Where Demons Fear to Tread (19 page)

She had seen the goodness that still existed within Julian, exactly as Arielle had told her.
Make him see it in himself.
But how could Serena do that when he was dead set on betraying the goodness within himself? And dead set on betraying
her.

Serena had seen the look of longing he tried to hide behind his veneer of sophistication. And she could smell the betrayal coming off him. He had physical desires, physical needs, and he intended to slake them. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

Then again, there was nothing to betray. They had made no promises to each other. There was no love between them. Was there?

She didn’t know. But the little voice inside of her said,
Go
.
Stop him.

She opened the door. Julian was not taking chances. It was the first time he’d left her in days, but he’d left a Gatekeeper outside the door. The demon sat on a chair in the hallway, stoically staring into space. Beside him, a goblin sat on the floor, cackling to itself as it pored through the contents of a woman’s purse, undoubtedly stolen from some unwitting tourist downstairs.

The Gatekeeper smiled amiably. “Hello, miss.”

She gave him her prettiest smile back, hoping that would soften him.

The demon’s name was Simon. He seemed to be a nice enough fellow, well mannered and polite, probably because he feared recrimination from Julian. But he showed no signs of letting her leave. “Mr. Ascher warned me about you. Said you’d try to talk me into letting you go. Unfortunately, I just can’t do that, miss,” Simon said, folding his arms across his bulky chest.

The goblin, hideous little watchdog on the floor beside its master, gave her an evil grin.

How, just how am I going to get out of here?

“I’m really sorry to have to do this to you, Simon. You seem like a nice guy,” she said, hoping the trick up her sleeve would work. It was the last option she had left. But it was worth a try. It had not worked with Julian the night she’d met him at Devil’s Paradise, but Julian was infinitely stronger than the Gatekeeper he’d left to guard her. The question was, was the Gatekeeper stronger than
her?

“Do what, miss?” Simon asked, frowning.

She concentrated hard, willing a bright light into his head. The harder she focused, the brighter the light became.

Simon raised a massive hand to squeeze his temples. “Shit, that hurts.”

She concentrated harder. The light gained intensity, a blinding orb of energy that pulsed through his brain. He clutched his head, the agony dropping him from his seat to roll on the floor.

Serena ran.

The goblin scrambled after her, squealing in rage like a stuck pig. She gave it a vicious kick and sent it sprawling into a wall. Bolting down the hallway, she jammed on the elevator button.

Come on, come on.

Down the hall, she could see Simon lumbering to his feet, clutching his head in pain. Just in time, the elevator bell pinged and the doors slid open. Inside, she hit the button for the penthouse, and at the same time jammed her finger on the button to slide the doors closed.

Catching her breath as the elevator made its ascent to the top of the hotel, she smoothed her hair, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Yet another Gatekeeper guarded the penthouse suite, this one bigger and meaner-looking than Simon. Outside in the hallway, music, laughter and cocktail chatter drifted from the party. The Gatekeeper loomed over her, running his eyes over her outfit with the kind of leer that made her want to cross her arms over her chest.

She gave him a big, sunny smile. “I was invited to Mr. Ranulfson’s networking event tonight, but I’m afraid I lost my invitation.”

The Gatekeeper smirked. “Girls don’t need no invitation tonight. But this ain’t no networking event.”

“I was speaking euphemistically,” Serena said, covering quickly.
I knew it.

“Huh?” he snorted. Clearly, he’d been hired for his size and not his brain capacity.

“I meant a
networking event,
if you catch my drift,” she said, with a lewd wink. “I’m in
business,
you know. A
working girl,
” she said, hoping he’d catch the hint.

He eyed her gray silk dress. “You’re not like the rest of Josie’s girls,” he said frowning. “You look, you know…classy.”

“Thanks, I think,” she muttered as he finally opened the door.

She walked inside, feeling a shudder rack through her body. Corbin’s suite was enormous. The Gatekeeper ushered her through the circular vestibule down a long hallway, which opened into a high-ceilinged space. Enormous windows showcased a spectacular view of the Vegas Strip at night. Perforated brass lanterns were strung across the room, light twinkling through cutout stars that hung over the clustered guests. It was not a huge party, but it seemed to be an exclusive one, at least from the male perspective. There were far more women here than men. And the women were all clearly professionals, hired for the occasion. It was certainly no networking event.

