Demons Like It Hot (17 page)

A bodyguard with baggage—the second to last thing she needed right now. Why couldn’t demonic protection be easy? Why did her bodyguard have to spawn dangerous fantasies?

Not
that
fantasies
are
all
that
bad.

“Ugh!” She swiped a paperback from her dresser and perused the title.
Private
Protection.

Oh
gawd.

She continued her scan of the cover. A bare-chested torso of a man wearing a shoulder holster filled the cover, his gun strategically aimed.

Almost
as
big
as
Matthias, but not quite.

“Oh, please,” she grumbled, tossing the book to the floor. “I should have bought that Martha Stewart cookbook instead.”

Frustration, sparked by desire, ignited like a furnace. She wanted to scream, but that would only fuel her frustrations more. Matthias would burst in like he had earlier. Her poor little door couldn’t handle any more abuse for the night. And she couldn’t handle any more devious fantasies either.

Why in the hell did he have to kiss her? Ever since then her hormones had gone bonkers. She’d liked the kiss too. That’s what really irked her.

With a low groan, Serah flung herself back into bed and bunched her pillows around her head. She couldn’t sleep. She’d have that stupid dream again. The sad part of it was it felt so real, as if he really were doing all those naughty things to her. And she loved every minute of it.

Maybe Lucy had given her a dose of succubus after all?

At this rate, her audition would be a disaster.

Then again, that’s probably what he wanted. He said it himself. The TV show was a distraction they didn’t need right now.

Had she known when she applied that her friend would turn into a sex-demon and she’d end up a whatever it was she was, she would have never signed up.

To be honest, she’d completely forgotten about the show. Then Daniel Blackburn, the host himself, had called. She tried to get out of it, but the stupid contract was ironclad. Like it had been written by the devil himself. No escape clause at all.

Not
one
of
my
most
brilliantly
thought-out plans, that’s for sure.

Then again, it wasn’t like she’d known that she’d end up a walking demon detector a few months after she sent in the application and contract.

Heck, it was
American
Chef
, not
Hell’s Kitchen
. Daniel Blackburn seemed harmless enough. And he was kind of attractive in a nerdy sort of way.

Not as attractive as Matthias.

“But he knows how to cook!”

Her naughty self snickered.
So
does
Matthias—where it matters
.

For
goodness
sakes! Would this ever stop?
Matthias Ambrose was a big, stubborn behemoth who only cared about his mission and becoming a Paladin. He’d made that clear enough—on several occasions.

Even if he kissed her. Heck, he was probably just trying to shut her up. Sadly enough, it worked, in the most delicious of ways.

“Damn it.” She fisted the sheets and pulled them up around her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried desperately to put herself to sleep.

Rolling around in her blankets, she pounded the pillows, wrapped her arms around them and pulled one close to her body. Too damned soft.

“Ugh!” she shouted through her pillow.

Not even counting sheep could help her now.

She threw off her sheets and chucked the pillow across the room. Was this the same torture Lucy had to endure? She remembered how much her friend valued her sleep. And now it seemed she was as sleepless as the demons that surrounded her.

“Caterer by day, demon hunter by night.” Maybe she was the world’s next superhero.

“Spiderman, eat my dust,” she mumbled.
Yeah
right.

She looked down at her somewhat flat derriere and wrinkled her nose. Even Spanx couldn’t help those pancakes.

She angled a glance to her chest. Those either.

With a shrug, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV. The image of a man sitting at a Bowflex pulling and tugging at the cables flashed before her eyes. Stupid late night infomercials. Why couldn’t it have been the ShamWow Guy and his
incredible
Slap Chop instead?

The bodybuilder continued his demonstration. Lean, corded muscles bunched and flexed with each move. Not a bad body, for sure. But something was missing.

It’ll take him a long time to even think about matching Matthias’s physique.

Serah threw her arms up in the air and blew out a long sigh of resignation. Even her TV had been infected by him.

Then again, he was the most beautifully sculpted man—and demon—she’d ever laid her eyes on. Too built even for
Men’s Health
, yet not too steroid-induced for a bodybuilder magazine. Some of those men—she shuddered at the thought—squeezed and flexed so hard they looked like constipated Incredible Hulk wannabes with no necks, grunts and groans included.

She didn’t like them when they smiled. And she certainly wouldn’t like them when they were angry.

Speaking of smiles, had Matthias ever smiled a day in his life? It was like his mouth was caught in this permanent glower that not even a plastic surgeon could fix.

For God’s sake, stop thinking about him! She slammed her finger down on the channel button. A diet smoothie here, an Ab-Roller there. Late-night television really sucked. Maybe she should just buy the items in hopes that they’d get enough sales and stop advertising.

Yeah, right
. They’d probably just come up with some other crazy invention to sell instead.

Then she landed on Duke Nelson’s Magic Protein Powder.
For
real? And who the hell was Duke Nelson? Like protein powder really gave him that body.
With a low groan, she shook her head.

