Fashionably Dead Down Under(64)

“Um . . . yes,” Dixie stuttered, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to help.”
“This is unacceptable,” I yelled. “I am wearing pink. I look like a walking fashion disaster.”
“You are exquisite,” Ethan murmured in my ear and I shivered. He took my hand and his eyes blazed green. “Dixie, take us to our accommodations.”
“Will do.” She grinned and led us to her car.

Chapter 20
“Shut the fuck up,” I laughed. “Mister Rogers won?”
“Indeed he did,” Ethan said, lying back on the bed. “Satan’s face was priceless when Fred made his deal.”
It was all I could do to pay attention to the conversation. Ethan was shirtless and edible and I was in a towel. After washing my hair six times I gave up on the notion that the heinous red might not be permanent. I chose to ignore Dixie’s unacceptable prediction and had her schedule an appointment at a salon. I crossed my legs and sat on my hands so I wouldn’t jump the Adonis reclined on the bed. I really did want to know what had happened.
“So he has to go to lunch with his brother God and make nice?” I giggled as I pictured the scenario. Having not met my Uncle God yet, I still imagined him as I had when I was a child—long white beard, kind eyes and flowing robes.
“Mister Rogers will join them and Hemingway finagled an invitation as well. He said he wouldn’t miss it for all the bull fights in Spain.”
“Where will they meet?” I asked, wondering if God would let his morally corrupt brother set foot in Heaven.
“Satan suggested a neutral territory, like Earth, but Fred and Ernest are dead and that could cause a few complications.” His grin of amusement sent the butterflies in my stomach into a tizzy. No one had the right to be so pretty.
“Or a tabloid writer’s wet dream,” I muttered.
“True . . . now you.”
“Now me what?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant.
“Tell me.”
Did I want him to know what I had done? I did, but I feared the consequences. Could I tell him without having to speak? That might be stupid, but if he wanted me, then he had to want me warts and all. If I was being honest, I was testing him . . .
“If I open the doors in my mind can you come in and see? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
He hesitated. “You won’t be able to hide anything, not one single thought or feeling,” he warned.
“I don’t want to hide from you. Ever.”
His smile melted my insides, but unease consumed me. What if he was disgusted that I had shown mercy?
“I won’t judge. I will just watch,” he said.
“Famous last words,” I muttered and unlocked the door in my head. Seated in a chair across the room from him, I closed my eyes and pulled up the horrifically sad scene.
What felt like eons later, I sat still and kept my eyes tightly shut. Leaning forward in my chair, my stomach churned and I waited for the bomb to explode. He had seen it all and I felt ill at having to relive it. As sure as I was that I had done the right thing, it was still heartbreaking and frightening.
“Our son is amazing,” he said softly.
I opened my eyes to find him kneeling in front of me. He was awed and his eyes blazed a brilliant green.
“You don’t think I was wrong?” My voice sounded childlike and far away.
“I think I have much to learn from you. Your compassion and bravery astound and humble me.” He put his fingers under my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. “You are my world and I love you.”
The waterworks flowed freely and I threw myself into his strong embrace. His strength and beauty overwhelmed me, but his love almost incapacitated me. How did this man feel this way about me?
His full lips gently feathered mine and I breathed him in. His scent made me dizzy with desire and his mouth was shorting out my brain.
“You’re overdressed,” he murmured as his fangs grazed my collarbone.
“I’m in a towel.” I giggled and let my head fall back to give him better access.
“Exactly.” He ripped the towel from my heated body and stared. The need in his eyes matched the enormous bulge in his pants. My breath caught in my throat and my limbs went watery. “You are mine.”
“And you are mine,” I said, slowly getting to my feet and pushing him toward the bed. “Stop. Don’t move.” I dropped to my knees and unbuttoned his jeans. The simple sound of the zipper coming down in the otherwise silent room was as erotic as anything I’d ever heard. “Hands behind your back,” I ordered as he went to slide his pants down his legs. “I’m in charge.”