She glanced around, looking for a sign of Julian. When she found none, she pushed deeper into the party.

Fingertips traced down the exposed skin at the back of her neck. She knew before she turned—it was not Julian. She whirled to find Corbin standing behind her. He bent low and swept a kiss over the back of her hand. He played the part of the charming and successful entrepreneur, rather than the lecherous demon host of a party where all the female guests had been bought and paid for. Yet, the latter part of him ebbed, barely hidden beneath the surface of the facade he wore for her benefit.

“So glad you could join us, my dear. I wasn’t expecting you, but I’m pleased you came,” Corbin said. He handed her a glass of champagne.

She forced a thin smile, took a sip of champagne to cover her dismay. Julian might be beholden to this man, but when she looked at the older Archdemon, she felt nothing but fear. She saw what he was—pure evil—and no amount of grooming or ambiance could cover that up. Unfortunately, at this moment, she stood at the epicenter of his power, at the mercy of his legion of minions.

So she maintained her smile and said, “Have you seen Julian?”

“He said he wasn’t going to bring you,” he said slowly, running a finger up her bare arm. “Does this mean it’s open season?”

Being touched by Corbin was like being brushed by a rat that had been wallowing in a landfill. She steeled herself not to move. It would not do to start a fight. “I’m not prey,” she told him.

“Too bad. I thought wings were on the menu tonight.” He traced his fingers along her back, following the curve of her shoulder blade. “They’re my favorite. Wouldn’t you like to give me a taste?”

His hand swept down to cup her buttock, and she jumped, shocked at his touch. She tried to back away, but Corbin’s hands were too quick, reaching for her before she could escape. Where was Julian when she needed him?

Please, God, don’t let Corbin hurt me,
she prayed.

In another of the many rooms in Corbin’s penthouse, Julian reclined on a bed, watching an exotic dancer grinding around a pole directly in front of him. How thoughtful that Corbin should have accommodated his guests’ needs so thoroughly that such an amenity was a built-in feature.

It was a room designed for sex—not just the pole, but the mirrored ceiling, the muted lighting, the garishly ornate bed with its covers of burnished copper silk. The girl who danced for him had introduced herself as Lexus, at which point he’d almost laughed out loud and asked why nobody ever chose Toyota or Volvo as stripper names. She was clad only in a silver-colored bra, a matching G-string and a pair of platform heels. Lexus arched and turned, showing off her tight, curvaceous body in a way that Serena would never do for him. He should just reach out right now and take her, this girl who was so intent on pleasing him, as Serena was not.

The dancer bore some resemblance to Serena—they had the same long fall of blond hair, the same wide-eyed youth—which was why he had selected her. But Lexus might as well have been born of a different species from Serena, they were so fundamentally incomparable. For all her grinding and gyrating, her big breasts and her firm ass, nothing about the stripper turned him on.

He took a swig from the bottle of gin he’d finagled from the bartender and tried to concentrate on getting it up.

The girl released from the pole, reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. Her impressive breasts sprang forward, dark nipples puckered, already erect. He should be panting for her by now, but he felt nothing. She moved onto the bed, crawling toward him on all fours. He inhaled her perfume. It was not a cheap scent, but it was still somehow sticky and cloying.

She straddled him, pushing her tits toward his face. He reached out, fondled one, rolled the nipple between his fingertips. Closed his eyes, tried to pretend she was Serena. But her breasts were implants, firmer and denser to the touch than Serena’s natural curves. She moaned, “Yeah, baby,” but that was also fake.

On any given night before he’d met Serena, he would have found this stripper sexy, but instead he’d had enough. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not tonight.” Pushing Lexus off him, he ignored her disappointed sigh. He extracted his wallet from his back pocket, took out a few hundred dollars and tucked the bills in the side of her G-string.

She stroked his thigh, inching her hand up toward his groin. “You sure, sugar? You don’t have to pay me. I’d do it free of charge. I’ll let you drive.”

