Into Temptation (A More Than Men Novella) (4 page)

Instead he consigned them to a lifetime of invisible scars.

And her daughter had just become his newest obsession.

Chapter Four

She was flustered. Brone knew it before she’d walked in the door. The way her keys shook as she tried to slide them into the lock. The moment she was inside, she slammed the door behind her and sagged against it.

Her eyes closed. She stayed there, completely unaware that he watched. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d been pursued by the hounds of Hell…and maybe she had. But if so, it was way too late to escape.

He was already inside.

He shifted. The floor beneath his feet creaked. Her eyes flew open, and she let out a startled squeak.

“I…I…”

He took pity on her and finished the statement. “Didn’t think I’d still be here.”

Evie nodded.

“What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she pushed away from the door, straightening and trying to find a place that would let her pretend. But the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat gave her away. Her heart still raced, not with pleasure or anticipation, but with fear. He could smell it. The thick and cloying scent filled the space.

Before, he would have sucked it in, feeding off the evidence that she was vulnerable after all.

Now he just wanted it to go away.

“Evie, what happened?”

She stared at him, the internal struggle stamped onto every inch of her face. She didn’t want to tell him. Probably didn’t want to tell anyone. Putting words to whatever was wrong would make them real. But he wanted to know…and not just because he could use the information to get what he needed.

“A man threatened my daughter. A child molester in the case I’m working. He’s going to go free.” Her voice broke. A single hiccupping sound escaped. Her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to hold it all in. But she couldn’t quite keep the last words inside. “I can’t protect her.”

Certainty sank like a stone to settle deep in his belly. He’d won, although there was no rejoicing in the victory.

Evangeline Carr was honorable. She accepted her responsibilities, protected and helped and was the classic lost cause for one such as him.

And still her soul had just been delivered to him on a silver platter.

It was almost too easy. Brone’s gaze darted around her apartment, looking for signs that some being was waiting to pounce the moment he moved in for the kill. It was all going to be jerked away from him again. Lucifer was clearly playing with him, devising a new way to punish and torment him.

He wasn’t ready to go back to his lonely existence. Or the sensory deprivation.

Brone, exiled general of Hell, stared at the slip of a woman in front of him. He could feel the infinitesimal shudders that rocked her body. Taste her desperation and smell that tempting combination of strawberries and dusty paper on her skin.

Instead of moving in to finish the job, he did something he hadn’t done since being cast out of Heaven. He held her. Not because it was an excuse or a strategy. Not because he wanted the sensation of skin against skin, although it did make his own muscles tremble. But because she needed comfort and reassurance and he could give it. So he did.

And the embrace would have stayed that way, his hand slipping platonically up and down her back as their bodies rocked rhythmically together. But she changed it.

One moment her head was buried against his neck, and the next her hungry mouth tugged at his skin.

Brone tried to pull back, but her clinging arms begged him not to. Her face still buried so that he couldn’t look in her eyes, she whispered, “Love me. Touch me. Make me feel safe.”

That was a plea he couldn’t ignore, even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t. After hundreds of years without the touch of another being, here was a beautiful human offering herself to him — without the specter of her soul hanging in the balance…at least not yet.

She was giving this to him free and clear, and he wasn’t strong enough to refuse. Not today. Not her.

Scooping her into his arms, Brone cradled her against his chest. Evie’s arms draped around his neck, holding tight. Finally she looked at him, and he nearly lost his breath.

There wasn’t fear or awe or consternation looking back. There was nothing but acceptance and desire. Need, thick and clear.

Easily finding her room because he’d prowled her place for hours after she’d left, he deposited her onto the center of her bed. Her body settled into the soft mattress, sinking in and letting it cradle her. With predatory eyes he watched her, enjoying the anticipation buzzing just beneath the surface of his skin. Her tongue darted out and swiped across her lips, leaving them wet and parted.

He was dangerous. He could hurt her in every possible way — physically, mentally and emotionally. He could use her deepest desires and strongest fears against her, twisting them until she whimpered with the torture. She should have been scared of him, fleeing from him as quickly as her limbs would carry her.

But she wasn’t.

As if sensing the dark thoughts swirling through his mind, a shiver rocked her body and a flicker of belated unease flitted through her eyes. Too late.

