Succubus Blues (17 page)

And yet, at the same time, being this close to him proved disconcerting as well. Distracting. I began noticing things like the lean muscles in his arms and the way his messy brown hair framed his face. Even the gold sheen of light hitting his facial hair and the shape of his lips held my attention. Turning away, I felt the base thirst for life energy twitch in me, and I repressed the urge to reach out and touch his face. The outside shape-shifting had caused more damage than I realized. I still didn't really require a true refill of energy, but the succubus instinct was getting irritable. I needed to squelch it soon, but certainly not with Seth.

I stood up hastily, still holding the Bible, wanting to get away from him. He rose with me.

“Well,” I began awkwardly when neither of us said anything for a few moments, “I need to get to work here.”

He nodded, the interest in his face turning to apprehension. “I…”

“Hmm?”

Swallowing, he looked away briefly then back to me, his eyes now focused with determination. “So, I'm going to this party on Sunday, and I wondered if maybe…maybe if you weren't busy or weren't working, you could maybe, that is, maybe you'd want to come with me.”

I stared, speechless. Had Seth Mortensen just asked me out? And hadn't…hadn't we just had a coherent conversation for once? Combined with me suddenly noticing how attractive he was, the very world seemed to be turning on its side. Worse still, I wanted to accept. Something about Seth suddenly felt natural and right, even if it wasn't like the rollercoaster of excitement I felt with Roman. Somewhere in this bizarre, awkward relationship, I'd grown to genuinely like the writer independent of his novels.

But I couldn't accept. I knew I couldn't. I cursed myself for my initial flirtation; it had apparently stuck with him, despite my efforts to undo it and stay platonic. Part of me felt dismayed, part of me pleased. All of me knew what I had to do.

“No,” I answered bluntly, still stunned.

“Oh.”

I had no choice. No way could I have Seth attracted to me. No way could I risk anything but an arm's-length friendship with my favorite books' creator.

Realizing how rude I had sounded, I attempted a hasty recovery. I should have simply said I had to work, but instead, I found myself babbling on with a variant of what I had used on Doug over the years.

“You see…I'm not really interested in dating right now or getting involved with anyone. So, it's nothing personal, I mean, the party sounds great and all, but I just can't accept. I don't ever accept things like that, actually. Like I said, it isn't personal. It's just easier not to get involved. To not date. Um, ever.”

Seth studied me for a long time, considering, and I was suddenly reminded of that first night when he looked much the same way while I explained my five-page rule with his books.

Finally, he said, “Oh. Okay. But…aren't you dating that guy? The really tall one with black hair?”

“No. We're not dating. Not really. We're just, uh, friends. Sort of.”

“Oh,” Seth repeated. “Friends don't go to parties together, then?”

“No.” I hesitated, suddenly wishing I had a different answer. “They can maybe have coffee sometimes. Here in the bookstore.”

“I don't drink coffee.”

There was a sharpness to his voice. I felt like I'd been slapped. We stood there then in what was quite possibly among the top five most uncomfortable moments of my life. The silence stretched out between us. At last, I repeated my lame exit excuse: “I have to get back to work.”

“Okay. See you around.”

Just friends, just friends. How many times had I used that line? How many times had the lie been easier than facing up to the truth? I'd even used it on my husband so long ago, again hiding from the reality of a matter I didn't want to admit to when things had turned sour between us.

“Just friends?” Kyriakos had repeated, dark eyes staring at me.

“Of course. He's your friend too, you know. He just keeps me company when you're gone, that's all. It's lonely without you.”

But I never told my husband how often his friend Ariston came to visit or how we always seemed to be finding excuses to touch each other. A casual brush here and there. His hand to help me up. Or the one day that still burned in my memory, when he had reached over me to grab a bottle, and his hand had grazed my breast. I'd given an involuntary gasp, and he'd lingered for a heartbeat before carrying on with his task.

