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Just our fingers touching is electric. Standing brings me so close I have to look up to meet his gaze. “Thank you. Have you been waiting long?”
“Long enough to have to explain to your neighbor who I am and what I’m doing here.” His smile lights his eyes and triples my heart rate.
“Sorry. It was mayhem at the end of the night. The champagne tower fell, broken glass everywhere, with no apparent reason for the incident. I’ve never seen one fall before. Then the groom’s uncle had to be escorted out because he was so drunk that he’d started a fight. The vodka ran out and had to be replaced. It was total chaos.” I walk to my front door and unlock it.
Mantus is still by the cars. He’s staring out into the street.
“Is everything alright?” I call back.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’ll find Jorge this week, and he won’t bother you again.” His brow is furrowed as he strides toward me.
“Who is Jorge? What are you talking about?” Waiting for him to reach me, I’m totally puzzled by his reaction to my crazy night. “It all worked out fine. Platitudes is very good at clean up and quick to replace things. I don’t see how any of it was your fault.”
He takes a deep breath that causes his chest to stretch the limits of his graphic T-shirt with another eighties’ hair band on the front. He cups my cheek and rubs his thumb along my cheekbone. “Do you still want the entire truth about me, sweetheart?”
Between his touch, the passion in his eyes, and the low rumble of his voice, I’m pretty sure my ovaries will never be the same. I open my mouth to say yes, but nothing comes out, so I nod.
He sighs. “Then you should invite me in.”
I push the door open and flip on a light.
Walking inside, he looks around. “This is nice.”
It’s a Cape Cod that was built in the sixties. I’ve renovated it and modernized all the fixtures and appliances. “Thank you.”
My cat, an orange tabby named Pumpkin, trots over. She stops when she sees him, hisses, and bolts into the office at the back of the house.
“Pumpkin can take a while to warm up.”
Not bothered by the temperament of my cat, he sits on one of two stools at my small kitchen island.
Dropping my purse, phone, and keys on the foyer table, I kick off my shoes. Mantus Kohl sitting in my kitchen is oddly right. He shouldn’t fit in with my tidy cross between contemporary and classic decor, but he somehow does.
I take a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. “Would you like a glass?”
He nods. “I thought it would be more bohemian in here.”
Taking two glasses out of the cabinet, I like that he was trying to figure me out. I even like that he got it wrong. Once I’ve uncorked the bottle, I pour. “What made you think bohemian would be my style?”
He shrugs his wide shoulders. “I don’t know. You have an earth mother kind of vibe.”
Sitting beside him, I sip my wine. “I like order, though I’m not a neat freak. I like taking care of myself and not worrying about the people that love me. My brother gives my mom enough to worry about.”
“Does your family live close by?” He drinks the wine, then takes my hand as if he’s examining each finger.
“Yes. I grew up six blocks from here. My mom was on her own, and she raised us. Now she’s across town. She got married a few years ago. My brother struggles with some mental health issues, but he’s doing okay. You said you would tell me about yourself, not pry information from me tonight.” I need to learn to not answer. I’m too honest. Damn.
He drinks the remaining wine in his glass, then presses my hand between both of his.
The slit of my gown has fallen open, leaving my legs bare, and with the stools facing each other, my legs are caught between his. His jeans look as if they can barely contain his thick, muscular thighs.
“You won’t believe me, but I’m going to tell you anyway.” He holds our hands up as if in prayer and lowers his forehead to touch our fingers.
“I’ll try to keep an open mind if that helps.”
He looks me in the eyes while caressing my hand. “I’m a demon. My father is the ruler of hell. I’m one of those chosen to find fallen angels, who are called shifters or purgs, and send them back where they belong. The man you thought was the father of the bride last week was actually a purg named Jorge. He escaped almost two weeks ago. He must know I’m interested in you, and he probably caused the chaos at your party tonight. I should have caught him already, but I’ve been preoccupied with you and haven’t been doing my job.”
He’s insane. I’ve let a madman into my house. “You’re right. I don’t believe you. Either you’re crazy or you’re making fun of me.”
