Kiss & Hell (12 page)

But that joy came at a price, and clearly, she’d just been put on Satan’s clearance rack. That did worry her, and it made her worry for the few people in her life she loved. “I bet they hate my guts, and I gotta tell ya, I can live with that. So big deal. Some demons hate me. I’d slap on my sad face for you, but alas, that news makes me smile and smile. See?” She grinned wide.

But Clyde wasn’t smiling. “And still there’s more.” His tone was grim.

Again with the serious. “So get on with it already. This little interlude’s been like that song that goes on and on. Um, ‘In-A-Ga—’ ”

“‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.’ By
Iron Butterfly
, 19—”

“Enough with the useless trivia, music man. You get my drift. Now get to the ‘there’s more’ point.”

His eyes scanned her face in earnest, probing and deep. “There was another name involved when you were mentioned. Let me preface this by saying I don’t know who this person is, and I have no idea what the name means in correlation to you.”

Hackles rose along her neck, but she managed to push out, “What name?”

“I remember it distinctly because it’s a nice name. It means . . . shit, I forget. I just know it’s Irish—Gaelic.”

The air evaporated around her, stilling to a thick pea soup. The blood drained from her face. “The—name,” she prodded.

“Kellen. It was Kellen.”

She knew what Kellen’s name meant. At least in relation to it being bandied about a water cooler in Hell.

Mud.

Which meant they were toast.

six

Clyde stood in front of her in his impromptu throw blanket, his face a handsome mask of concern. “I should have known the name was important. Who is Kellen, and is another apology in my future?”

Delaney hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath, but for the hiss of air that escaped her lungs when she finally spoke. “My brother.”

“Can he see dead people, too?”

Her mouth was dry—words came at a heavy, substantial price. “No. No dead people.”

Clyde put a hand on her shoulder, obviously hoping to lend comfort, reassurance, but it only served to make her uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he had a demon’s hand. It warmed the cold front that had settled over her body, and that wasn’t copasetic. “So they hate your brother, too? Just because he’s
your
brother, I’m assuming.”

Delaney shrugged his lean fingers off, hoping the warmth that seeped through her sweater would dissipate. Yeah, they hated her brother, but it didn’t have as much to do with her and her gift as it did for her and that night.

That night.

That fucking night.

When all that had once made sense suddenly and inexplicably made about as much sense as a Rubik’s Cube. The night Satan had promised to obliterate the people she loved—the people she might potentially love—during a bitter rage filled with all the unimaginable elements most only watch come to life on a movie screen. “Yeah, I guess that’s it,” she lied with an ease she was left feeling dirty about. But she wasn’t about to tell Clyde anything more than he needed to know. First, if he was telling her the truth, her issues with Satan would only compound his. Second, this was between her and the pitchfork lover. “Because he’s my brother,” she finished.

Clyde’s eyes sought hers, darkening to a deeper blue behind his glasses. “I wish I had more to give you about why Kellen was mentioned in regard to you and Satan. The only thing I can think of is that Lucifer wants Kellen because hurting him would hurt you.”

“So there was nothing else in this file about Lucifer’s reasons for wanting me to damn myself for eternity? No specifics? Nothing about what he may or may not have planned for Kellen?” She had to know. In order to know, she had to pretend she didn’t know anything at all. If Clyde was lying, and he brought back her apparent ignorance to Satan, then all the better. Not in a mill would she let the devil catch wind of the fear she’d harbored all these years or the terror that kept her sometimes rooted in isolation.

“Nothing. Just his orders to get your soul at all costs.”

Closing her eyes, she fought to keep her rising panic at bay. She’d come across demons in her fifteen years with this gift of talking to the dead, but they’d never brought her this kind of specific information. Obviously, the time had come. Oh, but the hell she’d cower because Satan and his band of weenies had threatened her. The. Hell. She stuck her hand out at Clyde as she rose from the chair. “Thanks for the heads-up. You’re crazy swell, Clyde. Really. Now go Matlock your way out of this supposed mix-up you’re messed up in with my blessings.”

He hesitated when she shook her hand at him so he’d take it in his grip. “But wait . . .”

With a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, Delaney stuck the hand she’d offered in her pocket and shuffled to the door, unlocking it and flipping the Open sign over. She turned back to face him and his once again bewildered yumminess.

It would so help if he hadn’t chosen such an unassuming, yet ultrafine human form. When he stood there, looking all like someone had just stolen his lunch money, but hot as the day was long doing it, making him nothing but a blip on her radar would be so much easier. “Wait what? You did what you needed to, and I’d bet, if you really did end up in Hell as some kind of cosmic mistake, this little random act of demonic chivalry will go on the pro side of your scorecard from upstairs. So thanks and all that jazz. Now go figure out what happened to you—you’re absolved.”

Clyde remained rooted to the center of her store on the big braided rug she’d bought at Rasheem’s Rug Palace with a stance that said he wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s not that simple.”

It would seem nothing with Clyde was. “What’s not? You pulled a naughty by switching some file names, which, if what you’re saying about your former life is true, was completely warranted—total validation is on your side. I’d be pissed if I’d been jacked like you have, my friend. So now you have however much time Satan gave this clown Clyve here on Earth to figure out what happened to you in your final moments. Use them wisely, Grasshopper.” She waved a hand at the door, dismissing him. But her eyes couldn’t watch him leave. Despite what he’d told her, if he was telling the truth, then as a medium, technically, she should be helping him.

Yeah, that was it. She just wanted to help. It had nothing to do with his dork appeal.

Nothing.

He strode to where she stood in two long steps, gazing down at her. “I can’t just leave you here alone after telling you something like that, Delaney. You’re in danger.”

