Sweet Temptation
Page 21
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CHAPTER SIX
Pears and Oranges
“I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart.
You want to get inside, then you can get in line, but not this time.”
—“Hero/Heroine” by Boys Like Girls
Winning over Anna means walking a fine line. In many ways she’s like other girls—she giggles and blushes and is flattered when I flirt—but only to a certain extent. Unlike most other girls I’ve met, Anna is an “old soul.” She’s like a proper old woman in a hot, young body. She can be a downright prude biddy, saying things like, “Do you think you could try to be a gentleman . . . and maybe wear shorts to bed?” and “This is going to be a long trip if you give girls the bedroom eyes every time we stop.”
I’ll admit, I love to shock her. I stood there nude this morning, wanting her to see exactly what was available for the taking. But cripes, I hadn’t expected her to scream like a banshee. And that’s the problem: I’m not the only one doing the shocking here. She continues to render me speechless with nonchalant admissions, like “I can sense pregnancies” and “I can feel other people’s suffering.”
Exactly how powerful is this girl? She can bloody well do angel things. And her angel voodoo has other power, as well, such as the power to make me open my mouth and say entirely too damn much. She’s just so selfless. So genuinely interested. There are brief moments when I feel . . . I don’t bloody know how to explain it . . . but I don’t feel myself.
I’m supposed to be making her fall for me. I’m supposed to be reminding her that I’m badass, and then crafting moments of comfort and openness. Well¸ that’s exactly what’s happening, but I’m not crafting shite. Instead I’m feeling it. She’s using her skills on me.
This girl is dangerous.
She’s got the talents of a cookie-making nana, a world-renowned psychologist, and a seductive succubus all in one. And the most mind-bending part is that she has no clue about her effect on me. It’s only been two days and I’m torn between wanting to throw her to the wolves before she infects my mind any further or hide her and keep her all for myself.
And now she’s asking me about other girls. About my motives when I work. She is digging too deep and assuming I’m some sad chump who feels bad for what I do.
But I don’t.
Yet it’s not to my benefit to announce what a heartless bastard I am. It is good she’s talking nonstop, though. In our quiet moments all I can think about is having sex with her—pulling over behind an oversized road sign, or lifting her onto my lap as I drive.
And then as I drive she says something that throws a spanner in the works.
“. . . I care about you.”
Her words reverberate through me and fill me with a sense of terror.
“Don’t say that,” I snap. I am shaking on the inside. This is what I wanted, right? For her feelings to grow. But it’s not how I thought it would be. It’s far more complicated, because now I’m feeling things I didn’t anticipate, like guilt, and I can’t understand why. “You shouldn’t say that, about caring. You hardly know me.”
She’s too foolish. Too open and trusting, watching me with those fawn eyes. Damn it, she needs to know the constant danger she will be in for the rest of her life. She needs to understand how I live and breathe that danger every day. She needs to lose her virginity, to convince the Dukes she’s one of us. If she doesn’t embrace her life as a Neph, the Dukes will end it for her.
“And you hardly know me, but here we are,” she says. “You offered to take me on this trip. You’ve answered my gazillion questions. You haven’t forced me to do anything, and you haven’t exposed me to your father. I’m glad to be here with you.”
No. Stupid feelings. I will not let those warm, chocolate-chip-cookie words soften me. I hold the wheel tightly and stare at her.
God, she’s pushy. Question after question. Not satisfied with half answers. Searching for what she wants to hear—that I’m a “good guy” underneath.
“Why are you trying so hard to make me think you’re a bad person?” she asks.
Just like the human woman, Patti, Anna won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth. So I’ll give it to her.
“Because it would be best for you to have a healthy fear of me so you can’t say you weren’t warned. I’m not like the boys at your school. Think of the pull you feel toward drugs. That is how I feel about sex.”
Her face slackens with understanding. That’s right. We both live with an insatiable beast inside.
“Starting to get it now? Let me be even clearer. I can feel someone out within five minutes of conversation to know what I would have to say and do to lure her into bed. That includes you, though I admit I was off my game last night. With some people it’s a matter of simple flattery and attention. With others it takes more time and energy. I do whatever it takes to get their clothes off, and then I attempt to make it so they’ll never be with another person and not think of me. I know secrets of the human body most people don’t even know about themselves. And when I leave, I know they’re ruined when they’re begging me to stay.”
It’s my legacy. I have no regrets.
As Anna watches me with wide eyes, gray zaps of fear burst inside her aura. She understands.
“It’s about time,” I say.
New Mexico brings more awe-filled staring out the windows at the passing scenery, and more questions about the hierarchy of demons and Neph. It’s insane how much she doesn’t know. She wants to learn, even though the details sadden her to tears. Hopefully this knowledge will allow her to begin seeing the dark, whispering spirits, which she should have been able to see for years now. It has to be her innocence that keeps her from seeing them. She needs to know what they’re up to so she can stay safe when I’m no longer around.