Wrapping his fingers around her ankle, Brone tugged. Slowly her body unwound, stretched long and inched toward him. Her mahogany hair bloomed into a cloud around her head.

She didn’t stop him. She didn’t join him. She just watched, her bottom lip pinched between sharp little teeth. He wanted to feel them sinking into his flesh.

Sliding his hands up the length of her thighs, he pushed the hem of her black skirt higher toward her hip. She was so soft and smooth. Pliant. Giving. And he wanted all of her.

He brushed his knuckles across the crease at the top of her thighs. She inhaled a sharp breath through parted lips. Her eyes, deep and green, went fractured and unfocused with desire. For him.

He could have used his power to infuse his touch with pleasure, but he didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. He was greedy and wanted her reactions to be solely hers…solely for him.

Reaching between his shoulder blades, Brone grasped the center of his shirt and pulled it off.

Her gaze ran greedily over his perfectly formed body. After several seconds they widened and the haze that had been creeping in cleared.

She jackknifed off the bed, vaulting toward him. At first he just thought her eagerness had gotten the better of her, until he remembered he’d taken his bandage off. The tape had pulled uncomfortably against his skin every time he’d moved, and since he didn’t really need it…

Soft fingers played across the puckered flesh where her bullet had ripped through him. It was all that was left. A tortured hiss slipped through his clenched teeth. He wanted more.

Slowly her gaze rose from his chest to collide with his own. Questions, disbelief and awe swirled inside, but what wasn’t there was fear.

“What are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with reverence.

He wasn’t ready to answer that question, to see that expression of wonder change to bitter loathing.

He’d often regretted his decision to follow Lucifer, but never more than in that moment. He wanted to be something she could admire and respect. But he wasn’t.

So he simply shook his head, wrapped his fingers around her neck and covered her mouth with his.

She sighed, melting into the kiss and letting the unanswered question slip away.

Her hands tugged at his skin, running across his chest and abs. It was heaven, her touch. More than anything else he’d ever experienced in his long, complicated existence. He needed it so much. Needed her. Craved the connection to another being. The reminder that he was real, they were real, this was real and not some hallucination from his fractured mind and blackened soul.

Leaning up, she pressed the heat of her mouth to him. Her tongue flicked out, licking and tasting. He groaned, the sound breaking deep inside him.

Breaking
something
deep inside him. He’d been trying to hang on to the small piece of tenderness that still survived somewhere inside his twisted heart, for her. But he couldn’t. Not when she touched him like that. Not after hundreds of years without the agonizing bliss.

He ripped at her clothes, wild to get her naked so he could feast with his eyes and hands and mouth.

Evie gasped, arching into his caresses. Instead of asking him to slow down, she met him, urging him on. Pressed against him.

He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth and scraped his teeth against the pink, swollen flesh. The taste of her exploded across his tongue, so much better than anything he’d ever savored. She teased, beckoning him to take more. And he couldn’t say no.

He claimed her mouth even as his hands found her flesh. Tight nipples pressed against his palms. He teased, rolling, plucking, enjoying the way she squirmed beneath him. Gasped. Moaned. Her eyes closed, and her head arched back.

Brone trailed his hot mouth down her throat. There, in the crook of her neck, her scent overwhelmed him. Not between her thighs where her sex was inflamed and wet, but here…her. She was sweet with a surprising dash of tempting. The most exotic flower from the Garden of Eden. The most appetizing delicacy from lands long forgotten, and the sweetest nectar of any god.

She was everything.

Her thighs slid over his hips, circling him and pulling him closer. He settled against the heat of the gift she was freely giving him. Not because he’d tricked her or manipulated her or given her no choice.

He trailed his hands down the center of her body. Her muscles jumped and flexed, responding to him in an instinctive way that made him feel powerful, more powerful than anything ever given to him before.

With talented fingers he teased her body, slipping through the slick evidence of her arousal. For him.

Her body bucked when he finally buried two fingers deep inside her. She made little noises, somewhere between a groan and a keening cry. Her body bowed, seeking more. Rubbing his thumb against her clit, his drenched hand pumped in and out of her.

Lost in the beauty of her surrender, her trust and vulnerability, Brone watched as she unraveled. Sharp angles of pleasure chased across her face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Her mouth went slack. And then she was screaming his name.

Not in fear, but in ecstasy.

