Chapter Twenty-five
A
s promised, Chief Davis put a man on duty across the street from Muddy’s to keep an eye on the statue. Dan Curtis volunteered for the six-to-midnight shift and made a nuisance of himself by “checking” on them every half hour.
“Next time the doorbell rings, let Addy answer it,” Muddy said after her fourth trip to the door. “That Curtis boy has the hots for her.”
“What is this ‘hots’?” Brand asked.
“He wants to do it with her.”
“Do what?”
“You know, the mama and daddy dance.”
Brand’s expression remained blank.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Muddy made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, stuck her finger in the hole and moved it in and out. “Get it?”
Brand scowled. “You mean he wants to have sexual congress with Adara.”
Muddy gave him a thumbs-up. “Bingo.”
Addy heard a deep rumble in the distance. Lightning flashed, and a deafening clap of thunder shook the house. Dooley yelped and tried to ram her eighty-five-pound body under the couch.
“No,” Brand said.
Addy patted him on the chest. “Relax, big guy. Congress is not in session.”
“I do not understand.”
“She means she’s not having sex with you tonight, not as long as I’m in the house.” Muddy’s eyes twinkled. “Addy’s a bit of a fuddy duddy. She’s embarrassed because I heard y’all going at it this morning.”
Addy’s cheeks burned. “Please, Muddy, don’t remind me. I’m thinking of moving to New Zealand so I don’t have to look at you again.” She turned to Brand. “Relax. I don’t want to have sex with Dan Curtis or anyone else but you. Why would I? Next to you, every other guy on the planet is dog poop.”
Brand’s eyes darkened.
“Adara.”
Addy backed away. “Uh uh. You’re gorgeous and irresistible and you make me crazy, but I am
not
having sex with you tonight. Muddy is right. I can’t have sex with you while my great-aunt is in the house, not when you make me sing like the Morman Tabernacle Choir.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I
am
a fuddy duddy like Muddy says, or maybe I don’t want to share what we have together with anyone else.”
Brand looked thoughtful. “I see.”
“That is so sweet,” Muddy said, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Later that night, Addy left Brand on the couch and retired to her bedroom alone. Dooley flumped on the floor beside the bed and went to sleep. Dogs could do that, Addy reflected, listening with envy to Dooley’s gentle snoring. Turn the switch and sail off to Dreamland. Mr. Fluffy buzzed around the room for a little while and settled on the floor next to Dooley. Folding his wings, the kitten curled in a ball between the Lab’s legs and went to sleep.
The door down the hall clicked shut, the signal that Muddy had gone to bed for the night. Quiet settled around the house. Turning on her side, Addy stared into the darkness. For some strange reason, her eyes burned. Must be allergies, she thought, snuffling. She sure as heck wasn’t crying over that big jerk sleeping in the living room. He was respecting her wishes, damn him. She was disappointed and sad and lonely, and angry at herself for being such an emotional wreck. She said no to sex, and she meant no . . . didn’t she? A tear trickled down her nose and landed on the pillow. Who knew how much time they had left together? One day soon, maybe tomorrow, he would leave her. She sniffed angrily and wiped her eyes. Maybe he didn’t want her anymore. Maybe he . . .
“Adara, why are you crying?”
She was so wrapped up in her little pity party she hadn’t heard him come in. He stood by the bed looking down at her with a perplexed expression. He was shirtless and barefoot. His jeans were unbuttoned and rode low on his lean hips. Her befuddled gaze drifted from his heavily muscled chest to the sculpted plane of his abdomen. God Almighty, he was beautiful. And ripped. He didn’t have a six-pack. He had a whole freaking case. She followed the narrow strip of dark hair that trailed down his taut stomach and disappeared into the top of his jeans. Her eyes widened when she saw the thick bulge that strained against the denim. Somebody was glad to see her.
“Oh, no you don’t, bub!” She shot upright in bed. “Super Slut Puppy has turned in her cape for the night.”
“Who is Super Slut Puppy?”
