Where Demons Fear to Tread (10 page)

“You
are
jealous.” His smile broke into a grin, and he forked a strawberry into his mouth. “Don’t worry. She’s got nothing on you.”

They ate in silence. Having slept far beyond her usual breakfast time, Serena realized she was ravenous. She forced herself to eat slowly, although she wanted to devour the entire plate.

He gestured to a bottle of champagne that sat on the cart in a silver ice bucket. “Would you care for a little champagne? A mimosa, perhaps?”

“Why are you always trying to ply me with champagne? It’s barely three in the afternoon,” she grumbled.

“Come on and live a little. Have some fun.”

“Fun?” The word escaped her as a high-pitched squeak. “Your idea of fun is perverse. Toying with people’s lives and threatening to destroy them is not fun,” she said somberly.

He set his empty plate aside. “And what’s your idea of fun? Drinking chamomile tea on a Saturday night? Preventing other people from enjoying themselves? Your brother said he wasn’t sure if you ever really knew how to have fun.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was not going to let him see her cry.

“You’ve gone too far,” she said, choking back the sorrow that welled up in her, not only from Julian’s taunting words, but also from the pain of missing Andrew. From hearing what her brother had thought of her. From realizing it was true. She stood, turning to head for her bedroom.

Behind her, Julian exhaled a long sigh. “Serena, wait. We have to call a truce. We cannot spend the next seven days bickering like schoolchildren. Let’s be adult about this.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I am an adult,” she said, wishing that she didn’t sound like a petulant three-year-old as the words came out of her mouth.

“Then start acting like one. You agreed to come here, and you’re not leaving. Accept the consequences of your choice. Look outside. All of Las Vegas is at our feet. Aren’t you the least bit tempted to go outside and explore?”

“Choice!” she nearly exploded. “Coming here was hardly my choice. You coerced me. You threatened my brother and now you’re insulting me to my face. You want
me
to take responsibility for my actions? Screw you. You have no idea how to be an honorable person, do you? If you even had the tiniest inkling of what that means, you’d let me go.”

For a moment, she thought he might tell her to go to hell. Then he settled back in his chair and gave a long sigh. “I do know what it means to take responsibility for my actions. If you insist, I can at least be the one to take the high road and be the one to offer the olive branch.” He paused for a long moment before he finally said, “I apologize.”

It was perhaps the least sincere apology she’d ever heard, but there it was. She brightened a bit. “So will you let me go?”

“Of course not. Now, run along and change out of that dress from last night,” he said. “There are plenty of new clothes hanging in your closet.”

She went into the luxurious walk-in closet to look at the clothing the personal shopper had chosen. For several minutes, she stood wrapped in a bath towel, browsing through the items. The clothes were far more daring than her usual wardrobe, and far more sophisticated. There were low-cut dresses that were only slightly longer than certain T-shirts she owned. Most of the tops were either backless or transparent. None of the garments reached below the upper-thigh. But at least the clothes were beautiful. Whoever had selected this wardrobe had done so with good taste.

The undergarments were another story. She opened boxes to discover sets of lingerie in a gorgeous array of colorful silk and lace. But when she tried them on, she discovered that the bras were quarter-cups that stopped just beneath her nipples. The panties were either minuscule thongs or open at the crotch. She imagined he’d taken a perverse pleasure in instructing someone to buy these things for her.

It took her a while to coordinate an outfit that provided enough coverage in all the right places. In the end, she chose the longest of the dresses, which was cut from a paper-thin fabric that clung to her like water. And threw a silk pashmina wrap over it to cover the dress’s plunging cleavage.

“Let me see,” he said when she returned to the living room. Whisking away the pashmina, he gave her the once over and ended it with a nod of satisfaction. “You’ll boil outside with that scarf. Otherwise, acceptable.”

She resisted the temptation to cross her arms over her chest, and said, “Most of the things in that wardrobe look like they came out of the closet of a call girl.”

