minty. Not sure if it’s peppermint or spearmint. I should take another taste test,” she said, then pressed her mouth against his, her tongue seeking entrance as the rest of her body began to burn with need.

One hand cupped her head, and he unclipped her hair, letting it fall in loose curls around his fingers. His other hand stroked her bare thigh, and she felt hyperaware—his finger, his lips, the sweetness of his breath. Slowly, his hand inched up. She was wet—she knew it. Her body was swollen, craving his touch.