“I am, when I’m around you. You turn me into some kind of sex maniac. I can’t help myself.” She glared at him. “It’s not like me, I’ll have you know. I don’t act this way. I don’t understand it.”
“I am very glad to hear it.” He gave her a sexy grin, and she was done for, fried to a crispy, crackly crunch, too stunned to protest when he stretched out on the bed beside her. She gaped at him, hardly noticing when he pulled the covers back, baring her to his gaze. “I do not like to think of you with other men,” he said. “The very thought fills me with rage and sets my brain on fire. And then you know what happens.”
“Y-you burst into flame?”
He traced a pattern along her thigh, and slipped her T-shirt up, exposing her stomach. “Yes, Adara Jean.” He leaned closer. “You set me on fire. I have the—how did your aunt put it?—ah, yes, the
hots
for you.”
“You do?”
“Most definitely.” He hooked his hand in the waistband of her panties and slid them off. “All day I have burned for you, wanted to be inside you. I was close to despair when you told me you would not have sex with me tonight. I need you, Adara.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I want you. Let me in.”
Her resistance crumbled beneath the tender onslaught. “My aunt,” she gasped as he slipped his finger inside her. “She’ll hear. I can’t—”
“Shh.” Lowering his head, he nuzzled her breast through the cotton T-shirt. The combination of his finger inside her and the damp heat of his mouth on her breast was almost too much to bear. She clenched around him, shuddering. “No one will hear,” he said. “I have placed a shield around us.”
“A-a shield?”
He sat up and knelt between her legs. Pushing her thighs apart, he looked down at her. She should have been embarrassed, should have felt exposed, vulnerable. She did not. How could she when he looked at her that way, all hot and hungry, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen? He made her
feel
beautiful, sexy . . . seductive. He made her ache for him.
“Pull your shirt up, Adara.” His deep voice made her shiver. “I want to see your breasts.”
She obeyed, dragging the T-shirt over her breasts.
“Put your hands over your head.”
Again, she obeyed, offering herself to him, legs wide, breasts bare, and arms above her head like the shameless wanton she was. But only for him. Only
with
him.
He looked down at her spread out before him, his expression intense, strained. “I’m going to kiss you, Adara Jean.” Slowly, he trailed his fingers through the thatch of blond hair between her legs. “Here.”
He bent his head and put his mouth on her, licking, suckling, stroking the sensitive flesh first with the tip and then with the flat of his tongue, driving her out of her mind, sending her spiraling out of control, making her forget everything but the exquisite pleasure of his touch. Super Slut Puppy took her cape out of mothballs and sighed. She moaned, she begged, she pleaded. And, when she reached the top and went over the edge, she screamed, brazen hussy that she was.
With a muttered curse, Brand shoved his jeans down and thrust inside her, moving his hips in a rocking motion that sent her spiraling into another climax. He came a moment later with a hoarse shout.
Their cries of ecstasy echoed around them loud enough to wake the dead.
Or a dog.
Or a flying cat.
Certainly loud enough to wake a certain bawdy old lady.
But the shield held. The quiet of the house remained unbroken by the scuffle of paws, the flap of wings, or a single
huzza huzza
from Muddy.
Thank God for Dalvahni woo-woo.
Monday morning Jeb Hannah still sat on the lawn in all his headless glory. The migrating statue had become something of a local sensation and a tourist attraction for folks as far as Montgomery. The mayor had contacted the state highway department about moving Jeb, but it would be two weeks before the heavy equipment arrived. In the meantime, the Hannah police were hard-pressed to keep the gawkers out of Muddy’s front yard. People walked through the flower beds, picnicked on the lawn, and rang the doorbell to offer advice on the proper way to move Jeb or to volunteer their theories on Jeb’s mysterious un-statue-like behavior. Everything from giant earthworms and the shifting of the Earth on its axis was suggested. Addy’s personal favorites involved inebriated leprechauns and radioactive mice.
