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Much of the casino’s in-house service had closed for the night. The main floor harbored a few diehards hovering at the card tables. Otherwise, the casino was deserted. The shuttered buffet aromas lingered and wafted from the dining room on the right-hand side of the entrance, but a peek confirmed that the staff was cleaning up.
Okay. No food for Elena.
I nodded at the guy behind the front desk and shrugged. “Delivery for Thorn.”
“You’re new,” he leered, looking me over.
Giving him my best apathetic stare, I silently waited until the smile fell from his face and he broke eye contact. “I need to call up to the penthouse.”
I rolled my eyes. Penthouse. Right. Thorn’s sacking it in a cozy penthouse while I had to hoof ten or so miles here. “Go for it.”
Still ruffled, the front desk clerk turned his back to me and picked up a landline receiver. Talk about the land of the dinosaurs. Without waiting for the answer, I walked across the foyer to the elevator and pressed the call button.
After all, the demon summoned me—to his private residence in a fucking casino.
The heat low in my stomach that built at the collector’s house flowed like molten lava to the apex of my thighs. I flashed on the raw desire Thorn had hot-wired to me through our paranormal connection. What’s up with that? Why is he always switched on sexually?
Could it be that the demon was a sex addict? The whole concept was enticing and terrifying. Because, damn, with all that experience, he had to provide a thrill ride and a half. How easy would it be for me to fall into his bed?
No, it’s not gonna be like that. Even if a part of me craves it.
Though, just because we’re partners and not a couple, that doesn’t make him any less yummy. He’s attractive in a dark and broody way. It wouldn’t be hard to fall into lust with this strange demon lover.
The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside, hit the big “P” button at the top, and tried not to think too hard about his dark curls, almond-shaped brown and gold eyes, or how nice it would be to climb him like a tree and ride his thick branch. Desire coursed through me, and my skin flushed.
The elevator glided smoothly to a stop, and the doors opened to a double door of frosted glass. As I approached, I spotted the vague silhouette of the penthouse inhabitant. My pulse bumped up a little, and I wet my now dry lips.
I rapped on the door even as I heard the lock snicked open, and the door swung inward, revealing the most beautiful goddamned woman I’ve ever seen, wearing nothing but a pair of sheer, black panties.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
The woman’s cheeks flushed as brightly as the fire racing over my skin, and her lips were cherry crimson. Her green eyes flashed with a calculating edge as her red hair fell in gorgeous waves around her face. She’s unabashedly naked and unapologetically arrested my attention.
“I’m Samara,” she said in a breathy voice. “He said you would arrive soon.” She offered her hand, and her full breasts bounced with the movement. “Nice to meet you.”
When I took her hand, the scent of pheromone-laden sex hit me, and my insides twisted with longing, followed by the sharp pang of envy.
“Would you like some coffee?” she said. The words flowed from her mouth seductively, as if she offered her body instead of a beverage.
Mutely, I nodded. I’m not into chicks. But as my head filled with images of kissing her breasts and sucking on her red nipples that jiggled with each step, I considered making an exception. I followed her into the gleaming white and stainless steel kitchen, and she operated an espresso machine worth six months of my rent. She set a frothy concoction in a tall, ceramic grande-sized mug before me.
Pressing the steaming cup between my palms, I sat at the island of the gleaming white chef’s kitchen across from Samara, who had disappeared into a room. Soon she reemerged with a silk robe on over her panties. It’s a thoughtful gesture, but considering it’s wide open, it merely frames her perfect body, not cover it.
She’s unavoidably fucking gorgeous, and I don’t hate her for it.
Thankfully, Samara can’t read my mind, so I’m saved from the embarrassment of revealing my jealousy of wanting to be the one drawing pleasure from Thorn’s caress.
Looking at her now, I know it will never happen. Thorn’s tastes are apparent.
Samara gleamed, almost literally. Her skin was porcelain, her hair gleamed the perfect shade of true red, and her eyes a bright jade—if jade ever looks cold and hard. Here I am, in my cargo pants, my pink and blonde hair, and plain brown eyes, and what I can only describe as “perfectly average” body measurements, I feel like the kid in school who tried too hard and failed at it.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard your answer. How long have you worked for Dagon?” Samara smiled. Her full lips parted to show just enough of her perfect, white teeth.
“Started a few days ago. I guess.” I stifled the urge to kick my feet while sitting on the high stool. “Although, since I’m a contractor, I don’t refer to my clients as my employers.”
She blinked reflexively like a lizard, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. “I see. And you’re… a finder?”
“Yes, I’m a seeker. I have a talent for locating things, especially magical items.” I glanced toward where I assumed the bedroom was. Where was Thorn anyway? Why did he call me here if not to meet him?