An odd twist in her chest made her that much more determined to get rid of him. Because if he wasn’t telling the truth and she let him play her, she was fucked. “Aw, look. A demon with a Superman complex. I don’t need your help, Clyde, for all the good it’d do me, anyway. Let’s face it. You’re not exactly all about the fear factor. Marcella did secure you with salt and duct tape.”

He needed to go away. If he was as innocent as he claimed, Lucifer would spit fireballs and pitchforks if he found out what Clyde had done before Clyde could take care of his earthly business. Especially if he helped her. If the devil wanted her lock, stock, and crossings like Clyde said, he’d get all hinky over one of his minions stopping that. Clyde might not be telling the truth, but one thing was abundantly clear as of this moment: he wasn’t much of a threat. She was as sure of that as she was the size of her panties.

Why she should care if he was hurt in the making of this Hel lavision was something she had no time to dwell on. The idea that Kellen was even mentioned in passing in all of this had her terrified, and that had to be her focus.

Clyde’s long arms, not too bulky, but with just the right amount of muscle, crossed over his wide chest. His lips formed a thin line of resolve. “I’m not leaving.”

Whew, when he had that oh so focused look of determination on his face, he was downright hawt, dweeb glasses and all. “Clyde, Clyde, Clyde. Do I have to get the prism?”

“Do I have to set something else on fire?”

Sweet mother. There was no denying his beefcake status when he was being pushed. Now she crossed her arms over her chest, rocking back on her heels. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He cocked an eyebrow, dark and condescending, at her. “We’ve traveled this road.”

Rolling her tongue along the inside of her cheek, Delaney narrowed her eyes at him. “Time’s wastin’, Clyde. How much time did your level boss give you—er, sorry,
Clyve
—to drive me to the brink of insanity again?”

“A month.”

“Hoo boy. You’d better make haste. According to my calendar, you have twenty-nine days left.”

“I know how much time I have left, and I plan to use it wisely—while I’m here—with
you
.”

Was this like an episode of
Geeks Gone Wild
? A sort of uprising—rage against the machine—like the meek shall inherit the Earth and all? “Uh, no. You’re not staying here, if that’s what that chest-beating, knuckle-dragging statement was about. There’s no room at the inn.”

He barked another laugh, only this one didn’t make her belly experience the release of a thousand butterflies.

“That’s funny, how?”

“No one’s ever implied I was a Neanderthal. I find I don’t so much mind the reference.” He grinned again, changing the whole landscape of his face from just moments ago.

Just as she was about to go get the prism, the bell on her door jingled, signaling a customer. Then two things happened almost simultaneously.

Her first, albeit brief thought was, she had a man in the middle of her store in broad daylight who was wearing a throw around him like a bath towel while a customer strolled into her store. And the man was naked underneath.

Na-ked.

The second was Clyde’s lips.

Attached.

To hers.

And of all the species of men, geeks being the least known for their prowess, Delaney decided they’d been sorely underrated.

Because bow-chick-a-wow-wowwww.

Clyde’s arms were confident and hard as he scooped her up, dragging her to his chest, molding her hips to his as though they’d been made for just such molding. He slanted his mouth over hers, using a forceful but light pressure to coax her lips apart. The slither of his tongue into her mouth was silken and tasted minty fresh.

Warm heat gathered, and not just in her cheeks. Her arms had hung limp in surprise at first—until he slid his tongue into her mouth, drawing it with silken skill across hers in a smooth pass. His hard abdomen, flush with hers, was maddeningly covered by the throw blanket she’d given him, but the heat he emanated caressed her even through her sweater. The space between her legs rubbed against his hard shaft, leaving her deliciously aware of his maleness.

His big maleness.

A groan from one of them sounded low and husky, thrumming in her ears. Her arms, now with a will of their own, circled Clyde’s neck. Her fingers found the crisp hairs at his nape, stroking them with a hand that surely didn’t belong to her.

Her breath came in one single, short pant, then left her body entirely as their mouths fully entwined, meshing with one another’s so completely the kiss became almost as familiar as it was new. Surprise, shock, heat, among other things, assaulted her subconscious. But it sure wasn’t enough of a shock to make her stop him from kissing the living shit out of her. Not even the dogs, shrieking like someone was peeling their skin from their wriggling bodies, made her want to stop. Their barking became muted, blending into the street noise from outside the store.

Clyde pulled away first, a mere inch to whisper, “Shut up. Trust me. Play along.”

Oh. Okay. Like she was all about tearing herself away from him, anyway. “Why?” she whispered back against lips she wasn’t quite ready to part with. Ashamed she wasn’t ready to part with them, but there it was.

“Because I said so.”

Delaney hung from his neck, tilting her head back just enough to watch his lips move. “And that should make me quiver with fear why?”

He didn’t have time to answer, instead, he buried his face in her neck, dropping kisses along the column of it and making her groan with reluctant realization.

The customer chuckled, low and knowing. A chuckle that snapped the kissing slut right out of her. Those hackles were back—loud and proud, racing along her arms, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. “I see you two are busy. I’ll come back another time,” a distinguished voice rumbled.

Clyde lifted his head from the warm spot on her neck, smiling lasciviously at the man, and gave him a nod of thanks. “Verrry busy,” he muttered by way of acknowledgment, then replanted his mouth on hers.

When the tinkle of her door chimed again, Clyde dropped her like she was hot, backing up and smacking into the counter with his hip. He rubbed it while he yelled over his shoulder, “Dogs! Knock it off!”

And they did.

Knock it off.

The motherfuckers had shut right up as if Clyde was the King of Canines and they were all sent here to do nothing but his bidding.

Goddamn it.
She
was their pack leader.