Sweet Filthy Boy(70)

Her laugh is throaty and loud. “Yes, today you rescue in that. This time when you come in, your chin is higher, your eyes a little wicked, I think.” Reaching for the wall, she hands me a single accessory and when I look down at what she’s given me, it seems to vibrate in my hands. I would never have picked this on my own, but it’s perfect.

“Have fun, chérie.”



I’VE DONE MY makeup for the stage enough that I can really layer it on, making my eyes smoky and dark, my lips even fuller and siren red. I put just enough blush on my cheeks to look like I might be up to no good.

Stepping back, I examine myself in the slim mirror mounted on the bedroom door. My hair falls straight to my chin, black and sleek. My hazel eyes have more yellow than green lately. My bangs need to be trimmed; they graze my eyelashes when I blink. But the woman staring back at me likes the shadow they give. She knows how to look up from beneath her lashes and flirt, especially with the red horns barely poking out from a slim, black headband hiding in her hair.

The negligee is made of lace and layered, soft macramé tulle. The layering gives the illusion of coverage, but even in the dim candlelight I’ve set up throughout the apartment, my nipples are clearly visible beneath. The only other thing I’m wearing is a small, matching red thong.

This time I’m not nervous when I hear the elevator doors open down the hall, and the steady pace of Ansel’s feet walking to our door.

He enters, dropping his keys in the bowl and sliding his helmet beneath the table before turning to where I sit in one of the dining room chairs I’ve placed about ten feet in front of the entryway.

“Christ, Cerise.” Slowly, he slides his messenger bag over his head, carefully setting it on the floor. A heated smile starts at the corner of his mouth and lazily stretches across to the other side as he notices the horns. “Am I in trouble?”

I shake my head, shivering at the way his accent scratches trouble into my new favorite word, and stand, walking over to him. Letting him take in the entire outfit.

“No,” I say, “but I hear you’re in a situation you’d like to see changed.”

He stills, brows slowly lifting. “A situation?”

“Yes,” I say. “A work situation.”

His eyes turn playful. “I see.”

“I can help.” I step closer and run my hand up his chest to his tie. Loosening it, I tell him, “I’ve been sent here to negotiate a deal.”

“Sent by whom?”

“My boss,” I say with a little wink.

He looks me over one more time and reaches up to drag the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. It’s a familiar touch now, but instead of opening my mouth and licking him, I bite.

He pulls back with a little gasp, and then laughs. “You’re irresistible.”

“I’m powerful,” I correct him. “If everything goes well tonight, with just a snap of my fingers I can finish this horrible, time-sucking lawsuit.”

I pull his tie loose and blink up to see his amused expression straighten into something more earnest, more pleading. “You can?”

“You give me your soul, and I make your problems go away.”

His smile returns and his hands slide forward, framing my hips. “When you look the way you do, I don’t think I have much use for a soul.” He leans in, runs his nose along my neck, and inhales. “It’s yours. How do we negotiate this transaction?”

I push his hands away, and slide his tie off, draping it around my neck instead. “I’m glad you asked.” Unbuttoning his shirt, I explain: “I’ll ask a few questions so I can determine the value of your soul. If you’re pristine, I’ll end this tonight and make you look like a hero who broke down the other side. If you’re sullied, well . . .” I shrug. “It may be messy but the lawsuit will be gone. And then I take my payment.”

His dimple makes a cameo. “And what kind of questions do I need to answer?”

“I need to see how bad you’ve been.” Lowering my voice, I add, “I hope you’ve been very bad. My boss doesn’t like to pay very much, and making you look like a hero is pretty expensive in this business.”

He looks genuinely confused. “But isn’t my soul more valuable to you the more corrupt I am?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’m only bargaining to lure you away from the angels. I get you for a better price if they’d be unlikely to want you anyway.”

“I see,” he says, wearing an amused smile.

Silence slides between us and the threat of tension looms just outside the little circle our bodies form, standing so close together. For once, the rules are all mine, the game all mine, and still I feel power in this, too. My fingers shake against his chest with the reality of this full circle, closed. I’m his equal. I’m his wife, wanting to save him.