He wanted the moment to last, to enjoy her body over and over again before he finally let himself free. But after centuries alone, he couldn’t find the strength to hold back.

Needing the feel of her body tight around his, he pushed her thighs wide and plunged into her welcoming heat. She gasped and then sighed. Her arms and legs tightened around him, holding him close.

For someone who’d been without any contact for hundreds of years, this was the epitome of glory. He didn’t even have to move. Didn’t need release. He just needed her, touching him everywhere, surrounding him and joining him in the most basic and profound way.

But then the muscles clamped tight to his sex squeezed hard. A groan leaked through his lips. Her hips arched.

Brone looked down to find Evie watching him. Her deep green eyes were no longer glazed and unfocused; now they were completely on him. Her hands swept down his back and, whether or not she realized it, touched the spine of his hidden wings. The combination was too much, and he couldn’t hold back. Not with her. Not anymore.

He pulled out and thrust back in, reveling in the welcoming heat. She met him, matched him, found a rhythm that had them both panting in seconds, trying desperately to delay the inevitable.

Her nails dug into his back, scraping down the long length of his spine. A shudder of pure bliss rippled through his muscles. He realized the second before it happened, but it was too late to stop the reaction.

His wings popped out and spread wide. Feathers rustled. They curved around them both, sheltering and protecting in the moment he was weakest.

And then his body exploded. It started at the base of his spine and erupted out. He heard a sound, a low, primitive shout, and dimly recognized it as his own. A higher-pitched scream accompanied him, peppered with Evie’s pleas.

A sharp agony lanced through Brone’s chest. At first he thought it was his wound protesting the aftermath. But that was healed. This was more. A burning ache spread through him, sizzling and fighting against the darkness that consumed him.

Evie, completely oblivious, collapsed beneath him. Her sweat-slicked skin clung to his. Her eyes were screwed tight. And he had just enough brainpower to jerk his wings back under control.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

Chapter Five

She’d seen the wings. Despite being a little preoccupied, they’d been difficult to miss. Huge, the span of them must have been five or six feet wide. They were beautiful, just like everything else about the mysterious man who’d crashed into her life.

She believed in angels. There were too many miracles in the world for there not to be a higher power working. In a few moments of weakness, right after the accident that had taken her parents, she’d wondered why no one had saved them. But time had helped her realize there was a purpose to everything…even that kind of pain and loss.

However, something told her Brone wasn’t the guardian angels of her strict Catholic upbringing. He wasn’t there to protect her, because if he had been, then she wouldn’t have to be frightened by Monroe.

Even with the momentary distraction, she was still terrified.

If she had to guess, letting her see those breathtaking wings was probably frowned upon. And touching her. Even if his body did resemble every marble statue of religious perfection she’d seen on her college trip to Italy, he was far from virtuous.

Only a truly wicked man could make love like that. He was sensuality incarnate. Pure temptation. And she was in so much trouble.

But it was a little late to dwell on what had already been done.

Rolling onto her stomach, Evie let her fingers play across the sculpted muscles of his back. She was looking for any outward sign of his secret, but she couldn’t find any.

“Can I see them again?”

Brone’s head swiveled to the side. With hard eyes, he searched hers. The frown that puckered his skin almost made her question what she knew. It made him look so…normal. But he wasn’t. She’d known that long before the wings.

She scraped her nails down the bumps of his spine, and he couldn’t hide the shudder of his response. His eyes closed for a moment, bliss, regret and acceptance flitting across his features before he let out a single soul-deep sigh.

A soft smile tugging his lips, he opened his eyes to look at her. His chin, complete with enticing dimple, nestled against his folded hands. Slowly his hips twisted, revealing the long length of his sex, hard and ready for more.

His voice rumbled, a dark and dangerous promise. “You can see any part of me you like. Again and again and again.”

Her internal muscles clenched tight, begging to be filled. Evie ignored the demand.

“Tempting, but that’s not what I meant.” Her fingers slid across his back. “I want to see your wings. While I’m not too distracted to appreciate them.”

His chin dropped, and eyelids swept down to cover his expression. “I shouldn’t have let you see them the first time. I was…overwhelmed.” The last word practically disappeared into nothingness. If she hadn’t been paying close attention, she might have missed the admission.

