The Devil Eats Here (Multi-Author Short Story Collection) (8 page)

“I said something in haste,” she said over the hammering of her heart. “But I made promises, and I signed nothing.”

His smug smile told her he knew his effect on women. In another time and place, she might entertain fantasies of giving him a tumble. But he was Satan, and this was Hades, and she had to get the hell out.

“You called out for help,” he said.

“An offer to sell my soul is a cry for help?”

He gave her a cat-and-canary grin. “So you did you offer your soul”

“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back,” she said. “I offered my soul in exchange for something. You didn’t hold up your part of the bargain, so you get nothing from me.”

“What if I want to give you something, instead?”

When had Satan gone into the psychotherapy business? Maybe this was a con. She’d offered her soul, and he’d blown the deal. So, now he thought he could seduce her into turning over the goods, anyway. He looked seductive enough, but if he wanted her to surrender, she wouldn’t.

“If you want to give me something, give me my freedom,” she said. “Send me back to Romero’s.”

“To that orgy of self-loathing? I think not.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“A soul is a precious, not to be bargained away for something as trivial as body size.”

Easy for him to say: he didn’t have an extra ounce of fat on him. He could probably eat three Romero’s number three specials without putting on a pound.

“Because of my body size, I lost my dream job, and with it my chance of owning a house.”

“There are other jobs. Better ones.”

“Like I’d get one of those in my size twenty-two muumuus.” She threw her hands into the air. “For pity’s sake, I don’t even have a sex life.”

“Ahhhh…”

He gave her that smug smile again. Did she dare try smacking Beelzebub?

“That, at least, is something worth sacrificing for,” he said. “But, I can help you with that.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how do you think you’re going to do that?”

“Really, Cynthia, that should be obvious.”

She stood and stared at him for a while.

“I’m a man,” he said finally. “If you want sex, I’ll give it to you.”

“Whoa, now there’s a smooth line if I ever heard one. Very romantic. I may swoon.”

“Forgive me. You were so frank about sex, I thought you’d appreciate frankness from me.”

He waved his hand around the room. The plain walls disappeared to be replaced by drapes of red velvet. A fireplace stood on one wall, and several logs blazed in the hearth. This looked more and more like hell. Except, maybe, for all the plush furniture around the room. A recliner and ottoman in one corner, a conversation pit against the wall, a chaise in the same red velvet, a low table with a bowl of succulent fruit and two crystal wine flutes. A tripod held a wine bucket with a bottle of champagne.

“Is this more agreeable?” He stood next to the fireplace, lounging with one elbow on the mantle. He wore formal attire – a cutaway jacket and tails, which made him look even more devilish. And more delicious. “More romantic?”

“In an early bordello sort of way.”

“One more thing.” He made another gesture, and the light in the room dimmed until the fire filled the room with a warm glow. It cast his form into shadow and him look even taller and more imposing than he had before.

Just a moment ago, he’d offered to fix her sex life. Her knees wobbled.

“You look ravishing.” With widening eyes, he studied her, from the top of her head to her feet and back to her – ohmigod – breasts. They responded as if he were stroking them with his fingers. They felt achy and heavy, and the nipples hardened against the flimsy material.

Flimsy material?

She glanced down at herself. Somehow he’d replaced her business suit with a long, flowing negligee of sheer black gauze. It revealed every bit of her flab and cellulite.

She ran behind the chaise and crouched low to hide herself. This was truly hell. She’d come here to a den of iniquity with a man who looked good enough to eat, but she had to expose herself to his ridicule. She’d spend the rest of eternity horny beyond human endurance, and he’d keep telling her she turned him off.

“Why are you hiding, Cynthia?”

“If you have any mercy in your soul, don’t do this.” She really ought to laugh at that one. Mercy from the devil.

“Do what?” He strode the chaise.

She crouched lower. “Make fun of me.”

He stopped where he was, with a look of puzzlement on his face. “Telling you you look ravishing is making fun of you?”

“It is if you don’t mean it.”

“You think I’m not attracted to you,” he said.

She glared at him from her safe spot behind the chaise. “Well, duh. Bingo.”