The announcer continued his overdramatic spiel about the wonders of the Magic Protein Powder. Big, bulging biceps, hot women, a smaller dinghy. “And if you call in the next ten minutes, we’ll
double
your order—
absolutely
free
!” And then in the next whispered breath, “Just pay separate shipping and processing.”

Serah rolled her eyes. She might have bought a lot of things in her life, but very few of them came from infomercials. Then again, she really dug that Combo Cooker XL. Great for those on the go, like herself. If only her clients knew how she cooked at home.

“Have your credit card ready when you call,” continued the announcer.

“My credit card is on lockdown. Sorry buddy.”

With that, she mashed the power button. The TV faded in response. No way did she need protein powder, even if it was only three low payments of $9.99.

Three too many if you asked her.

Darn, she hated it when she woke up this early. The clock flipped from four to five. “Jeez,” she yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Too early to be awake, but too late to fall back asleep.” Mornings like this were killer.

With a reluctant groan, she crawled out of the cocoon of her blankets. Quite literally a cocoon, too, the way they curled and twisted around her. But she was no butterfly, that’s for sure. Especially not this early in the morning.

But damn, those lips of his moved like butterflies, all over her body. If it wasn’t him enrapturing her, what the hell was in that man’s cologne? Something harmful if swallowed, probably.

Maybe a cold shower would help get Mr. Magic Lips out of her mind. And it would wake her up too. Lord knew she’d need all the coffee in the world to make it through the day.

And how was she going to keep him out of the kitchen when Daniel arrived? Lock him out? Not likely, after the show of strength he gave her last night.

She shrugged. She just wouldn’t invite him in.
Problem
solved.
With a confident smile, she leapt from the bed and pushed open the dangling door.

Today would be a good day after all. She’d make sure of it.

She held her breath, not quite sure what she would find. Farquhar was still snug in the guest bedroom. The door was still closed. Imps weren’t as powerful as demons, and they needed naps every so often. Being a cat didn’t help matters much for him either.

Eat, sleep, and poop
, she remembered a friend from culinary school say once.
That’s all my cat is good for.

Wait until she met Farquhar. He smoked cigars and swilled down scotch like it was going out of style. The eating—well, boy, could he eat.

“He’d probably eat me out of house and home if he could,” she whispered as she tiptoed down the hall.

No way in hell was she going to wake the sleeping beast. Then again, he was a demon. Demons didn’t need sleep. Some, like Lucy and Rafe, though, still caught a few Z’s every so often. Then again, Lucy was only half demon. Sleep still came naturally for her. Rafe just liked tagging along.

Maybe Matthias was one of those demons who yearned to be human and still partook in human activities. After all, she’d seen him sneak a few pieces of popcorn when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Then again, he was a bodyguard. What kind of bodyguard sleeps on the job? Especially one who took the commando role so seriously.

Not
many.

Oh well, she had to deal with him anyway. Might as well be now.

She shimmied into the living room and rounded the corner to the dining room. The sooner she got her coffee made, the better.

The sooner she could escape to her shower—alone.

Party
pooper.

Yep, that she was.

A low gravelly moan came from the couch.

“Oh no,” she mumbled.

Oh
yes!

She covered her eyes, but peeked through open fingers.

A hand draped over the couch and the sheet fell down across his chest. Eyes still closed, he swallowed and moistened his lips. He twisted and turned on the couch, the blanket falling away, exposing black silk.

Huh?

Red
polka
dots.

Her cheeks warmed at the sight. Muscles bunched and bulged against the delicate fabric. Her gaze moved upward. Something else pressed against the fabric, the boxers barely concealing what lay beneath.

Pulling her hands from her eyes, she licked her lips. Her mouth watered and her pulse bobbed. She stood still, transfixed by the view in front of her. She yearned to go over and stroke those magnificent muscles through the silky fabric. Her fingers tingled.

Get
control
of
yourself.

She scanned the room. The clothing they’d bought earlier lay neatly over the easy chair. Shoe boxes and packages stacked in order on the floor. Oh great. A neat-freak. He and Kalli would get along swimmingly.

How’d he sneak those into the clothes when she wasn’t looking? Then again, he was a demon. If there was one thing she knew, each demon had one or more tricks up his sleeve. Maybe shoplifting was his. Regardless, she’d make certain he only wore tighty-whities from now on. She shivered, imagining him sprawled across her sofa in nothing but a pair of briefs. Even David Beckham in his skimpy Armanis couldn’t compare. Scratch that. He was sleeping fully clothed from now on.

“I’m hopeless,” she whispered. Why, oh, why couldn’t the Fore-Demons send Kevin Costner instead? Nah, Whitney Houston would get jealous. Then again, Kevin Costner didn’t have much of a body. And he was old enough to be her father.

Never mind. He would have worked perfectly. No fantasies to interfere with her sanity.

She padded her way into the dining room and jotted into the kitchen. With a long yawn, she reached up and pulled open the cupboard. She needed something strong if she expected to function the entire day.

Smiling, she grabbed the canister labeled
Extreme
Dark
Roast
.
Yes, it’s that kind of morning.