in things—she could totally see why relationship experts touted role-play as a way to spice up a couple’s love life.
This was just what the pair of them needed.
Plus, it gave her something to focus on as she was forced to follow the rules in the game—okay, well, mostly color within the lines of the war: She’d had to scare that artist last night in the parking garage—it was important to keep the woman headed in the direction she’d voluntarily gone in at the end of the evening.
Just a nudge. Nothing obvious.
And hey, demons were allowed to be in public places. It wasn’t her fault that the woman freaked out and called the cops from a locked elevator, then bolted for home … and ended up in the arms of a very hot lover.
Okay, okay, fine, she’d also caused Jim’s little “accident” in his truck.
Black cats were sometimes not really cats.
But come on, that had been personal, not anything to do with the larger fight between good and evil. She’d just been so bitched that he was all focused on and lovey-dovey supportive with the virgin that she hadn’t been able to help herself—
The yoga instructor popped into her visual field, that clueless, perma-happy, I’m-regular-’cuz-I-eat-organic expression making Devina want to force-feed her Hershey bars until she died from hyperglycemia. “Relax your eyelids. Find your inner peace. Breathe…”
Devina closed her eyes just so she didn’t do something that required a Shop-Vac to clean up—
Another interruption abruptly cut into her “relaxation” time—but it was not her phone going off or a tap on the shoulder or more cocksucking advice on the inhale/exhale thing.
Frowning, she sat up, and broke the horizontal covenant; the summoning was just such a surprise. Fortunately, the teacher picked that moment to call game-over, telling people to settle on their butts with their legs crossed, and do some sort of palm-togethering thing.
Devina waited through that bullshit, because she wanted to keep the male who had called out to her guessing for a little bit: A smart woman knew that men liked the chase, and that was the same whether they were human … or angel.
Finally the class broke up, people getting to their feet and chatting among themselves—probably about the buzz that came from mainlining smoothies made from cow flops and carrot juice.
Quelle delish.
Devina cut through them with the efficiency of a New Yorker on a sidewalk, dodging around as she made for the wall of cubbies by the door of the studio. Everyone else had Merrells or sandals. She popped her Louboutins back on her bare feet and got the hell out of there.
When she slid into her Mercedes, she shut the door and was momentarily derailed by the lack of hood ornament. Even though the thing had been sacrificed for the best possible reason, her OCD blew up its absence into a national emergency.
“You called the dealership,” she told herself. “You put the order in. Tuesday. You just have to make it to Tuesday…”
She felt like she’d lost a leg—and only half of her knew that wasn’t the case.
Then again, running at only fifty percent psychotic was an improvement. Before she’d started going to her therapist? She’d have either thrown the car out on the street, or she’d have gone to Caldwell Mercedes and forced them at gunpoint to remove someone else’s thingy and put it on her own fucking hood.
See. Progress.
Starting up her engine, she hit the gas to get out of the lot before the exit was blocked either by beaters held together with Free Tibet bumper stickers or Priuses with clean-energy logos all over them. As she headed across town, the summoning signal remained strong, and that was good. It meant she’d have enough time for a proper cleanup.
Just another delay, letting him stew in his juices.
When she got to her HQ, she went down to the lower floor and breathed out a sigh of relief to find everything in its place again. Ditching the yoga pants and skin-tight sports top into the trash, she headed for her bathroom— and once again felt trapped between her desire for marble and a Jacuzzi and multiple showerheads … and the reality that she didn’t trust anyone to work down here among her things.
Her rule was a simple one: Move in and stay put as long as she could.
Goddamn Jim. If only he hadn’t found where she’d been hiding out before this.
Great water pressure in those pipes. And Carrara everywhere.
As it was, she was stuck with a relatively anemic spray, white clinical tile, and a urinal next to the sink.
No wonder she’d been so desperate for a hotel stay.
But the good news was, the water was hot, and the soap was her favorite from Fragonard—apricot and clementine. Getting out, she grabbed one of her Porthault towels and wound her hair up tight; then she wrapped a second one around her body.
Given her imminent get-together, she waltzed over to her wardrobe and chose carefully. Short, tight skirt from Louis Vuitton’s resort collection. A Missoni blouse that was a second skin with plenty of downward draft. No hose, no bra, no panties. Same pair of Loubous she’d worn to yoga.
Devina laid everything out on her big bed, and then went to do hair and makeup at her vanity. She took her time … and still that summons hung on.
Must be important, and how delicious was that? About time she was paid some proper respect.
Dressed and ready to go, she went over to her mirror and stepped through. After a whirl of transportation, she stood at the base of her well, staring up at the viscous walls and the groaning, restless masses trapped within them.
Straightening her skirt and smoothing her hair, she went over to her stained and battered worktable … and called the angel Adrian down to her.
As he appeared before her, he was just as big as he had always been, his shoulders the kind of thing that offered plenty of acreage to claw at, his heavy arms as thick and muscled under his T-shirt as a prizefighter’s, his hips anchoring a cock that she knew well, and had missed.
The best part? He was icy-cold angry, his good eye and his milky one both narrowed and spitting out hatred, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief.
Ohhhhh, yeah. After a night of lying chastely with Jim, she was sexually frustrated in the extreme. This was just what she needed to tame the burn down.
“Why, hello,” she drawled with a smile. “Pining for me again?”
Chapter
Twenty-five
“This is … incredible.”
Cait actually had to look over at the plastic box her sandwich had come in. “I mean, I really can’t believe this came out of a vending machine and was—”
“Premade, right?” G.B. sat down across the little stainless-steel table and nodded. “It defies the laws of cold storage.”
“I feel like it should be served in a fancy restaurant.” She wiped her mouth with her paper napkin. “I didn’t have a lot of hope, to be honest.”
“I will never steer you wrong.” G.B. peeled off the aluminum top of his. “I got the ham—what did you choose again?”
“Turkey. I didn’t want to gamble with all the mayonnaise on the chicken salad—but after this? I probably would. I think this is real chutney in here.” She turned her sandwich his way. “Really.”
G.B. nodded as he bit into his own. “Almost all of the cast went out to eat, but that’s a little rich for my blood—besides, with this? Why bother.” While chewing, he cracked open a little bag of Cape Cod potato chips. “Share these with me?”
Cait shook her head and put her hand in front of her mouth. “I watch my weight.”