“A very high-end call girl, if you must. Those clothes were expensive,” he said mildly. “But if you insist, after we tour the Strip, we’ll do some more shopping.”

As they ambled down the palm-tree-lined boulevard, Serena marveled at the hotels, each with its unique theme. At the replica of Venice, gondoliers rowed their long black boats down the miniature canals. The office towers of New York and the Statue of Liberty loomed at another hotel. Yet another featured a live pirate battle waged between life-size ships. The sun shone; the day was deceptively bright. As they walked, Arielle’s words came crashing back into her head.
He has the power to destroy you. He could have your soul in eternal damnation if something terrible happens
.

Something terrible…like sleeping with him? That much was still unclear to Serena.

She replayed Arielle’s warning in her mind as Julian chatted easily about the hotels, about the fine weather, about his new nightclub and its upcoming grand opening. She said very little, since almost every response that came to her tongue was a sarcastic retort. But he did have a point, she realized—there was no point in keeping up this constant arguing. Gradually, as they progressed along the Strip, she found it very easy to be civil to him. Too easy.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, catching her hand and tucking it under his arm while they strolled among the crowds.

She struggled, trying without success to dislodge her fingers from his grip. “You’ve already managed to find out more than I could probably tell you in a day. Did you have someone investigate me?”

He smiled, reaching to smooth a wisp of her hair that tangled in the light breeze. Clearly, the answer was yes. “Aren’t you curious about me?” he asked. He exaggerated a frown, but a little of that pretended hurt was genuine, she sensed.

“No,” was the safest thing to say. The only thing she could say.

Of course
she was curious about him. She wanted to know everything—where he was born, what his childhood had been like, how he’d felt the first time he’d fallen in love, how he’d died. All the minute details of the circumstances that had produced this wildly handsome man who walked beside her, this remarkable physical body that housed such an embittered old soul.

As they walked, she started to formulate the answers in her own mind. England, if she had to guess, judging from his comments about Coleridge and the hint of an accent that crept into his voice at certain times. He’d been a lonely child, she knew intuitively, from the flashes of that tiny, abandoned boy she sometimes caught when his guard was down. And the other thing she knew with certainty, although she had no concrete proof, was that his death had something to do with a woman.

She stopped herself from musing any further. Whatever else there was, whatever else he meant to tell her…it was most certainly better
not
to know.

Smiling, she tried to focus her attention instead on the massive neon signs flashing overhead, even in the bright sunshine. The wild stimulation of the Strip was almost enough to distract her from wondering.

Passing their reflection in a large mirror in a hotel lobby, he paused. “Look what a striking couple we make,” he said, drawing her close to him. She said nothing, but pulled away instantly, blushing furiously. But she saw that he was right: his dark hair and tanned skin made the perfect foil to her fairness. She was used to attention from men, but she usually ignored it. As they walked, she began to notice the admiring glances they attracted from the tourists of both genders, and every size, shape and color roaming the Strip.

She reminded herself again,
He’s not a normal man. I could lose my status as an angel, or worse.
She shivered. She’d slipped with him before, and it had been terrifyingly easy. What would happen if she
did
sleep with him? And what had Arielle said about it? She tried to remember her supervisor’s words.
“It would depend on the circumstances,”
Arielle had said. Serena vowed to herself that it would never get that far. She must not let him kiss her again. She only had to last one week. Seven days and he would be out of her life for good.

If only she could talk to Arielle, get a moment away from him. She scanned constantly for pay phones as they walked, but every time she spotted one, Julian had his arm around her waist or a healthy grip on her hand.

They stopped at another hotel to see a garden habitat with baby dolphins. As they stood watching the young animals frolic in their watery enclosure, something maternal triggered in her. “How sweet,” she said.

“Food for the Nakara.” His tone was joking, but she wondered what he was capable of doing. When she turned to look at him, he hovered near, his gaze trained on her face, close enough that it seemed for an instant that he was going to kiss her. She froze, waiting for the descent of his lips to hers, the heady rush that would accompany the sweep of his tongue into her mouth. But he simply turned away with a wry smile. She followed, cursing her own disappointment.