And I didn't tell Kyriakos that Ariston made me feel like I had in the early days of my marriage, like I was clever, beautiful, and desirable. Ariston lavished me with the attention Kyriakos once had; Ariston loved the sharp wit that had once gotten me into trouble as an unmarried maiden.

As for Kyriakos…well, I assumed he loved those things too, but he didn't show it so much anymore. His father was making him work longer and longer hours, and when he finally got home, he would collapse into bed or seek the solitude of his flute. I hated that flute…hated it and loved it. I loathed that it seemed to hold his attention more than I did. Yet, on some nights, when I sat outside and listened to him play, I felt awed at his skill and that ability to create such sweetness.

But that didn't change the fact that I slept untouched more often than not. When I told him I'd never get pregnant that way, he'd laugh and tell me we had all the time in the world for children. This troubled me because I honestly—and irrationally—believed that having a baby would somehow fix everything between us. I ached for one, missing the way my little sisters had once felt in my arms. I loved the honesty and the innocence of children and liked to think I might help guide one into becoming a good person. Nothing seemed so sweet to me in those days as cleaning cuts, holding small hands, and telling stories. Furthermore, I had reached a point where I needed to know that I
could
have a baby. Three years of marriage was a long time to go without a child in those days, and I'd seen the way others were starting to whisper that poor Letha might be barren. I hated their simpering and sickeningly sugared pity.

I should have told Kyriakos everything that was on my mind, every last detail. But he was so sweet and worked so hard to provide for us, I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to shake the contentment that ostensibly filled our household just for my own self-gratification and need for attention. Besides, it wasn't like he always neglected my body. A bit of coaxing, and I could sometimes get him to answer my desire. We'd come together in the middle of the night then, his body moving in mine with the same passion he used in his music.

Yet, looking at Ariston some days, I had the feeling he wouldn't need any coaxing at all. And as empty days without Kyriakos passed, that started to mean something.

Just friends, just friends. Standing there in the bookstore, watching Seth walk away, I half wondered how anyone could still use that line. But I knew why, of course. It was used because people still believed it. Or at least they wanted to.

When I returned downstairs—feeling sad, angry, and idiotic all at the same time—I stumbled upon a scenario guaranteed to make my day even weirder: Helena from Krystal Starz stood there in front of the registers, gesticulating wildly to the cashiers.

Helena here. On my turf.

Swallowing my confusion over Seth, I strode over in my best managerial way, still carrying the Bible. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Helena spun around, making the crystals around her neck tinkle as they hit each other. “It's her—she's the one. The one who stole my staff.”

I glanced behind the counter. Casey and Beth stood there, looking relieved to see me. Tammi and her friend Janice must have been somewhere else in the store, for which I was grateful. Best to keep them out of this. I kept my voice cool, ever-conscious of the customers observing.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

“Don't start that with me! You know exactly what I mean. You walked into my store, made a scene, and then lured away my staff. They left without notice!”

“People have recently applied for jobs here,” I responded blandly. “I can't really keep track of where they used to work. As assistant manager, however, I can empathize with the inconvenience of employees who leave without giving notice.”

“Stop that!” Helena exclaimed, hardly resembling the cool, collected diva from last week. “Do you think I can't see through your lies? You walk in darkness, your aura wreathed in fire!”

“What's on fire?”

Doug and Warren walked up, obviously attracted by the mounting spectacle.

“Her,” Helena proclaimed, pointing at me, using the New Age raspy voice.

Warren eyed me curiously, as though actually assessing for flames. “Georgina?”

“She stole my employees. Just came in and took them like that. I could sue, you know. When I tell my lawyers—”

“Which employees?”

“Tammi and Janice.”

I cringed, waiting to see what this new development would unleash. Despite his many shortcomings, Warren did have a smooth sense of customer service and professionalism. I worried what might ensue if my poaching received further investigation.

He frowned, trying to match faces with names apparently. “Wait…didn't one of them jump my car today?”