Addy waved at the family of four who stood on the sidewalk taking pictures of Headless Jeb when she left for the flower shop early Monday morning. Brand went with her, of course. She hadn’t suggested otherwise. The thought of going to the shop alone gave her the creeps. She’d worked hard to make her little business a success. Now, thanks to a supernatural thug with an attitude, she was scared to go to her own shop. That ticked her off and made her want to kick some demon booty.
On the other hand, although the demon thing was getting on her nerves, if the demon went, then so did Brand. And that thought was unbearable. So maybe her best hope was that things did not get resolved. That way, Brand would stay in Hannah, and they’d live happily ever after and have hot monkey sex forever and ever, amen.
Yeah, right. Like that would happen.
Maybe they didn’t have forever, but they had last night. They made love all night, and without an audience, thanks to Brand’s magic. Muddy had seemed kind of disappointed, to tell the truth.
“You sleep well, Mr. Dalvahni?” she asked that morning.
Addy cringed, but all Brand said was, “I slept a little, Edmuntina.”
True, strictly speaking. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms near daybreak.
“Me, too. Quiet as a graveyard around here.” Muddy eyed Addy. “What about you, girl? You sleep well?”
“Like a rock.”
The moment she said it, Addy knew she was in trouble. She felt Mr. Literal’s gaze upon her and tensed. Didn’t she know better than to fib around him? She was so busted.
“I do not understand the reference, Adara,” he said. “Why do you say you slept like a rock? Rocks do not sleep.”
“It’s an idiom, Brand. A figure of speech.”
“I see,” he said. “You use a rock for comparison, because they do not meet the scientific definition of a living thing in this reality as they do not move, think, grow, consume or react to stimuli. This lack of interaction with the environment, I take it, is interpreted as being in a very deep sleep.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“But, Adara, you did not sleep like a rock. You—”
“Oh, no you don’t! No, sir!” she shrieked. “Do not go there, bub. So help me, I mean it.”
“Don’t go where?” Muddy suddenly looked very interested. “Did I miss something?”
“As I was about to say, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Brand said, an expression of bland innocence on his face, “I do not think Adara slept like a rock, because she got up early this morning and prepared a sumptuous repast of scrambled eggs and strawberry Poop Tarts.”
“Pop tarts,” Addy muttered. “I haven’t been to the store. It’s all we had.”
Muddy looked disappointed. “Well, I guess I’d better get busy. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Leaving Muddy to her own devices, Addy and Brand went to the flower shop. Addy punched in the security code on the back door and entered the supply room behind Brand. She looked around in surprise. From the way the panic-stricken demon had bumped and thrashed around on his way out Saturday night, she expected the supply closet to be a mess. But nothing seemed out of place. The front room would be a different story, thanks to Ghouly Farris and the Human Torch trashing the place. She worried her bottom lip. She’d have to call Ned Farnsworth down at Bama Farms and check her coverage. Maybe she should call the police first to report the damage. But what would she tell them? Not the truth, that was for sure. Vandalism? Nah, nobody in Hannah would vandalize her shop. Opossums? But what about the holes in the floor? A passel of rabid flame-throwing opossums from outer space? Yeah, that was more like it.
So much for calling the police.
Bracing herself, she stepped into the show room. She gazed about in stunned disbelief. No mess, no blood, no broken vases or display racks, no icky stench of cooked dead dude hanging about the place. And no holes in the linoleum floor. Everything in order.
“How?” she asked, unable to manage anything more coherent.
Brand, bless him, seemed to understand. “Ansgar.”
“Blondy did this?”
He nodded. Great, she thought with an inward groan. She owed the frozen hemorrhoid another one. Her cup runneth over.
She flipped the CLOSED sign to open, booted up the computer, and checked her messages. She was working on the flower arrangements for the upcoming monthly meeting of the Purple Hoo-Hah Club, a supper club of rowdy, cigar-smoking whiskey-slugging older women who Chief Davis proclaimed a “frigging nuisance,” when the bell chimed and Evie and Ansgar strolled in. Evie looked different. She looked . . .