My Way to Hell (19 page)

He’d incited her on more than one occasion with his opposing views. On everything from politics to religion Armando had made her think. He’d challenged her. He’d brought more than just the idea that she was going to end up a marital doormat to the table.

And then he’d betrayed her.

In the sickest, most fetid of ways.

Kellen ran a finger along her upper arm, disrupting her long-buried memories. “I got her voice mail, but I left her a message and told her it was crucial she call us back.”

Marcella’s gut churned in anxious worry. “So we wait.”

“We wait,” he confirmed with a half smile she had to look away from in order to avoid returning.

And now she could escape his heavy disappointment at her killerlike tendencies. “So I’ll go, and if you hear anything, see anything, you just dream me up there, big boy. I’ll come running.”

Kellen’s hand, callused and lean, clasped her arm. “Where do you go when you leave here?”

“Shopping, silly. Can’t you tell by my new dress?” She held up the ripped edge of it and curtsied. What sucked sweaty balls about that was she could touch the dress, feel the fabric between her fingers, but she couldn’t take the damned thing off. It was like some eternal curse.

“You can stay here, you know.”

How thoughtful to offer her the opportunity to see him in all his glorious muscledness while he strolled through the house in his Calvin Kleins. She’d rather wear this dress for eternity than be subjected to his House of Fabulous. “I’m good. I know your life is jam-packed with Discovery Channel marathons and figuring out global warming. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You could watch with me.”

Her head cocked to the left at his quiet request. “Aren’t you supposed to be calling me a murderer and, like, reading me scripture so I can atone for my sins?”

He regarded her with cool eyes. “If Armando was anything like Vincent, then he must have deserved to die.”

What. The. Fuck? What was going on with him? It was like the Dalai Lama had possessed him. “Hold on there, Mr. Self-Righteous, Law-Abiding Citizen of the United States. Did I hear you just condone my murdering someone?” She made a slicing motion across her throat. “Because I did him in but good. Very gangsta, by this day and age’s definition. In fact, maybe you should just call me killa from here on out.” That she was working so hard to get a rise of distaste out of him plainly showed her insecurities. She wanted his approval—longed for it—and she’d take it any way she could get her unmanicured mitts on it. So she was seeing how far she could push him, testing him to see if he’d walk away. Self-loathing rose in a swell of disgust.

“I’m not condoning it. I’m just offering understanding. Had I known what Vincent was, what he’d done to my mother and Delaney, I’d have killed him myself. Seeing as you won’t give me the full story, and I just know there’s more to this than you’re letting on, I’m opting for the lesser of two evils.” He said the words with no haughty arrogance to them. Simple and clean.

“Oh, Mother Teresa—you’ve been sorely missed.”

Kellen’s chuckle was deep. “And my new body’s rad, don’t you think?”

She tried not to think, though it had become a chore, with him looming all up in her personal space. “There’s supposed to be a thank-you in here somewhere, right? My groveling is rusty. Refresh me.”

“Nope. C’mon. I’ll drink a beer, you won’t. I’ll probably fall asleep, you’ll be wide awake—but we’ll be doing it together. It’s gotta be better than being alone.”

She threw her shoulders back and gave him her best smoldering stare, kittenish and seductive. “Are you inviting me to sleep over, Kellen Markham? You playa, you.”

“I’m inviting you to stay here until we figure out how to get you back to the other side. It has to beat wherever you go every night. C’mon, you know you don’t want to miss
Project Runway
,” he coaxed, holding out his hand in invitation. A hand of temptation.

She was skipping down a path of self-destruction. There were plenty of warning bells clanging in her head, telling her not to do it. It would only make leaving harder. They went off like DEFCON 5 in her head, chiming in loud, raucous warning.

But it
was Project Runway
. Marcella teetered between the cold, hard bench of the park where her thoughts and guilt were all she had to keep her company, aside from the occasional drunk, or Kellen and the warmth of Delaney’s old apartment in the back of the store. The comfort of memories.