“Tammi did.”

He snorted dismissively. “We're not giving them back.”

Helena turned beet red. “You can't—”

“Ma'am, I am sorry for your inconvenience, but I can hardly pass back workers who have signed employment papers with us and are unwilling to work for you anymore. There's always turnover in retail. I'm sure you'll find someone soon.”

She turned on me, still pointing. “I won't forget this. Even if I can't get you back for this, the universe will repay your cruel and twisted nature. You will die miserable and alone. Unloved. Friendless. Childless. Your life will have amounted to nothing.”

So much for New Age love and kindness. I hardly feared her comments about dying, but the other adjectives dug in a little.
Miserable and alone. Unloved. Friendless. Childless.

Warren, however, felt no such concerns for me. “Ma'am, Georgina's the last one I'd accuse of having a ‘cruel' nature or leading a meaningless life. She holds this place together, and I trust her judgment implicitly—including the hiring of your former employees. Now unless you would like to make a purchase, I must ask you to leave before I'm forced to call the authorities.”

Helena spouted off more curses and woes to us, no doubt entertaining the customers waiting in line. To my surprise, Warren continued holding his ground. He usually went out of his way to smooth customer relations and put our best foot forward, even at his employees' expense. Today he didn't apparently feel like humoring anyone. It was refreshing.

When Helena left, he retreated to his office without another word, and Doug and I stood there, astonishment quickly giving way to amusement.

“The things you cause, Kincaid.”

“What? Don't peg that one on me.”

“Are you kidding? Freaky witch women never showed up before you started working here.”

“How would you know? I started before you.” Checking my watch, I turned thoughtful. “You're still here for a while today, aren't you?”

“Yup. Lucky for you. Why?”

“No reason.” I left him there and walked to the back offices. Instead of turning left for my office, however, I turned right into Warren's.

He sat at his desk, packing his briefcase, preparing to leave now that his car was ready. “Don't tell me she's back.”

“No.” I closed the door behind me. This made him look up. “I just wanted to thank you.”

Warren eyed me shrewdly. “Kicking irrational customers out is part of my job.”

“Yeah, but last time I didn't get praised. I had to apologize.”

He shrugged, thinking of an incident from a year ago. “Well, that was different. You called an old woman a hypocritical, pathological Nazi neophyte.”

“She was.”

“If you say so.” His eyes still watched my every move.

I walked over to him, setting the Bible down on his desk. Climbing onto his chair, I straddled his lap, making my tight red skirt ride up considerably, revealing the lace-covered tops of black thigh-highs underneath. I leaned in to kiss him, at first just running my teeth tauntingly over his lips, and then suddenly pressing my mouth in hard. He returned the kiss with equal fervor, hands automatically sliding up the backs of my thighs to cup my ass.

“Christ,” he breathed when we broke apart slightly. One of his hands moved to my face, the other toyed with the thong I wore under my skirt. His fingers ran along its lacy edge and then pushed upward inside me, at first just delicately probing and then sliding up the full length. I was already wet from a sudden desire and breathed deeply as I savored those long, smooth strokes. Warren watched me with approval. “What's this all about?”

“What's what? We do this all the time.”

“You never initiate it.”

“I told you, I'm grateful.”

That was true, actually. I had found his defense rather endearing. Also, still burning with Roman-lust and now maybe Seth-lust, I suddenly found Warren convenient in the wake of my grouchy succubus hunger.

The hand by my face wound up a lock of hair, and he turned pensive, although he didn't stop what he was doing between my legs. “Georgina…I hope…I hope you know what we do here in no way affects your job. You have no obligations—no danger of losing your position here if—”

I laughed out loud, surprised by this oddly considerate side. “I know that.”

“I mean it—”

“I know that,” I repeated, biting his lower lip with my teeth. “Don't go soft on me all of a sudden,” I growled. “That's not what I'm here for.”