Dark Desires After Dusk (18 page)

Her heels weren't stilettos, but the way the thin straps hugged her trim ankles was arousing to him. The mere sight of her pearls could pain him, because whenever she ran them against her lips, one of his favorite fantasies always assailed him—the one of her wearing nothing but pearls and him riding her so hard that the strand bounced about her neck.

And her skirt . . . When he'd watched her in the past,
he hadn't understood why she would wear such conservative tops, then such provocative skirts. Yes, they went past her knees, but they also stretched so enticingly over her ass.

He'd finally figured it out. Holly didn't realize how those expensive materials molded over her generous curves.

Cade knew females liked to ask, “Does my ass look big in this?” But considering Holly as an example, he'd begun to suspect that women really couldn't determine what their asses looked like.

Oh, well. A question for the ages.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them, while his balls were so blue he wondered if he'd ever get them back to rights.

If she wanted to act like she hadn't slowly licked her lips while her silver eyes were locked on his cock, he could play.

So, we pretend . . . .

After he took the bags to the car, stuffing them in the trunk, he remembered to open her door for her—
score one for the demon
—but just when he was about to slide inside, she got out.

“Oh, no, no,” she said, eyeing the floorboard on his side—which was full of wrappers and crushed cans of Red Bull. “We can't start the drive out this way.”

“It's fine, Holls. I'll dump the trash at the next gas station.”

But she'd already retrieved her antibacterial wipes and crossed to his side, shooing him away. Setting out the wipes for afterward, she bent over in front of him to clear out the floorboard.

And he had to shuffle his feet wide to keep from falling over.

The skirt was so tight, he could discern she was definitely wearing one of those thongs.
Mental note: Always leave trash on the floorboard.

When she'd been getting ready earlier, he'd had only enough time to do one of two things in private: contort naked, digging for the bullet, or take matters in hand with his hard-on. As he gaped at her skirt molding to her heart-shaped ass, he concluded he'd chosen poorly with the bullet.

He stifled a groan, beginning to pace back and forth.

A human male strolled by, then did a double take at her. The bastard's brows drew together with want.

Cade bared his teeth.
Don't mangle the mortal!
The human caught sight of him and wisely scurried away.

Once Holly had deposited everything in the hotel's trash bin, she used her wipes to eradicate innocent microorganisms.

“Are we ready, pet?” His voice was so hoarse it made her frown.

“What's wrong with your voice? Are you getting sick?”

He heard her asking the question, but his attention was already distracted. The evening was chilly, and her nipples were stiff under the beige sweater she wore. He absently answered, “Immortals never get sick.”

She caught the direction of his stare, and her lips thinned. “Must you?”

I must.
“First day in the new bra, yeah?”

As if calling on some inner well of reserve, she said in a long-suffering tone, “Yes, Cadeon, it is . . . .”

When they'd gotten on the road, she asked, “So tell me
about the checkpoint. Who's this Imatra woman? Do you know her?”

“Not personally. She's supposed to have been born of a sorcerer and a demoness, getting the strengths from both. Rumored to be a great beauty,” he added truthfully, gauging her reaction. There wasn't a discernible one. “She owns a Lore tavern on the Mississippi River called the Sandbar.”

“How
cute
.” Had her tone been cutting?

Cade would be forced to take Holly with him there. The idea of leaving her vulnerable and alone in the hotel room was worse than what he expected at this bar. Besides, Groot's followers patronized the place.

Surely they wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what the sorcerer wanted so badly . . . .

“And then at the Sandbar, we'll get directions to another checkpoint?” When he nodded, she said, “Any idea where Groot's could be?”

“Some say it's in the north.”

“What is he like? I feel as though I'm off to see the wizard.”

“He's a blacksmith as well as a sorcerer, supposed to be able to enchant metal.”

“Why so much trouble to get to him?”

Stick to the truth.
“My enemy Omort wants him dead. So Groot lives in constant hiding.”

“Because Groot can forge a sword that can kill Omort.”

“Precisely.”

“So then, Groot must be one of the good guys if he and Omort are enemies.”

Vague it up.
“Good or bad, you need to remember that all sorcerers have to be dealt with cautiously.”

“How will he reverse the transition? Will there be a spell?”

“I don't know. I suppose.”

“But only if we get there in time. Why didn't we just fly to Memphis?”

“Nïx made me vow not to fly any leg of this trip. She must have foreseen something bad.”

“Do you always believe her predictions?”

“She doesn't get foretellings wrong—ever,” he said. “But whether she tells you the truth about them is another matter.”

“You seem to know her fairly well. Were you two ever . . . involved?”

“Involved with Nucking Futs Nïx? Not likely. In case you didn't gather Nïx is”—he twirled his forefinger at his temple—“addled.”

“She's also beautiful.”

“Never seen a Valkyrie who wasn't.” He peered hard at her, making her flush and look away. “Speaking of Nïx—what'd you do with her letter?”

“I memorized and destroyed it while you were out for food.”

“Then you knew I'd snoop through your things?”

“From what I know about you so far, it was a statistical probability.”

*   *   *

Over the last three hours, they'd ridden in silence, with Holly working on her laptop, lost in thought—and him trying not to glance over at her more than twice a minute.

She had her computer stylus behind her ear, her glasses on, and she was now lazily fingering those pearls.

Don't do it . . . don't do—

And there she went, running them against her lips.

Maddening woman, with even more maddening ways about her! And she had no clue of the men she left hard in her wake.

Here he was, locked in a car all night with
his
female, knowing she needed to be pleasured. He had a driving demon instinct to please his female—and couldn't.

Cade was about to explode.

