Her lips looked soft as the petals of a flower, and just as delicate. He could so easily see himself partaking of that mouth. Over and over. Imbibing until he was completely intoxicated with the taste of her. She was no tall, stick thin runway supermodel. No cool, touch-me-not waif. She was nose level with his sternum, though given his own height, that didn’t exactly make her short. And her curves were lush. Warm and inviting. And very, very womanly. His entire body seized with raw lust.
Her gaze dropped, and she cleared her throat. He realized he was staring. And that he hadn’t moved an inch. And that a jolt of lust had just sucker punched him in the gut, hard, catching him by surprise.
Holy hell! He sucked in a sharp breath and dragged his gaze upward, staring blindly at the ceiling.
Michael’s daughter!
The reminder didn’t seem to be helping.
And the burning need in his gut seemed to be growing with every inhalation of her delicious scent.
She stepped to the side, nodding toward the front of the club. “Excuse me. I was just, um, going that way.”
But as she said the last, her gaze drifted past his arm, and a frown knitted her brow. She tilted her head, staring hard at something, at someone, out there in the crowd behind him. A surge of power shot from her. Much the same as the one he’d sensed earlier when she’d stared like that at him. What was she doing? He glanced over his shoulder before peering back down at her. Her brow furrowed deeper as the power surge coming from her ceased, though he could still sense a glimmer of it resonating around her. If he could sense her power, would those other three demons also feel it? The Halfling looked alarmed, and more than a little green around the gills.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Could she somehow sense the demons? Was that what the power surge was? Did her angelic blood somehow clue her in to what they were? And if so, why then couldn’t she realize he was as they were—demon? Why didn’t she seem to fear him?
“Ah, nothing.” She shook her head and offered him a very wide, obviously fake smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He didn’t need Xander the walking lie detector to tell him she was lying through her pearly whites. Xander, the Demon Slayer, had once described his curse as feeling like a thousand spiders were crawling over his skin when a lie was told, no matter how small or inconsequential. Creepy. Still not as bad as Gideon’s own curse, but creepy as hell all the same.
Her panic was palpable, her focus darting over the club walls, high up, stopping when she spied the glowing exit sign on the far side of the dance floor. Her expression fell as she glanced back toward the demons that’d now fanned out and were sweeping through the dancers. Squarely between her and all the exits. She looked like a cornered rabbit.
“I hate to call a lady a liar, but I’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb as a doorknob not to see something’s bothering you.”
She licked her bottom lip and then little white teeth began to gnaw on the plump pink flesh. His nostrils flared, and his brow drew together as his groin grew painfully tight in response.
“I, um…” She glanced over her shoulder. No exit there, either. “I just realized I need to go, I mean leave. I need to leave. Go home,” she stammered.
She searched his face then, assessing and shrewd. He could see the wheels grinding away in that pretty little head of hers. She glanced past him once more, then quickly stepped to the side so that his large frame effectively shielded her, blocking her from anyone who might look this way from the dance floor.
“And there’s somebody out there you don’t want to see when you leave.” He raised his voice just enough there at the end so she could take it as a statement or a question.
“Yes,” she admitted, smiling at him in a relieved sort of way.
“So who are we avoiding?” he asked, deliberately making them a team, hoping to build her trust by inserting himself into her situation as a coconspirator. Turning his head, he scanned the crowd as if he didn’t already know the answer.
“See that guy over by the Budweiser sign? The bald one with the denim jacket?” Gideon nodded. “And the one over by the exit sign? Blue hair and green ripped T-shirt?” She went on, her tone reluctant and embarrassed. Lifting a brow, Gideon turned his head to look at the second demon before nodding. She hesitated a moment longer before adding, “And the guy with the sunglasses and long blond hair, yellow shirt, by the front door?”
Damn, she’d pegged all three of them. He began to wonder what other little gifts her angelic blood had given her.
“Three?” He injected a note of incredulity into his tone, and watched the color in her cheeks darken. “I’m thinkin’ it’s a good thing I decided not to ask you to dance after all. You seem to make a habit of leavin’ a trail of broken hearts in your wake.” He didn’t know why he was messing with her like this, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Oh, it’s not like that at all!” the Halfling blurted, then seemed to catch herself. “I mean, ah…”