He held out his hand toward her. “Show yourself.”

“I don’t get naked on the first date. I’m old-fashioned that way.”

“I’m going to give you one more chance. Come out from behind that chaise.”

Her heart pounded again. This was the devil. If she refused his direct order, what would happen? The torture of the damned? Pillars of fire? Locusts? But he hadn’t kept up his part of the bargain, so how could he say he owned her soul?

That fire came back to his eyes. “Three. Two. One.”

Pffft.
The chaise vanished. Without the support, Cyn collapsed onto the floor.

“I was thinking more of the couch,” he said. “But if you prefer the carpet…”

She scrambled to her feet and raced to the side of the room to hide behind a drape. But no matter how hard she tugged on it, the drape refused to budge. So, there she stood in a black gauze negligee, yanking on velvet.

She heard his steps, a slow, firm swish on the carpet. She spun and saw him walking toward her, slowly, with a determined gleam in his eyes. She flattened herself against the wall.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cynthia,” he said softly as if coaxing a frightened animal to trust him.

“Isn’t that your job, tormenting people?”

“Why would you think a thing like that?” He stopped right in front of her, so close, the fabric of his suit almost rubbed against her breasts. They started aching again. Traitors.

His smell reminded her of moss and musk.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and leaned toward her. Heat radiated off him like from a furnace. In the dim light, his eyes glowed like blue glaciers. He was sin incarnate, but then, he was the devil, built for sin... and oh, was he built.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Cynthia.” His voice sounded like warm chocolate. His breath was as sweet as honey. The man was a walking, talking, breathing dessert. Yum.

“I’m not,” she said. Or croaked, rather. She cleared her throat to try again. “It’s just…”

He stroked the side of her face. His fingers were hot, too. “Just what?”

“This has all been a little hard to understand. A few minutes ago I was in a Mexican restaurant having lunch with a friend. And now, I’m here, wherever here is.”

He sighed, a deep, reluctant sigh. “I see. You have been through quite a bit today.”

“So, if you could just send me back,” she said. But did she want that, really? “Give me my regular clothes first, of course.”

“I’m sorry. You have to stay here a while.” He didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“How long?”

“Until…” His voice trailed off, and he continued to look into her eyes. His lips were so close that the tiniest movement toward them would get her a kiss.

He backed away, finally. Not far. He still had her pinned up against the wall, but she had some breathing room now. Some.

“I tell you what,” he said. “Let me give you a little sample of what I’ve offered you. I think after that, you’ll want to stick around for a while.”

“Okay.” She took a few deep breaths. “I guess.”

He smiled, a very sweet smile, considering he was the devil himself. Then, he took her hand and led her to the couch. When they sat on it, it expanded under them until it was the size of a bed. She patted the mattress beneath her: what if it was cursed?

“Lie down like a good girl,” he instructed.

She did, and he stretched out beside her, making no move to undress either her or himself. He still wore his formal evening attire, and the firelight played in his black hair.

He was gorgeous, the stuff as the hottest of erotic dreams were made of, the kind of dreams that aroused her so completely that she’d have to fish for the vibrator behind her bed before she could go back to sleep.

Now, a man that handsome lay in a bed with her and promised her a sample of what he could do for her. If only she had her vibrator right now.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Um…”

“Shhhh.” He put his finger against her lips. “Don’t talk.”

Talk? Words? How could she even think of something to say with him next to her, looking down into her face with those glacier-blue eyes? His lips only inches from her own. She could hardly breathe. She wasn’t likely to produce speech any time soon.

He removed his finger and smiled. After a minute of that heart-stopping beauty, he closed his eyes and his mouth moved toward hers. Slowly, so slowly. She could have died from the anticipation. The minute he kissed her, the room began to spin.

Ooh, but it was good. Ooooh. He caressed her gently, the pressure of lips on hers as light as a feather and as deep as an ocean. Her heart pounded, and her blood thrummed in her veins. This beat anything from her dreams, never mind reality. After a few heartbeats of heaven, she whimpered into his mouth and answered his kiss, begging for more.

