Page 35 of The Devil and His Ghost

I scoffed. “Please. Everyone knows about Sinners Do It Better these days. You guys are the hottest thing in the headlines, which is why Bethelma is desperate to have one of you on the show.”

“And I was the lucky pick, huh? Be honest. You picked me, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know the other members,” I pointed out defensively. “You were the default option.” Snickering, I added, “If I could actually choose anyone, I’d pick your drummer. He’s my favorite in the group.”

Xander’s smile remained in place, but his grip on me tightened. “Maybe I should pass the message along to him. Though, I have to warn you. He’ll be an extremely boring guest. Coldin doesn’t exactly have the people skills of yours truly.”

“He’s mysterious, though. People like mysteries.”

“He’s one mystery better left as such.”

Xander twirled me once more before pulling me back against him. I wanted to ignore how nice his firm torso felt against mine. I wanted to pretend the tingles rushing along my palm from the feel of his bicep was just my imagination. I wanted to dismiss the idea that I liked having the demon hold me close.

But I’d always been a horrible liar.

I’d left for a reason. I’d put the distance between us because that was best for both of us. Being here—my hand in his, my body perfectly aligned against him, eyes entangled in a silent dance of their own—I couldn’t remember those reasons. I couldn’t think clearly past the need to enjoy this time with my old acquaintance.

I glanced at the party happening on the other side of the window. I loathed crowds, especially when full of arrogant, fake pricks like those here tonight.

“I’m tired of this party,” I announced. Pursing my lips, I casually revealed, “I’m staying here for the night. Do you … want to come up to my room? We can keep catching up.”

His dark eyes drank me in from head to toe, and his smile widened. “Lead the way.”

I couldn’t seem to swallow or breathe with him looking at me like that. My body was taught with excited apprehension, yet weighed down by nervous hesitation. Were we going to talk, or were we going to do more? Was I going to cross the line I’d intended to defend, or was I going to take a hammer to that barrier he made as fragile as glass?

We reached my hotel room, and I immediately excused myself to the bathroom. The reprieve from his presence gave my racing heart time to calm down. I changed into my purple pajama set before washing my face and exchanging my contacts for my glasses. My long black hair hung around my shoulders. I studied my pale reflection and hugged my arms around myself, finally calming down. There was no need to worry about expectations or what could happen. It was just Xander, and he’d always been safe for me.

I returned to the bedroom. Xander stood by the bed, flipping through the book I had on the nightstand—a horror novel I’d picked up at the airport on my way to this event. He must’ve conjured some of his own clothes to change into, because all he wore now was a pair of black sweatpants. They hung low on his hips, and with his back to me, I was able to see the corded muscles beneath his skin. That wasn’t what drew my eye, though. On his back was a gorgeous tattoo of a Chinese dragon looming above a mountain and plum blossoms, drawn in the style of ancient inkwash paintings.

“Wow,” I whispered breathlessly.

He looked over his shoulder while I drew closer to study the detailed ink on his back. My fingertips lightly traced the lines of the dragon.

“It’s so beautiful,” I admired, unable to look away.

“It’s one of my favorites.”

He faced me, so I dropped my hand. More tattoos decorated his arms—a gothic cathedral, a grim reaper holding a light to guide shadows, intricate designs around them—but I couldn’t study them long. How could I when I was faced with the sight of his bare chest? My mouth dried.

“You’ve only gotten one more since this one?” he asked, reaching out to grab my arm. His thumb and gaze traced the ghost surrounded by shadows.

“Yeah,” I answered, cringing inwardly over how strained my voice came out. His finger sweeping over the skin of my forearm made my stomach summersault.

His dark eyes collided with mine. “What of?”

The question almost seemed like a challenge. I’d taunted him with the fact that I had another tattoo in a place he couldn’t see while in my dress earlier. He hadn’t asked where it was, but the inquiry of its placement was almost an unspoken follow-up to his actual question. It was a dare, not to speak, but to show.

And I was no coward.

I grabbed my pajama top and lifted it up to my shoulders. A bra covered my breasts, yet I felt breathlessly exposed. Xander’s attention dropped first to the round tops of my boobs before finishing their descent to the image of the upside down bat with its spread wings framing the underside of my breasts.

“Damn.” He whistled and traced the design with his fingertips like I’d done to his back. “This is sick. I heard getting tatted on the ribs hurts like a bitch. Did it hurt for you?”

My entire body warmed beneath his touch, making my voice come out shaky. “Yeah. It hurt.”

Though, not for that reason. I could deal with the actual tattooing process. I couldn’t stomach the agony of being touched and pressed on by the artist. I’d nearly gone mad with panic while getting the piece done, which was why I hadn’t gotten more since then.

“Any plans to get more?” he asked, dropping his hand while meeting my eyes.