Into Temptation (A More Than Men Novella) (3 page)

Evie’s hands were caught between her own body and a wall of masculinity. Her fingers flexed, trying to find an escape, but there wasn’t one. What she did find was a sticky wetness that dripped from his ribs across the fingers of her left hand.

“You
are
hurt,” she whispered harshly.

Both hands occupied, the only way he had to silence her mouth was with his own. And he didn’t hesitate to use it.

She didn’t even know his name. And yet she let him deep into her mouth. Evie couldn’t stop herself. The moment his wide mouth touched hers, she was a goner. Electricity rippled across her skin. Her lips ached. And places in her body that had been dormant for years burst back to life.

He didn’t rush or push. Just like the glance he’d given her earlier, he took his lazy, thorough and pulse-pounding time. He nibbled at her lips, silently asking for entrance. And she gave it to him, opening. But that wasn’t enough.

Instead of waiting for him to push inside, she darted the sharp little point of her tongue out to swipe across the sculpted edge of his lips. He groaned, the sensation more a rumble through her chest than a real sound. His hold on her tightened, pressing her against his powerful body. God, he was beautifully made.

His palm cupped the nape of her neck, angling her so he could get more. The rough edge of his tongue scraped against her own, sending a cascade of tingles through her body to pool deep between her thighs.

What was this man doing to her?

The bang of the door from the next building rocked through her almost as surely as the gunfire.

He broke the connection, pulling back and putting several inches between them. She panted. He stared down at her, for all intents and purposes completely unaffected by what had just happened.

She on the other hand felt completely out of control. Her body pulsed hot and cold, need and caution.

That enigmatic, loaded stare watched her every reaction. And anger started to surface. Hadn’t he taken enough from her? He couldn’t at least leave her with the veil of dignity?

Using the pressure of her hands on his waist, Evie pushed away. But she didn’t get very far. Her conscience wouldn’t let her. That and the wet reminder of the blood that soaked his shirt.

He was wounded, possibly dying, and she was getting pissed because kissing her hadn’t affected him enough.

She was a winner.

Grasping a handful of his sleeve — she didn’t trust herself to take his hand and touch his
skin — she hauled him through the door of her apartment building, up the flight of stairs to the third floor and, unlocking the door to her place, pushed him inside.

Chapter Three

“What’s your name?”

He thought about lying to her. Lying was as inherent as breathing for him, but something wouldn’t let him do it. Not to her.

“Brone.”

Throwing a sharp glance over her shoulder, she continued rummaging in the medicine cabinet attached to the wall. “That’s an unusual name.”

His only response was a grunt.

She’d propelled him through her apartment and straight to the small bathroom off the front bedroom, only stopping long enough to retrieve the gun from the sidewalk. Flipping the toilet lid down, her hands had curled around his shoulders and applied pressure until he’d dropped onto the seat. She was small. He was big. Seated before her, his head was perfectly aligned with her chest. It would have been so easy to bend forward and rest right there between the heavy weight of her breasts.

He swayed, stopping himself just in time. Apparently she mistook the motion as a result of his wound instead of misplaced physical reaction to her nearness. He probably shouldn’t mention that his wound was already healing. By morning it would be no more than a faint pucker of flesh.

There was no need for her ministrations, but he was a demon after all, and if she wanted to divest him of his shirt and run her hands across his body…who was he to deny her the pleasure?

Besides, he was storing up every fleeting touch just in case the sense disappeared again as quickly as it had been restored. Lucifer was fickle, and even if Brone succeeded, there was still no guarantee he’d find his way back to Hell.

Although that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

Tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, Evie pulled it carefully from his body. She sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the gaping hole at his side. Looking down, Brone tried to view it from her vantage point.

Jagged skin, dark red blood and shreds of his shirt all mixed together around the tiny black hole in his side. He thought about trying to convince her it was a flesh wound, but she wasn’t stupid.

While he was dispassionately cataloging his injury, she leaped forward and bent him at the waist. Her hands ran down the length of his back.

Bent double, his question was muffled against her hip. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for an exit wound. I don’t see one.” She pushed him back up, her hands resting on his shoulders. “I don’t see one.” Her eyes flashed with alarm. “Oh my God, the bullet’s still in your chest.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t think God cares about my bullet.” Or lack of one.

“This isn’t funny.” Her voice escalated with every word. He was going to have to do something before she went into full-fledged crisis mode.

Bracketing her face with both of his hands, he brought her close. Staring straight into her eyes, he whispered several words in an ancient language she couldn’t understand. It hadn’t been spoken for a very long time, at least not on Earth.