He pulled her against him and claimed her lips with more authority. All along the length of her body, his heat burned into her flesh while he claimed her breath, her sanity, with his caresses.

She sank back into the cushions and pulled her mouth away from his. “You really are the devil, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been called a lot of things.” He grinned wickedly. “Does it matter who I am?”

He knew the effect he had on her. He’d probably thought up those images to tempt her to stay. She shouldn’t surrender. He hadn’t kept his part of the bargain, and she could demand that he release her. But, if she did, she’d miss out on sex so good it was unworldly. She might not be the most beautiful woman on Earth, but she wasn’t stupid.

“Anything you want,” she said.

Chapter Two

Cyn awoke in the same room where the devil, or whoever he was, had kissed her into insanity. Covers and a pillow had materialized on the couch while she slept. Maybe he’d covered her up, or maybe he’d waved his hand to make the bedding appear. She needed to convince him that he hadn’t paid for her soul, had to send her back.

She sat up and rubbed her hands over her face. The fire had gone out, but cracks of light slipped in between the drapes. One of them fluttered in a warm breeze. Last night, they’d stuck to the walls so firmly she couldn’t budge them.

She got up, walked to the drapes and grabbed them. They parted easily to allow bright sunlight in.

She glanced outside: not what she'd expected hell to look like. On the other side of an open pair of French doors, a flagstone terrace ran along the length of the room. Past that, a rose garden with a dozen plants in full bloom. Beyond the roses, perfect lawns sloped outward and downward toward a stand of trees in the distance. The breeze hit her smack in the face, bringing the perfume from all those flowers. Birdsong in the distance made the whole scene something straight out of heaven, definitely not Hades.

Then, another scent wafted into the room, a blend of coffee and bacon. Her stomach rumbled.

The delicious smells came from a newly opened door. The couch had returned to normal size, and the bed clothing had disappeared. A black lace robe lay over the end of the couch – the rest of the peignoir set. It wouldn’t cover her much better than the gown, but the two of them together might give her a bit of modesty. She walked to it, slipped it on, and then stepped out the door to go looking for breakfast.

She found a long corridor with thick carpeting on the floor. Wooden occasional tables stood here and there, and each held a huge vase filled with roses, calla lilies and snap dragons, brightening the room. She followed the luscious smells through a corridor to a greenhouse.

She crossed the threshold and found her devil sitting at a wrought iron table in the middle of a room full of exotic plants. He wore a silk robe with the collar of pajamas peeking out.

“There you are, finally.” He smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” She’d slept better than she had for years. Ever since she’d gotten her job working for Stewart. He’d wrecked her sleep, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Hungry?”

“Who are you?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. A plate of half-eaten breakfast sat in front of him - bacon, eggs, and a muffin - and next to that a bowl of grapefruit sections. Beelzebub ate breakfast like normal folks?

“Why is it important for you to know who I am?” he asked.

“It would be nice to have something to call you besides ‘you.’”

“I’m the only one here.”

She crossed her arms and did her best to scowl. Unfortunately, the movement pushed her breasts up and out, and the man’s gaze focused on them as his smile grew wicked.

“You said you wanted to make love to me, didn’t you?” she asked. Actually, he’d offered to spice up her sex life. The two things weren’t the same at all.

“I think you agreed to let me,” he said.

“I like to know the names of men I sleep with. I’m funny that way.”

“Do you sleep with a lot of men?”

“You know well I don’t,” she said. “I told you that yesterday.”

He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked his chin. “Ah, yes. You did.”

“Look, you know everything about me. The least you could do is tell me your name.”

“Sam,” he answered.

“Sam?” she repeated. “That’s it? Just Sam?”

His lips curved. “Do you need any more?”

Sam sounded like a next door neighbor, a dorky one with a run-down pickup truck and a beer belly. This guy didn’t look like any Sam she’d ever met.

“Now that we’ve been introduced, wouldn’t you like some breakfast?” he asked. He gestured toward a sideboard, laden with bacon rashers, hashbrowns, slices of toast, waffles, syrup, sausages, baked beans in tomato sauce, grilled mushrooms and glistening fried eggs.