Just then her brows drew together, and she typed in rapid-fire taps. She paused, biting her bottom lip. When she hit
enter
, she glowered at the answer.

He wondered what proofs, theorems, or functions she was considering and then rejecting. What was going on in that incredible brain of hers?

But she hadn't only been concentrating on math over the last few hours. He knew she'd occasionally been thinking about earlier. Her face would flush, and she'd run her pearls against her lips, but faster.

Had she liked what he'd shown her? He'd been proud for her to see him hard, loving the feel of her gaze on his shaft, hoping to tempt her hands to it. And she'd been so close to touching him.

He knew he hadn't been on his best behavior at the hotel. But when she'd been talking to that tosser, Cade had been overcome with jealousy.

He tried to remember the last time he'd been so envious. Probably when the Lykae Bowen MacRieve had found his mate. Intense rivals, both Bowen and Cade had gone centuries without finding their females. Then the Lykae had gotten his in a pretty, funny witch—the one Cade had made a lackluster run at.

Now Cade had found his own female in a brilliant,
stunning Valkyrie, who was so confident she made him speechless at times.

But she was one he couldn't keep.

Another rapid bout of typing came, with another glare at her computer screen.

“Has anyone ever told you you're sexy as hell when you're mathematizing?”

She sighed, closing her laptop and removing her glasses. “Is sex all you think about?”

“It is when I'm in sore need of it. My kind need it three or four times on a regular day. And then after what happened between us earlier . . . ? You've got to be feeling the aftereffects, too.”

“Hardly.”

“Admit it. We had a
moment
.” Though they hadn't even touched, he couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced anything so heated.

“It wouldn't matter if we did. I can control my baser urges.”

“You said you didn't work things out for yourself. Which I know is a lie—”

“It is not!”

“It has to be,” he said. “Otherwise the lust would just build and build.”

“You're going to keep at this until I answer.”

“You're beginning to understand me.”

“No, I refuse this,” she said, shaking her head. “We're simply not talking about this.”

“Then talk about something else. You're due for a break from your work, and I need a distraction to take my mind from my aching thigh. Some Valkyrie refused to aid me in my distress.”

“You deserved that.”

“Probably,” he allowed.

“Very well. What do you do as a mercenary?”

“I specialize in usurping thrones. They call me the kingmaker.”
Bragging now?

“Then you're an insurrectionist.”

“You're assuming that I'm taking thrones from their rightful owners.”

She gave a nod in his direction, as if conceding his point.

“But mainly, I fight wars. The Lore is a violent place, good for business,” he said, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, I almost forgot . . . you're a
pacifist
.”

“That's not a bad word.”

“It is when you're in the war industry.”

She quirked a brow. Then seeming begrudgingly curious about his job, she asked, “How did you become a mercenary?

“I'd trained as a soldier to fight Omort.” At nineteen, Cade had been thrown into a brutal training regime among Rydstrom's soldiers—who all despised him. For months, Cade had gotten his ass handed to him. Finally he'd learned he had to become faster, stronger, better than any demon in the army.

Ultimately, he had been, and people had taken notice. “In idle times between campaigns, I got offered some jobs.” As Omort grew more powerful, crushing revolt after revolt, there'd been more idle times than not. “I had some success, and it snowballed. I've got a crew of forty-five under my command.”

“All demons?”

“Mostly,” he said.

“Do you discriminate against non-demons?” she asked.

“We don't discriminate. As long as the applicant is vicious, has killed before, and is willing to do so again, he's hirable.”

“And how many women are currently in your crew?” she asked pleasantly.

“I walked right into that one, didn't I?” he said, but she merely raised her eyebrows, awaiting his answer. “No females have applied. Much. Hardly any at all. Hey, if you stay Valkyrie, I'll hire you. The PhD mercenary.”

“That'd be a waste of study.”

He grew still. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It just seems like your occupation would utilize more brawn than brain.”

“So the bigger your biceps, the better your military strategy and battle tactics? Is that what you think?”

She studied his face. “You're sensitive about this.”

“What? I'm not bloody sensitive,” he said, but his tone was gruff. “Back to you. You told Nïx that you were one code away from getting your PhD. What kind of code?”

“It's complicated.”

Did she think he couldn't even follow along? That made his hackles rise. “The big, dumb demon has been known to understand a few things over his
thousand years
of life.”

She gave him another studying look, as if he'd just proven her theory. “You really want to hear about my project?” When he nodded, she said, “I call it
barbed code
. I intend for it to be used in the private sector in computer applications to protect proprietary data. Eighty-five percent of all companies have reported data loss due to hacking or unauthorized access.”

“You're telling me that many companies use codes?”

“
Everyone
uses codes. Or at least, anyone with a computer does. When you receive an e-mail, it's encrypted, until your e-mail program decodes it. An online banking transaction and even paying a speeding ticket online are code-heavy applications.”

She turned, shifting her body to face him more fully, obviously loving this subject. Which disconcerted him.

If she was so keen on this stuff, then she'd want a partner who could discuss it with her. It pissed him off that she and that tosser spoke a language he could never know.

Once again—you can't bloody have her anyway!

“Cadeon, are you even listening to me?”

“What? Yeah, was just thinking about . . . how http always turns to https when I carry out a transaction.”

“Exactly!”

Good save.

“Https provides an additional level of encryption.” She eyed him with new interest.
Bloody good save.
“But every computerized code is still breakable. Every single one can be decrypted by brute-force computing.”

“What's that?”

“Imagine a thousand computers working twenty-four hours a day on breaking a single code. That's BFC. So the general idea is to make a code so convoluted and complex that no one would have enough BFC available to crack it. But theoretically, it's still hackable.”