She blinked slowly, her eyelids fighting when she tried to raise them again.

“The bullet grazed me, nothing more. I’m fine. Nothing a few days rest can’t fix.”

It was a skill given to the angels when God sent them to watch over his precious humans. Not to protect his faithful servants, but to protect the fragile human mind from the weight of knowing they weren’t alone in the world.

Brone hadn’t used it since he’d been cast out. Why would he? As a demon he’d wanted to spread chaos and doubt. He’d wanted to scare and intimidate. Letting humans know they weren’t alone was part of that ploy.

But it was too early for Evie to know the truth. Eventually she would have to in order to agree to the contract. But now…he needed to figure out what she wanted most and how he could give it to her, a gift from Satan wrapped in a pretty bow.

While she was still dazed, Brone dug into the hole in his side and retrieved the smashed piece of metal that had lodged against a rib. It hurt like hell. He might be immortal, but that didn’t equate to unable to feel pain.

The moment was quickly over, but it still took a toll. He was light-headed and woozy when Evie finally regained full control. The rag he’d used to clean the wound was in the sink, a mess of red mixing with water and streaking pink toward the drain.

“I don’t feel so great. Is there someplace I could lie down? Just for a few minutes, until my head stops spinning?” To give his words weight, Brone let his body sway. Hands flashing out, he grasped the sink and held on as if it were his only lifeline. He was only exaggerating a little.

“I don’t know you.”

“I’m in no shape to murder or rape you. And while your home is nice enough, I have no need of your possessions. I just need a soft place to sleep. An hour. Two. And I’ll leave. I promise.”

He could have made her agree, but he wanted it to be her decision and hers alone. The single loophole that protected humans — free will. Evie had to let him in. She had to agree. He could tempt her. He could lie to her. But he couldn’t mesmerize her into signing away her soul.

He had to dance with her, bring her around to the point where she’d gladly give it to him. His job was to make sure she didn’t have any other choice.

He was still asleep. Weak morning light broke through the clouds that had gathered, cutting straight across the sharp angles of his face.

Brone. What kind of name was that? Maybe it was foreign. She hadn’t detected an accent, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was American. Or maybe his parents had immigrated when he was young.

The steady rise and fall of his chest had been the only thing that settled her nerves through the long night. She’d had her share of night vigils. A couple of years ago Megan had fallen from the slide at the playground, and despite the doctor’s assurances that she was fine, Evie had been reluctant to leave her side all night. She’d had visions of her daughter slipping into a coma if she left. The flu, colds, coughs, they were all cause for lost sleep in the world of a mother.

It was the first time she’d kept watch over a gunshot victim. A gunshot she’d caused. Several times she’d picked up the phone to call, but unerringly he seemed to know the moment her resolve weakened. His heavy-lidded eyes would open and glitter at her through the darkness, reminding her that she’d promised.

She’d tried to tell him that if it was a matter of money, she’d pay, but he wouldn’t listen to her.

Now he was sleeping soundly, and she had an appointment. A meeting with Monroe and his lawyers. A last-ditch effort to attempt a plea agreement. She’d requested the meeting, so it would be very bad form to miss it. She wasn’t hopeful that they’d agree to anything she offered — why should they? Her case sucked and they knew it — but she had to at least try.

Evie stared down at him. She should wake him up and make him leave. Logically she knew it was the right thing to do. But she couldn’t make herself do it. She was reluctant.

Without realizing what she was doing, Evie reached down and pushed the single lock of stark black hair away from his forehead. Since she was there…she tested for a fever but found none. He shifted in his sleep. Instead of moving away, he scooted closer, as if unconsciously searching for more contact than the brush of her fingers against his skin.

Making a snap judgment, Evie spun on her heel and walked out. If he stole everything she owned, then that was exactly what she deserved — not just for leaving a stranger alone in her apartment, but for shooting him in the first place.

Because she was late, Evie flagged down a cab. Fifteen minutes later it let her out in front of the prison. Squaring her shoulders, she walked inside, prepared for the inevitable battle. Through security, she fought the butterflies that fluttered deep in her belly.

She didn’t like Monroe. Being in the same room bothered her. The man had no conscience, and it was clear the moment you looked into his eyes. He was exactly why she’d gotten into law in the first place. Protecting innocent people from monsters like him.

If she failed… She couldn’t.

Putting on her game face, she walked into the room the guard indicated to her. Monroe and his lawyers were already there. No public defenders for him; he had three of the highest paid criminal defense attorneys money could buy.