Giving him a haughty grin, she asked, “This is your last chance to back out. I mean, aren’t you just a little afraid I might take you out in your sleep if I stay here? It doesn’t take much to get me all riled. I did kill my husband for leaving the lawn unkempt.”

“So much so, I might need some No-Doz and three pots of coffee. But then I remember you can’t pick anything up—at least not yet.” He grinned, and it was like a cool balm, blanketing her heart. She knew enough about him to know he was giving her acceptance, acceptance for her dastardly past. Part of that acceptance came from knowing what a man was capable of when he walked among the land of the living, yet had sold his soul prematurely to Satan. Vincent had taught Kellen a thing or two about evil. But she sensed something else in his silent approval.

And the sticky-sweet warmth it garnered was dangerous.

Hot and dangerous.

She placed her hand in his extended one, savoring the light caress of his thumb on her knuckles as he pulled her back into the living room, where Vern and Shirley slept in a ball on Delaney’s old couch and the call of an almost normal evening awaited.

Marcella floated behind him like a helium balloon.

Though, she reluctantly acknowledged, her hand, wrapped in Kellen’s, had she been a mortal girl at this very moment, probably would have made her feel like she was floating anyway.

How incredibly high school.

Somehow, after episode three of
Project Runway
, Kellen had landed headfirst on her shoulder, snoring so loudly she was certain the afterlife felt the tremors. His heavy weight slumped against her in a not-so-unpleasant way. Little by little, she’d been able to accomplish small things like sitting on furniture, though picking things up still eluded her. Earlier, she’d just been grateful to have the ability to sit beside him.

Now, with her hormones in four-wheel drive—not as much. She shifted, hoping to avoid disturbing him, only to find his lips precariously close to her breast. Warmth flooded her. Just a sixteenth of an inch more and he was going to be where she’d fantasized many a night away. Her breathing hitched on the way out of her lungs when he mumbled something she couldn’t hear, but vibrated against her nipple.

A low groan threatened escape, a moan of pleasure she’d never be able to take back. Placing her arm on the back of the couch, she attempted to inch away from him, only to have him settle in deeper, tightening an arm around her waist and pulling her to him.

Her pulse skittered sideways when he muttered, breathing out a sigh.

If she hadn’t been clear about the man upstairs shunning her before, this cinched the deal. If He were merciful, He’d never have allowed her to put herself in this position. This was the scenario of all her dreams come true. Kellen hadn’t come this close to her ever, and now he was suddenly comfortable enough to slap up against her like they’d always done this. In fact, she’d be superduper pissed that he was taking liberties, if the liberties weren’t so damned liberally nice. She grew angry at how easily she was accepting his turnabout. Why now, when she was about as mortal as a vampire, had he decided to take a liking to her? Why not when she’d been, if not of the living, at the very least able to wear cute dresses and heels?

She warred with the urge to burrow beneath him or drop his ass flat and hightail it out of the apartment.

Kellen stirred. “Marcella?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“My head seems to be buried in your . . .”

“Boobs. Go ahead. You can say it.”

“Boobs.”

“Freeing, right?”

“No doubt. But this presents a problem.”

“Or two, maybe three. We should tally them. I’ll get paper.” She made a move to get off the couch, but he gripped her tighter, forcing her to arch her body into his.

“Do you know why this presents a problem?”

“Because I’m a killer, and no good, morally sound man should have his face in a killer’s boobs?”

“That wasn’t where I was going.”

“Where are you going?”

“This presents a problem because I
like
having my face in your boobs.”

Madre santa
. Words she’d waited a decade to hear, now said, were more powerful than she could have ever imagined. Fireworks shot off in every direction behind her closed eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first man to find himself in a dilemma such as this.”

“That didn’t make me feel better.”

“Apologies.”

“Accepted. So here’s the thing—what are we going to do about the fact that I
like
having my head in your boobs?”

“Move my boobs?”

Marcella felt his grin against the thin, torn material of her dress. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“Right. Proceed with caution.”

