Continuation from August 2nd, 2011
Recap: In Chapter Three we got a glimpse into The Council and Adam’s role amongst their ranks. Taking a much needed break, he visited Danny’s Pub and ran into Demonica.
Monica strapped back on her daggers while she studied him. She’d gotten close enough to smell him and he didn’t carry the reek her usual trackers did – brimstone and shit. Oh no. Talk, Dark, and Deadly smelled delicious with a capital Yum.
“You have some serious issues, Adam,” she smiled softly. “It’s gotta suck to constantly be looking over your shoulder or sizing up the person next to you.”
He smirked. “Not usually. I’m almost always bigger and better.” He reached behind the bar and grabbed two more beers. Danny, the pub owner, was nowhere to be found. He offered one to her. “An apology.”
He smirked. “Not usually. I’m almost always bigger and better.” He reached behind the bar and grabbed two more beers. Danny, the pub owner, was nowhere to be found. He offered one to her. “An apology.”
“The big part I can see,” she took the peace offering and twisted the cap off neatly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a bigger man. As for the better part?” She paused to take a sip, her eyes assessing him while the cold brew slid down her throat. “Maybe I’ll let you show me someday.”
He busted into a large smile and her stomach flip flopped a little. Boy had charm in spades beneath the deadly exterior. “I like a challenge, but not tonight. I have a bastard to track down and kill.”
Monica schooled her face, careful not to register surprise at his comment. As quick as he’d pinned and disarmed her, his being some sort of assassin didn’t really fall into the range of shocking news. “I don’t know how long it’ll be and that’s not a line to avoid you.”
“I didn’t think it was, handsome.” She leaned in close and brushed a flirty kiss over his lips. “Next time...”
He didn’t give her a chance to issue the next challenge. He cradled her face and caught her mouth in a hot kiss. Her lips parted and his tongue slipped inside. Adam tasted better than anything she’d ever imagined and her brain put in its order for more, STAT. He pulled away before she could comply with the demand.
“Have as many drinks as you want. Danny will charge my tab. I’ll be in touch.” Adam winked and walked out before she could blink.
Demonica touched her lips. She’d kissed plenty of men in her lifetime and nothing, none of them had ever set her body on fire the way Adam did when he’d locked lips with her.
“Fuck me...” she muttered, unsure of what happened. Turning her face toward the floor she muttered, “And fuck you, Beelzebub.”
The phone in her back pocket buzzed and Demo pulled it out as Hells Bells played loudly from the speaker. She flipped the device open and grinned at Danny as he came back in from the kitchen.
“Marco,” she greeted the caller. “Talk about timing. I was just cursing our favorite demon.”
A rich bark of laughter came through the receiver, “I’m sure he’s appreciating the compliment. Your assistant just called in a panic.”
Demo sighed and rolled her neck to relieve the instant tension the topic created. “What’s got Cecily’s tights in a bunch now?”
“There’s a problem with the silk you ordered,” his voice held a hint of laughter. “Apparently they delivered hot pink for the new line and she’s convinced you ordered carnelian red.”
“Fuck,” she ground out. “I’ll call her in a bit. I’m at the Pub and my notes are in my office at home.”
“You really should find a new assistant,” he advised. “But hey, that’s your kettle of fish. Just tell the little goldfish you hired to stop calling me. I am not your secretary.”
“No,” she laughed. “You’re my nanny.”
Marco growled and the line went dead in Demonica’s ear. She flipped the phone shut and smiled at Danny as she hopped down from her stool. A twenty appeared in her pocket and she pulled it out to slap onto the bar.
“Gotta run,” she winked at the bartender as she yanked the door open. “Keep my seat warm. I’ll be back.”
Outside, Demo twisted her hip length hair and shoved it inside the back of her leather jacket. She slid a glossy black helmet over her head and climbed on to her motorcycle. The Hayabusa roared to life and she peeled out of the parking lot with a loud tire squeal.
“Cecily,” Demonica shouted to silence her assistant’s nattering. “Would you shut it for a second and let me talk?”
The young woman quieted and Demo sighed at the petite brunette on her computer screen.
“Sorry, boss.”
“Right,” Demo held up a swatch sample tacked to a design board. “This is what I ordered. Does the fabric you received say Fusion Fuchsia?”
Cecily checked the tag and nodded.
“Perfect. Use it and, in future,” she scowled at the screen. “Don’t call Kal about shit like this? I’m Demonica Lingerie. Not my bodyguard. Clear?”
“Yes, Monica.”
The screen went blank and Demo shut down her Skype program with a sigh. If it weren’t for the fact she loved designing the stuff she’d have shut down her lingerie company a long time ago and saved herself the hassle of dealing with people like Cecily.
Unfortunately, with Beelzebub’s goons on her tail, the option of working anywhere but in her little hideaway ranked high on the not-gonna-happen scale. The downside to being stuck in Mission was the need to be present and accounted for in the big fashion districts – something she couldn’t do on a permanent basis without risking her freedom.
Finger stuck through the handle of her favorite push dagger, she twirled it in the air before launching it at the cork board across the room. Sparkling blue eyes, sensual lips and a body she knew wouldn’t quit until she lay in a puddle beneath it flashed through her mind. Another tick on her list of things she couldn’t have and that pissed her off more than the video call with Cecily.
Something in the way Adam kissed her set every synapse firing on full. She hadn’t needed the usual adrenaline rush her bike provided. Oh no, she’d been revved up when she walked out of Danny’s and – truth be told – still was.
From the moment she’d spotted him in Ireland a warm buzz of desire kept her on the edge. Not even a go at relieving the pressure with every toy she owned could shake her free of the insane, unexplainable need for him.
Running into him in her secret hideaway put the cherry on her sundae of what-the-hell and she’d gone into sexbomb detective mode. She needed to confirm he wasn’t a new breed of tracker on her tail and, in her experience most men reacted favourably to a little flash of cleavage, a sexy smile and a whole lot of flirting. Too bad her plan backfired and now she was the owner of a lovely bonfire blazing through her veins.
“Fuck,” she jumped out of her office chair. Barefoot, she stomped through the house and made her way down to the basement. Her hell hounds, Sheoul and Tartarus, followed closely behind.
Even they’d been acting strangely since her arrival at the house earlier. The instant their noses picked up the scent of Adam on her clothes both hounds had whimpered and dropped down on their front paws as though bowing to a superior animal. Their behavior made no sense and added to the edge of ticked off riding her attitude.
Demonica taped her hands and feet quickly before squaring off with the heavy bag in the center of the room. She hadn’t given the thing a good pummel in ages and it was in for one hell of a beating if she had anything to say about how the next hour progressed.
Come back on September 2nd, 2011 for Chapter Five of Finders Keepers: Tempted.
If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Digital Digest Volume I anthology as an ebook for only $.99.
If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Digital Digest Volume I anthology as an ebook for only $.99.
Danielle Gavan
Urban Fantasy and Erotic Romance Author
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
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