Surrounded by men in expensive suits, the orange jumpsuit he wore should have made him look like a clown. Instead Monroe lounged back in the chair, full of confidence and authority. A smirk played around the corners of his mouth, but it was the only indication of the thoughts rolling through his brain.

Evie settled into the chair opposite the four men and reached down to pull a file out of the bag she’d brought with her.

The deep timbre of Monroe’s voice stopped her. “Let me save you some time. I’m not interested in anything you could offer me. You see, Ms. Carr, the thing about negotiations is that both parties need to have something valuable. You have nothing to offer me. Your case is weak, and we both know it.”

Monroe leaned forward, completely uncaring when the chains that bound his hands and feet to the chair rattled.

“But I am so glad that you took the time to visit me. It’s always a pleasure to speak to a beautiful, intelligent woman.”

“You haven’t let me say much, so I’d hardly call this a conversation.”

He laughed. The sound would haunt her for days. There was an edge to it, a manic, maniacal edge that only she seemed to hear.

“Excellent point, my dear.”

Leaning to the man sitting closest to him, Monroe whispered into his ear. With a glance and a nod, all three men stood up from the table and filed out as if the move had been coordinated and rehearsed.

“Do you think it wise to dismiss your council, Mr. Stilton?”

“Monroe. Please call me Monroe.”

At first glance Monroe Stilton resembled a sweet, unthreatening, middle-aged man. He was in his early forties. Never married. From all accounts a workaholic who’d fought against a difficult childhood to turn his life around and make millions in business.

But Evie knew differently. She’d read the files. Each and every account of molestation and sexual assault he’d perpetrated on innocent children. He was the worst kind of monster, one parading around disguised as an average joe. Those were the ones you had to fear. The psychopaths who didn’t wait for the shadows to attack, but swallowed you whole right in broad daylight.

And why did thoughts of shadows bring up the vision of Brone asleep on her sofa?

“Mmmm,” Monroe buzzed in the back of his throat. “I lost you for a moment. I wonder what caught your attention. Perhaps it was thoughts of your daughter.”

Evie’s heart stuttered. She wheezed, the sound rattling in her chest.

“Megan. She’s such a beautiful girl, just like her mother.”

The sound of her daughter’s name on his lips made her want to scream, but she didn’t. She knew she couldn’t hide her reaction completely — her body betrayed her with little signs that this sociopath was clearly calculating enough to pick up on.

“Don’t say her name.” Evie’s voice was hard and brittle, the instinctive promise of a mother’s wrath while protecting her child. “Don’t you ever say her name again.”

A sick smile played at his lips, and the light of blissful euphoria glittered through his eyes. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he admonished softly. “You should be more friendly, Evangeline. We both know I’ll be free of here in a matter of days. After everything I’ve been through, I’m looking to move. Perhaps we’ll be neighbors. I would so love to finally meet your daughter.”

He was threatening Megan. Alarm and frustrating rage bubbled uselessly inside her. And there was nothing she could do about it.

He hadn’t said anything they could use against him. Not really. Although his intent was clear to anyone who’d studied his patterns.

Her boss would be happy to assign her and Megan protection, at least for a while. But after reading Monroe’s file, she realized better than most that he thrived on the patience of the chase. He’d simply wait until budgets got tight and the case faded from memories and everyone else thought the threat was gone. Months. Years. It wouldn’t matter to this man. He’d wait until the perfect time to strike.

Megan would never be safe. For the briefest moment, she wondered why the hell she hadn’t let her boss reassign the case when he’d offered. But she knew why. She didn’t believe in backing down because a fight was hard. That was when you dug in and pushed harder.

Her parents had taught her that. The value of fighting for what you wanted, what you believed in. Doing the right thing even when it was easier not to. In that moment she wished they were there beside her, supporting her.

But they’d been gone for a long time.

Megan was all she had, and no matter what, she wouldn’t let the calm, deadly man sitting across from her touch her daughter. She’d find a way to protect Megan…no matter the cost.

They could leave the city. She’d run.

As if sensing the thoughts flying through her brain, the corner of Monroe’s mouth twisted up into a harsh expression of glee. That’s what he wanted. A hunt.

That’s what he liked most. He enjoyed the wait, the anticipation and buildup. It’s why he only kept the children a few hours. He did what he wanted, established his dominance and superiority and then, when he was finished with the game, magnanimously let them go. Another show of strength and power. Everyone realized he could kill them, easily, but he didn’t.