But she wasn’t willing to let it pass. “How could I overwhelm you? I’m nothing. Nobody. You’re powerful.”

A rough sound scraped through his throat. “You underestimate your strength. The allure of your purity.”

“I’m a single mother with a child I had out of wedlock.”

“Pure doesn’t mean perfect; it means genuine and good. You are both of those things.”

He surprised her. His hand slipped out from beneath his chin to find the space right above her heart. His palm flattened there, sending a warm jolt of awareness straight through her. But he wasn’t trying to turn her on. He was making a point. And from the serious slant to his eyes, it was an important one, even if she didn’t fully understand what he was trying to say.

His palm heated, getting hotter and sending a radiant light slipping deep inside her. Her skin glowed.

“You’ve been made a pawn in a game that up until a few days ago you weren’t even aware was being played.” A frown pulled against the corners of his mouth. Evie ran the pad of her finger across them. Smooth, perfect.

“You’ve already slipped. What’s the harm in letting me see them again?”

He shrugged. There was a rustling, more a disturbance of air than a real sound. And then they were there, stretched out before her.

His back arched, and his eyes closed in bliss. It was unexpected.

“Does it hurt? To keep them in?”

“Not really, but it’s better when they’re out. Like when you sit in one position too long. Moving that first time hurts, but the rush of blood back into your body feels so good.”

Evie reached to touch but hesitated. What was the etiquette?

“Go ahead. You’ve touched every inch of me already; why stop now?”

The teasing glint was back, but Evie didn’t let it deter her. She played across the tip of the feathers. Most of them were stark white. The kind of color that was so blinding you couldn’t look directly at it. But at the very edges they were tipped in the deepest, darkest shade of crimson red. It reminded her of the blood that had smeared across her fingers last night. His blood.

What did that color mean?

And did she really want the answer to that question?

She remembered picking up bird feathers when she was a little girl. She’d loved running the soft surface against her cheek, even if her mom had frowned and told her they were dirty. Bending down, she did the same thing now, letting Brone’s feathers tickle.

She closed her eyes and breathed deep. By touch she found the hard edge of spine that connected the massive span to his shoulder blades. She explored the place where the expected and inconceivable met just beneath his skin. How was it possible for him to hide such an integral part of himself?

Maybe if her eyes had been opened, she’d have missed the subtle signs her touch created. The hitch in his breath when she stroked down the ridge below his shoulder blade. Or the way he arched into her hands, asking for more. His hips shifted against the bed.

A burning hum started deep inside her, but she stayed to explore some more. Finally, after what felt like agony and heaven mixed together, Brone twisted and swept her back down beside him.

Rolling them together, he pressed them skin to skin.

“The rest of me is feeling neglected,” he growled in her ear. She heard the heat in his voice, felt the echo of it throb deep inside her body.

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“I can give you what you want.”

Evie caught the reflection of the man — angel — in the mirror in front of her. He lounged in the doorway, arms crossed over his wide chest, and watched her.

They’d spent the last several days together. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Brone recognized just how much she’d needed the distraction of him and the connection they’d found in her bed.

She’d woken this morning, her body curled tight around his, but instead of the buzz of remembered pleasure, dread had poured into her.

Her days were spent trying a case that was rapidly slipping through her fingers. Desperation clung to her skin with a relentless stink. Maybe if she hadn’t been constantly distracted by the thought of her daughter caught in Monroe’s clutches, she could have come up with a strategy that would win the case. But she didn’t think so.

Her arguments were slowly unraveling, being picked apart by an army of high-priced lawyers. She was losing the jury. Most of them refused to even look her in the eye.

The case would be over in a few days. Megan would return from her dad’s. Evie was going to buckle beneath the unrelenting pressure of indecision. What was she going to do? How was she going to protect her daughter?

At first she’d thought he meant himself — she did want him, always — but a quick glance at him in the mirror revealed that his eyes didn’t blaze with the heat that had become so familiar to her. He was solemn and serious, staring at a spot somewhere over her shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”

Without shifting a muscle, he said, “I have the power to protect Megan,” as if he was suggesting she pick up some milk on the way home instead of dangling the answer to her problem in front of her face.

Her hand fisted around the eyeliner she still held. She was dressing for battle. Her best suit and power heels. Perfect makeup and hair.

