Page 71 of Just One Little Bargain

“Don’t.” I say it out loud, but my brain keeps going, supplying more details without permission. The curve of her waist. Her hands sliding soap across her stomach. Flushed skin, parted lips, water running between her breasts and down her body.

My erection arrives with absolutely no regard for timing or morality.

In my defense, I’m a demon. We’re not built for restraint. Lust is practically a job requirement. For the prosecution: I just met her, my current assignment involves taking her immortal soul, and she’s on the other side of that wall trusting me not to be this much of a creep. But Evie’s unfortunately very pretty, and her soap smells unreasonably good. Apparently, those two facts have sent my moral compass home for the evening.

I reach for the cold knob and wrench it to the side.

The water turns glacial in an instant and I gasp, reaching for the knob, but my hands are slick with soap and I can’t get a proper grip. It spins loose under my palm, refusing to catch, and the spray stays freezing.

“Okay, okay, turn off.” I twist desperately at anything I can reach, but nothing’s working, and the spray is relentless. My feet are sliding on the tub floor because I’ve turned the whole thing into a slick death trap with all the product I used.

I step forward for better leverage, and my foot slides. The shower curtain is the only thing within reach, so I grab it on instinct. Half the rings tear free, and wet fabric wraps around my chest and face in a suffocating mess.

When I try to yank it off, the curtain clings harder, plastered to my skin. My other foot slips, and one knee hits the tub with a loud bang. Pain shoots up my leg. I’m on my knees, blind and freezing, when footsteps sound in the hallway.

Then my mortal form drops. My horns emerge first, followed by my nails lengthening into claws and skin bleeding from ordinary human tones into pastel pink.

Fantastic. Really excellent timing.

“Milo? You okay in there?” Evie pounds on the door.

The adrenaline spike alone nearly kills me. I yank the knob and the water stops. “I’m fine!”

“I heard a crash.”

“Just slipped!” I’m trying to unhook the curtain from my horns with claws that are shredding everything they touch, and the irony of a demon being defeated by bathroom textiles isn’t lost on me.

“Do you need help?”

The doorknob rattles.

“Absolutely not! I’m good!”

I scramble to force my mortal form back into place, running almost entirely on panic.

“If you break anything, you’re fixing it yourself.”

“Understood!”

Finally, her footsteps retreat.

I stand there, dripping and shivering, staring at the stupid botanical curtain hanging half off its rod. Hell’s communal baths are looking pretty good right now.

My knee throbs where I slammed it into the tub, and lavender and chamomile still cling to my skin, but there’s no hiding what I did to that shower curtain. After a quick towel dry and a change of clothes, I head for the kitchen, following the sound of plates clinking.

Evie’s sitting at the table with her bad ankle propped on the chair across from her, spooning pasta onto two plates. She’s changed into soft lounge pants and an oversized cream sweater that keeps slipping off her shoulder. Her hair is twisted up in a clip, pieces falling loose around her face.

She glances up when I appear.

“I destroyed your shower curtain.”

I blurt it out with no attempt to make it sound better. Her eyebrows climb.

“Come again?”

“I slipped, grabbed the curtain for balance, pulled half the rings off the rod, and tore the fabric in multiple places. The floor is also very wet. I wanted to fix it with my power, but after what you said about demonic tricks . . .” I swallow. “I figured I should tell you instead.”

She sets the spoon down, her jaw working as frustration gathers behind her eyes. When she opens her mouth, I brace for impact.