They wandered onward, in and out of the casinos, through the infinite electronic arpeggios of beeping slot machines and the crowds of tourists. Senior citizens sat glued to stools, mindlessly plugging coins into games that seemed to absorb endless amounts of money. Groups clustered around roulette and blackjack tables, watching the ebb and flow of wins and losses.

He gestured toward the gaming tables. “Don’t you want to gamble? We’re in Las Vegas, after all.”

“I don’t bet,” she said.

“I understand. You don’t want to risk your own money. Take some of mine,” he said. He pulled out his wallet, counted out several one hundred dollar bills, held them toward her.

She blinked, wondering if he really meant for her to take the money. Around them, the glittering lights, the mirrored walls, the garish pattern of the carpet and the noise were beginning to make her head throb. Outside lay a beautiful, sunny afternoon, but here in the casino, it might as well have been midnight. The artificial environment made her itch for natural sunlight. All she wanted to do was get out of this place. “No, really,” she insisted, hoping he would relent so they could leave. “I don’t believe in gambling.”

His hand dropped slightly, and he frowned. “Not even a quarter?”

She shook her head.

“Come on. Where’s your sense of fun?” he asked. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He was mocking her again.

Sighing, she took a quarter out of her purse, then plugged it in the nearest slot machine. After five seconds of electronic beeping and the digital spin of icons on the machine’s screen, the quarter had disappeared forever.

“There. I lost. Is that supposed to be fun?” she said.

He covered his smile with his hand, trying not to laugh at her. “Perhaps you don’t understand the element of chance if you’ve never won before. It’s addicting, the thrill of not knowing where life is going to take you.” He held up the cash he’d offered her. “Come, I’ll show you.”

With the money, he purchased four one-hundred-dollar chips. At a nearby roulette table, a croupier shouted out, “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets!”

Julian placed all four chips on the black square with the number twenty-two.

“No more bets,” the croupier shouted. Then he spun the wheel.

Serena watched the small white ball spin around the lacquered wooden wheel, the black and red numbers blurring as it spun. The wheel slowed, the ball teetering for a moment on the red number nine before settling into the pocket of the number twenty-two.

“Twenty-two wins!” called the croupier. He counted out fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of chips and slid them to Julian. Around them, a small crowd gathered, attracted by the chips massing on the table. Julian bet the whole lot on black, grinning as the crowd clapped and cheered. Serena watched, wondering what would happen if he lost. Would he walk away disappointed, or stay and try to win again?

Of course, he won. He collected twenty-eight thousand dollars, cashing out the chips for stacks of hundreds. Pocketing a thick wad of bills, he instructed the cashier to deposit the rest in the hotel’s security vault.

He grinned. “First rule of the game. Know when to walk away. Just like the song. Anything more would have been conspicuous.”

“You cheated,” she accused.

His grin flipped to a pretense of hurt, but his eyes still glimmered with amusement. “Of course not. You and I both have a certain amount of influence on the external world, and we’re not afraid to use it.”

“I don’t use it for my own personal gain.”

“Don’t you? For every soul you save, you earn a certain number of brownie points. Surely, you’re expecting to rise higher in the ranking of angels. Don’t tell me there’s no personal gain involved there.”

“It’s a very loose definition. I don’t do what I do for money,” she clarified.

“Maybe you should. Let’s go spend it. I have a feeling that might appeal to you more,” he said wryly.

He took her toward the shops. Serena tried not to notice the beautiful gowns that graced the windows of the upscale boutiques. Tried to remain neutral to the jewelry that glittered in the glass display cases, and the endless parade of gorgeous shoes and handbags for sale. She told herself that she needed to practice detachment. Material objects only led to the terrible kind of yearning she felt right now.

They passed a particularly stunning gown in a boutique window, a wispy dress in muted steel blue. He stopped, considering the delicate beading on the bodice suspended by thin ribbon straps. “That would look lovely on you.”