Deliberately settling the pencil back onto the sink, she tried to catch Brone’s eye in the mirror, but he wouldn’t look at her.

“What do you mean you have the power to protect her? How?”

“Well, that’s not precisely true. You have the power to protect her. With my help. I can get an…agreement. A guarantee for Monroe’s conviction. You wouldn’t just be protecting your own daughter, but other children.”

Evie swallowed hard. “I never told you who was threatening my daughter.”

His mouth twisted into a wry grimace, but he didn’t answer.

She played his words back through her mind. Lawyers were good with words. She could equivocate and split hairs with the best of them. She recognized half-truths when she heard them.

Brone wasn’t offering to protect her daughter because they were lovers and he felt something for her. He wanted something in return.

And considering her suspicions that he wasn’t fighting on the side of good and light…

She barely thought. There really wasn’t a decision to make. If Brone knew of a way to protect Megan, then she’d take it, no matter the cost. Her daughter’s life, innocence and happiness were more important than anything else.

“How? What do I have to do?”

Finally he looked at her, but the expression in his eyes wasn’t what she’d expected. Stark and bleak. He didn’t want to say whatever came next.

“Sell your soul to the devil.”

Brone didn’t drop his gaze or look away. He stared deep into her and waited — for her reaction, her condemnation, her struggle. But there wasn’t one. How could there be?

And that was probably why he’d been reluctant to give her the choice. Because even he realized there wasn’t one.

“All right.”

“You know better than to agree to a contract without reading every word first.”

True, but it wasn’t like they would really matter. Something told her Lucifer didn’t negotiate.

“Fine. Read me the fine print.”

Holding out his hand, a single page appeared, stretching across his palm. Moving forward, Evie looked down at it but didn’t touch. The paper was old, tattered at the edges and stained a pale brown. Brone shifted, and it crinkled.

The terms were straightforward. In exchange for ensuring Monroe Stilton’s conviction on eight counts of child molestation and eight counts of kidnapping, he would receive life in prison…and would die there. She really didn’t want to know how they would ensure that. What if he tried to escape? Would they maneuver things to kill him? Did she really care?

As long as the monster could never hurt another child…could never hurt Megan.

She was allowed to live out the rest of her life, however long that might be. She’d watch Megan grow up, be there for all the important moments. She’d continue her work to get the bad guys off the streets. But at the end of her life she’d go to Hell and become whatever Lucifer wanted.

Evie tried to envision Hell but couldn’t come up with anything besides the childhood tales that had been told to her. Fiery pits, despair, desolation…

“What’s it like?” she asked, slowly bringing her gaze up to match Brone’s. “Hell, what’s it like?”

He flinched, which didn’t exactly give her hope. Brone was big and powerful and dangerous. Instinctively she knew he’d be ruthless in fulfilling whatever task he’d been given. For a moment she wondered if
she
was his task, and then decided maybe she didn’t want to know.

If the thought of the place made him cringe…she was fucked. But then, she’d already figured that out. The reality was still a bit of a slap in the face.

Turning away, she said, “Never mind.” Snatching the parchment from his hands, she walked over to the pen sitting on top of her desk. When she’d placed it there last night, it hadn’t occurred to her she’d be signing away her soul with it later.

The metal was cool in her hand, slick and silver, but the point never made it to the paper. A heavy hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her and pulling her away.

He was behind her, his eyes glowing with anger and heat. His powerful fingers tightened, pressing together the bones in her wrist. It should have hurt, but it didn’t. He had that ability, to keep her from hurting.

“Will you be here with me? My handler for Hell?”

“No. The moment our side of the agreement is fulfilled, I’ll leave.”

His fingers softened, sliding up the inside of her wrist. A blast of electricity flowed into her body from where he touched her. It suffused her, making her entire being hum.

“Are all demons this irresistibly sexual?”

He laughed, the sound barbed and broken. “Absolutely, but I’m not a demon. Or not just a demon.”

“Obviously. The wings were a giveaway. You’re a fallen angel.”

He nodded. His fingers slid higher up her skin to tease the crease at her elbow. He was playing with her, trying to distract her. Why?

Using his hold on her, Brone pulled her into his body. His heat surrounded her. Those beautiful wings unfurled, cocooning them together. The contract was a specter that haunted her from the other side of the protective wall. She might not be able to see it anymore, but they both knew it was there.