Sweet Evil (The Sweet Trilogy #1)(24)

“If you’re here to see Kaidan,” the angry one said, “don’t bother.” She pushed past me and continued a tirade against him as they walked away. “I am never calling him again.”

“Whatever,” her friend said. “You’ll be calling him tonight.”

I stopped, contemplating turning around and running from the house. The bang of each drumbeat coming up from the basement matched the deafening thud of my heart in my ears. I forced myself to move forward, and then down the steps one at a time. I stopped at the bottom and surveyed a basement that put Gene’s to shame. It was bigger than my whole apartment. I stepped into the massive room and closed the door behind me.

Part of the room to the right looked like a miniature movie theater, complete with three rows of leather stadium seating and a giant screen. Right in front of me in the middle was a tiki bar area with tall tables and stools straight out of a Hawaiian scene. To the far left were two long couches in front of a stage with speakers, microphones, and drums in the center. The drums were currently being used. And used very well, I might add.

He had headphones on. The straight lines of his face were stern with concentration as his arms flexed underneath the bright red T-shirt with each jarring crash of the drumsticks. The beat he created was impeccable. I was amazed by his ability to think just far enough ahead of the sounds in order to place each stick at the exact right place at the right time, all while moving his leg up and down on the pedal in synchronization. It all happened too fast for my eyes to keep up. I was overcome by the beauty of it. I’d never felt such longing. I wanted to... to envelop him, wrap him up. Make him mine.

It was a frightful, shameful desire.

With a final crash, the ting of cymbals was the only sound. He took the headphones off and dropped them at his side, standing up and looking at me.

“Well, if it isn’t little orphan Annie.”

He went behind the bar and took a bottle of water from a large fridge. He drank half of it in one gulp, while I stood there unmoving, then tossed the bottle onto the bar and pulled a silver item from the pocket of his jeans. With a fast flick of his wrist, it opened into a blade. My heart stammered. He watched me watching him, twirling the open knife between his fingers. Who played with knives?

In a few easy strides, he closed the distance between us and was in front of me, very close, with his head cocked to the side. I seemed to amuse him, for some reason. But then his face went cruel, and his empty hand rested against the wall above my shoulder. Our faces were inches apart. His eyes held me frozen in place. I was very aware of the knife at his side, held in his other hand. Coming here had been a massive mistake.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“I just want to talk.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “You don’t have to try to scare me.”

He kept a straight face, and his tone was seductively low. “There’s hardly any room for fear when you’re so bloody turned-on.”

A flash of shock hit me at his audacity. His eyes lowered to my body, but he never moved away.

“Ah, there’s anger now,” he said coolly, “and a bit of embarrassment.”

He was reading me—reading my colors! And I couldn’t see his at all. I felt stripped bare before him, vulnerable. I concentrated on why I’d gone there to begin with.

“I know what we are now.” I wished my voice weren’t shaky.

“Congratulations.” He stood over me for a second more, savoring his power, no doubt, and then walked away, tossing the knife in the general direction of the dartboard and hitting the bull’s-eye. Never missing a beat, he swaggered to a white couch with oversize pillows. He fell back onto it, propping his big, black boots on the white cushions and lounging back with arms spread wide across the back of the sofa. He stared as if daring me to talk.

I had no idea what to say or do. I didn’t know anymore why I’d come. Had I just wanted to barge in and say, Ha, I know what we are! and then demand information?

His face tilted upward with a jerk and his eyes lost their focus, as if listening to something far away. He jumped up from the couch and rushed toward me. I tried to step back, but he grabbed my shoulders, pressing his lips hard against my ear.

“My father is here!”

Fear paralyzed me.

A demon. A real demon was here, right now. I hadn’t factored in this possibility. I’d thought he would be in New York. I wanted to run, but Kaidan pulled me toward the couch and pushed me onto the cushions. He ripped open the front of my blouse, and I sucked in a breath to scream.

Kaidan put a finger hard against my lips to shush me, then grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and threw it at me. He swiped his own shirt over his head and motioned for me to take mine off. I didn’t know what was going on, but fear prompted me to follow his lead, wiggling out of my shirt while keeping my chest covered by the blanket.

Kaidan leaned over me. Oh, my gosh. A half-naked half demon was burying his face in my neck! His hot, smooth shoulder pressed against mine. A thrill of pleasure shot through my confusion and fear. I felt the heat of his mouth on my shoulder, and gripped the couch cushion with my hands to keep them from going where they wanted to be, which was anywhere on him.

When the basement door was flung open I let out an involuntary yelp. Kaidan pulled away a tad, but stayed in front of me, turning his head to the door.

“Father.” Kaidan addressed him in a subdued, respectful tone.