Wincing at the pun on her name, he tossed her an extra couple of hundred. “It’s not you, gorgeous. My mind’s somewhere else.”

He picked up the bottle of gin and headed into the hallway. For an instant, he paused, wanting to go back down to the suite he shared with Serena. But he was not sure what would happen if he did. He couldn’t trust himself to be near her. He was raging with need—a need that no other woman could fill.

Then he caught a scent on the air, subtle but distinct. A hint of something too fresh, too innocent to be in this debauched place. He moved toward the main room, seeking it like a wolf following the scent of its next meal, wanting a taste of prey to satisfy his burning hunger.

Serena was there, pressed against the edge of a table, cringing away from Corbin’s seeking hands. Julian charged forward.

Corbin backed away instantly, a hound releasing a captured rabbit from its jaws, caught poaching on another’s land. “Ah, there you are, old chap.”

Her face relaxed when she saw Julian, and she leaned toward him, eyes eager and pleading.
Don’t. I’m no better than Corbin,
he thought. She was too innocent. She did not deserve to be mauled by demons, himself included. But he wasn’t sure whether he could stop himself. He held out a hand. Wide-eyed, she took it.

Neither of them spoke as he led her away from Corbin. He wanted her alone, now. He dragged her into the bedroom he’d just vacated, slammed the door and locked it behind him.

Only when he heard the click of the lock did he realize what a mistake he had made in bringing her here. There was nowhere to look but the bed. That was the last thought that shot through his mind before it went blank with desire.

The bottle of gin he held clattered to the floor.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. Her voice washed over him, fluid tones of a siren’s call. He saw the subtle glimmer in her eye and knew what she offered.

This was hardly a rescue, and she knew it.
He
was the one who had lured her here to begin with, against her will. To Vegas. To this hotel. To this room.

“You don’t belong here,” he ground out. His own voice was rougher than asphalt, rasping in his parched throat. “Go home.”

Ignoring his warning completely, she sauntered toward him, crossing the floor in a few long strides. Took a spin around the stripper’s pole. Grasped it with one hand and spiraled like a seasoned dancer. He tried to avert his gaze. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

She wound her body around the pole. The smile hovering on her lips was more playful than seductive. But her movements showcased the litheness of her body. He blinked hard, trying to clear the illusion from his sight. When he opened his eyes, she was still there. Beckoning. Teasing. In the lean stretch of her body, he saw the formula of ideal proportions at work. He watched the camber of her hips, subtle counterpoint to the curves of her breasts as she experimented with the pole, arching and turning. Not as smoothly as Lexus, but a thousand times more seductive.

He itched for her to continue, to shed the confines of her dress and let him prostrate himself before the splendor of her nudity. Instead, he muttered what he
should
say. What he
ought
to say. “Stop it, this isn’t you. Don’t do this for my benefit. Where did you even learn to dance like that, anyway?”

Her tiny smile flickered, taunting him. “There are pole-dancing classes on college campuses. Even soccer moms do Cardio Striptease at the gym these days. It’s perfectly innocent.”

It was not innocent.
She
was not innocent. Not tonight.

His cock twitched in his pants, hardening as he watched her. The dim lighting turned her pearl-gray minidress to liquid silver that poured over her flushed skin as she danced. His brain grasped for some semblance of sanity. When had she managed to invert their roles? His mind scrambled to pinpoint that moment. But all rational thought escaped him now.

He must regain control. He was the master of temptation, not its servant. The seducer, not the seduced. Hunter, not hunted.

He must let her go. He must
force
her to go, immediately. Push her away so that she would be far from the stain of his touch. Clearing his throat, he moistened his dry lips and spoke. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re free to go. Back to L.A., back to your little yoga studio, where you’re safe.”

Instead, she released the pole and moved toward the opulent bed. The click of her heels on the marble floor echoed over the muted sounds of the party outside. She brushed past where he stood. Trailed her fingers across his chest—nothing more—then sank to sit on the bed’s edge. So close he inhaled the scent of her: fragrance of amber, cinnamon and female arousal.