Demons Prefer Blondes (Demons Unleashed #1)(51)

Rafe came to stand next to her, his body inches from her. She loved the heat that rolled off him. “Should I ask?”

“Probably not,” she replied with a click of a button. Gerardo’s car beeped in response as the alarm was disabled. “I promise I’ll be gentler this time,” she said, lacing her reply with innuendo. Lord knew her inner naughty girl had no gentle intentions.

Rafe snorted. “I hope so.”

“Gerardo’s car is roomier.” She extended her arm. “After you.”

Rafe swung the door open. “These modern inventions never cease to amaze me.”

Did she amaze him? He certainly amazed her. With a smile, she opened the door, sending a pile of snow flying in her face.

With a shiver, she brushed off the cold flakes. What a wonderful way to make an impression on the Adonis.

“Cold?” Rafe asked as he stepped into the car. Was that a wink? Was she now an object for his amusement?

She shrugged. “Just a tad.”

Taking a seat next to Rafe, she slipped on her seat belt and popped the key in the ignition. With a quick twist, the car hummed to life. The sooner they blew out of here, the better. She pressed her foot to the brake, turned to Rafe and smiled. “Hold on to your shorts.” With a quick tug, she pulled the car into reverse and backed out.

The expression on Rafe’s face would remain etched in her mind. Ramrod-tall, teeth clenched, and fingers firmly gripping the door handle. Like they were going to the moon, not her mom’s.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Have you ever ridden in a car before today?”

“The last car I’ve traveled in was a 1910 Model T.” Rafe’s lips curved into a wide grin.

Whoa! That long? “Wow, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The silver in his eyes sparked. “About twenty years.”

“Huh?”

With a tiny grin forming on his lips, Rafe raked a hand through his hair. “The Fore-Demons sent me to stop a small blood-demon attack at an antique car show. It was the only thing available.”

“Did you get the bad guys?”

Jaw twitching, Rafe nodded. The bright silver of his eyes swirling and stormy. “Not without some casualties, but no humans died.”

“That’s awesome.”

Shrugging, Rafe looked away, out the window at the passing scenery. “A small success.”

“Small?” Lucy’s eyes widened. This guy had a serious inferiority complex. And she thought she was bad. “You saved lives. There’s nothing small in that.”

“I suppose,” he said on a sigh.

That was an improvement… of sorts. The bout of awkward silence announced the conversation was done. And they were making such progress, too. Taking a right onto Lover’s Lane, she secretly wished she’d brought a safety helmet. There wasn’t anything lovely about the road at all. Potholes, snow, and ice didn’t mix. With a jerk and a jolt, she drove over a hole the size of Lake Michigan.

“There goes the alignment. Gerardo will be pissed.” This time she swerved to avoid the Atlantic Ocean. Three things were certain when traveling Michigan roads in winter: ice, snow, and huge-ass potholes.

Rafe winced as his head bounced against the roof. “How much longer?”

Slowing down the car, she hung a left onto Stonebrook Road. “About five or ten minutes.” She’d never felt so awkward in her life. Here this totally sexy man sat in her car, and she was at a complete loss of words. Small talk had never been her forte.

It was time to change that. “So how old are you?”

“Old enough.” Rafe scrubbed a hand through his hair. Apparently he wasn’t much of a conversationalist either.

“Look, Rafe, I know you have things you’d rather be doing,” she said as she took another right. “But if we’re going to work together, we need to you know… communicate.”

“Four hundred and fifty-five.”

Lucy arched a brow. “Huh?”

“I’m four hundred and fifty-five years old.” Rafe shrugged. “I stopped keeping track in the late nineteenth century, so I needed some time to go back and count.”

Talk about the fountain of youth. “Wow. You don’t look a day over one hundred.”

Rafe smirked. “Thank you, I think.”

“You’re welcome.” She took the final turn onto Wellington Road—her mom’s street.

“That’s my mom’s house right there.” She pointed to the two-story canary-yellow Cape Cod. Wreaths bedecked each window. Santa and his reindeer stood guard in the front yard. Blow-up snowmen and polar bears bearing gifts sat proud. Strings of sparkling icicles and snowflakes dotted the eaves. Gaudy, yet pretty in a strange sort of way.

“Wellington, eh?”

Lucy shrugged. “The people here have a thing for historical names. I live on Waterloo Drive.”

“I aided Wellington at Waterloo,” Rafe replied, his gaze somber.

“Don’t tell me Napoleon was a demon?”

He shook his head. “No, but he was plagued by them. Greed, power, and envy, mostly. It was one of our tougher assignments.”

“Didn’t the English win that battle?”

“Not without casualties,” Rafe said, his voice nondescript.