Pears and Oranges
“I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart.
You want to get inside, then you can get in line, but not this time.”
—“Hero/Heroine” by Boys Like Girls
Winning over Anna means walking a fine line. In many ways she’s like other girls—she giggles and blushes and is flattered when I flirt—but only to a certain extent. Unlike most other girls I’ve met, Anna is an “old soul.” She’s like a proper old woman in a hot, young body. She can be a downright prude biddy, saying things like, “Do you think you could try to be a gentleman . . . and maybe wear shorts to bed?” and “This is going to be a long trip if you give girls the bedroom eyes every time we stop.”
I’ll admit, I love to shock her. I stood there nude this morning, wanting her to see exactly what was available for the taking. But cripes, I hadn’t expected her to scream like a banshee. And that’s the problem: I’m not the only one doing the shocking here. She continues to render me speechless with nonchalant admissions, like “I can sense pregnancies” and “I can feel other people’s suffering.”
Exactly how powerful is this girl? She can bloody well do angel things. And her angel voodoo has other power, as well, such as the power to make me open my mouth and say entirely too damn much. She’s just so selfless. So genuinely interested. There are brief moments when I feel . . . I don’t bloody know how to explain it . . . but I don’t feel myself.
I’m supposed to be making her fall for me. I’m supposed to be reminding her that I’m badass, and then crafting moments of comfort and openness. Well¸ that’s exactly what’s happening, but I’m not crafting shite. Instead I’m feeling it. She’s using her skills on me.
This girl is dangerous.
She’s got the talents of a cookie-making nana, a world-renowned psychologist, and a seductive succubus all in one. And the most mind-bending part is that she has no clue about her effect on me. It’s only been two days and I’m torn between wanting to throw her to the wolves before she infects my mind any further or hide her and keep her all for myself.
And now she’s asking me about other girls. About my motives when I work. She is digging too deep and assuming I’m some sad chump who feels bad for what I do.
But I don’t.
Yet it’s not to my benefit to announce what a heartless bastard I am. It is good she’s talking nonstop, though. In our quiet moments all I can think about is having sex with her—pulling over behind an oversized road sign, or lifting her onto my lap as I drive.
And then as I drive she says something that throws a spanner in the works.
“. . . I care about you.”
Her words reverberate through me and fill me with a sense of terror.
“Don’t say that,” I snap. I am shaking on the inside. This is what I wanted, right? For her feelings to grow. But it’s not how I thought it would be. It’s far more complicated, because now I’m feeling things I didn’t anticipate, like guilt, and I can’t understand why. “You shouldn’t say that, about caring. You hardly know me.”
She’s too foolish. Too open and trusting, watching me with those fawn eyes. Damn it, she needs to know the constant danger she will be in for the rest of her life. She needs to understand how I live and breathe that danger every day. She needs to lose her virginity, to convince the Dukes she’s one of us. If she doesn’t embrace her life as a Neph, the Dukes will end it for her.
“And you hardly know me, but here we are,” she says. “You offered to take me on this trip. You’ve answered my gazillion questions. You haven’t forced me to do anything, and you haven’t exposed me to your father. I’m glad to be here with you.”
No. Stupid feelings. I will not let those warm, chocolate-chip-cookie words soften me. I hold the wheel tightly and stare at her.
God, she’s pushy. Question after question. Not satisfied with half answers. Searching for what she wants to hear—that I’m a “good guy” underneath.
“Why are you trying so hard to make me think you’re a bad person?” she asks.
Just like the human woman, Patti, Anna won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth. So I’ll give it to her.
“Because it would be best for you to have a healthy fear of me so you can’t say you weren’t warned. I’m not like the boys at your school. Think of the pull you feel toward drugs. That is how I feel about sex.”
Her face slackens with understanding. That’s right. We both live with an insatiable beast inside.
“Starting to get it now? Let me be even clearer. I can feel someone out within five minutes of conversation to know what I would have to say and do to lure her into bed. That includes you, though I admit I was off my game last night. With some people it’s a matter of simple flattery and attention. With others it takes more time and energy. I do whatever it takes to get their clothes off, and then I attempt to make it so they’ll never be with another person and not think of me. I know secrets of the human body most people don’t even know about themselves. And when I leave, I know they’re ruined when they’re begging me to stay.”
It’s my legacy. I have no regrets.
As Anna watches me with wide eyes, gray zaps of fear burst inside her aura. She understands.
“It’s about time,” I say.
New Mexico brings more awe-filled staring out the windows at the passing scenery, and more questions about the hierarchy of demons and Neph. It’s insane how much she doesn’t know. She wants to learn, even though the details sadden her to tears. Hopefully this knowledge will allow her to begin seeing the dark, whispering spirits, which she should have been able to see for years now. It has to be her innocence that keeps her from seeing them. She needs to know what they’re up to so she can stay safe when I’m no longer around.
