Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(7)
“Actually…” Damian couldn’t help envisioning Rose Maxwell dressed all in black and wearing handcuffs. “I think I’ll tag along. It’ll be like old times except it’s not you, me, and Adrian doing the jailbird walk of shame. Besides, I could use an interesting bedtime story.”
Linc dropped a hand on his shoulder and chuckled. “If you’ll be hanging out with this group for any length of time, one thing you should prepare yourself for is interesting stories at least once a week if not more often.”
Four blocks and a ten-minute wait later, and the four women, dressed head to toe in black, stepped out from the buzzed-open door at the Fifth Precinct. All sported varied expressions of relief, disgust, and in Harper’s case, amusement, the succubus giving the young officer behind the window a little finger-wave that had Adrian releasing a low growl.
While Linc approached his True Mate, and Adrian and Bax approached Olive and Harper, Damian couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fourth woman in their law-breaking quartet.
Dressed in an oversized black hoodie, her hair lifted into one of those sexily messy pony-buns that left the arch of her neck exposed, the sight of Rose Maxwell—aka the star of his every sexual thought for the last six months—had Little D twitching in his pants.
Fuck. She was even more gorgeous than he remembered.
The second her gaze caught his, she froze, sneakered feet rooted to the ground. “You…”
He cocked a single eyebrow. “You…”
“What are you doing here?”
“Guess I couldn’t stay away…” He made it sound like a taunt, but hell if there wasn’t a speck of truth to his words.
Ever since he’d come to the realization that sex sated his inner demon—at least somewhat—his motto had been No Repeats. No Morning Afters. It was sex and move on. Simple and easy … but there was nothing simple about the way Rose kept unwittingly interjecting herself into his thoughts.
Behind that evening’s cat burglar clothes was a woman, who like his own brother, Julius, exuded sophistication from every pore. Classy confidence ensured she commanded every room she walked into, and upon first meets, immediately put people at ease with her social grace.
Damian wouldn’t know class if it bit him on the ass, and he was well-known for clearing a room by making people uneasy. The second he’d first bumped into Rose, he knew she was way out of his league, but he hadn’t cared.
Still didn’t.
And that had the potential to be a huge problem … for him. For his demon. And by extension, Rose herself.
“I have to say, little witch, I usually read people pretty well and I never had you pegged as a rule-breaker, or even a bender.”
“I’m not,” Rose countered.
Kicking up a lone eyebrow, Damian slowly perused her all-black ensemble. “You’re telling me that cat-burglar-chic is all the rage in Supernatural high society?”
“I wouldn’t know what’s the rage in Supernatural high society as I’m no longer in it.”
Her defensive tone lifted his gaze to hers, and for the first time since she’d stepped into the lobby, Damian looked beyond her gorgeous outer package. There was something different, something far beyond the absence of the sexy designer dress and daggerlike heels she’d sported that night.
It took him a while to find it, and then it glinted back at him from her eyes … a feeling he was all too familiar with because he felt it every damn day, and sometimes tenfold when his inner demon wreaked havoc.
Tired determination.
As if the curvy witch didn’t take up rent in enough of his thoughts, his curiosity about what put that glint there expanded, taking up even more real estate.
* * *
Disappointment fueled by her failure to free Butternut and Squash led to Rose’s dropping her guard for one split second, and that was all the man in front of her needed before seeing way too much.
Damian Adams. Half-demon veterinarian. Linc and Adrian’s college roommate.
And her one and only one-night stand.
She’d thought she’d never lay eyes on him again and yet there he stood, his hair curling a little longer over his collar, but still sexy as ever. She soaked up the sight of him like a dry sponge just like she had the night of the Bonding Announcement Party … and just like she did every other night in the most sexually explicit dreams she’d ever had.
Oh, who was she fooling? It was every night, so frequently that Harper was half-convinced she was having a secret affair—or had a membership to a pleasure club. According to the succubus, that’s how soaked in pheromones she’d become. Or to quote the sex demon verbatim, “You’re extra horny lately, Rose.”
She didn’t need Harper to point that out … especially now as she stood in front of the person who’d gifted her her one and only non-BOO—battery-orchestrated orgasm—of the year. Maybe eighteen months.
And they hadn’t even fully undressed, removing only the necessary articles of clothing for easy access. It made for a quick release and an even quicker escape … except there was no running away this time.
This time he stood not more than six feet away, his chin-length dark blond hair brushing against the few days’ stubble that peppered his angular jaw. Her fingers nearly itched with the need to sink into his hair’s soft depths again and beg him to kiss her senseless.