Page 10

The door opened, ending one torture and beginning another. Her gaze devoured his black slacks and matching dress shirt while wondering when he’d gotten new clothes. Had he snatched them during her blind shopping rampage?

“Can I help you?”

She shot her gaze up to his heart-stopping blue one. “It’s me. The…Bellatore.”

He looked her over again, making her feel like a cheap imposter. “I wondered if you could do that,” he muttered, stepping aside and lowering his gaze to the floor as he did.

She entered, wondering what she’d heard in his tone. Disappointment? Awe? Curiosity? Interest? The fact that he didn’t recognize her meant she could swap out bodies if she thought it necessary. She was already needing to hide from his hot judgmental eyes before getting to the job and it had nothing to do with said job.

She sat herself at the small table only to find him absent. Water near the bathroom turned on and her century-honed lady manners took over, gracefully crossing her legs. The imposter feeling returned like a nagging wrinkle in her persona she needed to iron out but didn’t know how. Of all the times she used this form, she couldn’t recall a single one where she felt so put-off in it.

“I’m ready to know what your intentions are to gain the power you need,” he called from the bathroom vanity area.

She steadied her pulse at the question, remembering she needed to come up with a decoy story. “The usual,” she said, racing to think.

“Right.” He was now heading toward her, all masculine grace and beauty. He sat on the edge of the bed across from her, dropping dress shoes at feet hidden by black polyester. She stared, wondering what sort of feet they were. And why wonder such a useless thing? “You’ll need to be a lot more specific.”

Thedaddytone was the first sign of trouble. Then came his stern gaze, making her forget the problematic topic. Then came a look on his face that brought other problems to mind. The place they were going, and what sort of attention he’d be subjected to. He’d be mauled by both male and female. She remembered the stupid little door games they played at the little hell hole. Without a doubt he’d be an instant attraction andlikely end up on the auction block and sold to the owner’s wife for a snack. Her blood heated with a mess of unholy chemicals at the idea of the woman all over him.

No. He couldn’t go there.

Could she hide him?

He placed his palms on the bed and angled his head at her, blue gaze hot and probing. Her human body reacted to the erotic, open-kneed position. Was it unintentional? “That bad, huh?” he muttered softly, making her swallow.

“There’s never anything pleasant about my work. I’m sure you realize.”

Her pulse hammered in her chest as his gaze moved slowly over her body, making her wonder again what he thought of it. “You like this look?” he asked.

Mercy. “It’s not about what I like, it’s about what they like.”

“So, you’re dressing to please,” he said.

Did that mean he found her pleasing? “I dress for the job.”

He was back to holding her stare, something she found impossibly powerful. “So… do you?”

Her mouth was suddenly too dry. “Do I what?”

“Do you like this look?”

“Do you?” It flew out of her mouth for lack of oxygen in her brain.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his legs, putting himself a foot closer. “Tell me what you intend to do, Bellatore.”

He was on to her. That was a warning. “I volunteer to be a masochist.”

He stared at her for many seconds before his eyes lowered to the floor, a careful cock of a hidden weapon. “I won’t let you do that.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “You said you’d help me.”

“And I will. But not like that.”

All the stuff in between those words rattled her humanity. Focus. He’s but a… a… what was he technically? She wasn’t sure. “Then… how?”

She suddenly didn’t want to know but needed to. Her gaze caught on his mouth and her brain went to work on its perfections and the message behind the slight tug at the corner. “If you intend to use that body to get power from demons, I will never allow it. I could,” he said softly, before assuring, “but Iwon’t.”

Why should she be concerned about the body he referenced in the debate at her doorstep? “Would you prefer I use my angelic form, then?”