“Question? Just off the cuff.”

“I’m on pins and needles.”

“Do you like me having my face buried in your boobs?”

To the millionth power, baby. She fought a squirm at how direct his question was. To confirm would be to show her cards, and she wasn’t sure if she’d had the chance to catch her breath at his change in attitude toward her yet, let alone express her darkest fantasies. Her response was noncommittal. “It isn’t unpleasant.”

“Would you venture to say
you
like it?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I wouldn’t say I hate it.”

He snickered. “It’s good my ego’s healthy.”

“Everyone should have an ego as healthy as yours.”

Kellen cleared his throat. “So the problem.”

“Yes. The problem . . .”

“I really don’t want to move my head.”

“Maybe that’s because it’s been a long time since you had your face in someone’s boobs and any boobs’ll do? Even a killer’s?”

“I’d like to chalk it up to that, but in truth, I was seeing someone a few months ago.”

Jealousy clawed at her tongue, making her want to say hateful things. But she refrained, ever the lady. “And she didn’t like your face in her boobs?”
Twit.

“She didn’t seem to mind, but her boobs weren’t your boobs. So I called it off.”

A warm glow fluttered over her ego. “You broke up with someone because she didn’t have my boobs?”

“No, not exactly. What I’m saying is her boobs weren’t as . . .”

“Nice as mine. I understand. I have been gifted as racks go.”

“Modest.”

“Honest.”

“How about we do this,” Kellen said, still unmoving. “I’ll tell you where I’m at, then you can tell me how you feel about it.”

“Are we going down the path of the warm and squishy?”

“I can’t say for sure. I’d settle for honesty.”

She nodded her agreement. “I’m in.”

“There’s always been tension between us.”

“An understatement if ever there was one.”

“True that. We’ve fought many a battle.”

“Like fierce warriors,” she agreed.

“We haven’t always been pleasant in word or thought.”

“You had unpleasant thoughts about me?” She pretended astonished disbelief.

“Several that involved various degrees of manslaughter.”

A wince made her lips pucker. “Harsh.”

“Truthful.”

“We have a checkered past. If I seem shocked by your sudden generosity of spirit toward me, and I credit that to your just wanting to wonk, I don’t think that’s unfair,” she offered.

“So we’re clear, I’m not the kind of man who’d ignore his morals just to boff.”

Gallant. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“Anyway, that very tension also translates into something else we both know exists, but haven’t ever acknowledged because I despised your demonic origins and you despised me for despising you.”

“Interpretation?”

“Some of the tension has to do with your attraction to me—”

Her eyes rolled. Truth or not. “Modest.”

“Honest. It also has to do with
my
attraction to
you
.”

Yeah, tha’ssright. He’d said it. Her hormones shook their pom-poms. If she still had her heart, it’d surely shifted farther left of center.

“I’ve denied it for a long time. I’ve told myself it was only lust, because, let’s face it, you’re not exactly ugly,” he teased. “And screwing for that purpose alone isn’t really my thing. But I don’t feel that way anymore.”

“That screwing for screwing’s sake isn’t your thing?”

“No, Marcella. That my attraction to you is based solely on lust.”

“What’s it based on now? And be careful what you say—your face
is
in my boobs. It’ll be hard to believe you’re not just trying to get to first base with me.”

“What I’m saying is I like you.”

“Do you still have your class ring?”

“Why?”

“Isn’t this the moment where you give me your letter jacket and class ring so I can wear it around my neck?”

“I think you’re way too far past high school to hope for a class ring.”

“Ow.”

When Kellen’s head lifted, he wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes flashed dark in the glow of the television, serious, and above all, with sincerity. It was stark and crystal clear. Pulling her down beneath him, he took her chin between his fingers. “I like you, Marcella. It’s been easier to get along with you finding that out. I’m not sure when it happened, but it did. I don’t know how long you’ll be here, so I’m going to skip the bullshit we slam each other with and cut to the chase. More than that, I want you in a way I can’t put into words. But that presents a problem.”