Read Online The Devil Eats Here (Multi-Author Short Story Collection) by Alice Gaines, Tara Maya, Rayne Hall, Jonathan Broughton, Siewleng Torossian, John Hoddy, John Blackport, Douglas Kolacki, April Grey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alice Gaines, Tara Maya, Rayne Hall, Jonathan Broughton, Siewleng Torossian, John Hoddy, John Blackport, Douglas Kolacki, April Grey
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contract.” She looked at her watch. Rather, tried to. Her wrist was bare. “Okay, I don’t know what you’ve done, but it must be time for me to get back to work.”
“Your last physical was excellent. Blood pressure 110 over 80.” He smiled at her. “Very nice.”
“I didn’t know men cared about women’s vital signs.” The only vitals men cared about, in her experience, were 36-26-36. Or 40-18-22 these days.
“You live alone in a nice apartment and make a good salary.”
“Not enough to buy a house in California,” she said. The way her life had gone so far, she wouldn’t get a husband’s help with the down-payment any time soon.
“That’s why you were so upset to lose that promotion,” he said.
“How much do you know about me?”
The fire in his blue eyes flared briefly, making him look truly dangerous. “As much as I need to know.”
She got up from the chair, strode to his desk, and rested her fists on the top. From this close, his ice-blue eyes and the glow of his skin could hypnotize a woman off lesser determination. In fact, a more susceptible female might lean toward him, hoping for a kiss from… those lips were as luscious as the rest of him. Full and curved. She shook herself.
“I said something in haste,” she said over the hammering of her heart. “But I made promises, and I signed nothing.”
His smug smile told her he knew his effect on women. In another time and place, she might entertain fantasies of giving him a tumble. But he was Satan, and this was Hades, and she had to get the hell out.
“You called out for help,” he said.
“An offer to sell my soul is a cry for help?”
He gave her a cat-and-canary grin. “So you did you offer your soul”
“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back,” she said. “I offered my soul in exchange for something. You didn’t hold up your part of the bargain, so you get nothing from me.”
“What if I want to give you something, instead?”
When had Satan gone into the psychotherapy business? Maybe this was a con. She’d offered her soul, and he’d blown the deal. So, now he thought he could seduce her into turning over the goods, anyway. He looked seductive enough, but if he wanted her to surrender, she wouldn’t.
“If you want to give me something, give me my freedom,” she said. “Send me back to Romero’s.”
“To that orgy of self-loathing? I think not.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“A soul is a precious, not to be bargained away for something as trivial as body size.”
Easy for him to say: he didn’t have an extra ounce of fat on him. He could probably eat three Romero’s number three specials without putting on a pound.
“Because of my body size, I lost my dream job, and with it my chance of owning a house.”
“There are other jobs. Better ones.”
“Like I’d get one of those in my size twenty-two muumuus.” She threw her hands into the air. “For pity’s sake, I don’t even have a sex life.”
“Ahhhh…”
He gave her that smug smile again. Did she dare try smacking Beelzebub?
“That, at least, is something worth sacrificing for,” he said. “But, I can help you with that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how do you think you’re going to do that?”
“Really, Cynthia, that should be obvious.”
She stood and stared at him for a while.
“I’m a man,” he said finally. “If you want sex, I’ll give it to you.”
“Whoa, now there’s a smooth line if I ever heard one. Very romantic. I may swoon.”
“Forgive me. You were so frank about sex, I thought you’d appreciate frankness from me.”
He waved his hand around the room. The plain walls disappeared to be replaced by drapes of red velvet. A fireplace stood on one wall, and several logs blazed in the hearth. This looked more and more like hell. Except, maybe, for all the plush furniture around the room. A recliner and ottoman in one corner, a conversation pit against the wall,
“Your last physical was excellent. Blood pressure 110 over 80.” He smiled at her. “Very nice.”
“I didn’t know men cared about women’s vital signs.” The only vitals men cared about, in her experience, were 36-26-36. Or 40-18-22 these days.
“You live alone in a nice apartment and make a good salary.”
“Not enough to buy a house in California,” she said. The way her life had gone so far, she wouldn’t get a husband’s help with the down-payment any time soon.
“That’s why you were so upset to lose that promotion,” he said.
“How much do you know about me?”
The fire in his blue eyes flared briefly, making him look truly dangerous. “As much as I need to know.”
She got up from the chair, strode to his desk, and rested her fists on the top. From this close, his ice-blue eyes and the glow of his skin could hypnotize a woman off lesser determination. In fact, a more susceptible female might lean toward him, hoping for a kiss from… those lips were as luscious as the rest of him. Full and curved. She shook herself.
“I said something in haste,” she said over the hammering of her heart. “But I made promises, and I signed nothing.”
His smug smile told her he knew his effect on women. In another time and place, she might entertain fantasies of giving him a tumble. But he was Satan, and this was Hades, and she had to get the hell out.
“You called out for help,” he said.
“An offer to sell my soul is a cry for help?”
He gave her a cat-and-canary grin. “So you did you offer your soul”
“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back,” she said. “I offered my soul in exchange for something. You didn’t hold up your part of the bargain, so you get nothing from me.”
“What if I want to give you something, instead?”
When had Satan gone into the psychotherapy business? Maybe this was a con. She’d offered her soul, and he’d blown the deal. So, now he thought he could seduce her into turning over the goods, anyway. He looked seductive enough, but if he wanted her to surrender, she wouldn’t.
“If you want to give me something, give me my freedom,” she said. “Send me back to Romero’s.”
“To that orgy of self-loathing? I think not.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“A soul is a precious, not to be bargained away for something as trivial as body size.”
Easy for him to say: he didn’t have an extra ounce of fat on him. He could probably eat three Romero’s number three specials without putting on a pound.
“Because of my body size, I lost my dream job, and with it my chance of owning a house.”
“There are other jobs. Better ones.”
“Like I’d get one of those in my size twenty-two muumuus.” She threw her hands into the air. “For pity’s sake, I don’t even have a sex life.”
“Ahhhh…”
He gave her that smug smile again. Did she dare try smacking Beelzebub?
“That, at least, is something worth sacrificing for,” he said. “But, I can help you with that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how do you think you’re going to do that?”
“Really, Cynthia, that should be obvious.”
She stood and stared at him for a while.
“I’m a man,” he said finally. “If you want sex, I’ll give it to you.”
“Whoa, now there’s a smooth line if I ever heard one. Very romantic. I may swoon.”
“Forgive me. You were so frank about sex, I thought you’d appreciate frankness from me.”
He waved his hand around the room. The plain walls disappeared to be replaced by drapes of red velvet. A fireplace stood on one wall, and several logs blazed in the hearth. This looked more and more like hell. Except, maybe, for all the plush furniture around the room. A recliner and ottoman in one corner, a conversation pit against the wall,
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